7

Coffeeville

The Lorraine Motel

The five of them stood in the Lorraine Motel on Mulberry Street. When Martin Luther King had stood on its second floor balcony on April 4, 1968, a man by the name of James Earl Ray was kneeling on the floor of a second-storey bathroom in Bessie Brewer’s Rooming House looking at him through the scope of a deer rifle. At one minute past six, a single hollow point bullet blasted its way into King’s cheek and sent him to the very same Promised Land he’d been talking about the previous evening.

After the assassination the old motel went downhill at a pace, and was only saved from extinction when it was decided to turn the property into a museum dedicated to the memory of Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement. Through artefacts, photographs, newspaper accounts and three-dimensional scenes, the National Civil Rights Museum told the story of Afro-Americans from the time of their arrival in the American colonies. It detailed the brutality of slavery and the injustices of the Jim Crow laws, highlighted the activities of the Ku Klux Klan and the White Councils, and traced the key events of the civil rights struggle, culminating in the assassination of King.

The knowledge that the three elderly people he travelled with had once played a part in this struggle gave the visit an added poignancy for Jack. It was an experience that also left him feeling confused. Although he appreciated the biological necessity for any old person to have at one time in their lives been young, emotionally Jack had always struggled with the idea. In all the time he’d known his godfather, the man had been an adult; he was now an overweight tub of lard in his seventies. He associated Doc with sitting and chairs, for settling for things that worked rather than trying to change things for an idealistic better, and certainly not with activity.

Jack had known from his father that Doc had been active in the civil rights movement, but Doc had rarely mentioned it. All he’d ever told him was that he was embarrassed by the insignificance of his role, and that all he’d ever taken from the experience was the knowledge that he was a coward. Jack had learned more from talking to Bob than ever he had talking to his godfather: Doc saving Bob from a burning bus in Alabama and the two of them being thrown into jail in Mississippi. If he’d needed proof that such events had indeed happened, Bob was about to provide the evidence.

‘You never see’d it, did you?’ Bob said to Doc.

‘Seen what?’

‘C’mon, follow me.’

They’d already toured the exhibits and Eric was concerned they were about to do it all over again. ‘What about the river, Otis? I haven’t seen the Mississippi, yet.’

‘We got time. Jus’ need to show Doc an’ Nance somethin’.’

They followed Bob to a series of photographs taken during the time of the Freedom Rides, and Bob stopped in front of one taken outside the Union Bus Terminal in Montgomery, Alabama. ‘Now you see it?’ Bob asked.

‘See what?’ Doc asked.

‘Man, you blind or somethin’?’

‘Not yet, but you’ll have to point it out to me.’

‘Sorry, Gene. Fo’got ’bout yo’ eyes, man.’ He then pointed to two figures in the photograph: side shots of a man and a woman. The man had his arms around the woman, shielding her from the missiles being thrown by an angry crowd. ‘That’s you an’ Nance, Gene. See it now?’

Doc looked at the images and waited for them to clarify. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Hey, Nancy; come and look at this, will you. It’s you and me. How in God’s name did you know about this, Bob?’

‘I see’d it the first time I visited the place. I knew we was there when the photograph was taken, so I looked at it closely. If you wanna know the truth, Gene, I was lookin’ fo’ myself, but ’steada findin’ me I foun’ you two.’

Nancy stared at the photograph. ‘I don’t remember having any trouble in Nashville,’ she said. ‘Was this happening outside the hotel when we took Bob to the restaurant? I thought you said it had been desegregated.’

‘Nancy, this is the Union Bus Terminal in Montgomery, not the Union Hotel in Nashville. The photograph was taken fifty years ago. See how young we both look.’

‘I don’t know about you, but I look exactly the same. I look like that now, and to tell you the truth I’m not happy about all these niggers gawping at my photograph.’ She made a move to take the photograph from the wall and Bob had to restrain her.

‘Take your damned hands off me, you fucking nigger,’ she shouted. ‘Gene, tell him he’s fired. We’ll get someone else to drive the bus. I’m not having hired help touching me.’ She struggled to get free from his grasp and Bob was so shaken by her outburst that she almost succeeded. Jack came to his aid.

‘And you can get your hands off me too, Jew boy. You thought I didn’t know, didn’t you, but I’ve known all along. You don’t pull the wool over my eyes. Jews and niggers always stick together.’

People started to look in their direction, and Doc wondered if they’d have to manhandle Nancy out of the museum. It was Eric who came to the rescue. ‘Mrs Skidmore, will you take me to see the river please?’

Nancy’s manner changed almost immediately and the old Nancy returned to them. ‘Of course I will, honey. We can go now, if you like. She took his arm, and once outside the museum also took Bob’s. ‘Thank you, Bob. That was delightful. You’re always thinking of us, aren’t you? Isn’t he, Gene?’

‘That woman’s getting crazier by the day, Doc,’ Jack said, as the two of them walked behind the others. ‘One minute she’s snarling like a rabid dog and the next she’s meek as a lamb.’

‘I know it,’ Doc said, ‘but you can’t hold her responsible for the things she says as you would another person. You have to bear in mind that she grew up surrounded by prejudice and that, like it or not, prejudice is insidious. It seeps into your pores without you ever knowing it. Nancy fought bigotry her whole life, and for someone from her background that was no easy thing. The illness is pulling her apart, tearing down her defences. She’s back walking the Delta of her youth now, and unconsciously tapping into all the hatreds that used to pool there.’

‘How are you going to manage when it’s just the two of you?’

‘I’ll figure something out,’ Doc said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for some time now.’

Ducks

They arrived back in the hotel lobby shortly before 4:30 pm and found people already gathering for the extravaganza. Doc and Nancy managed to take two of the remaining front-row seats, and Eric sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. Bob and Jack, neither of whom was particularly interested in watching the ducks, climbed to the second floor balcony and viewed the proceedings from there.

Shortly before 5 pm, a small flight of steps was placed at the base of the fountain and a roll of red carpet extended from its foot to the elevator door. A man, resplendent in red jacket and dark trousers, introduced himself as the Duckmaster and started to explain the origins of the pageantry the audience was about to witness.

Supposedly, a general manager of the Peabody in the 1930s called Frank returned to the hotel after a weekend shooting ducks in Arkansas with a friend called Chip. They sat in the lobby drinking bourbon that evening and decided to put some live duck decoys into the lobby’s travertine marble fountain. The hoot – or quack, as some described it – proved so popular with guests that, in 1940, it was formalised: the hotel appointed a Duckmaster and the ducks began to march. The only thing to have changed over the years was that the Duckmaster was now a black man.

‘Y’all ready to see ’em march?’ the Duckmaster asked. ‘Okay then, start the music!’

John Philip Sousa’s King Cotton March started to play and the Duckmaster strode to the fountain and marshalled the ducks down the steps and along the carpet to the elevator. The doors opened, the ducks walked in, the doors closed behind them and the music stopped. The audience burst into applause.

‘Don’t seem right, somehow,’ Bob said to Jack. ‘Martin Luther King gets his self shot, and fo’ what? So’s a black man can become a Duckmaster?’

Nancy and Eric had been thrilled to see the ducks march to the elevator and, along with the other hotel guests and tourists who’d come to see the procession, had lapped up the performance. Doc, however, had been overcome by tiredness and slept through it, his snores fortuitously masked by the noise of the ducks and the appreciative laughter of those gathered. Jack shook him awake.

‘Hey, Doc, we’re fixing to eat and then go down Beale Street. Wipe your chin and let’s go.’

‘The restaurant doesn’t open till six,’ Doc said. ‘Why don’t you go and make reservations?’

Jack did, and returned with the news that he, Doc and Bob would have to wear jackets: Chez Philippe required business casual attire. Doc grimaced, but handed Jack his room card and asked him to get his jacket; he’d stay and watch over Nancy and Eric.

They were the first to enter the restaurant and were shown to a corner table. Even before his eyesight had started to fail him, a bane of Doc’s life had been menus: they were too long, too complicated and never simple or straightforward. He’d resigned himself to ten minutes of torture when Bob spoke up. ‘I’m gonna have duck,’ he said, without even opening the menu.

‘That sounds like an idea,’ Doc said, and immediately closed the menu. ‘How about everyone else? Duck sound okay?’

‘Fine by me,’ Jack said. ‘Duck’s my favourite.’

‘What’s duck like?’ Eric asked. ‘I’ve never eaten duck before.’

‘Best damn bird you’ll ever taste,’ Bob said. ‘Goose comes close, but duck’s got the edge.’

‘I’ll have duck, too,’ Nancy said. ‘It used to be one of Dora’s specialities.’

‘Duck it is, then,’ Doc confirmed, and indicated to the waiter they were ready to order. ‘Duck all around,’ he said.

The waiter looked flummoxed. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have duck, sir,’ he said apologetically.

‘What you talkin’ ’bout, man? I just see’d five of ’em. All we’ll need is two at most.’

‘Those were the marching ducks, sir. It would be akin to cannibalism to serve them.’

‘How do you figure that?’ Doc asked him. ‘Are you saying we’re descended from ducks or something; that I’m a duck and you’re a duck? If you are, it’s the first I’ve ever heard of it. And this is the first French restaurant I’ve been in that doesn’t have duck on the menu.’

‘No, sir, of course I’m not. It’s just that the ducks are too much a part of the hotel’s brand. We haven’t served duck in the hotel since 1981. It would be like eating a family pet.’

‘You wouldn’ mind that, Jack, would you?’ Bob said to him. ‘I bet Bingo woulda tasted real good.’ Jack ignored the remark and re-opened the menu.

‘Oh fuck the damned duck!’ Nancy said. ‘Let’s go someplace else and eat barbecue.’

Everyone at the table looked at her in surprise and the waiter hovered uncertainly, unsure how to react. It was Bob who laughed first, and then they all broke into laughter – though not the waiter.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Nancy asked. ‘What’s so goddamned funny?’

‘Yo’ language is what,’ Bob said. ‘We need to get you a breath fresh’ner ’fore we take you anyplace else, girl. Ha!’

They returned to the lobby and waited while Bob went to ask for the name of a good barbecue place. He purposely avoided the front desk and looked for one of the black bellboys. He saw one pushing a trolley of suitcases into the hotel and approached him. ‘Hey, kid, where’s the bes’ place to eat barbecue an’ listen to the Blues?’

‘Gutbucket Club on Beale Street, sir. Bes’ fo’ both.’

Bob thanked him and pushed a five-dollar bill into his hand.

They walked the two blocks to Beale Street and found the club without trouble. It was already crowded and, worryingly for Bob, all the wall tables were taken. Doc pointed to a table set on a raised dais three feet above the main eating area; it had a wooden rail on the nearside to prevent anyone from falling on to the table below it. ‘You won’t come to any harm there, Bob,’ he said.

They made their way to the table and Bob sat with his back to the rail. Doc ordered beers for the men, a small glass of white wine for Nancy and a Dr Pepper for Eric.

‘Wan’ me to order fo’ us all?’ Bob asked. ‘One thing I know ’bout is barbecue, an’ the bes’ barbecue is pork.’ They agreed that he should.

The food the waiter brought to the table was a mixture of hickory smoked ribs on a slab (dry-rub style), pulled pork, slaw, baked beans, potato salad and bread. It was served with the Gutbucket’s own brand of tangy barbecue sauce.

‘Will this make me go to the toilet like the Mexican food did, Jack?’ Eric asked.

‘No, you’ll be fine with this. It’ll help keep you regular, but no more than that.’

While they ate, they listened to an old bluesman called Blind Mississippi Johnson who played an open-tuned guitar with a metal slide on his small finger. A young man sat next to him, attentive and admiring, on hand for the eventuality that the old man might fall off his chair.

‘He good, ain’t he?’ Bob said. ‘Al’ays wished I could play like that but my fingers is too thick. Me an’ you should form us a band once this trip’s overed with, Gene – live us the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle. You up for the idea?’

‘No, and I can’t see Marsha going along with it, either.’

‘You prob’ly right, Gene. You ain’t – but I still a good-lookin’ man. I could see groupies bein’ a real problem: young girls throwin’ ’emselves at me an’ wantin’ to share my bed.’

‘You’re a crazy old man, Bob,’ Nancy said. ‘You should know better – and what would your children say about it? They’d be downright ashamed of you.’

‘Hey, Nance, you wanna dance? Move those li’l ol’ legs’ o’ yo’s an’ give ’em some exercise?’ Bob shouted. Blind Mississippi Johnson had stepped down from the stage and been replaced by a nine-piece electric and brass ensemble.

Nancy readily agreed and took hold of Bob’s outstretched hand. As they walked down the steps to the dance floor, Doc called after Bob: ‘Keep her away from the tip bucket, will you?’

‘Why does Mrs Skidmore want to dance with Otis when she wouldn’t let him touch her at the museum?’ Eric asked.

‘She has mood swings, Eric. They’re caused by an illness she has. That’s why she acts strangely sometimes.’

‘Will she get better, Doctor Gene?’

‘Sure she will. Just a matter of time and taking the right pills.’

‘That’s not what you…’ Jack started to say before catching himself.

‘By the way, Eric,’ Doc said. ‘I want to thank you for what you did this afternoon at the museum. You did well – very well. How did you know to do that?’

‘I don’t know, Doctor Gene. I think it’s because I’ve seen Mrs Skidmore like that before, and noticed she gets sidetracked easily and then changes back to being nice again.’

‘You’re a wise young man, Eric, and I’m mighty proud of you,’ Doc said. Eric beamed with pleasure and looked at Jack, who beamed right back at him.

‘Are you going to dance, Doc?’ Jack asked.

‘Nah, I can’t dance – never have been able to. I don’t have rhythm and I don’t have the moves. Even Beth refused to dance with me – and that was before we got married. She said my dancing would be okay for a Grateful Dead concert, but not for any place she’d like to be seen in public.’

Bob and Nancy returned from the dance floor out of breath. They stayed in the Gutbucket for another half-hour and then made their way slowly back to the hotel. The air was cold.

As Doc put the key card in the door, Eric said goodnight to them both. He shook Doc by the hand and kissed Nancy on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Skidmore,’ he said, ‘You’re going to get better. Doctor Gene said so.’

‘I wonder what Eric meant by that?’ Nancy said to Doc, once the two of them were inside their room. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

Doc turned on the television and the two of them watched a mindless chat show for a while. A celebrity was graciously allowing the common people of the world into his own remarkable world, describing its unusual wonders and uncommon difficulties: the paparazzi, his diet and fitness regime, the boredom of hanging around film sets, his anonymous work for charity and his wonderful children. Every famous person he talked about was incredible, fantastic, or hilarious – and they were all his special friends. And then he got down to the business at hand, his real reason for being on the show: his new film.

After about twenty minutes, Doc raised himself from the chair and went to the bathroom for some aspirin and a glass of water. The noise of the Gutbucket had given him a headache and he blamed but one person: the trumpet player. It was more likely to have been the lead guitarist, but Doc had an inborn prejudice against trumpets. He saw no reason for them, disliked their blare and wished for a world where trumpets were illegal and police ran amnesty days for owners to hand them in without fear of prosecution.

He was turning these thoughts over in his mind when he sauntered casually back into the room. He was aghast to find the door open and Nancy gone. He pulled on his shoes, made sure he had the key card in his pocket and then rushed into the corridor. Their room was located at its dead end, so the only possible route Nancy could have taken was the one leading to the elevators.

He walked briskly to the elevator doors and checked the buttons that were lit. One elevator was going down and the other heading up, currently taking a breather at the fourth floor. He punched the button and waited. After a seeming lifetime, the door opened and he climbed in. Rather than descend to the lobby, however, the elevator continued to climb and only reversed its direction after it reached the eleventh floor.

Doc walked into the lobby and cast his eyes around for Nancy. He explored the entire ground floor, its bars, restaurants and gift shops, and then the mezzanine. There was no sign of her anywhere. He walked through the main entrance and into the street. Nancy wasn’t there, either. He retraced his steps and called Bob and Jack from the house phone, and then waited impatiently for them to arrive.

‘She’s left the hotel!’ Doc told them. ‘She’s been gone ten – maybe twenty minutes. We have to find her!’

‘You check the groun’ floor, Gene? You sure she ain’t here somewhere?’

‘I’ve checked it and the mezzanine,’ Doc answered. ‘My guess is that she’s gone back to Beale Street, but having said that she could be anywhere. Jack, you move faster than Bob and me: head back there, will you? I’ll take the opposite direction and the roads across. Bob, you see if she’s gone down to the river. We’ll meet back here in an hour.’

The river was quiet and the small park there deserted. Bob stopped a couple of joggers approaching from opposite directions, but neither had seen an old lady. He walked parallel and arterial streets in a three block area and returned to the hotel where Doc was waiting with a similar story of failure.

‘Maybe this the way it suppose’ to be, Gene. You off the hook, man.’

‘As long as Nancy’s on it, I’m still on it,’ Doc sighed. ‘I promised her, Bob, promised her I’d get her to Coffeeville. Another day and we’d have made it.’

‘What else can you do? ’Less Jack finds her, we ain’t got no options. You call hospitals an’ the police gets involved; police gets involved an’ we all got questions to answer. I got Marsha to consider, an’ Jack his whole life ahead o’ him.’

‘I know that, Bob… I know,’ Doc said wearily, and fell silent.

Jack joined them. He’d found no trace of Nancy, either. He’d returned to the Gutbucket Club, checked with bouncers standing at the doors of other clubs on the street, and slowed when he saw stationary police cars and ambulances to make sure Nancy wasn’t the reason for them being there.

‘Maybe she’s returned to the hotel already, Doc – or maybe she’ll return later. There’s still a chance.’

‘Maybe,’ Doc said weakly. ‘Let’s make one last sweep of the ground floor and then call it a day. There’s nothing more we can to do tonight.’

Bob climbed out of the elevator at the fourth floor. ‘Call me if she back, Gene.’

Doc promised he would. He and Jack then returned to the room he shared with Nancy and found it as empty as when he’d left it. A thought occurred to Jack.

‘Did you check the stairwell, Doc?’

‘No, I didn’t think to,’ he said, hope rising. ‘Let’s take a look.’

Jack pushed open the door to the staircase and listened. There was no noise, no one treading its steps. He walked down two flights of stairs and then saw Nancy halfway down the next flight, standing stock-still and holding on to the balustrade.

‘She’s here, Doc!’ he shouted.

Doc ran down the stairs, a wave of relief washing over him.

‘Nancy, what are you doing down here?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been worried to death.’

Nancy made no answer. She remained motionless, rigid, staring unknowing into space. Doc tried to take her hand from the rail, but she resisted with a strength he’d never known she possessed. Her skin was cold. ‘Come on, Nancy, let’s go back to the room and get you warmed up,’ he said. Nancy still didn’t reply. She stayed rooted to the spot in a kind of trance, emotionally paralysed. She didn’t know Doc and was deaf to his words. She was out of his reach, out of anyone’s reach. ‘Shit!’ Doc muttered.

Jack looked at her and Nancy looked through him. ‘If you can prise her fingers from the balustrade, Doc, I’ll lift her and carry her up the stairs. Want to give it a try?’

Doc managed to loosen Nancy’s grip, and Jack lifted her from the ground and carried her upright, as if she were a statue. Her bladder broke just as they reached the stairwell door and a stream of urine spilled over Jack’s jeans. He ignored the warm dampness and followed Doc into the bedroom.

‘You might want to clean Nancy up, Doc: she’s pissed her pants – and mine too. I think she’s scared to death.’

‘I will, Jack, and thanks for your help. I can take care of things now.’

‘I’ll stay for a while, Doc. Make sure she’s okay before I leave. I’ll phone Bob.’

Nancy had started to move again but like a zombie, and Doc had to coax her into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes passed before they returned to the room. Nancy was dressed in her nightgown. Jack pulled back the covers and together they carefully manoeuvred her into the bed.

‘I’ll just wash these things in the sink,’ Doc said. ‘Are you okay to stay with her a while longer?’

Jack sat on the side of the bed looking down on Nancy. Her eyes were open but she was still unaware, as likely in the mountains of Peru as she was a bedroom of the Peabody Hotel. For some unknown reason he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Nancy smiled at him. Her eyes were still as vacant as an old abandoned factory, but she was now smiling. He kissed her again and again, and with each kiss the smiles kept on coming.

It was the first time Jack had fully appreciated the wretchedness of Nancy’s being, recognised how the disease had robbed her of her own life while allowing her to live another’s. Nancy Skidmore, he realised, was probably a person he’d never even met.

‘Poor old sod,’ he said gently. ‘No one deserves this.’

‘You’re not trying to make out with my girl, are you?’ Doc asked when he came back into the room and saw Jack kissing Nancy on the cheek.

‘Every time I kiss her, she smiles, Doc. How strange is that?’

Doc had a couple of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He put his arm behind Nancy’s head and raised her towards him. He placed the pills in her mouth and watched as she swallowed each one. ‘I think she’ll be okay now, Jack. Are you okay?’

‘Sure I’m okay, Doc. Why wouldn’t I be?’

Jack left the room and closed the door behind him. He stood leaning with his back against the corridor wall for a time, and then slid slowly to the floor. It was then that he burst into tears.

Kudzu

The next morning they drove to Coffeeville: Bob, Nancy and Doc in the bus, and Jack and Eric following in a hired car. Nancy was back on track with no recollection of the previous evening’s events. A part of it, however, had touched and remained with her: she now had a warmth-of-feeling for Jack she’d never before experienced.

They headed south on I55 and into Mississippi. They passed houses decorated with artificial cobwebs and skeletons, pumpkins on porches and in yards. Halloween approached.

‘What we should do when we get to Coffeeville is have us a party,’ Bob said. ‘Celebrate Nance’s birthday an’ Halloween in one. We can make it a farewell party, too. Say goodbye to each other in style.’

Doc couldn’t remember passing cemeteries visible from the interstate before, but he noticed them now: there were burial grounds on either side of the four-lane and, closer to Batesville, a coffin manufacturing company standing in its own attractive grounds.

‘I don’t min’ graveyards,’ Bob said, ‘hell knows I spent ’nough time wanderin’ round in ’em when I worked fo’ Morris – but I ain’t got no time fo’ people who build shrines on the sides o’ roads fo’ friends an’ relatives what got ’emselves killed there. To my way o’ thinkin’, that’s jus’ plain weird. What’s the name o’ that woman in England who named herself after a playin’ card?’

‘I don’t know,’ Doc said. ‘Who was she?’

‘That what I aksin’ you! She were a princess o’ some sort. Got herself killed in a car wreck.’

‘Princess Diana,’ Nancy said. ‘She had a lovely smile.’

‘That’s her!’ Bob said. ‘Queen o’ Hearts! All ’em flowers stacked outside her house when she died an’ people who never even knowed her breakin’ down an’ crying. Creepy is what it was. Plain creepy.’

‘You need to leave the interstate here, Bob. Take the exit marked Highway 227 and head in the direction of Charleston. There’ll be a sign for Coffeeville shortly after that. Is Jack still behind us?’

‘Yeah, he been tailgatin’ me the whole damn way. Boy needs to learn how to drive ’less he got Eric sittin’ behin’ the wheel. How many mo’ miles, Gene?’

‘Fifteen, maybe twenty.’ He looked at the map Nancy had drawn for him when she’d first discussed the idea of going to Coffeeville. ‘Somewhere down here there’ll be a cotton gin. We turn left immediately before it.’

They came to the gin and turned on to a red dirt road. They followed it for about two miles. ‘There it is, Bob! Turn left here.’

Bob turned and eased the bus carefully up a sloping, potholed drive that continued for a quarter of a mile. As the bus approached the ridge of the small hill, a lodge constructed from split wooden logs with a stone chimney stack came into view.

‘Man, look at all this green shit,’ Bob said.

Eric also gaped when he saw the plant. (He would have gaped even more had he known that Arthur Annandale had used its properties to treat his father’s migraines.) ‘What is it, Jack?’

‘Kudzu,’ Jack said. ‘It’s a Japanese plant.’

The bombing of Pearl Harbour was the second time Japan attacked the United States. The first – and more damaging of the two attacks – had been sixty-five years earlier at the Centennial Exposition of 1876, a World’s Fair organised to mark the one-hundredth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Countries from around the world were invited to join the United States in its celebrations and build exhibits in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia.

Japan, happy to be invited anywhere, accepted the invitation and landscaped a beautiful garden for the American people. They filled it with plants from their own country, one of which was kudzu, an associate of the pea family with large leaves and pungent purple blooms. Visitors to the fair were as much taken with the vine as they were with Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone, Remington’s typewriter or Heinz’s Ketchup, all of which were on show for the first time. Unwittingly, the Americans had fallen in love with a monster: Kudzu was uncontrollable.

Insects that limited its spread in Japan had been barred from entering the United States at the time of the Centennial, and once freed from predation the plant flourished. Gardeners who’d used kudzu for ornamental purposes were the first to recognise its danger and immediately stripped the plant from their yards. All might have been well if the US Soil Conservation Service hadn’t seen kudzu as an ideal plant for controlling soil erosion and decided to pay farmers eight dollars for every acre of the vine they planted. They came to their senses in 1953, however, and twenty years later the government declared kudzu a weed.

By then, however, it was too late and the damage had been done. No area suffered more than the Deep South. The region’s long humid summers and short winters had suited kudzu to the toes of its twelve-foot roots, and overnight the area lost seven million acres to the rampaging vine. It grew at a rate of sixty feet a year, and suffocated anything and everything in its path: it climbed trees and power poles, wrapped itself around deserted houses and left huge areas looking like movie sets for science fiction films or pages from a Gothic novel.

‘I hope to God the inside of the house is in better shape than the yard,’ Jack said.

It was. When Nancy had resumed responsibility from the management company for the lodge’s upkeep, she’d retained the services of a local family to clean the house and oversee any necessary repairs. They were people she trusted, people she’d known her whole life, and she’d instructed her lawyer to pay any bills they sent on receipt and without question. It had never occurred to her, however, that kudzu might march on the property. The plant had never before been a problem in the area, and having decided to allow the surrounding land to revert to nature, she had made no arrangements for the maintenance of the yard.

Doc took a key from his pocket and led the way to the lodge. The door opened without difficulty and they entered a large room with a high-pitched ceiling, intended for both dining and lounging. At one end of the room was a large open fireplace with a protruding chimney breast made from big pieces of irregularly shaped stones. The walls and floor were made from large pieces of sealed rustic pine and adorned with primitive works of art, animal heads and Indian rugs. A door to the left opened to an old-fashioned kitchen, and a corridor to the right led to four bedrooms of approximately equal size.

The air in the house was cool and Jack turned the thermostat to seventy. There was a rumbling and then a whooshing noise as the old boiler kicked into life and the room started to warm. ‘The fridge is empty, Doc, and there’s no food in the cupboards,’ Jack said. ‘If you make out a list, I’ll drive into town and pick up some groceries. How long do you figure we’ll be here?’

‘Nancy and I will be staying on, so it depends how long the three of you will be here: how long it takes you to find Susan and when Bob decides to leave.’

‘What’s the date today?’ Bob asked. ‘When’s Halloween?’

Doc had to think back to Nancy’s birthday. The 26th had been a Friday, Saturday they’d stayed in Nashville and yesterday they’d been in Memphis. ‘It’s Monday 29th, so Halloween’s on Wednesday.’

‘Okay, We’nsday night’s the party then; I’ll leave Thursday. I ain’t missin’ no party!’

Coffeeville was a small town in Yalobusha County with a population of fewer than a thousand people. According to the motto coined for its 175th anniversary, it was a place where old friends gather. At one time, it had been the place where Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians had gathered, but they hadn’t always been friends.

The town owed its origins to General John Coffee, a friend and business partner of General Andrew Jackson. Coffee had fought alongside Jackson in the War of 1812 and the Creek War, and then become a surveyor. One of his last assignments had been to survey the boundary line dividing Choctaw from Chickasaw hunting grounds and maintain peace between the two tribes. For this purpose, Coffee and his soldiers had established a hill camp overlooking the site of the present-day town, and the settlement that grew around it was named after him.

Although Coffeeville was of the map, it was never really on the map until the Civil War Battle of Coffeeville in December 1862, when Confederate troops ambushed and defeated Colonel Theophilus Lyle Dickey’s Union cavalry. It then promptly fell off the map again and went back to growing yams and cotton.

‘It’s like a neutron bomb’s gone off here,’ Jack said.

‘Neutron bomb wouldn’ta done this,’ Bob said. ‘Neutron bombs jus’ kill people; they’da lef’ the buildin’s standin’. Why don’t you pull over so’s we can take a look roun’.’

Jack’s car had been the only moving vehicle on the town’s main street. He drove to where Front Street joined Oak, and parked close to a feed and seed outlet. As they walked the length of the deserted main street, it was apparent that Coffeeville had seen better days. There were empty spaces where buildings had been torn down and never replaced, and the charred remnants of a large building that had been lost to fire and then simply abandoned. ‘Kinda gap-toothed, ain’t it?’ Bob said.

Interspersed were a couple of empty shops; a number of small stores selling auto and electrical parts, drugs and gifts; and offices advertising legal, tax and insurance services. At the far end of the street was a General Store – provided that a person’s idea of a general store wasn’t too general and didn’t include food – and a small restaurant.

‘Where we gonna buy groceries?’ Bob asked. ‘Ain’t no place here.’

‘Let’s go to the restaurant and get coffee,’ Jack said. ‘We can ask there.’

The restaurant was as empty inside as the street had been outside. They sat down at a table and waited while a woman with tattoos on both legs came to terms with the fact that she was no longer alone. The surface of the table was sticky and Jack wiped it with a paper napkin, while Bob moved the ashtray full of cigarette butts to another table.

‘How y’all doin’ today?’ the woman asked. ‘What can I get you?’

She seemed relieved when they only ordered coffee. She brought two cups and filled them with a weak filtered brew that had been percolating since the restaurant had opened for business that morning. ‘Is it always this quiet?’ Jack asked.

‘Pretty much,’ she replied. ‘I’m thinkin’ ’bout movin’ to Water Valley. More goin’ on there. You just visitin’?’

‘Passing through,’ Jack said. ‘Tell me, where can we buy groceries?’

‘Piggly Wiggly on Route 7. Takes three minutes to drive there. It don’t take more ’n three minutes to drive anywhere in this town. Did I say I was thinkin’ ’bout leavin’?’

‘Yes, you said you were thinking of moving to Water Valley. Is that a much bigger town?’

‘Sure is,’ she said. ‘Got a population o’ more ’n three thousand.’

While Doc and Eric unloaded the cases from the bus, Nancy walked around the house and visited every room. She’d been sure her parents would have been there to welcome them and couldn’t understand their absence. Maybe they were visiting Ruby and Homer over in Leflore, or had driven to Memphis to see Daisy. ‘Oh my Lord,’ Nancy thought. ‘We forgot to call on Daisy when we were in Memphis.’ Her parents would never forgive her. ‘How could you go all the way to Memphis and not visit your own sister?’ they would ask her, and she wouldn’t know what to tell them. She went looking for Gene: ‘He’ll know what to say,’ she reassured herself. She found him standing on the porch smoking a cigarette.

‘Quite a view, isn’t it?’ Doc said. ‘How much of the land is yours?’

A large paddock sloped gently to the edge of woodland extending for as far as the eye could see. Hilton Travis – and later those who’d rented the lodge from the Travis family – would have walked into these woods with rifles in hand and returned with the carcasses of white-tailed deer, wild turkeys and doves and, on one occasion, the body of a man called Homer Comer.

Doc and Nancy walked to the bottom of the paddock where Eric was standing, wearing his familiar bicycle helmet and red gloves. It was a peaceful surrounding and Doc could understand why Nancy had decided to end her days here rather than in Hershey. He turned and looked back at the lodge – a house in any vernacular other than the Travis’ – and saw the grandeur of its log and stone simplicity for the first time.

The approach to the lodge had been disfigured by the encroaching kudzu, but the land to its front was free of the vine and its menacing omen. The sun, too, was warmer than it had been all week, occasioning the start of an Indian summer that would last for the next three days. Doc took off his sweater and tied its arms around his waist.

They heard the sound of a car arriving. ‘That’ll be my parents, Gene,’ Nancy said excitedly. ‘Don’t mention that we never called on Daisy.’

‘Daisy who?’ Doc asked.

‘Don’t be foolish, Gene,’ she snapped, and then called to Eric. ‘Eric, my parents are here. I want to introduce you to them.’

Nancy walked ahead of them, unaware of the disappointment awaiting. ‘Oh, it’s you two,’ Nancy said when she saw Jack and Bob. ‘You didn’t run into my parents when you were out, did you?’

‘Apart from the girl at the checkout, the only person we ran into was a woman with tattoos on her legs,’ Jack said. ‘I’m going out on a limb here, Nancy, but I’m guessing she wasn’t your mother.’

‘My mother didn’t have tattoos on her legs, did she, Gene?’

‘Of course she didn’t, Nancy. Your mother was a lady.’

Bob took control of the kitchen, while Doc and Nancy settled on a couch and Jack unpacked his bag. Eric went exploring and made a careful examination of each room. He came back with three pieces of information: there was a piano and guitar in one of the rooms; all clocks in the house had stopped at exactly eleven minutes past eleven; and the same genealogical chart he’d seen in Arthur Annandale’s house – the one tracing the origins of the British royal family to the House of Israel – was also hanging on one of the bedroom walls. Apart from the piano, which had always been in the lodge, Nancy was unable to explain why these things were as they were, and suggested to Eric he ask her father when he returned. Hilton, however, would never walk through the lodge’s door, and the mysteries would remain just that – mysteries.

They ate meatloaf, yams and salad that night. ‘You’ve done us proud, Bob. This is the best tuna fish casserole I’ve ever tasted,’ Nancy said.

‘It’s meatloaf, Nance, but long as you enjoyin’ it, I don’t min’ what you calls it.’ Bob drained the beer from his glass and went to get another.

‘Did you get the beer from the funeral home?’ Nancy asked.

Bob looked at her curiously. ‘I got it from the store, Nance. Why would I go to a funeral home for beer?’

‘Well, I’ll be! They must have legalised it since I was last here. It used to be you could only buy beer from the funeral home. They used to keep it cold in the mortuary and pay the sheriff to turn a blind eye.’

‘What did the town used to be like, Nancy?’ Jack asked. ‘It was as quiet as the grave when Bob and I were there.’

‘Front Street used to hum on a weekend,’ Nancy said. ‘There was a picture house there, and people would socialise until well after ten o’clock. I remember going with Ruby and having good times. We used to meet boys, and I remember smoking my first cigarette there, too.’

‘Did you stub it out prop’ly,’ Bob asked.

‘Of course I did. Why are you asking me such a stupid question?’

‘’Cos half the town’s burned down,’ Bob laughed.

‘Most of the towns in this part of the world look as if they’ve been burned down,’ Doc said. ‘Either that or the people building them lost interest halfway through and didn’t bother to finish up. The time I visited the Delta, I came away thinking they should sweep all the two-bit communities into a pile and make one decent town out of them.’

‘What nonsense!’ Nancy said. ‘The Delta’s the most beautiful place on earth – and, for your information, Coffeeville isn’t in the Delta.’

‘I’ll take yo’ word on that, Nance, but so far as Coffeeville goes, I reckon there’s mo’ goin’ on in the Sargasso Sea. One good thing, though: no one’s gonna come lookin’ fo’ us here.’

Just as Bob had spoken, there was a knock on the door and everyone looked at each other nervously.

‘I wonder who that is.’ Doc asked. ‘You didn’t tell anyone in town where you were staying, did you?’

‘No one,’ Jack said. ‘I told them we were passing through, didn’t I, Bob?’ Bob nodded in agreement.

‘It’ll be my parents!’ Nancy said enthusiastically. ‘I told you they’d be here. Eric can ask them about the clocks now!’

‘Your parents would have a key, Nancy. They wouldn’t knock, they’d just let themselves in.’

He walked to the door and opened it wide enough to see who was there. He took a surprised step backward and then pulled open the door.

‘Holy shit!’ Doc exclaimed. ‘It’s Dora!’

Wanda and George

‘You looked like you’d see’d a ghost,’ Wanda laughed. ‘Thought you was gonna fall down dead an’ leave me standin’ there wit’ you on my conscience. My mamma woulda ’bout laughed herself silly – ain’t that the truth, George?’

‘Sure is, Wanda. She’da laughed that laugh o’ hers, an’ the whole damn house woulda shook. We’da needed a struct’ral engineer to come sort things out.’

Wanda’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny. It was difficult to believe that the girl who’d helped serve dinner during his stay at Oaklands was now a grown woman in her sixties, a mother of four and grandmother to six. Wanda was having similar trouble coming to terms with Doc.

‘You sure you that skinny boy Ms Nancy brought home wit’ her? You looks nothin’ like him.’

‘It’s me alright, Wanda; greyer and heavier maybe, but it’s me. I think the years have been kinder to you.’

‘In that case, why you mistakin’ me fo’ some hun’red-an’-ten-year-old dead woman then?’ Wanda laughed. ‘My mamma woulda had a fit if she’d knowed I was talkin’ to you. She never forgive you fo’ what you said ’bout her cookin’: “Reminded him a dead people,” is what she used tell us. You really say that?’

‘You said that and you complain about the things I say?’ Jack said to Doc.

‘I didn’t say that,’ Doc said. ‘Brandon told Dora I’d said it, but I never had!’

‘He a no good,’ George said. ‘Never did like the man.’

‘Watch yo’ mouth, George. Brandon Ms Nancy’s brother,’ Wanda said.

‘Don’t mind me,’ Nancy said. ‘I didn’t go to his funeral after he died, and neither did Ruby.’

‘He dead?’ George asked surprised. ‘Thought the man lived in Clarksdale.’ A frown crossed Wanda’s brow and she looked across at Doc.

‘You haven’t seen Ruby, have you, Wanda?’ Nancy asked. ‘My parents haven’t mentioned her for some time now. I hope she’s alright.’

‘She be fine, Ms Nancy.’

‘She alive? I thought she were dead. Now I gettin’ confused.’

‘You bin confused yo’ whole life, George; no point worryin’ ’bout it now. Mr Gene, can you he’p me in the kitchen fo’ a minute?’ Doc followed Wanda to the kitchen and closed the door behind him.

‘So who’s the little girl?’ Bob asked.

‘B’shara Byrd,’ George said with pride. ‘She our youngest gran’child an’ she stayin’ with us while her Mom and Daddy go cruisin’ in the Caribbean. Ain’t that right, B’shara?’

B’shara Byrd said nothing and continued to suck the wooden beads hanging around her neck.

‘That’s going to cost,’ Jack said. ‘Cruises don’t come cheap.’

‘Doretta – that our daughter – catched herself a good one. Earns a ton o’ money tradin’ frozen pork bellies in Chicago. Ever’ time he comes an’ visits he tells me ’bout his job an’ what he does, but I cain’t says I’m none the wiser. Frozen pork bellies is the only words I can understan’.’

‘What you do, George?’ Bob asked.

‘Works at the cotton gin down the road. Bin there close to thirty years. Ain’t much, but it pays the bills an’ I ain’t got too long b’fore I retires. Dora woulda bin surprised I lasted this long. She thought I’d never ’mount to much.’

‘Why she think that?’ Bob smiled.

‘Years ago, I stole a car as a protest,’ George replied.

‘What were you protesting?’ Jack asked.

‘Fact I didn’ have one,’ George said, a grin spreading across his wide face. ‘Dora weren’t a forgiver. To her way o’ thinkin’, once you crossed a line you were crossed it fo’ good. Fo’ all her Christian values, when it came down to it, she weren’t a b’liever in redemption. I jus’ thank the Lord I never said nothin’ bad ’bout her food – she’da prob’ly killed me. That friend o’ yo’s got off lucky.’

‘That’s cos he’s white,’ Bob laughed. ‘White men al’ays gets off lucky.’

‘You men,’ Nancy said. ‘You talk such nonsense!’

‘Mrs Skidmore, can I show B’shara Byrd the piano?’ Eric asked.

‘Of course you can, dear. Do you play the piano?’

‘Yes, and I can teach her some notes.’

Eric and B’shara Byrd left the room just as the lucky white man and Wanda returned to it. Doc had confirmed Wanda’s suspicions: Nancy was indeed travelling down the same road taken by her mother and grandmother before her. ‘That po’ woman,’ Wanda had said. ‘You ever needs he’p, you call me. Travis fam’ly bin good to me an’ George – Ms Nancy in partic’lar.’

Wanda and George had been taking care of the lodge since the time of Hilton Travis. In need of someone to oversee the often empty property, and aware of the friction that existed between George and Dora, Hilton had bought Wanda and George a small house close to the property and paid them a yearly retaining fee. After the lodge and its land had been leased, Nancy had made it a condition of the lease that Wanda and George continue as caretakers. The lodge could be seen from their house, and the unexpected signs of life that evening had attracted their attention.

‘B’shara’s a real cutie,’ Nancy said. ‘She’s got the exact same eyes as Doretta.’

‘I hopin’ not, Ms Nancy: Doretta’s blind in one eye,’ George said.

‘Oh my, I didn’t know that, George. What happened?’

‘Walked into a damned twig, Miss Nancy.’

‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’ Nancy sympathised. ‘I’m losing my mind – did you know that? I’ll get it back some day, but Gene says it’s going to take time. That’s why we’ve come to Coffeeville. Gene says I’ll get better faster here than I would if I stayed in a nursing home, so it looks like we’ll be neighbours for a while, Wanda.’

‘They says good things come from bad, Ms Nancy, an’ if you losin’ yo’ mind makes you my neighbour fo’ a time, then that the good fo’ me… C’mon, George, we need to get back an’ leave these people be, get B’shara Byrd to bed.’

‘We’re having a party on Wednesday night – Halloween and Nancy’s birthday rolled into one,’ Doc said. ‘If you haven’t already made plans for the evening…’

‘You must come!’ Nancy said. ‘It’ll be like old times.’

‘Yes it will,’ Doc said. ‘You can serve me dinner again.’

‘Gene!’ Nancy said sternly.

‘Wanda knows I’m joking, don’t you, Wanda?’

‘No one knows when you’re joking, Gene. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘I can understan’ now why my Mamma didn’ like you,’ Wanda laughed.

That night Eric couldn’t sleep. He lay there with his eyes open, thinking of the day ahead.

He’d pinned all his hopes on finding Susan, but until this moment had never entertained the idea that Susan might be unwilling or unable to help him. He’d run away from school, lied to people and travelled thousands of miles to find her, but what if she wanted nothing to do with him, what would he do then – just go home? How could he when he had no home to go to? He didn’t want to go back to Talbot Academy and he didn’t want to go back to the Annandales, either.

He was happy with the people he travelled with, but Otis would soon leave and Doctor Gene and Mrs Skidmore were old people and Mrs Skidmore ill. He couldn’t expect them to look after him and they wouldn’t live forever. Maybe Jack would help him; maybe, he could live with Jack. Jack, he knew, would live forever.

He started to cry. He missed his parents and wanted them to be alive again. He wanted to taste his mother’s cooking and smell her perfume, hold his father’s hand and feel safe. He wanted to be a part of a proper family again, for someone to love and take care of him.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together in prayer. ‘Please, God, make Susan love me. Let me live with Susan.’

Seemingly, God heard his prayer.

Desperately Seeking Susan

The next morning, Jack and Eric left for Memphis.

The concierge remembered Jack. ‘I gave Darla your message, sir, and she’s expecting you. Someone’s in with her at the moment, but if you take a seat I’ll let you know when she’s free.’

Jack thanked him and was about to turn away when a thought struck him. ‘Is this hotel named after the same Peabody they name the radio and television awards after?’

‘I believe it is, sir. Why do you ask?’

‘I was just curious. The Mary Tyler Moore Show won a Peabody Award for excellence in 1977, did you know that?’

‘I didn’t, but I used to enjoy the show. My favourite character was Ted Baxter.’

‘Mine too!’ Jack said enthusiastically. The day was getting off to a better start than expected, and he started to feel optimistic. ‘Which one was your favourite episode? Mine was…?’

‘Are you Mr Guravitch?’ a voice interrupted.

‘Yes ma’am. You must be Darla Thomas.’

They followed Darla to her office. Darla hadn’t smiled when he introduced himself, and he now noticed her broad shoulders. The thought crossed his mind that if Darla had been an employee in the eighties and worn business jackets of the time, with large padded shoulders, she’d have never made it through the office door.

To add formality to the smile-less introduction, Darla now blockaded herself behind a desk.

‘You didn’t used to be a swimmer, did you?’ Jack asked her.

‘No, why do you ask that?’

‘No reason,’ Jack backtracked. ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking about taking up the sport and figured it would be a good idea to talk to someone who’s been a swimmer. I ask everyone this question. It’s amazing how few swimmers there are in this country.’

‘You wanted to ask me about Susan,’ Darla said.

‘Yes I did. This is Eric Gole, and Susan Lawrence is his cousin. Eric was orphaned recently, and Susan’s his last remaining relative. He’s trying to find her. Warren Kuykendahl told us she’d come to Memphis and might be staying with you. He said you were a friend of hers.’

‘I was… I am… oh, this is complicated. Susan is in Memphis, that’s true. I know where she works, but I don’t know where she lives.’

‘Do you have her mobile number?’ Jack asked.

‘No, I deleted it.’

‘Did you and Susan fall out?’ Eric asked.

‘Something like that – and I’m afraid it was all my fault, too.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wrongly accused her of flirting with my fiancée and threw her out of the apartment. It turned out that it was him who’d been trying it on with her, and after she refused to play ball, and out of spite, he told me that Susan had come on to him. I should have known she wouldn’t have done that, but at the time I didn’t want to believe he was capable of being unfaithful to me. I loved him. I thought he was the real deal. It was only when I was telling a friend about what happened that she told me he’d made a play for her too. Men! They can be such bastards!’

‘So too can women,’ Jack said. ‘My wife had an affair, too. She became pregnant by the man and told me the child was mine.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Darla said. ‘That must have hurt.’

‘The infidelity hurt, but I don’t regret I’m no longer with her. You’ll get to feel the same way.’

‘I know. It’s not the first time this has happened to me. I’ll survive, but what makes it worse is that I’ve lost a good friend as well as a fiancée. When you find Susan, will you tell her I’m sorry and ask her to give me a call?’

‘I’ll be glad to, Darla, but where will we find her?’

‘She’s working at Graceland, but just where in the complex I don’t know. I’m afraid you’ll just have to buy a ticket and work your way around.’

They left Darla, and Jack was pleased with himself for not having mentioned her speech impediment. The concierge called out to him.

‘Yeth?’ Jack said.

‘It’s the one where Ted’s brother turns up,’ he said. ‘My favourite episode,’ he added when he saw Jack’s puzzled look.

‘What’s Graceland?’ Eric asked.

‘It’s the house where Elvis Presley used to live. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He was a rock ’n’ roll singer with bad dietary habits.’

‘I think so. Will we get there today?’

‘It’s less than nine miles away, Eric: we’ll be there in half an hour. We’re closer to Susan now than we’ve ever been. We’ve almost found her!’

Jack headed down Union Avenue and took a right on to Bellevue Boulevard. Bellevue turned into Elvis Presley Boulevard, and Jack followed the signs for Graceland and parked the car. They bought tickets and waited in line for a shuttle bus to take them to the large white columned mansion.

‘Excited?’ Jack asked.

Eric nodded. ‘I hope she recognises me. She’s never seen me with black hair.’

‘I’m sure she will, but will you be able to recognise her? It’s been five years since you’ve seen her.’

‘Sure I will. She’ll be the most beautiful girl here!’

Jack would have preferred a more detailed description to go on, but Eric never went beyond the word beautiful. Warren Kuykendahl’s description of Susan was of equally little value: asking people if they knew of a girl who looked like a bottle of Downy wouldn’t get them far.

The shuttle bus arrived and chauffeured them across the road. Unlike their fellow passengers, they had little or no interest in touring Graceland – their only concern was to find a living girl called Susan Lawrence, not to pay homage to a dead rock ’n’ roll star.

They stayed with the tour guide and heard how Elvis had been the most popular guy in the world, and always at the centre of jokes, laughter and story-telling. ‘I’d be the most popular guy in the world, too, if I bankrolled a bunch of hangers-on like he did,’ Jack whispered to Eric. ‘A real friend would have told him to lay off the drugs and the fried food.’

They visited the mansion’s downstairs living areas, the Jungle Room and the Music Room, and then moved outside to the Meditation Garden, where Presley and his parents were buried. ‘Does this remind you of anywhere?’ Jack asked.

‘Mr Kuykendahl’s house. I think he’d like living here,’ Eric answered.

‘Exactly so!’ Jack said. ‘They should have called this place Graceless Land.’

The tour guide knew of no beautiful girl working in the mansion called Susan, and neither did any other member of staff Jack approached. He started to head for the exit when Eric pulled at his sleeve.

‘We didn’t look upstairs, Jack. Maybe Susan’s working there.’

‘No one’s allowed up there, Eric – not even tour guides. Elvis was found dead on one of the bathroom floors and I’m guessing they want to keep that bit private and away from the gawkers.’

They went outside and waited for the shuttle bus to take them back across the road to the other exhibits – Elvis’ cars, motorcycles and airplanes; Elvis’ years in Hollywood; and Elvis’ years in the army. Jack and Eric only glanced at these, but mentioned Susan’s name to every Graceland employee they found: ‘Her name’s Susan Lawrence and she works here. Have you seen her? She’s supposed to be very beautiful.’ No one had.

They went to the Chrome Grille for lunch. Eric played with his food, seemingly without appetite. ‘We’re not going to find her, are we?’ he said. ‘We’re never going to find her.’

‘Of course we are,’ Jack said, though in truth he too was now harbouring the same fears. For the sake of Eric’s watery eyes, however, he pretended that he didn’t. ‘We’ve still got the other restaurants to check, and also the souvenir shops. She’s got to be here somewhere.’

They drew another blank at the restaurants and turned their attention to the souvenir shops. The amount and variety of junk sold was limitless, but in the Elvis Kids’ store they struck gold. ‘I don’t know her name,’ the cashier said, ‘but there’s a new girl working in Gallery Elvis and she’s a stunner! I’m not surprised they gave her a job selling the high-class stuff.’

She left her chair and went to the door with them. ‘You see the Rockabilly’s Diner? Okay, walk past it and Gallery Elvis is the next shop down.’

They walked briskly past the diner and then moved more slowly. Their bravura dimmed, and as they approached the gallery door they became apprehensive. Eric took hold of Jack’s hand and Jack squeezed it tightly. Suddenly, Jack stopped in his tracks. ‘Jesus Christ, Eric! Look at that,’ he said. ‘It’s a Kelvin-Helmholtz!’

Eric looked up and saw what appeared to be huge breaking waves in the sky. The image lasted for no more than a few seconds. It was the rarest cloud of all.

Susan was standing behind a counter, eating a Snickers Bar and staring wistfully into the distance. She had a slender but shapely body, and facial features that were textbook: wide eyes, a small nose, full lips and high cheekbones. She was the most beautiful girl Jack had ever seen.

‘That’s her, Jack. That’s Susan!’ Eric whispered. ‘What should I do now?’

‘Go talk to her,’ Jack said gently, letting go of Eric’s hand and nudging him forwards. ‘And don’t forget to introduce me.’

Eric walked hesitantly towards her, hobnailed butterflies dancing a stomp in his stomach. ‘It’s me Susan,’ he said, timidly. ‘Eric!’

Susan looked at the small boy, momentarily confused by the white cycling helmet, red washing-up gloves and dyed eyebrows. Then, she shrieked his name in recognition, dashed from behind the counter and flung her arms around him. ‘Eric! Oh my God, it is you!’

Eric’s stiff upper lip – still in its formative stage – weakened, and despite his best efforts to the contrary, he started to cry. He held on to Susan and Susan held on to him. They hugged without words, communicated through sobs and soothing noises. Then Susan started to cry.

Jack checked his reflection in a glass cabinet and put a stick of gum in his mouth. A potential customer came into the gallery and left immediately. The manageress of the store returned from lunch and suggested that Susan and Eric take their reunion someplace else, perhaps the Heartbreak Hotel. They walked instead to the Shake, Split & Dip and ordered ice creams.

Susan and Eric sat together and Jack, who Eric had introduced to Susan as the man who’d bought him the washing-up gloves, dyed his hair black and told him the facts of life, sat facing them. ‘He’s like my big brother, Susan,’ Eric said.

Susan looked at Jack doubtfully and then turned her attention back to Eric.

‘I was so sorry to hear about your mom and dad, Eric,’ she said. ‘Jeff told me about how they died. If I’d known at the time, I’d have come to the funeral and stood with you. It must have been so hard going through it alone.’

‘My daddy forgave you, Susan,’ Eric said. ‘I think he’d want me to tell you that.’

‘What for?’ Susan asked puzzled.

‘For tearing the pages out of his Bible.’

‘Oh… I’d forgotten about that,’ Susan said, a bit sheepishly. ‘I used to do a lot of crazy things in those days… But who’s looking after you now, how did you find me?’

‘No one, Susan. I’m an orphan. I was… I was… I was hop…’ He then burst into tears again and Susan cradled him, pulling him towards her so that his head rested on her right breast.

For a moment, Jack envied the boy, wished it was his head resting there, but quickly remembered himself and spoke on Eric’s behalf.

‘He’s got no one to speak of, Susan. His guardians don’t seem to care: they enrolled him in a deaf school, believe it or not, and he’s run away from there. A friend of mine picked him up close to where your dad’s in prison, and he’s been travelling with us ever since. He’s been looking for you. He went to Hershey and talked to some guy there…’

‘Fred?’ Susan interrupted.

‘I wasn’t with Eric then so I don’t know his name, but the guy gave him Warren Kuykendahl’s name and address, and Warren told us to get in touch with Darla Thomas. I think he wants to live with you, Susan – for you to take care of him. If you can’t… then the two of us will figure something out.’

Susan’s prompt response surprised him. ‘Of course I’ll take care of you, honey,’ she said to Eric. ‘You can live with me for as long as you like!’

Eric’s face lit up like a Fourth of July night sky and he quickly wiped away his tears. ‘I’ll be good, Susan. I promise I will! I won’t be any trouble, and when I grow up I’ll pay you back – I’m going to be a postman! Thank you, thank you, Susan… and thank you too, God,’ he said, looking up at the Shake, Split & Dip’s ceiling

He hugged Susan and just as quickly let go. ‘Where’s the toilet, Jack? I need to use the toilet!’

Jack and Susan were left alone together, smiling at Eric’s abrupt departure. Jack mentioned Darla Thomas, but Susan quickly changed the subject. ‘What Eric said about you dying his hair and telling him the facts of life?’

‘It makes me sound a bit creepy, doesn’t it?’ Jack smiled. ‘I’ll put it in context for you.’ He then told Susan the story of the trip and the people they travelled with, sensibly omitting the part where they’d kidnapped Nancy from the nursing home.

‘You’ve shown Eric a great deal of kindness,’ Susan said. ‘You all have. Thank you.’

‘It was no hardship,’ Jack said. ‘The kid’s got a good heart. Are you sure you’re going to be okay looking after him by yourself – you didn’t seem to give it too much thought.’

‘You sound as if you’re checking me out as a suitable foster parent,’ Susan smiled.

‘Your life will change. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I hope my life does change – it needs to change. And what kind of person would I be if I turned my back on Eric? He’s family. I might dance naked for a living, but I know what the right thing to do is. The decision was easy.’

Jack looked at her. ‘I could help you get things squared with his guardians, if you like. I can vouch that he hasn’t been in any danger or up to no good while he’s been missing, and I’ve got time on my hands to do it.’

‘How come you have the time? Don’t you have a job?’

Jack told her about Laura and Conrad, and his fall from grace as a television weatherman.

‘Wow, that’s so cool!’ Susan laughed. ‘Not the bit about Laura and Conrad, but the way you resigned on air. I wish I could have seen it.’

‘You still can,’ Jack said. ‘Evidently, it’s a big hit on YouTube.’

‘So what do you plan to do now?’

‘I’m going to retrain as a hairdresser. Fortunately, I have funds that aren’t affected by the divorce. My father never liked Laura and didn’t figure the marriage would last, so he left everything to my godfather, and he’s holding it in trust for me – he’s Doc, the guy on the bus I was telling you about.’

Susan studied Jack’s face for a moment and then smiled. ‘It would be great if you could do that, Jack,’ she said. ‘It would really help!’

‘It’s no hardship,’ Jack said, and it wasn’t. Spending time with Susan would be no misfortune.

‘Do you believe in love at first sight, Doc?’ Jack asked.

‘I’m not sure I even believe in like at first sight,’ Doc replied. ‘Why are you asking?’

‘Because I fell in love with Susan the moment I saw her. I know it sounds crazy, and you’ll probably make fun of me, but it happened. It wasn’t just her looks, either: it was her voice, her laugh, her smell, the things she said and the way she was with Eric.’

‘You don’t think you’re at all vulnerable at the moment, do you?’

‘Vulnerable? In what way?’

‘You’ve lost your job; you’ve left your wife; the kid you thought was yours isn’t; you’ve grown attached to Eric; you’re thinking of becoming a hairdresser… Do you want me to go on?’

‘I know all these things, Doc, but I don’t think any of them has made me vulnerable. If anything, they’ve made me a stronger person. I’m thinking more clearly now than at any other time of my life. Tell me: what didn’t I mention about Susan when I was describing her just then?’

Doc thought for a moment. ‘Her star sign?’

‘Give me a break, Doc! Her hair! I didn’t mention her hair. Doesn’t that tell you something? In the past, it’s always been about the hair. It had to be thick, long and shining. Susan’s hair isn’t anything like that – it’s fine, cut in a pageboy style.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that I’ve matured. I’m seeing the bigger picture. Can’t you be pleased for me?’

‘If you’re sure about this, then of course I’m pleased for you. I just don’t want you getting hurt. How does Susan feel about you?’

‘I don’t know – you don’t think I told her I loved her, did you? Even I know that would have been the kiss of death. She likes me, though – I’m sure of that – and the two of us are going to take Eric back home and get things straightened out for him.

‘You should have seen Eric when he saw her. The kid burst into tears and couldn’t stop sobbing. It was like he’d found his mother again. Susan just held on to him. She didn’t have to think twice before she agreed to help him. It was immediate. She handed in her notice then and there, and she’s going to put her career on hold until we figure out what to do with Eric.’

Doc smiled, wondering how Susan’s career at Gallery Elvis had been going. ‘So when are you three leaving for California, and how are you getting there?’

‘Saturday. The manager of the store was understanding, but said she needed Susan to work out the week. I’ll drive to Memphis with Eric on Thursday, turn in the car and help Susan tie up loose ends. We’ll be driving to California in her car.’

‘That’s the same day Bob leaves – the day after the party.’

‘Are you going to be okay with Nancy by yourself?’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Doc said. ‘We’ll need a fair wind and some groceries, but we’ll work things out.’

‘I was startin’ to b’lieve she were a figment o’ the boy’s mind,’ Bob said. ‘Wonder if we’ll ever get to meet the girl?’

Doc shrugged. ‘At my time of life, I don’t need to meet any new people. The main thing is they’ve found her and Eric’s no longer our responsibility. I wonder what they’ll do.’

‘By the sounds o’ things they’ll be tourin’ the country with a one-song repertoire. What is it they suppose’ to be learnin’?’

‘It’s a song from Jack’s rock band days, one that his friend wrote. He and Eric are going to perform it Wednesday night.’

‘You gonna sing somethin’, Gene?’

‘What song would I sing?’

‘How ’bout “What a Won’erful Worl’”? Steada doin’ the straight version, you could do yo’ own ironic renderin’. Ha!’

Doc smiled. ‘Do you ever regret not being Bob Crenshaw anymore and having to live life as T-Bone Tribble?’

‘Depends on what you mean. The man still me – jus’ got to call his’self by a diff’rent name, is all. Sometimes I get sad he’s dead, an’ cain’t take credit fo’ what I done with my life, but I’da prob’ly never done those things had he not been dead – if you see what I mean. You think ’bout it, Gene, when Bob Crenshaw was alive all he did was kill people fo’ a livin’, an’ now he’s dead, the killin’s ended. In that respec’ I don’t min’ him being dead. Why you aksin’ me this?’

‘It’s just that there are times when I think it’s my fault he’s dead. When we were arrested in Jackson, you got us out of jail by making a pact with the Devil – with Fogerty. And what happened after that? My life continued as normal and yours came to an end; I became a doctor and you became a fugitive, living under an assumed name and having to look over your shoulder the whole time. It doesn’t seem right.’

‘Figure it this way, Gene. If you hadn’ta pulled me from the bus in Anniston when it was burnin’, Bob Crenshaw woulda been dead already. It was my fault we got arrested in Jackson, an’ so I did what was necessary. You’da done the same if you’d been me. I ain’t got no regrets. Sure, there was bad times ’long the way, but I met some good people. They weren’t exactly members o’ the Chamber o’ Commerce or the Rotary Club – an’ most o’ what they did wasn’t exac’ly legal neither – but even so, they was still salt o’ the earth. An’ I met Marsha! My life’s good, Gene. I ain’t got no complaints. Man on the run sometimes ends up with mo’ freedoms ’n a man that ain’t.’

Doc thought about what Bob had said. ‘I think you could be right there. A week ago I shot a dog and kidnapped Nancy, and ever since I’ve been on the run. It’s the first time I’ve ever been on the wrong side of the law and, to tell you the truth, it’s been the most exhilarating week of my life. I’m almost sorry it’s ending. All considered, I think it’s been a damn fine time! Maybe I will sing that song!’

Halloween

The day of the party arrived. ‘We need to get ourselfs organised,’ Bob said. ‘Know who’s doin’ what.’

‘I’ll drive to the Piggly Wiggly and buy the groceries and a couple of pumpkins,’ Jack said. ‘You want to come with me, Eric?’

‘You might wanna buy him some Valium while yo’ there,’ Bob said. ‘Kid’s goin’ roun’ like he’s on amphetamine or somethin’.’

This was true. Since returning from Memphis the previous day, Eric had been living on Cloud Nine. He’d talked more in these hours than in the entirety of the days he’d travelled with them. He ran rather than walked places, chattered endlessly about Susan and of returning to California with her and Jack. He joined in every activity and insisted on helping with all the chores: he served food, cleared plates, washed dishes, tidied his room and tidied the house. It was tiring just to watch him, even more tiring to be with him. He no longer read the Bible, and explained that he’d finished the Old Testament and was going to take a break before starting the New.

‘I’ll come with you, Jack. Just let me get my helmet.’

‘We need to make a list of the food and drink we’ll need for tonight, and another list for the food and drink Nancy and I will need after you’ve gone,’ Doc said. ‘Remember, we won’t have a car. Let me check what we have in the kitchen and then write down what I tell you, Jack.’

‘I can write it down, Doctor Gene. I’ll follow you into the kitchen,’ Eric said. He went to his room and tore a clean sheet of paper from his notebook and grabbed his pen. ‘I’m ready, Doctor Gene. You can start calling things out.’

‘What you gonna do, Nance?’ Bob asked her.

‘I think I’ll just sit here and wait for my parents,’ Nancy said. ‘I feel tired today.’

‘You do that, Nance. If you need me, I’ll be outside checkin’ the bus, makin’ sure the oil an’ water levels are okay. You wanna give me a hand, Gene?’

‘Sure. I’ll look through the compartments and make sure we haven’t left anything. Just let me finish off these lists and I’ll be with you.’

‘I ain’t in no rush. I’ll sit here with Nance and chat fo’ a while. You wanna chat, Nance?’

‘No, not today, thank you, Bob.’

‘In that case, I’ll sit here an’ say nothin’ then.’

Jack and Eric left for Coffeeville, and Doc and Bob went to the bus. ‘When I first saw this thing in the church car park, I thought you’d gone and lost your mind,’ Doc said to Bob, ‘but I have to admit, it was an inspired choice.’

‘It weren’t so much inspired as what they had, Gene. It was either this bus or a large van with no seats in it. I’da been okay, but it woulda been distractin’ havin’ an old guy like you rollin’ round in the back. Them scratches we got up at Three Top Mountain ain’t so bad as I thought; what you think?’

‘They’ll need touching up but it shouldn’t cost too much. That reminds me, I need to settle up with you.’

‘What you mean you need to settle up with me? I ain’t takin’ no money from you, Gene. Man who hired me this vehicle owed me a favour; he ain’t chargin’.’

‘I don’t care – just take it. Nancy set it aside for the journey. It’s yours: you can do with it as you please.’

‘How you gonna manage without money?’

‘I’ve got money and we’ve got food. It’s not as if I’m going to be here forever.’

‘Where you gonna be, then? You ever plannin’ on goin’ home?’

‘Where else am I going to go?’

‘You could come stay with me an’ Marsha. You an’ Nance could live in the cabin if you like. No one’d go lookin’ fo’ you there.’

‘I appreciate the offer, Bob, but I’m not risking your well-being for the sake of ours. Nancy and I will stand or fall on our own terms.’

‘It the fallin’ that worries me,’ Bob said.

Doc looked at him.

‘It’s okay, Gene, I ain’t gonna say no mo’. I figure I ain’t gonna see you again though, am I?’

‘Of course you are. Now for God’s sake take the money and let’s go and see how Nancy’s doing.’

‘I’ll follow you in. Jus’ need to finish checkin’ the oil.’ He opened the hood of the engine, pulled out the dipstick and wiped it clean with a cloth. The oil level was fine. He replaced the dipstick and spoke to himself: ‘You lying to me, ol’ man. I ain’t gonna see you again, an’ you knows it.’

‘Jack taught me this trick for when I start learning to drive, Mrs Skidmore.’

‘What trick is that, Eric?’ Nancy asked.

‘When you pull up at a stop light and there’s only one car in front of you, as soon as the light changes you honk your horn at him and…’

‘Why would you want to do that, dear?’

‘Because he won’t have had a chance to move forward and he’ll get annoyed.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a good idea. Why did you tell him this, Jack? What would have happened if the man in front had got out of his car and shot you both in the head?’

‘We didn’t do it, Nancy. I just thought it was a good scenario for a joke. I wasn’t suggesting Eric do this.’

‘I thought you said I could. Does this mean I can’t?’

‘Of course you can’t, Eric. And before you even think about learning how to drive, you first need to learn how to keep your lip buttoned. Now let’s go and carve the pumpkins. Do you want to help us, Nancy?’

‘Yes – and thank you for asking, Jack. I used to be good at carving pumpkins.’

Jack and Eric carried the pumpkins outside, while Nancy went into the kitchen to look for a serrated knife and scoop. She joined them on the porch and they set to work. Nancy took a lipstick from her purse and drew a circle around the pumpkin’s top, and asked Jack to cut it out and clean the underside of what would become the lid. She then handed the scoop to Eric and told him to scrape out the seeds and soft flesh from the inside, and dump them in the bucket.

‘Now what do we do, Mrs Skidmore?’

‘I’ll draw a face on the side and then one of you can cut it out,’ Nancy replied.

They finished the first pumpkin and started on the second. This time Nancy drew a different face on its side, and Jack carved out triangular rather than square holes for the eyes and nose. The mouth took longer, as Nancy had insisted on jagged teeth. Once finished, they took a step backward and viewed their handiwork.

‘We’ve done well, haven’t we?’ Eric said. ‘We could become professionals.’

‘If we did turn professional, we’d only have one day’s work a year,’ Jack said.

‘That’s one more day than you have at present,’ Doc said. ‘You should consider it.’ He smiled contentedly to himself and then lit the cigarette he was holding.

It was dark, and the stars glistened in the night sky. Eric lit the white candles inside the gourds and Nancy replaced their lids. She stared silently at the flickering lights and watched the shadows dance. ‘I’m going to die, Eric. Did you know that?’

‘Don’t talk like that, Mrs Skidmore! You’re not going to die – I don’t want you to.’

‘Don’t want me to what, Eric?’

‘Die – I don’t want you to die.’

‘Whatever put that idea into your head? This is the night of the year when the dead come back to life. I’m expecting all kinds of visitors tonight.’

Eric was spooked by Nancy’s conversation and went inside to tell Doc. ‘Doctor Gene, Mrs Skidmore says she’s going to die and that dead people are coming to visit tonight. Can you go and talk to her?’

Doc put down his beer and was about to step outside when the door opened, and Nancy came into the room with Wanda, George and B’shara Byrd in tow. ‘Look who’s come to visit us, Gene. It’s Wanda and George and they’ve brought the cutest little girl with them.’

B’shara Byrd was dressed in a pink rabbit suit, and had white whiskers painted on the sides of her face. ‘She don’ do scary stuff,’ George said by way of explanation. ‘I bought her a witch face an’ hat to wear, but she won’ go near ’em. Jus’ wan’s to be a rabbit.’

George was carrying a case of beer and Wanda two pies – one pumpkin, the other chocolate. ‘Where you want these put?’ she asked.

‘Give ’em to me Wanda an’ I’ll put ’em in the refrig’rator,’ Bob said. ‘We got pizza an’ hot dogs to start with. Go sit down an’ I’ll bring some drinks through. What you want – wine, beer, or juice?’

‘Wine fo’ me, juice fo’ B’shara an’ beer fo’ George, if you will.’

Without looking, Doc slotted a CD into the player and pushed the play button. A cacophony of noise exploded into the room, followed a few bars later by a voice tailor-made for Halloween.

Nancy came running into the room with her panties halfway between her knees and ankles. ‘Arnold, turn that damned racket off!’ she shouted. ‘You know the rules!’

‘Who Arnold?’ George asked Wanda.

‘Arnold her husband what died,’ Wanda replied.

‘Then why she talkin’ to Gene?’

‘I’ll explain later. I need to go he’p Ms Nancy.’

It took a while for Doc to find the eject button, but when he did and the music stopped, Nancy quietened. Wanda took her by the arm and guided her back to the bathroom, while Doc tried to make out the name on the CD.

‘Jack, what’s this CD I’ve just played?’

Jack took it from his hand and held it to the light. ‘Lick My Decals Off, Baby by Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band. What’s Nancy doing with this in her collection?’

‘It’s one of Arnold’s,’ Gene replied. ‘I’m surprised she still has it.’

The evening recovered and the party gathered ground. To a background of Beatles music, the revellers filled their glasses with alcohol and their plates with hot dogs and pizza. Eric and B’shara Byrd huddled together on the porch, and Eric brought her a pair of his washing-up gloves to wear. Wanda, Nancy and Doc sat by the fire reminiscing about Oaklands, Dora and the Travis family; while George, Bob and Jack swapped stories and told jokes.

Doc whispered something to Wanda and she called over to George. ‘Hey, George, come give me a han’, will you?’

‘What you wan’, Wanda?’

‘Gene wan’s to toast Ms Nancy with champagne.’

‘Why cain’t he do it his self? He hurt his han’ or somethin’?’

‘Ms Nancy all clingy with him an’ he wan’s it to be a surprise. She’d wanna know what he doin’ if he got up an’ left.’

Wanda took champagne glasses from the cupboard and George got busy with the corkscrew. ‘What in the name o’ Sweet Jesus you doin’, George? You don’ open a champagne bottle with a corkscrew, you use yo’ damned thumbs. If only my mamma could see you now. Ha!’

‘How I suppose to know that? I ain’t never drunk champagne b’fore.’

‘Sure you has. Sometimes I think you got shit fo’ brains, George – an’ fo’ the love of God, stop shakin’ the bottle!’

There were two loud pops and Wanda came into the room holding a tray. George walked slowly behind her, looking at his thumbs and rubbing them with his fingers. Doc took the glasses from the tray and handed them around. He lifted his glass. ‘To Nancy,’ he said. ‘A belated Happy Birthday. We’re glad we know you, and we’re glad to be your friends.’

‘Nancy,’ everyone replied – including Nancy.

‘Let’s play our song now, Jack,’ Eric said. He settled at the piano they’d moved into the room earlier in the day, and waited for Jack to bring the guitar.

‘This is a song a friend of ours wrote…’ Jack began.

‘I didn’t know him,’ Eric said.

‘Okay, wise guy, this is a song a friend of mine wrote. We were going to change the words to make it more appropriate, but in the end we decided not to. It’s appropriate enough.’

He looked at Eric, and Eric started to play the opening bars.

If I had to live my life again I’d want to be with you

sharing every second of each day

For the love that you have given me is more than I deserved

a love no man could ever hope repay

Take my love as read, there are no words inside my head

to make you realise I’m dead without you by my side

I’ll maybe smile or simply nod, play the fool or act the sod

I never felt a need for God when you were by my side

I hope I die before you dear, I couldn’t bear to live

in shadows cast by your not being there

There’d be no meaning left to life, no place to hide my soul

just years and feelings no one else could share

Take my love as read, there are no words inside my head

to make you realise I’m dead without you by my side

I’ll maybe smile or simply nod, play the fool or act the sod

I never felt a need for God when you were by my side

They then played the first verse again, and afterwards Jack explained the reason for singing the song.

‘What Eric and I are saying is that we’ve enjoyed travelling with you this past week, and that if we ever have to make another trip like this, you’d be the people we’d want to make it with. Thanks Doc, thanks Bob, and a special thanks to you, Nancy, for making it possible.’

Everyone applauded. The two boys had played well together and Jack’s words had been unexpected – especially to Nancy. ‘What trip is he talking about, Gene?’

Before Doc had time to answer, Jack was introducing him as the next act on the bill. ‘Doc’s now going to sing What a Won’erful World, so let’s give the old guy a big hand.’

‘Whoa, I’m not singing anything!’ Doc protested.

‘I knew you’d try squirm outta it, Gene, so I wrote down the words fo’ us all to sing. We’ll sing it together – you included. You ain’t not singin’ it!’

Bob handed out his homemade lyric sheets, and Jack and Eric started to play the music. Doc sang the words as best he could from memory – he couldn’t see any words written on the paper Bob had given him.

Eric’s unbroken voice rang out from behind the piano. For him, the world really was starting to reclaim its wonder. He knew he would never stop missing his parents or wishing they were still alive, but he now no longer felt like the orphan who’d been enrolled at Talbot Academy. He had friends – true, many of them also old enough to be his grandparents – and now the promise of a new family life with Susan. And maybe even Jack. He’d always known that Jack would like Susan.

For Jack, too, life was looking up. The longer his hair grew, the more distant the memory of Laura and Conrad became. A new career in hairdressing beckoned, as well as a possible future with the most beautiful girl in the world and the most naive boy in the universe. He sang the words of the song with gusto and smiled at Eric, who smiled right back at his older brother.

Bob, Doc and Nancy stood together like a trio from light entertainment’s yesteryear; three old friends reunited after decades of separation, soon to be torn apart for the final time. Doc knew this and Bob knew this, but neither acknowledged the truth on this perfect evening. The wonder of the world for Bob was having Marsha and a life in Seattle to return to; for Doc, the wonder remained in the moment – this one glorious and unforgettable moment.

Bob’s atonal voice dredged the depths of known music, and Doc looked at him and laughed: he couldn’t remember hearing anyone sing worse! Bob smiled back and then caught Nancy’s eye and smiled at her. She was looking around the room rather than singing; looking, in all probability, for people who were long dead.

If only things could have been different and the world’s axis brought back to kilter, the planets realigned and missing constellations restored. If only things could have been different!

‘It is a wonderful world, isn’t it, Gene?’ Nancy asked when the singing ended.

Doc had never before seen such a sad and questioning face. ‘Right now, Nancy, it’s the most wonderful world there’s ever been,’ he told her, and kissed her on the forehead. For an instant, he almost believed it.

‘Weren’t so bad as you thought, was it, Gene?’ Bob said. ‘I coulda sworn I even see’d a tear in one o’ yo’ eyes.’

‘That’s sweat, Bob. I’m a doctor: I should know the difference.’

‘You should know a lotta things you don’t know. The worl’ is a won’erful place – ’specially with me in it. Ain’t that right, Nance?’

‘Grandpa George,’ B’shara shouted. ‘Play B’shara Byrd! Play B’shara Byrd!’

‘I cain’t play B’shara Byrd, honey. I ain’t got no guitar with me.’

‘That man over there has a guitar. Tell him to give it to you!’

‘Hush yo’ mouth, B’shara Byrd. Yo’ grandpa plays that song fo’ you ever’ day. You heard it enough times already,’ Wanda said firmly.

‘I wanna hear it, I wanna hear it!’ B’shara Byrd said, stamping her foot on the floor. ‘Eric wants to hear it, too!’

‘Take the guitar, George,’ Jack said, handing it to him. ‘I’d like to hear it as well.’ George took the guitar and thanked him.

George placed the capo on the fourth fret and retuned a couple of strings.

‘Play it, Grandpa, play it!’ B’shara Byrd shouted.

‘Honey, jus’ give me a minute, will you. Okay, now I ready.’

B’shara Byrd she jus’ gone three

an’ I don’t thinks that she likes me

she pulls a face and shows her tongue

then she moons me with her bum

B’shara Byrd has pulled a mood

an’ I don’t like her attitude

she screams shit an’ calls me fart

her hobnail boots dance on my heart

Oh B’shara Byrd

sweet B’shara Byrd

When flowers came an’ leaves turned green

we threw pebbles into a stream

we fed the ducks an’ rowed a boat

she held my han’ when we crossed the road

B’shara Byrd you’ll never know

how much I tries to love you so

but it’s so hard when you so soft

you catch col’ ever’time I cough

Oh B’shara Byrd

sweet B’shara Byrd

Cute as a button with big brown eyes

B’shara Byrd can mesmerise

blackest hair an’ platinum smile

B’shara Byrd turns on the style

I hopes you grows up big an’ strong

knows what’s right an’ knows what’s wrong

but try not to break too many hearts

when choosin’ horses to pull yo’ cart

B’shara Byrd danced throughout the song, and once George had finished playing jumped up and down and clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Play it again, Grandpa! Play it again!’

‘That the bes’ damn song I ever heard,’ Bob said. ‘You write it?’

‘It no mo’ ‘n three chords, Bob. Song wrote itself.’

‘Play it again, will you,’ Jack asked. ‘And Eric, try playing along on the piano. It’s just three chords.’

George played the song twice more until Eric figured out the song’s structure, and then by popular demand played it again. Doc excused himself and walked out on to the porch. He lit a cigarette and watched through the window: George and Eric playing, Jack harmonising, Bob dancing with B’shara, Wanda laughing, and Nancy happily banging a spoon against a pie plate to whatever rhythm played in her head.

Doc’s world was in that room: his oldest friend, as full of the joys of life as he’d ever been; his first love, now damaged beyond repair; his godson, the one person he truly considered family; and the conundrum that was Eric – a small boy who’d become a friend to all. He loved these people, loved them with all his heart, and he allowed himself the rare luxury of believing that they too, loved him. His creased face broke into a broad smile and then collapsed into sadness.

It had been forty years since the old man had cried, and he felt the tears on his cheeks long before he understood the nature of what was happening. In that brief moment, he experienced happiness.

Crossing the Rubicon

Overnight the temperature dropped, and the morning air was as crisp as an expensive lettuce. When Doc walked into the kitchen, Bob was clearing debris from the previous evening, scraping uneaten food from plates and stacking the dishwasher.

‘One o’ the bes’ parties I never been aksed to leave,’ Bob said. ‘Had me a good time. How ’bout you, Gene?’

‘I must have drunk too much,’ Doc replied. ‘My head feels like someone’s just dumped a truckload of broken glass and concrete into it. Hand me a glass of water, will you?’

‘I ain’t surprised you hung-over, man. Firs’ time I see’d you laughin’ long as I remem’er. Remin’ed me o’ the times we had at Duke. Them was good days, weren’t they?’

‘They were,’ Doc agreed. ‘Pity they didn’t last.’

‘Don’t go gettin’ all depressin’ on me, Gene. I gotta long drive ’head o’ me today, an’ I don’ wan’ the mem’ry o’ yo’ miserable face stuck in my head.’

‘I’ll be fine once I’ve had some coffee. Pour me a cup will you?’

‘What am I – yo’ damn slave? “Han’ me a glass o’ water, Bob; pour me a cup o’ coffee, Bob.” Man, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you was one o’ them white supremacists. Four days in Miss’ippi an’ you a changed man, Gene. Ha!’

Jack walked into the room. ‘What’s for breakfast, Bob?’

‘Hell, you bad as Gene. Ain’t even my house an’ people puttin’ on me.’

Despite his faux outrage, Bob poured coffee and they moved into the lounge to wait for Nancy and Eric. ‘Do you want us to move the piano back to the bedroom?’ Jack asked.

‘Nah, it’s fine where it is. It’s doing no harm there.’

Nancy was the first to make an appearance, her hair uncombed and wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Her mood, however, was chipper. ‘Was it my imagination or was there a pink rabbit here last night?’ she asked.

‘It was B’shara Byrd dressed as a pink rabbit,’ Doc explained. ‘Wanda and George’s granddaughter,’ he added.

‘Oh, of course it was. I remember now. She was Eric’s girlfriend, wasn’t she?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend, Mrs Skidmore,’ Eric said, walking into the room. ‘I’m seven years older than she is.’ Eric’s hair was also uncombed and he too was wearing the same clothes he’d worn yesterday. ‘Last night was the latest I’ve ever stayed up. I did well, didn’t I?’

‘You sure did,’ Doc replied.

‘Do you want to play that song again, Jack? We could play B’shara Byrd as well.’

‘Not right now, Eric. Doc’s got a headache and we need to eat breakfast.’ He stood up from his chair. ‘Toast and cereal okay with everyone?’ It was.

Apart from Nancy, they were all silently aware that this breakfast would be their last meal together, and that once it was over three of them would be leaving. It proved a sombre affair and conversation was stilted. Eric broke into tears and Jack put his arm around his shoulders. ‘He hasn’t done that thing with his pecker again, has he?’ Nancy whispered to Doc. Doc smiled and told her he hadn’t, that he was just sad to be leaving. ‘He can always come and visit us,’ Nancy said. ‘We have plenty of rooms.’

While Doc cleared the breakfast table, Bob, Jack and Eric packed their belongings and took them outside. Nancy sat by herself, tap-tapping her fingers to a song no one but she could hear. Once Jack had finished taking his bags to the car, Doc pulled him to one side and gave him a pouch with ten thousand dollars tucked inside it.

‘This is part of your dad’s estate, Jack; together with details of the account I placed the rest of the money in. You can draw on it at any time, but before you do, check with that lawyer of yours to make sure it won’t be included in the divorce settlement. Your dad would turn in his grave if it was. I also need the name and address of your lawyer.’

‘How do I get in touch with you?’ Jack asked. ‘How long are you going to be here?’

‘I don’t know. It all depends on Nancy. Bob threw my mobile into the river and I don’t know the number here. I’ll keep in touch with my lawyer and suggest you contact me through him. His details are in the money pouch, too.

‘I don’t want to get into any big goodbyes while Eric’s around, so I’ll say it now: I owe you, Jack! We couldn’t have made this trip without you, and I’ll always be indebted to you. I never had a son, but if I had, I’d be more than happy if he’d turned out like you. Laura never deserved you, but maybe this Susan girl does. I hope it works out.’

‘What’s the punch line, Doc?’

‘There isn’t a punch line. That’s it.’

Jack put his arms around him. ‘There’s no need to thank me, Doc. You’ve always been there for me and you were always there for my father. Besides, this trip’s worked out well for me. Do me a favour though – next time I see you, don’t pull any more of this soft-heartedness shit. In my book, you and sentiment just don’t go together, and that’s the way I like it.’

Doc agreed to his godson’s request and then pulled away. ‘Say goodbye to Nancy, Jack. I’m glad the two of you got to like each other in the end. I wish you’d have known her in her day.’

Eric was in tears, incoherent, unable to say more than a few words before breaking into sobs. He hugged Nancy and kissed her on the cheeks; hugged and kissed Doc and Bob – the man he still referred to as Otis. He thanked them over and again: for looking after him, for helping him find Susan, for being his friends. He told them they’d always be on his prayer list – a list recently swollen by the names of Merritt Crow, Wanda, George and B’shara Byrd – and that he’d write regularly and always remember them.

Jack took hold of Eric’s hand and led him to the car before his tears started to flood the house. Just before the boy climbed into the passenger seat, he turned to the three old people waving to him: ‘I love you,’ he stammered, and then broke into sobs again.

Jack closed the passenger door after him and walked back to the house. He hugged Doc again, put his arms around Nancy and kissed her on both cheeks, and then hugged Bob. ‘How do I get in touch with you, Bob?’

Bob wrote down a mobile telephone number. ‘Don’t never give this to another person, Jack, an’ I’d 'preciate it if you kept my name an’ the bus outta the story you tell Eric’s people. Make sure you keep in touch, man.’

‘You have my word on it, Bob, and once I get settled, I’ll call you.’ He then walked to the car and started the engine. Just as he was about to drive away, Bob came running towards them.

‘Hey, win’ down yo’ window, kid,’ he called out to Eric. Eric did, and stuck out his head. ‘Don’t go readin’ the Book o’ Revelations, neither,’ Bob gasped. ‘Man what wrote it was on mushrooms, an’ if he weren’t, then he copied it straight from the Book o’ Daniel!’

Bob walked back to the house chortling to himself. ‘That boy,’ he said to Doc and Nancy, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Stranges’ damn kid I ever met.’

He then turned serious. ‘I gotta go, Gene. Watch me while I reverse, will you? An’ Nance, give me a hug b’fore I go, girl, an’ promise me you’ll put a comb through that damned hair o’ yo’s once I gone. Looks like you been dragged through a hedge or somethin’.’

Nancy laughed and gave him a big hug. ‘You’re the stupidest man I ever met, Bob Crenshaw. I don’t know why Gene wastes his time on you.’

‘He ain’t got no other person to waste his time on, Nance – that’s why. I’m the only one prepared to take pity on the po’ soul.’

Nancy went back into the house, while Doc watched Bob reverse down the pitted drive. Bob halted the bus on the road and stepped out.

‘Give me a cigarette, will you, Gene? I think I got time fo’ one las’ smoke.’

Doc shook two cigarettes from his pack, and Bob cupped his hands around the flame of the lighter. They inhaled and exhaled in synchrony.

‘This state ain’t good fo’ us, Gene,’ Bob declaimed. ‘Miss’ippi al’ays finds a way o’ separatin’ us. You remem’er what happened las’ time we was here? Cain’t b’lieve we allowed ourselfs to get drawed back, man.’

‘And I can’t believe your grammar’s no better now than it was then,’ Doc smiled. ‘Remember me to Marsha, will you?’

‘Sure I will. Don’t aks me why, but she got a sof’ spot fo’ you. Hell, if you was black, she’d prob’ly divorce me an’ marry you. Thank God you ain’t though, an’ she partic’lar.’

It was hard keeping the banter up, talking of one thing and thinking of another, and while neither man wanted his cigarette to ever burn away, both were relieved when, at last, Bob dropped his to the road and extinguished the dying embers with the sole of his boot.

He then rested his hands on either side of Doc’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. He saw tears welling there, felt movement in his own eyes. ‘All I gonna say, man, is that it’s been an honour – a real honour. I glad I knowed you, Gene. Glad you was my friend.’ He then pulled Doc towards him and held him.

‘For me too, Bob,’ Doc choked. ‘For me too.’

They remained there unmoving, locked in embrace, reluctant to let go. Eventually, Bob relaxed his hold and kissed Doc tenderly on the cheek. ‘Who I gonna drive a bus fo’ now, old man?’ he whispered.

The bus pulled away and moved down the road. As it neared the bend it slowed, and Bob’s arm waved through the open window. Doc waved back, and then watched as the bus and his oldest friend disappeared from sight, disappeared from his life forever.

A malaise as thick but nowhere near tasty as porridge settled over the lodge. The house felt empty and so too did life. Nancy’s condition, temporarily alleviated by the activities of the trip and the diversions of others, quickly regained its downward momentum. She wandered the house distractedly, endlessly searching rooms for people already dead, and looking through windows for people who would never arrive. She stopped smiling and started sentences that never finished, asked questions that had no happy answers and veered wildly from one mood to another like a grenade without its pin.

It was now Saturday and still Doc prevaricated. He never doubted that Nancy’s fluorescent years were dead, or that her life was now shrouded in shadows of frightening proportion, but the will to take the final step eluded him. He needed a sign; something that would prompt him to take action.

‘The sun’s shining too hard, Gene. I can hear it – can you?’

‘It’s making a bit more noise than usual, Nancy, but I prefer the noise of the sun to the sound of the rain.’

‘Why isn’t Ruby here yet? She was supposed to be having lunch with us, and she’s usually so reliable.’

‘Maybe she got held up in traffic,’ Doc replied. ‘Let’s take a short walk while we’re waiting – head down to the woods?’

Nancy agreed and took his arm. They walked slowly down the paddock and stopped at the edge of the trees. When they turned to look at the lodge Doc saw two white cumulus clouds floating high in the sky, and was reminded of the day Nancy had first poured out her fears and asked for his help. The real Nancy.

‘We should go back now, Gene,’ Nancy fretted. ‘Grandmamma says these woods are full of monsters.’

Doc took hold of Nancy’s hand and squeezed it gently.

It would happen on Monday.

That night, Doc built a fire in the grate and the two of them spent the evening sitting in front of the television. He’d increased the dosage of Nancy’s medication and for much of the time she dozed. To any outsider peeping through the window, Doc and Nancy would have given the appearance of an old married couple who’d run out of things to say. There would have been no clue that the woman sitting there had less than two days to live.

Doc spent the time carefully sorting through documents and writing letters. His eyesight made progress slow, but it was important that everything he wrote was legible and intelligible. Finally, he put the letters and accompanying documents into envelopes, painstakingly addressed them and affixed sufficient postage stamps for their safe delivery. He then went to the kitchen and took a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the cabinet. He poured a generous amount of the bourbon into a glass tumbler, added three cubes of ice, and took it outside to the porch and lit a cigarette. He felt he deserved both.

The next morning, after Nancy had dressed and breakfast been eaten, Doc phoned Wanda and asked for a favour. Wanda readily agreed and arrived that afternoon with George; it was just the two of them, B’shara Byrd having returned to Chicago. While Wanda sat and kept Nancy company, George drove Doc to the post office in Coffeeville.

‘That where I works,’ George said, pointing to the cotton gin at the intersection of the dirt and hardtop roads. ‘When I retires, I ain’t gonna look at another cotton seed fo’ long as I lives.’

‘You don’t enjoy your work then, George?’

‘Nah. You enjoy yo’s when you was workin’?’

Doc only had to think for a moment before replying. ‘No. I think I’d have been happier working in a cotton gin.’

‘Ha! You don’ know what you sayin’, Gene. No one likes workin’ in a cotton gin. Only reason I works there is to prove Dora wrong ’bout me, an’ ’cos I loves Wanda.’

George drove into the deserted town and pulled up outside the deserted post office. ‘Push yo’ letters through that slot there,’ he told Doc.

Doc got out of the car and checked to make sure he had all four letters: one for Nancy’s attorneys, one for his own attorneys, one for Jack c/o of Tina Terpstra and one for T-Bone Tribble. He pushed them into the box and climbed back into the car.

They found Nancy and Wanda standing at the bottom of the drive looking down the road in their direction. ‘I tol’ you he’d be back, Ms Nancy; tol’ you there was no cause fo’ you worryin’.’

Doc got out of the car and Nancy took a firm hold of him. ‘Everything okay, Wanda?’

‘Ms Nancy got herself in a tizzy, Gene. Thought you’d run off an’ left her. I tol’ her you an’ George had jus’ gone to pos’ some letters, but she wouldn’ settle an’ insisted we come lookin’ fo’ you. She kept sayin’ how you hadn’ done right by her, lef’ without doin’ yo’ job. I asked her what job she was talkin’ ’bout an’ tol’ her me an’ George could prob’ly do it fo’ her, but she couldn’ remember. You know what she mean?’

‘I’ve no idea, Wanda,’ Doc lied. ‘I’m going to call out a doctor next week and get him to take a look at her; see if he can come up with any suggestions. Is there a doctor here you can recommend?’

‘Call Dr Barefoot: he an’ his family been practisin’ med’cine in town long as I remem’er. He’ll know Ms Nancy. Travis name still stands in these parts.’

Wanda walked with Doc and Nancy to the lodge and George followed slowly in his car. Wanda didn’t go into the house with them, explaining that she and George were driving to Jackson to see her sons the next day, and she still had baking to do. ‘I’ll come by once we gets back, Gene. Say goodbye to Ms Nancy fo’ me, will you. I don’ wanna go disturbin’ her now she all settled.’

Doc turned on the television for Nancy and went to get a magnifying glass. He looked through the telephone directory and found the number for Dr Barefoot. He transcribed it in clear figures and then put the piece of paper in his pocket. It was too early to eat dinner, so he sat with Nancy and stared at the television without knowing what he was watching.

That evening, he cooked pasta with chorizo sausage and tomatoes, and opened a bottle of red wine. Nancy pecked at the food, moved it around on her plate and then put her fork down. ‘I’m sorry, Gene, I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now.’

As always, Doc slept badly and woke early. His dreams had been many and disturbed but one remained with him. He was trying to light a cigarette by striking a match against a metal key, but however many times he struck the key the match refused to ignite. And then the key burst into flames and the metal started to bubble and melt. He threw it to the ground and the key fell through the bars of a grate. He lifted the cover and looked into the manhole. The key was resting fifteen feet below him, now shining and pristine, but because of a jumble of exposed electrical cables, impossible to retrieve. It was then he remembered it was the key to his parents’ house. He had no idea what the dream meant.

He went into the kitchen and made coffee, and at nine o’clock phoned Dr Barefoot. ‘Of course I remember Nancy Travis,’ Barefoot said. ‘I can come out this afternoon, if you like.’ Doc thanked him, but said that Tuesday morning would be soon enough. ‘I’ll be there at ten,’ Barefoot said. Doc thanked him and put down the phone.

Nancy was still in bed, her eyes open and staring. He took clean underwear from her drawer, selected a green sweater and a pair of grey slacks and placed them on a chair. ‘Come on, Nancy, time to take a shower,’ he said.

He stayed with her in the bathroom while she showered, and dried her with a towel once she’d stepped out of the bath. Nancy stood there helpless and uncomplaining, more reminiscent of a small child than the sixty-eight-year-old woman she’d become. Doc helped her dress and then brushed her hair. ‘You’re as good as new, Nancy; beautiful enough to break the heart of any man who can’t have you.’

Nancy smiled but said nothing. Her world was one of uncertainty; why would she listen to the words of a man she didn’t know? She followed him into the kitchen and swallowed the pills he put in her hand and washed them down with orange juice. She ate the slice of buttered toast he prepared and sipped the coffee he poured. The man took her to a chair and turned on the television. She heard the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water. She felt tired, wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep, but the man came back. He was taking her to the bedroom. He gave her more pills to swallow, called her Nancy – was that her name – and lay down on the bed next to her.

Doc watched nervously as Nancy’s eyelids fluttered and then closed, listened to her breathing as it grew deeper. ‘It won’t be long, Nancy. I’m here with you.’

He never expected a reply, but Nancy opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘I love you, Gene,’ she whispered. ‘I married Arnold, but it was you I always loved. Thank you for being my friend.’ Her eyes then closed and she slipped into unconsciousness.

‘I love you too, Nancy,’ Doc murmured.

He waited a few minutes and then took a syringe from a case and filled it with liquid from a small phial. He found a vein in Nancy’s arm and carefully injected the clear fluid. He then lay on the bed next to her again and took hold of her hand, squeezed it, and only let go once he felt the life drain from her body. He rose from the bed and checked her vital signs. There were none. He pulled the sheet over her face. Nancy was gone.

The Day of Rest

For the next two hours, Doc cleaned house. He turned on the air conditioning and switched off the television. He gathered soiled undergarments from Nancy’s room, and stripped the sheets from other bedrooms. He did laundry: washed, dried and folded. He emptied the kitchen of perishables and threw them in the garbage. He dumped any remaining tablets into the toilet bowl and pressed the flush. He tidied the lounge, cleaned the kitchen, remade the beds, vacuumed and dusted. He wanted no mess surrounding Nancy when she was found.

He went into the bathroom and ran the shower. He washed, shaved and changed into his favourite plaid shirt and corduroy pants. He took a sweater from a drawer and his jacket from the wardrobe. He checked himself in the mirror and then returned to Nancy’s room. He pulled back the sheet from her face and sat down on the bed beside her, remained there motionless. He stared at Nancy’s countenance and smiled sadly. She looked serene: the demons that tormented her were gone, and his friend was now at peace.

‘We did it, girl,’ Doc said. ‘We did it.’ He kissed her gently on the lips and whispered his final goodbye.

He covered Nancy’s face again and closed the door behind him. He went to the dining table and wrote a short letter of explanation to Dr Barefoot, and an apology for burdening him with the consequence of his actions. He then took a paper clip and attached three one-hundred-dollar bills. He placed the letter next to an envelope marked for the attention of the sheriff. The envelope contained the names and telephone numbers of both his and Nancy’s attorneys, and a facsimile of the letter Nancy had lodged with her attorney when the state of her mind had been unquestioned. In it, she made clear that dying was her choice and her choice alone, and that Doc’s complicity had been reluctant – the action of a dear and devoted friend.

Doc read through his letter to Dr Barefoot, and once satisfied went into the kitchen for the bottle of Maker’s Mark and a glass. He walked out on to the porch and sat down in a chair. The sun was shining and the air was warm. He listened to the birds sing and wondered if they were off-key. He decided they weren’t – they sang in perfect harmony.

It was a good day to die.

In death, Doc foresaw no consequences, no judgement. Death was his get out of jail free card, his escape from eventuality. He filled the glass with bourbon and lit a cigarette. Perhaps because this was his last day on earth, he now started to enjoy it. The porch of Nancy’s lodge, he decided, wasn’t a bad place at all to die. Certainly, it afforded a better view of the world than his own terrace.

Until Nancy had whispered to him that morning that she’d always loved him, he’d never once in his life been sure of her feelings. In fact, the only occasion he could remember her telling him she loved him was the day he’d agreed to kill her. With Beth it had always been different. He’d never had to promise to kill Beth.

He took a small picture of Beth and Esther from his wallet. He stared at their faces and remembered the short time they’d been a family. He smiled sadly and then returned the photograph to his wallet and lit the last of his cigarettes. He inhaled and watched the ash as it lengthened and fell to the ground, contemplated the smoke as it drifted heavenwards, and then stubbed the cigarette out in the glass ashtray.

He thought about what else in life he’d miss, and smoking was about the only thing he could envisage: he’d miss cigarettes – especially those he smoked with his morning coffee. And maybe bourbon; maybe he’d miss bourbon too. He’d always drunk beer or red wine at home, and the sour mash whiskey of the trip had been a departure from his usual drinking habits. He found that he liked its sharp taste and the fieriness of its sting as it slipped down his throat.

For some reason, he thought of Captain Ahab riding to his death on the back of Moby Dick, and wondered why Ahab had smelled freshly cut grass at that moment and not tobacco smoke or bourbon. Maybe it was because he’d lost his leg in a lawnmower accident, he mused. (Doc had never read the novel.)

He looked around at his surroundings for one last time and then took a small bottle of pills from his jacket and emptied them on to the palm of his hand. He swallowed the pills one at a time and washed them down with the bourbon. He sat there and stared into the distance, started to feel drowsy. He wondered what life would have been like if he’d known at its start what he knew now. Would it have been different? Would he have done better? He heard Bob’s voice from deep inside his head.

‘You’da still screwed it up, ol’ man. You’da been better off as a rhinoc’ros.’

Doc broke into a broad grin and shortly closed his eyes. The glass dropped from his hand and the bourbon spilled on to the floor. His head slumped forward and the drool from his mouth collected in the fibres of his sweater. He snorted twice and then fell silent as he embarked upon the deepest and most uninterrupted sleep of his seventy-two-year-old life.

He was found the next morning, the smile still on his face.