19

When I got back to my car I was feeling more and more cheesed off. I’d come all this way, concocted a ridiculous story about the BBC, and I’d managed to forget about meeting Angela and Cathy. Clearly detective work was not for me. Perhaps I should think about engaging a real one and then maybe I’d get somewhere with this situation.

My mobile phone sounded.

‘John, where are you?’ It was Angela. ‘You were supposed to pick us up twenty minutes ago. Is everything okay?’ She sounded concerned.

‘God, I am so sorry,’ I said feeling my face grow warm. ‘Something came up.’

‘What?’ And in that one syllable she somehow managed to convey irritation, disappointment and confusion.

‘I found an old man who might know about Thomas,’ I replied, hoping that by exaggerating the significance of Marinello’s connection with Thomas it might help explain my rudeness.

‘And this was the only time he could see you?’

‘Well … it was…’

‘You forgot, John, didn’t you?’ She sounded more disheartened than angry.

‘Let me explain, please,’ I begged.

‘Don’t bother.’ And she hung up.

I tried to call right back but it went straight to her answering service. I left a grovelling apology and asked her to call me back. Five minutes later I did the same. Rather than drive off and be unable to take her call I waited, still in the car park of the retirement home.

A knock sounded on my window. I turned to see Gina Marinello standing there. I climbed out of the car.

‘I was looking out of my office window…’ she turned back towards the building as if to indicate where her office was ‘…and I saw you still sitting there. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.’

‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘There’s really no need to apologise. It was a long shot.’

‘I still feel bad. I should have just said no when I found out you’d called to ask for permission to speak to him, but I hoped your visit might stimulate Gramps’ brain.’

‘I understand,’ I said, feeling like a bit of a heel given my subterfuge.

She studied my face as if scanning her memory for a name. ‘I’m sorry, but I have this notion that we’ve met before…’ She let that hang, giving me room to answer. Part of me wondered if she was coming on to me, but her expression was all business.

‘I’m pretty sure we’ve never met.’

‘Okay…’ She looked dissatisfied with that answer. ‘It will come to me. I never forget a face.’ She took a step back. ‘And once again, I’m sorry for your wasted time. If only I could put you in touch with some of the people Gramps dealt with in the past. They might be able to help you, but since I started working for him I’ve really only dealt with the care side of the business.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, digging my hands into my pockets.

‘There’s a couple of guys I can remember. They were always doing stuff for Grandad. Stuart Gillon and Jim…’ she reached into her memory ‘…Dick. Jim Dick. I wonder if Gramps has their details somewhere. Do you have a card? Give me a couple of days and I’ll have the details for you.’

‘I’m freelance,’ I said, hoping my lie wasn’t creaking at the seams. ‘So the Beeb don’t give us any of that kind of stuff. But I can…’ I reached into the side pocket of the car door and pulling out a notebook and pen, I tore off a page and wrote down my email address. ‘Any details you can provide will be gratefully received.’ I offered her my best smile.

‘And how could I forget Elsa?’ Her expression grew warm. ‘Such a lovely woman. She was always very kind to me. Brown. That’s it. Brown. She and her husband ran a stall until he died. Poor Elsa was distraught. She tried to make a go of it, but even though I was only a girl at the time I could see her heart was no longer in it. Last I heard she was working as a foster carer in Glasgow.’

It was better than nothing.

‘Thanks, I’ll see what my researchers can find out.’ I almost choked on the word ‘researcher’ but she was so earnest about wanting to help I felt I had to maintain the lie.

‘Gillon and Dick,’ she said. ‘They’re who you really want to talk to. I’ll get you their details as soon as.’ She waved the piece of paper I’d given her at me.

‘It’s a start,’ I said with confidence. ‘Thank you.’

It’s true that when you have a time of personal discomfort you seek solace in habit and familiarity. And for me that came from booze. The deeper the discomfort, the bigger the bottle.

I’d let Angela down. I’d let me down. When it came to relationships I was fooling myself. They just weren’t for me.

I phoned Paul. ‘Want to come out to play?’ I asked.

‘Long time since I heard that expression,’ he replied with a laugh. ‘But sorry, mate, no can do. I’ve got something on tonight.’ He hung up after promising we would do something another time.

Didn’t matter. It was probably best that I did this on my own.

Sometime later I was in a small bar just around the corner from my flat, elbows planted on a scored and sticky table top, a pint of self-destruction and a chaser of self-loathing in front of me.

A couple of women at the bar were looking over at me. I sent them a wink and shouted over, offering to buy them both a drink.

That was my next mistake of the day.

My phone rang. With a groan I reached for it, and as I opened my eyes a shaft of sunlight pierced my brain with a hot finger of pain.

‘Hello,’ I said, my voice sounding like my vocal cords had been grated with broken glass.

‘John, it’s me.’

Angela. I sat up.

‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said. ‘Even though you were a shit, I was a bit huffy.’

Someone moved at my side, under the quilt. Then she began coughing.

Shit. I’d picked up one of those women at the bar last night. In the momentary befuddlement of awakening from a late night and very little sleep it had slipped my mind.

‘Is there someone there with you, John?’ Angela asked.

I was mute. How on earth was I going to explain this one? A lie presented itself. I’m in a café. Someone near me must have a cold. Then the woman in my bed sat up, her hair crushed on the one side of her head like a cascade of bleached straw.

‘Honey, where’s your bathroom. I’m pure bursting,’ she said.

‘John, do you have someone in your…?’ Angela gave a shout of anger and hung up.