23

Matthew Answers Elspeth’s Phone

After she had finished her dinner, Matthew took Elspeth’s tray back into the kitchen, where he found James sitting down to a meal of pizza and Greek salad, a graphic novel propped up in front of him. James made the pizza bases himself, then covered them with toppings that varied according to his mood, but that always contained olives, anchovies, and a liberal helping of garlic. Matthew knew, of course, that James was capable of making more elaborate dishes – he was, in fact, a remarkably good cook – but when catering just for himself, he did not seem to bother. Pizza was easy, filling, and left few pots and pans to be washed up.

“Boys settled?” asked Matthew.

“All three are fast asleep,” replied James. “Rognvald was out before I finished the story. Tobermory was not far behind.”

“It’s very good of you to have taken over,” said Matthew.

James made a gesture to indicate that thanks were not needed. “How is she?” he asked.

“I think it’s pretty painful,” answered Matthew. “They’ve given her some fairly powerful painkillers. Something called co-codamol. It’s a combination of paracetamol and codeine, I think. The poppy’s in there somewhere. Thirty milligrams of codeine in each tablet. I think that’s more than you can get over the counter.”

“And is it helping?”

Matthew said that he thought it was. “It’s making her drowsy, which is all to the good.”

“I had pethidine once,” said James. “When I was in hospital. That stuff works, I think.”

Matthew pointed to the book James was reading. “Is that a graphic novel?” he asked.

James did not answer the question. “I bought it by mistake at an Oxfam shop. It’s in Spanish, which I don’t really read. I’m trying to work out what it’s about, but I’m not sure that I’m getting anywhere.”

“I had to watch a Japanese Noh play once,” Matthew remembered. “In Japanese. One of the characters came back from the dead as a wisteria bush. Or so the programme notes said. That’s when I realised that Japanese Noh plays might not be for me.”

There was the sound of a phone ringing. Matthew looked around, and saw that it was Elspeth’s – she had left it on the kitchen table. He picked the phone up, looked at the screen, and frowned. James watched him. Matthew, not recognising the caller’s number, was not sure whether to answer. After a few moments, though, he took the call, and found himself speaking to Shelley McElhose.

“Elspeth?”

“No, it’s Matthew. It’s Elspeth’s phone, but it’s me.”

“Matthew! How nice to hear you! This is Shelley – Elspeth’s cousin.”

Matthew spoke politely. “Of course.”

There was a brief silence before he continued, “I’m answering Elspeth’s phone because she’s had an accident.”

There was a shocked silence at the other end of the line. Then Shelley said “Oh, no, is she…?”

“She’s fine,” said Matthew. “She cracked a rib. But they say it’ll knit together and she’ll be fine. She was at the infirmary, though.”

“Oh, Matthew – I’m really sorry.” Shelley hesitated. “This afternoon? This evening?”

“After lunch,” said Matthew. “She phoned me from the infirmary at about half past three. It happened just after two, I think.”

He heard Shelley gasp at the other end. It was, he thought, a bit of an overreaction: he had told her that Elspeth had not been badly hurt.

“She’s right here at home,” he said. “She’s sleeping at the moment, but she’s back home. They’ve given her painkillers. They don’t do anything for an ordinary cracked rib, they told me.”

“It must have happened just afterwards,” Shelley said.

“After what?”

“After we had lunch. We were at the Canny Man’s.”

Matthew frowned. “Today? You and Elspeth?”

“Yes. This lunchtime. As I said, we were at the Canny Man’s. Didn’t she mention it to you?”

Matthew took a few moments to reply. “No,” he said. Then, as some instinct came to conceal his dismay, he added, “Or, I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Can she talk right now?” asked Shelley.

“No,” said Matthew firmly. “It hurts when she talks.”

“I know,” said Shelley. “I knew somebody who cracked two ribs – one on each side. He said that he almost fainted from the pain.”

Matthew was thinking of what Shelley had said. Now he asked, “It was a catch-up lunch? That must have been nice.”

Shelley giggled. “Girly talk.”

“I saw you at Big Lou’s wedding,” Matthew said. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Who wouldn’t? We’ve always loved Big Lou.”

Matthew kept his voice even. “And Bob? Had you met him before?”

This time there was a pause at the other end of the line. Then Shelley said, “No, I hadn’t met him.”

“He seems a great guy,” said Matthew.

He waited. The delay lasted for almost thirty seconds. Then Shelley said, “Maybe. But I don’t really know him – do you?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Matthew. He had had his answer.

He was about to say something else when Shelley spoke again. “I was phoning Elspeth to tell her that there’s a flower collection for our great-aunt who died not long ago. Not for actual flowers, of course, but for a donation to charity. It’s going to go to Shelter. I meant to tell her at lunch, but forgot. Will you tell her to get in touch with me for the details?”

“I shall,” said Matthew.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you,” said Shelley. “Give Elspeth my love – lots of it.”

Matthew promised that he would, and then rang off. James had closed his graphic novel. “I’m not going to finish this,” he said.

Matthew acknowledged this remark in an absent-minded way. He had rather a lot to think about, and he felt sick to his stomach. He did not feel like discussing Spanish graphic novels with anyone. He left the kitchen and went out into the garden. It was a clear night, and the sky was filled with stars. He looked for Sagittarius. There it was.

He began to walk along the path that led to the treehouse, which was a dark shape against the night sky. Off to the north, behind the crouching form of the Pentland Hills, was the glow that came from Edinburgh. The stars in that direction were not so visible because of the light.

He thought about what Shelley had told him. There was nothing to prove that Elspeth had gone to see Shelley specifically to elicit that information. But the timing suggested that, and it could not have been an innocent lunch, because, otherwise, surely she would have mentioned it to him. All she had said was that she had been to the supermarket and the accident had occurred on her way back. So it looked as if she was hiding the lunch from him – because she was ashamed that she had done something he had not wanted her to do.

The fact that she had met Shelley for lunch was not the real issue, of course: what mattered – what hurt – was that she had effectively misled him about her movements before the accident. And if she had done that, then there might be other things on which she had misled him – and might be misleading him still. That was what hurt – and the pain, it seemed to him, was as bad as the pain of a cracked rib. Worse, perhaps.