Adam tries to prepare me for disappointment when I mention the violin, which is sweet of him.
‘I really don’t think it’s up there, mate,’ he says, taking off his hat and scarf. ‘It’s probably not even worth looking.’ He looks tired.
I reassure him that I won’t blame him if it’s not up there, and that I can help with some of the chores he said needed doing, while he searches. He needs to mow the lawn this evening, apparently, even though it’s autumn, which might otherwise take preference over going up to the attic. He really has a lot to do, he says, and tells me unless I want to be bored to tears waiting around, I should head off home. But I persist, so he relents.
I steady the ladder as he climbs, holding the shaking steel as he pushes his head up through the loft hatch. That’s the most difficult bit, getting in. After that, you’re up, and you’re safe. It’s just coming back down again that’s tricky.
Nicole is hiding somewhere, still presumably drying out pages, so I go out to the garden to assess the lawn situation while Adam hunts in the loft. I have never mown a lawn before. To me, the grass looks the right length. I get down on my stomach and lie on the ground to examine it. It is like looking at a green giant’s hairy back – the one from the sweet corn pack lying down, letting you lie on top of him. Like with back hair, you can see each individual blade, blow on it gently, create a little breeze. It seems cruel to cut it down. But it’s just like shaving, I suppose. Giving the Jolly G Giant a bit of designer stubble, like Adam’s. Or indeed, like Luke’s. They missed that in the police picture.
I wonder if it’s different, with stubble. For the person with the stubble, I mean. I know what it’s like to be the stubble-ee. Does each little butt of face hair act as new antennae of sensation, a fresh wave pulsing down to the skin at each touch? Just in case, I should try it. How can I write a stubbly character otherwise, unless I’ve experienced it?
I remember that Adam is relying on my for his lawn shaving, so I get up off the grass and pull the lawnmower’s tail until it roars at me. I heard that once a man tried to have sex with a lawnmower. I cannot understand this. Never mind the ridiculous risks involved; think too of all the grass mulch and tiny pulverised insects that your penis would be covered in. How could you expect ever to be allowed to put that into someone’s most treasured place again, to feel cleansed and enriched by being there?
I try to give the green giant as close a shave as possible, taking the garden in straight, narrow lines. The lines carry on all the way from the waistband of my cords, down the legs, the hems, onto the garden: a seamless self-continuation. I get into a rhythm, like you sometimes do with words, like I did with book three: up, down and across we go; up, down and across we go. Up, down and across we—
‘Dan!’
Adam is standing in front of me, waving a violin. It’s a good job I saw him, or I would have mown right over him, pulping him into the ground. I turn off the mower and greet him.
‘So when shall we start the lessons?’ I ask.
‘Lessons?’
‘You’re going to teach me!’ I say.
‘Teach you? Christ!’ he expostulates. ‘But I haven’t played for years!’
Adam is so modest.
‘I’m sure you remember everything,’ I say.
‘And time – how would I have the time? We don’t all hang round on settlement payouts, you know.’ He slaps me on the back to show he is joking.
The thing is, I know he wants to teach me, but is just depriving himself. I know he wants it. Just like that girl in the common room. Just like he did, that other night. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t tell the police. So when I say what I say, it is not really blackmail, just encouragement for him. Validation.
‘It would give you much more time if Nicole knew about Feltham. I doubt she’d stay, then.’
Adam looks at me hard. I nod. Someone once told me that if you nod when you want someone else to agree, they will ultimately copy your body movements and give in. So I keep nodding.
The effect on Adam seems limited.
‘You don’t need to worry about Nicole,’ he says.
‘But you do,’ I say.
And I go back to nodding.
Slowly Adam returns my nod.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘We’ll have the lessons at my house.’
Adam starts to protest.
‘You want to keep me away from Nicole, don’t you?’ I ask. I look up at the house, and see Nicole standing at the back bedroom window. She is talking on the phone, but watching us. I touch Adam lightly on the arm, and nod up at Nicole. ‘She’s always watching, you see. I could just mouth something at her now, pop in and tell her. Adam was in Feltham for—’
Adam puts his hand across my mouth, gagging me. Beneath his hand, I smile. There. We are closer already.
With our teaching pact made, we can go inside. Adam locks the violin away in its case. I will have to wait until our first lesson to stroke its curves, and to see if they really are lobsters on its front.
Nicole comes down to meet us. Adam flicks on the TV and mutes it while Nicole talks.
‘Dan, I’m so sorry – I couldn’t save the pages,’ she says, as she enters the room.
This is a disappointment.
‘Can I see them?’ I ask. I might be able to decipher what she is not.
She shakes her head. ‘I flushed them away. It was too hopeless. So you probably want to go now. To mourn.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘What’s this?’ asks Adam.
‘I startled Dan earlier, at the Wet Fish Café, made him spill coffee all over his latest book,’ Nicole explains. Adam looks at Nicole. I look at the TV. There is Old Compton Street, and Luke’s picture. ‘He’ll be sad. He’ll want to go home next, won’t you, Dan? Did you have a coat?’
‘You were at the Wet Fish Café together?’ asks Adam.
I think he is asking Nicole but I may as well answer. ‘Yes, we were having a good old chat. Catching up, sharing our secrets.’
Adam doesn’t react – he isn’t listening. Instead, he is staring at the TV.
‘Hey,’ he says, gesturing at the screen. ‘That’s just opposite the place we went the other night!’
Adam unmutes the TV. DC Huhne’s voice resonates out of the expensive speakers, surrounding me.
‘Dan, Nic, look – a girl murdered, the night before we ate there!’
The night after Nicole and I met there. I look at Nicole to see if she is thinking the same thing. She is still standing by the door, but I catch her eye. She is frowning, so I quickly look back at the TV again. I will have to speak now, or it will seem odd.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘The night after Nicole and I bumped into each other there.’
‘Good job none of us were there on the night itself – that would look suspicious!’ Adam jokes, laughing.
I try to laugh back.
‘Have they got a suspect?’ Nicole asks.
‘Someone called Luke,’ says Adam.
Nicole nods. I steal another glance. She is still frowning. The same as her midnight frown, after the dodgems. Except even more intense. It’s a good job she couldn’t save the coffee-drenched pages. I can’t guarantee the absence of Luke’s name.
‘Well, don’t let us keep you, Dan,’ Nicole says. She is undoing the locks on the front door, hurrying.
‘I don’t have to go; I could stay to dinner,’ I say. But she is holding open the door.
‘Show’s over for tonight, Dan,’ she says. ‘Everybody out.’
‘What’s the rush, Nic?’ Adam asks her.
‘We’ve got plans, remember?’ she says pointedly. I don’t know what plans start at 8 p.m. on a work night.
I go to Adam and shake his hand goodbye. ‘Don’t forget,’ I whisper. ‘Tomorrow – seven p.m. Bring the violin.’
I kiss Nicole goodbye on the cheek. She stays stiff and doesn’t return the favour. Odd. I thought we were getting on better now. When I look at her, she is staring straight ahead, and is looking a little pale.
As I turn to the front door, I see what she is looking at: DC Huhne coming up the front steps.