Chapter 18

1972

The next morning was mild and cloudy, but dry. I sat on the steps under the statue, waiting for Ron. He saw me quickly enough and spun off, avoiding both me and the paper shop. I stared after him. Don watched me watching Ron, put two and two together and came alongside and sat down.

He tried hard, ‘When do you start training again?’

‘Couple of weeks, I hope.’ I preferred it when he wanted to fight me. His face was fuller these days, but he looked no older. Even when Don tried to be sincere, his thick lips sneered – a reflex? Probably, just an uncontrollable reaction, and I guessed he wasn’t even aware of it. We talked the talk, old times, old fights re-fought. Don said, ‘My temporary secondment to C.I.D is becoming permanent.’

I said, ‘C.I.D., you – you’re joking.’

He laughed, ‘I won’t even have to move over to Oxford.’ I looked at him, staring around the market place; a constant lover no longer about to leave on a long and unwelcome journey. Don smiled, a relieved smile, at a stay of execution. ‘We heard about you and Ron in the Wheatsheaf. You made some pretty wild accusations.’

‘Wild accusations?’ I shrugged, ‘That’s me all over.’

Don smiled, ‘Shirley said he was with her. If what you were saying is true, it means that Shirley’s statement is a lie.’

‘I was in a playful mood. It’s over, and leave Shirley alone.’

‘No summary justice for you, then.’

‘I’ve had my say.’ I shook my head, ‘Not from me and I hope my old man feels the same.’

‘I’ve already told him, and Peggy has. It’ll only end up in more trouble for Shirley – she could get into real trouble. No one wants that.’

Fred went by on his bike, his back wheel still squeaking like a piglet with someone stood on its throat.

I smiled, ‘Late again.’

Don nodded, ‘He’s only got a couple of years to go – you never played football against him, did you?’ I shook my head, ‘Well – you always said I was slow.’

We laughed again, it must be time to move on – what was up with me? Talking to Don; my old man would have a purple fit.

***

Saturday evening and I had a soft warming rain on my face. Tonight, life would return to normal, the heartening certainty of ritual a few minutes away. I went past Mr. Goldstone as he locked up, about to remove his overall. It would be ten minutes before the heavy over coat wrapped itself around his slight shoulders and he’d then scurry down the hill, nervous in the gathering gloom. I crunched across the gravel carpark and in through the back door. I looked in the dog’s corner, fully expecting him to be grinning away at me.

I was jolted out of my daydream when I saw mum stood with her hand on Shirley’s arm. Shirley was in a chair, one elbow on the table, her head drooped forward. She never looked my way, but I could see her swollen cheek and angry bruises under both her eyes. On the table in front of her, a full ashtray, an empty cup of coffee, a full glass of gin and an empty cigarette packet. Don was sat close by and Wyn paced the floor, an expectant father, helplessly listening to Shirley’s metaphorical screams of labour.

‘What happened?’

As if I needed an answer. No one looked my way except Wyn, whose eyebrows arched – don’t say a word. He said, ‘Time to open up, my boy.’ With an assertive hand on my elbow, he steered me efficiently through into the bar and whispered, ‘She’ll be stopping here for a few days.’

‘Where’s dad?’ Panic stricken, ‘He’ll kill him this time, Ron’s soon for another world.’

Wyn’s eyes for once had a hard edge and yet he spoke so softly. ‘Don’t worry, Harry won’t do anything – can’t do anything – Ron’s been arrested. He beat her up this morning, later on she rang me. I told her to get over here straightaway. Peggy rang the police… Shirley’s told them everything, changed her statement.’ His eyes fluid brown once more, reassured me. ‘She’s told them everything.’

‘But there’s no evidence.’

‘There is now.’ I stared open-mouthed, recognised Wyn’s expression, after all, I’d seen it so many times; I know things that you don’t.

I said, ‘What happened?’

‘Shirley told me, the day after you got beat up – about the blood she found on Ron’s shirt. I told her not to wash it and to put it somewhere safe. I knew she’d do the right thing; there was never any doubt in my mind – or Peggy’s, come to that.’

‘You both knew? Shirley told me, but I thought it was only the two of us that knew.’

A flash of temper came over me and I even managed to sound petulant. Wyn shrugged and touched the remains of the bruise on my cheek, ever sensitive to my mood. ‘We couldn’t say anything – you know what your father’s like. I couldn’t even be sure about you either.’ He held my stare, a rock-solid harbour wall, beating the rising tide of my temper back before he calmly pressed on, ‘Ron’s inside. As usual, your mum’s been a rock.’ His eyes twinkled; you won’t believe this. ‘Don’s been marvellous with her, all day, making things as easy as possible under the circumstances.’

Don and ‘marvellous’ didn’t quite go together and I tried to work it all out, Shirley was obviously the bravest women in the world, but mum would have been urging her, like she does, you can do it Shirley, be strong. I guessed that would be it; not that mum would claim any credit. Either way, Wyn had calmed me down and I felt my brief outburst ebb gently away.

I nodded, ‘Celebration then – do you want one?’

He shook his head, an attempt to shake off a misty sadness that had recently enveloped him. ‘No thanks.’ Wyn stared at me for a long time, unnerving me before he finally spoke. ‘You remember how I always hammered it into you about regret and how it will slowly throttle you?’ Fumbling for his cigars gave him the excuse to avert my eyes and go through his smoker’s ritual. Despite the distraction, he appeared hurt and beaten. I knew what troubled him and I found it ironic that all his oft-quoted words about revenge and remorse had finally burst into his life and punched him squarely between the eyes. ‘All this would never have happened if…’

He trailed off and lowered his head. Wyn’s absolute self confidence – gone, and it hurt me to see him like this, I whispered, ‘Now’s your chance, sweep her off her feet and wander off into the sunset with her.’

A tortured smile and another reluctant sigh, ‘It’s too late – Shirley’s only 47 for God’s sake, the last thing she wants at the moment is another man under her feet.’ Wyn’s breath hissed out, ‘I can’t bear to think about what might have been and what the future might have held. I try to console myself with the thought that it would have never worked out. I mean just think – if we were still together that is, in ten years time, I’d be seventy and she’d be feeding me my soup through a straw.’

Wyn tried to laugh. I guessed that for the first and only time in his life he never sounded convincing. He rested his cigar on the ashtray, took another deep sighing breath and we looked at each other.

‘You know that Ron shopped you to the police?’

‘When? What are you talking about?’ His soft brown eyes gazed my way, Wyn’s eyebrows went up for a few seconds. ‘What’s Jack been saying?’

‘Told me about dad’s last fight – nothing about blackmail, though.’ We stared on, ‘Ron shopped you, and Shirley had no idea, why don’t you tell her what happened?’

‘Blackmail.’ Wyn sighed, ‘Small stuff, a pint here, ten shillings there. Jack was wide open to it. You’re a man of the world now. You know how it is.’

‘You’re not listening.’ I rested my hand on his wrist. ‘Tell her that Ron broke things up for you back then. Tell her you didn’t run off with one of your dancing girls.’

Wyn shrugged, ‘It’s too late, my boy.’

‘Tell her what the nasty little bastard did.’

‘Forget what Ron did.’ Wyn stubbed his cigar out, and chased it around the ashtray for a while. A preoccupied stubbing out; he brought his eyes back to me and said. ‘I still had my chance twelve years ago, don’t forget. If I don’t quite hate myself for not dragging Shirley away from here.’ His arm went around the room, ‘I regret playing my cards so badly. My last shot and I got it wrong. Then I watched you and began to regret what happened to me more and more. Don’t take this the wrong way, my boy, because I’m so happy for you. But I missed my chance and that really hurts me.’

Then a look, pained like a dog having his half eaten-dinner taken away – and you got the girl.

‘But…’

Wyn put the palms of his hands up and smiled, unburdened and relaxed once more. ‘There – I’ve said it and I feel better.’ His hand rested on my shoulder. I wasn’t sure if Wyn had finished; I waited and finally he said. ‘You’d better open up.’

I nodded, took a short walk, ever happy to do his bidding. When I came back he had gone.

***

I pulled pints on a slow and easy Sunday night, slow and easy. Just the piano and the steady murmur of conversation, which suited me fine, blue music, and a good pianist. A perfect end to the weekend and an end of sorts to the conflict that had assailed all of us recently.

I picked my glass up, threw some beer down my throat and watched as Kathy made her self-assured walk up towards the bar. Head up, shoulders back, wearing her new status like a military campaign ribbon. Comfortable with the little scandal we had generated over the last months or so. She came up to Tommy, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. Tommy’s eyes flicked around the bar, a muscle ticked away in his vacant cheek, finally he smiled.

My old man punched me on the bicep as he said, ‘It’s amazing, they twist us around and turn us into lambs, lions into lambs.’ He liked that so much he laughed, dad turned back to Kathy and said it again. ‘Lions into lambs – how’d you do it?’

Kathy frowned and looked back to Tommy, who said, ‘Take no notice of the silly old fucker, he’s been in a funny old mood all evening.’

My old man took his stare away from me and across to Tommy. Dad leant across the counter and looked intently into Tommy’s eyes. I stared on as he sipped his beer, took a deep drag on his cigarette and picked up a handful of peanuts from the bowl. He chewed and took another drink, another drag and chewed away through it all. He threw his head back my way and said, ‘The boy’s hit the money this time – who’d have thought it, we’re going to be grandfathers.’

Here we go, first argument of the evening.

Tommy’s head jerked up and his eyes flashed back across the bar. He drained his glass, pushed it back towards my old man, stared at me and then said. ‘I can’t fucken believe it.’

My old man leaned in close to Tommy’s face. ‘Being a grandfather can’t be too bad.’ He picked up Tommy’s glass and said. ‘Don’t you like the idea of it then, make you feel old does it?’

Tommy said, ‘Does it fuck.’ He nodded the short distance across to me, ‘I can’t believe that wanker managed to put my daughter up the spout.’

Tommy leant back on his stool, safely out of reach from dad and sat there open-mouthed, a naughty schoolboy. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, my old man’s frown lowered to dangerous proportions as he glowered away at Tommy. Then like a light switch being thrown, their mood lifted and they both laughed.

My old man glanced my way and said. ‘Have you heard?’

I frowned and my chest tightened at the sudden change in his voice.

‘Too bloody much time in the bedroom I expect. Ron’s out on bail, be careful when you walk home.’

‘How? Why?’

‘Smart solicitor argued that he was no danger. Soft-hearted magistrate and…’

I glanced over at Kathy as my head reeled, ‘Did you know?’

Kathy nodded and then smiled. ‘Just stay out of his way.’

‘I’m always the last to find out anything around here.’

Kathy ignored that, she raised her eyebrows at me and nodded towards Bernice… It’s that time.

An inward groan from me, followed by an audible sigh – I’d rather meet Ron in murky alleyway. Tommy laughed and my old man clapped me between the shoulder blades with the flat of his hand. Tommy pointed at me and snapped. ‘Don’t keep Bernice waiting, she wants a word with you.’ Then he smiled, ‘No need to look like that… what’s up with you? Take it like a fucken man.’

‘Off you go.’ They chorused together and I followed Kathy over the short distance towards Bernice, Woodbine welded to her bottom lip, she saw me and quickly looked the other away.

I took a deep breath and sat down opposite.

She stared at the curtained window. Her hounding personality drifted my way in waves of antagonistic hostility. I felt years of her resentment wash over me. I hoped that things might thaw between us now, what with me and Kathy, but nothing had changed. Bernice talked as if I wasn’t there, I listened to the one-sided tirade. It was no wonder Kathy left home so early; getting married to the wrong man preferable to living with Bernice and Tommy with their constant and often vicious arguments.

The untipped Woodbine stuck between her thin lips bounced around like a conductor’s baton. Bernice writhed in silent discomfort at the very idea of her daughter and me… That man. She rubbed her turkey-choking talons together. I stared at Bernice’s skin, parched and as brittle as tissue paper. Her eyes vague and somewhat watery, hawk-nosed and angry usually. Lips forever tight together and forming a dark red line of lipstick and rancour. The frown, apparently welded in place.

Kathy glanced over towards the bar; I knew that she longed to be sat alongside Tommy, listening to her father’s reassuring profanities. She looked across at Bernice, it was tough going for both of us. Kathy tried once more. ‘I’m pregnant mum. You should be happy for me.’

Bernice’s relentless antagonism towards me manifested once more. ‘I should be happy, I would be if anyone else was the father, but I’m worried. You know he’s just like his uncle – he’s trouble, too.’

I should have moved, or at least looked the other way. I wanted to tell her to shut her mouth. But I’d promised – anyway, Kathy stuck to her guns. ‘You should be pleased for me. I love him and I’ve never been so happy – he makes me happy.’ Her green eyes, large and fluid and soft, had an intensity that contradicted first impressions; her mother had managed to upset her once again. Kathy stood up, time to shock. She rubbed her stomach and said, ‘He only prays in one church you know, mum.’

I stifled a laugh as Kathy winked at me and then she smiled at Bernice’s blank stare. Then the penny dropped. Bernice sucked her breath in, stared my way and shook her head. ‘He hasn’t even got a proper job. And I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Declan, and poor Kenny… Well.’

Bernice sent a frowning look my way that said I’ll never forgive you.

‘Mum …’ Kathy shut her eyes, what’s the point.

Penance over, I stood and said, ‘I’m going to see Wyn.’

Bernice closed her eyes at the mention of my uncle’s name. Then she fumbled for her cigarettes like an overwrought blind woman in a sand storm. I raised my eyebrows at Kathy; she smiled and nodded and I made my escape.

I wandered through to the smoke room to see Uncle Wyn and Shirley, the only two in there. Wyn beamed my way and Shirley stared down at the floor. Wyn’s right hand rested insouciantly in the expensive sports jacket pocket, his left elbow rested against the mantle shelf. He took his look away from me and stared down at the fire for a minute. Then he glanced back over to Shirley. ‘You know that’s how I was, faithful as long as their bank balances held up.’

I smiled and Shirley brought her gaze towards Wyn and laughed softly, ‘Wicked bugger – we all know that’s not true.’

‘Not in your case.’ He said this quickly and we all knew that to be true.

Shirley’s fingers drummed away on the table in front of her and she nodded silently; the sound of the piano from the public bar drifted through, like morning mist over the canal bank; followed by the heartening burst of shouting from my old man, mingled with a regular curse from Tommy. They looked at each other and smiled, but they were both preoccupied, I thought. Shirley’s immaculately applied make-up covering the beating her ex-husband gave her a couple of days earlier. A slightly swollen eyebrow and a puffy cheek, the only indicators of another of Ron’s nasty little hobbies.

Wyn said. ‘He’ll soon be back inside, you can relax again.’

Shirley’s nose flared and she brought her head slowly up, a frown firmly in place. ‘Yes… Just when I think it’s safe to get things moving and two days later they release him.’

Wyn looked around the smoke room, there were two sofas against the longer of the walls and a couple of comfortable easy chairs, one against each of the shorter walls. Sunday night was usually empty early on. I always thought they met up as some sort of ritualistic service to the memory of their doomed affair, meeting in comfortable peace and reassuring solitude. Just a quiet chat between old friends, ex-lovers, relaxed and secure with the occasional silences. Making each other laugh, usually, but not tonight.

He glanced back at Shirley with her thick blonde hair, blue eyes and those cultured cheekbones. Wyn smiled and no wonder, not a grey hair in sight.

Shirley uncrossed her legs and pressed the knees demurely together. ‘He looked a mess.’

‘Ron?’ Wyn moved away from the fire and stood directly in front of her. ‘He’s been round?’

Shirley lit a cigarette and stared at Wyn for a few seconds. ‘Been around? Course he has.’ Shirley glanced my way, ‘I felt nothing, not a thing. Told him to get lost.’ She shook her head, ‘He just walked away – up the path. Never even called me a bitch.’

Wyn shut his eyes, how could anyone call you that?

‘Are you going to have another one?’ He nodded towards her empty glass.

Shirley hammered her cigarette into the ashtray, sighed and stood, brushed her skirt down and then smiled up at Wyn. ‘Early night, bags to pack.’ She buttoned her long raincoat and picked her handbag up. Wyn walked the short distance to the door and opened it for her. Shirley turned back, ‘How long will you be?’

I felt my eyebrows arch, what’s going on?

Wyn thought for a minute, tipped his head a touch and frowned, as if remembering a time when that invitation was proffered regularly.

He sighed. ‘Not long, I’m going back into the bar and catch up on the gossip.’

Shirley smiled, ‘Find out what I’ve been up to?’

Wyn laughed, ‘Something like that.’

Shirley rested her elegant fingers on the back of Wyn’s hand. ‘Old friends.’ She stared my way and raised her eyebrows. It was Wyn’s first crisis of confidence for thirty years; sixty years old and he’s having a mid-life crisis. Shirley kissed him on the cheek and closed the door behind her.

‘Old friends.’ Wyn said this as though he was the only person in the room.

I shook my head; I didn’t ask him what was going on. He’d tell me soon enough. I said, ‘I’m going down to the Lamb, got some celebrating to do… You coming?’ I always asked him and he mostly said no, but he appreciated the offer; still one of the boys.

‘Not too much celebrating now.’ He shook my hand and we stared at each other, his soft brown eyes sparkling my way, first time I’d seen that for a couple of months. ‘I’m taking Shirley down to Cornwall for a few days, until Ron’s safely out of the way.’

His chest came out, how about that one, then?

I smiled at him. ‘Lucky man – that could take months though.’

He laughed, ‘Let’s hope so.’ Then Wyn frowned and his lips turned down, he sighed and I watched as his hand came my way and gently gripped my bicep. How many years has he been doing that? I felt warm and shivered at the same time. Wyn’s soothing words drifted my way. ‘Listen… God knows how or why they let him out, but Ron’s out on the prowl, he’s got nothing to lose – you’ll be careful won’t you?’

***

I walked into the Lamb and noticed them straightaway, sat by the inglenook fireplace. Ron was wedged into a corner seat and Kenny sat opposite. Ron’s stoat eyes darted everywhere, but they homed in on me and rested for a few seconds before flashing off somewhere else.

Why are they out together?

Kenny noticed me as well; he picked the two empty glasses up, walked up to the bar and stood next to me. He ordered two pints and stared intently to the front.

I spoke first. ‘Why did they let him out?’

It grieved me to say it, but Kenny had turned into a good-looking man, his father’s son all right; with dark skin, strong chin and nose, tall like his mother, but with a pronounced stoop. The last few months had taken a toll, however; his hair, once black and thick had become lank and too long. He constantly brushed it straight back over his head only for it to tumble forward again whenever he stared down. His eyelids operated much the way a lizard’s flicked and slithered open.

Not that they met mine, his face flushed as he spoke, ‘Let who out? What are you talking about?’

‘Haven’t you seen Shirley?’

‘I’ve just got back, been away all week.’ His mouth formed a tight circle and he slowly shook his head. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Perhaps you should ask that nasty bastard you’re drinking with.’

Whenever I stood close to Kenny, my focus went to the subject of his pedigree, the issue that had gripped me and tormented Kenny for most of his life. My transparent thoughts read by Kenny who stared right through me. I bunched my fists, stood up straight and stared back. Instead of a fight, Kenny looked over my shoulder and asked, ‘How’s Kathy?’

It should have been easy to just say she’s well. But old habits die hard, anyway I had someone on my shoulder, a fiendish imp whispering in my ear. Go on, hurt him some more and I nearly said it; she’s pregnant.

One word and I imagined Kenny’s pupils dilating and the redness draining from his cheeks.

Pregnant!

My turn to read the thoughts of a distressed man stood next to me. I sighed and tried to make eye contact while Kenny stared straight ahead. I cuffed the little demon away. ‘She’s well, thanks.’

‘Tell her I asked after her.’

I found the concern of a husband as to the welfare of his ex-wife more than touching. In fact I allowed myself to feel a touch of guilt at last, a brief bubble of culpability constantly under threat by my blunt spear of hostility. I nodded Kenny’s way and said, ‘I’ll tell her.’

He picked the beer up and started to walk away. Kenny stopped, turned and looked into my eyes, once again the hairs on my wrists stood on end. Not at the imagined onset of an assault, but the colour of his eyes still jolted right through me.

He brought me back sharply. ‘I walked in here for a quiet drink, bumped into him and suddenly I’ve got to nursemaid that evil little fucker.’ He rushed on, giving me no chance to answer. ‘He told me what he did. Tell Kathy I’m sorry, I had no idea. Can you believe it? The bastard. I had a job not to push my glass into his face.’

Kenny stood there, open-mouthed for a few seconds and I half-expected more bile to come my way. I just watched as he blinked a couple of times; he didn’t know about Shirley.

I said. ‘Don’t do anything silly.’ Then I did something so stupid that, on reflection, just beggared belief. ‘Ask him how Shirley is and tell him not to break the terms of his bail.’

‘Bail?’ Kenny frowned and never replied for a few seconds, he started to rub his temples between thumb and index finger. When he spoke, his hand covered his face, like he was wearing a visor worn by card players or someone with a dislike for bright light. ‘I’ve not seen her since I’ve got back, I’ve had a few days away and when I come back.’ He nodded over towards Ron. ‘He tells me he’s the one that almost killed Kathy… said it like he did me a favour. What would you do?’

Kenny never gave me chance to answer, he wheeled away and I stared at his back, my turn to stand and watch with my mouth hanging open. Ron had told him about assaulting me, but not about punching Shirley, or being out on bail. Kenny couldn’t care less about me, but now that he knows that Ron battered Kathy, well if he found out about Shirley as well.

Repercussions ricocheted around inside my head. Kenny’s deranged look of a manic nemesis on the prowl, the one that he’d been wearing all evening, would soon be put to practical use. The unhinged appearance that soon to be realised retribution had cemented on his face – would that soon become a reality?

I shook my head. Looking back, I should have just walked over and punched Ron myself. That would have been an end to everything, but I was too busy telling everyone within earshot my good news. Too busy doing what I was best at, too busy being the big man in a small town.

I never noticed either of them leave.

When I realised, I put my half-empty pint down and hurried outside. The cold air hit me at the same time as I realised that Ron was in danger. Instead of a casual five minute stroll home, I raced after two men I hated; onwards into a sinister and ghostly world. Not my customary spectral wander under dim streetlights. Not another penitential walk home; but a desperate scramble to stop a murderous assault. The quicker I moved, the more my mind rambled. My sense of perspective rebelled, quickly forgetting Kathy and babies. Instead, I thought of Kenny, alone… Would he have blood on his hands by now?

A brisk tail wind pushed me along a footpath that meandered and mirrored the course of Letcombe brook. The moon’s fitful appearance sent vague shadows across in front of me. My usual vision of Kenny lurking in the darkness kept me wide-eyed and alert. I crossed the brook and listened as my footsteps echoed across the wooden footbridge by the old mill.

That’s when I saw the body.

It had fallen in the recovery position, on its left side with the right arm across the face. My chest began to heave like a pair of hard-working blacksmith’s bellows. All the time, my mind crashed around at tangents as I stared down. Despite the badly-lit, narrow lane with its large hedges and larger trees, I recognised it immediately. Not just any random dead man you might stumble across on your way back from a night out either, but Ron Catmore. I tipped my head a touch and frowned; in this light Ron looked at peace, the way any sleeping drunk does, oblivious to the world and happy to remain that way. My pulse slowed and I no longer wheezed like a racehorse in the winner’s enclosure. I felt calm and even bent down and looked into his dead eyes. The funny thing was, I felt no revulsion or indeed any kind of sick compulsion. I thought it would be a situation that I could luxuriate in.

But instead I felt nothing.

I bent down and ran the back of my fingers across the unshaven cheek; ice cold, dead cold. Why didn’t he ever shave? The cheek was sharp and spiky like coarse emery paper, but cold like only a dead man can feel. That’s when I noticed the blood trickling down the hill. That and the camber of the dimly-lit track forcing it to take its slow, snaking route to the brook a couple of yards away.

I squinted at the blood dribbling its way from the mouth, not there – where? I fumbled around the head and behind the right ear, there… Like the source of the Nile. It felt like half of his head was missing. I jumped up and shuddered at the wetness on my hand. I wiped it on Ron’s donkey jacket and then stood, trembling. I took one more deep lungful of air.

‘What are you doing?’

The air hissed out from my chest like an exhausting air brake. A frail voice, an old man’s voice – a familiar voice. But it still made me jump to attention. I had to thump my own chest hard, like I needed to jump-start my heart.

‘I’ve rung the police, you know.’

I took a couple of deep breaths, turned and blinked in the direction of the voice. And a familiar face greeted me. I smiled, ‘Bert, how are you?’

He squinted at me; even in this twilight zone his thoughts appeared as transparent as a sheet of glass. I could be stood next to a homicidal maniac, where have the police got to?

If I had a degree of lucidity left in my body at this moment in time, I would have realised that my own face would have become twisted and contorted. The dim street light yards away deepened my features, coarsened them and probably made me look like a murderer now. Angry shadows covered my face and I probably looked like an irritated Bela Lugosi – enough to convince Bert, anyway.

He was about to turn away for safety when he saw a figure amble down Locks Lane. A policeman whose approach mirrored the typical rolling gait of a farm labourer. A policeman maybe, but also one of the nicest men in the world. He nodded and his grin widened when he recognised me and he said, ‘Stu.’ He stared, a frown slowly manifested, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Fred.’ Bert shouted. ‘I found the body, you know, I rang you lot.’

Fred squinted across at the old boy, who are you?

‘Oh, hello Bert.’ Took his gaze back to me and asked the same question. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ He frowned again, ‘Who’s the body then?’

I shrugged, ‘You’re not going to believe it.’

The policeman peered back across towards his witness. ‘Don’t worry Bert, the cavalry’s on the way. I mean, what do you expect. It’s a Sunday night after all.’

‘I saw who did it.’ Bert pointed at the body and groaned. ‘You haven’t even checked to see who it is, or if he’s even dead.’

I took a deep breath and said, ‘Oh, he’s dead all right.’

We all looked back to the slow and relaxed moving little brook. On a sunny day, the water carried reflections of fluffy clouds and twisting willow trees. On a bleak night like tonight, nothing just the sound of rain that pattered down onto a nearby car roof. That and a whispering wind sighing down from the north. The full moon still appeared sporadically behind the heavy scudding clouds, its bright face casting ashen shadows. When it appeared, the body came into a soft focus again. Fred’s outsized torch came out and he played it over the body like a frantic cinema usherette looking for a spare seat on a busy Saturday night. It made its uneven journey, first up the legs and then the torso and stopped as it shone on the dead man’s face.

Fred’s mouth swung open like an excavator’s bucket, he stared at me and then back to the body. I knew what the policeman was thinking and it must have looked as though I wanted to reassure him.

Not me, Fred – honest.

Fred stared on, ‘What’s happened? It’s… Ron… Jesus, Stu – Ron Catmore. Who did it?’

Kenny.

There could be no doubt about that but despite that certainty, my mind kept driving one way. I was responsible, my old man culpable and Uncle Wyn equally so. I looked at Fred and he knew well enough how the three of us had twisted and tortured Ron for years; I had successfully managed to break Kenny’s spirit pretty much on my own. My eyes went to ground, my old man and Wyn began to torment Ron at the end of the war. I was a mere usurper and only joined in the fun twelve years ago.

Jesus Christ, what have we done?

I had stumbled across the dead body of someone that I hated. The police wanted to charge me and they certainly gave me a hard time for an hour. Don shouted and pointed – you were always gunning for him, threatened him in front of witnesses. I got the whole thing, the finger jabbing and the threats – a few nights inside will sort you out. I imagined him to be desperate for it to be me, but on reflection I didn’t think his heart was truly in it. Despite my motive; the fact that old Bert had seen the attack and the assailant running away, was always going to swing it my way.

They booted me out and I walked onto Church Street at half past four and into a howling gale. That’s when I saw Kenny, fifty yards away from where he had tried to cave my head in a couple of months before. He had his head down as he walked slowly my way. Kenny stared down at his feet and never saw me. I stopped in front of him.

‘Kenny.’

Not a thing; he stood still and stared down at the ground.

‘Kenny.’ I said, louder this time and movement at last. His head came up, slower than Tower Bridge.

He mumbled my way and I strained to listen as the sign for the Woolpack directly above us squeaked and grated. The wind drove his voice away from me. I leaned in close as he whispered, ‘What are you doing creeping about at this time of night?’ Kenny shivered, rolled his shoulders and pulled his coat together. ‘You’ve heard?’

I nodded, ‘I’m sorry…’

‘No, you’re not – no one is, least of all me.’ His voice suddenly became too loud in a deserted street. His words ricocheted around as if it were an empty crypt. Kenny’s eyes never left the pavement and he talked to the tarmac. ‘I’ve had two dads in my life and hated both of them.’ Without bringing his head up, he pointed my way, ‘I’ve told you that before, haven’t I? Why did Ron have to say that? I suppose you’ve always known?’

‘No.’ I shook my head, ‘Only recently – no one tells me anything either.’

Kenny’s eyes came slowly up to meet mine and he drifted off at a tangent. ‘I rushed the three hundred yards back home, you know the feeling… Frightened and elated at the same time.’

Oh no!

He needed to talk and I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to listen. I tried to look interested, which seemed irrelevant really, as Kenny’s eyes had suddenly found the streetlights’ fascinating. He stared up at them, like a wolf about to howl at the full moon.

‘When I got in, I took the stairs two at a time and into the bathroom, three steps across the floor, up close to the mirror and stared. What did I see? Did I look like Ron? No, thank fuck.’ His eyes finally came across to meet mine, deep, dark circles around them. Bloodshot as well, I imagined, but despite it all, I shivered as it could have been Wyn’s eyes I stared into.

Why couldn’t I ever see it? I shook my head; I was in the middle of a confession as Kenny bared his soul and I knew where it was leading. His hand came across the short distance between us and gripped my wrist. Despite our history, I never felt threatened, just calm; a confessional and me an unlikely priest.

‘No dogs barked, no wail of a police siren either. You’d think it should have been the worst day of my life, but it was the best. It wasn’t as though someone I loved or something I cared about had gone forever, only Ron.’

I imagined a flurry of intense activity, a rain of ineffectual blows. Could it have been just like that? Or maybe only one blow? I shrugged, Ron attracted a punch in the same way a cowpat draws flies and either way, Kenny had delivered the final blow. He loosened the grip on my wrist and clasped his hands together and began to wring them. Lady Macbeth in a small market town sprang to mind.

Kenny rubbed his eyes and I stated the obvious. ‘You need some sleep.’

He smiled. ‘I never feel drowsy at night, I need sleep now more than anything – apart from Kathy, that is.’

He stared at me now and we both knew. She had been his religion once upon a time, but now sleeplessness had become his new belief. Kathy had been his magnetic north and his thoughts always pointed her way. Kenny sighed, ‘You think I’m all talk, don’t you?’

Not any more, I don’t.

‘Do you want to hear something really funny?’

I shook my head, comedy hour was the last thing I needed. I got it anyway.

‘You know when you nearly killed Ron?’ Kenny twisted his face close to mine. ‘When he came out of the bus station on a stretcher? He lost his union card in there, the night the mechanic had his accident. He went back four or five times to look for it. When he did find it, you gassed him.’

I found it, I found it.

I nodded and was about to ask Kenny if Ron killed the mechanic, when he beat me to it. ‘I’m going in there.’

Kenny nodded towards the blue lamp above the door of the police station

I gently held onto his bicep. ‘Don’t do that – he wasn’t worth it. Go home, clean yourself up and get some sleep.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘I remember telling Ron, years ago, well before Shirley told us she was about to up and leave. I said, ‘why do you put up with the two of them?’ He lost his temper – shouted at me, mind your own business you skinny twat.’ Kenny laughed, a hacking croak of a death rattle. ‘Do you remember? You were listening.’

I nodded as he ploughed on. ‘Then history repeated itself, me waiting for Kathy to come home, counting the number of times she’d been out. Her oh-so-fucking-innocent look drifted into the living room, that and her butter-wouldn’t-melt smile coming my way all the time.

‘Do you know that those sounds still bounce around in my head? They drive me fucking mad even now; her climbing the stairs, the bathroom door shutting, taps on, the toilet flushing, taps on again, footsteps coming down the stairs. Tights and knickers in the washing basket, why did she do it – and with you as well?’

Kenny wanted an answer. He twisted his head into mine again and stared deep into my eyes. I could only shrug as he brought the palms of his hands up and rubbed his temples with the heels. He screwed his face up and rubbed for minutes it seemed.

He shook his head and fumbled around in his coat pocket. ‘Have you told Kathy about Declan?’

I shook my head as I said, ‘Did Ron kill the mechanic?’

Kenny’s head twisted and settled at a crazy angle. ‘I was with him. Didn’t see it, though. He said it was an accident. He said the same thing a few weeks later when he tipped Declan into the canal. It was an accident and we had to hide the body.’

An uneasy silence enveloped us. I wanted to go home to Kathy, but questions needed to be asked. ‘What about Dennis Evans, did Ron burgle that house?’

‘We did, you mean. Ron started to become friendly about that time. Towards me, I mean. Just before they found Declan’s body. I was suspicious about Kathy, by then as well. When they found the body, I cracked up. Ron said that I needed a distraction. Did I fancy helping him? He knew the house was empty. A couple of days later, I found myself scrambling through the window after him; this old lady was sat in an arm chair, smiling up at us. Ron picked up a cushion and walked towards her. That was no accident. She watched him approach and never moved a muscle, apart from smile at him. I turned and bailed out the window.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve had enough.’ Kenny nodded towards the Police Station again, ‘Bert Powell saw everything, dead in the water, me – I’m going in there for a chat.’

I nearly told him that his dad knew enough good lawyers, talk to Wyn first. Instead I said, ‘Why don’t you get some legal advice?’

He ignored my question, just spoke softly my way. ‘Do you know that mum’s going away with my real dad?’

I frowned, until the penny finally dropped.

Kenny nodded as he saw me make the connection, ‘I wanted to tell her that I’d killed the little bastard, knew that she’d be pleased. Never had the chance to tell her… She left a note on the kitchen table, only said a few words, ‘Wyn’s taking me down to Cornwall for a few days’, that’s all it said.’

I didn’t know what to say. He said nothing either, just walked slowly past me. Kenny went five yards before he turned and stopped. ‘Don’t forget, not a word to Kathy.’ He shouted this my way. Kenny walked on through the car park, up the steps, pushed the heavy door open and went under the blue lamp.

***

I had to get home, I knew Kathy would be frantic by this time. But an unlikely burst of intuition made me pull up. I glanced down at my watch, just after five and Jack’s time to arrive at the office. An early bird, he liked to get things organised, before the distractions of a normal working day, barged their way into his deeply structured work pattern.

I pushed through the door and Jack squinted up at me, through his first cigarette of the day.

‘What’s happened to you?’

‘You won’t believe this.’

I gave him a quick run down on last night’s events. He sighed a lot, shook his head occasionally and took notes at the same time. A true professional.

‘Have you got a crow-bar?’

‘What do you want one of those for?’

‘I want to find Declan’s favourite marble.’

He pointed at me. ‘Stuart, I’m busy – its too early for games.’

I quickly explained.

‘My typesetter uses one to free one of the flywheels on that old Victorian press out the back. I’m really busy Stuart, this hadn’t be another of your wild premonitions.’

Minutes later, we stood in front of Ron’s shed. In this half-light, it could have been the time I wrecked his allotment. It all came back to me. Not with any organised chronology, just images and an abstract feeling that resolution might still slip away; blown eastwards by the blustery wind.

Jack burst into my deep sense of vagueness. ‘A crow-bar to open the door this time; a slightly more subtle way of opening the door than by blowing it off its hinges with high explosives.’ Jack smiled as he spoke.

‘That wasn’t me, guv.’

There was a satisfying splintering of wood as the crowbar did its efficient job. I stared at the inside of the shed. Neatly lined-up rows of long handled hoes, rakes, spades and forks. On the shelf, various tins including rat poison. On the floor was the toolbox, I lifted it up, turned and placed it carefully on the grassed footpath.

‘Is that blood on your hand?’

I nodded, ‘Ron’s blood. I was checking to see if he was alive. The back of his head was missing.’

I turned back to the tool box. I levered the claw end behind the hefty padlock and slowly increased the pressure until, with a rivet-bursting ‘snap’, Ron’s safe was cracked.

‘Give me a lever long enough and I can move the world.’ Jack nodded, ‘I hope you’re not going to be too disappointed.’

The lid creaked and groaned as I lifted it up and we stared at the contents. It was a typical toolbox used by mechanics – or in Ron’s case, machinists. A tray at the top for his precision instruments and the heavier socket set and spanners underneath. I scanned the tray and saw it straightaway. I picked it up and gazed for a few seconds. Then passed the clear plastic, enveloped photograph over.

‘Well, well.’ Jack stared and stared at it. Eventually he said, ‘Suzie, husband and baby. Where did this come from?’

I was sure that Jack knew the answer to that one, but I told him anyway. ‘Suzie told me her husband carried it with him at all times.’

Jack nodded, ‘I remember her asking me about it enough times.’ His gaze went back to the toolbox. ‘The watch?’

I picked it up and read the engraved back, I’ll always love you – Suzie.

‘The bastard.’

Jack rarely swore; when he did, it always shocked. ‘The police should have all of this. Or should I just show them to Suzie and ask her what she wants to do?’ He glanced between the picture and the watch, stared at me for a while and said. ‘What’s up?’

I stared at Jack, my chest tightened, I wanted to cry, ‘I thought I would find Declan’s marble.’

‘Marble! Never mind that. You were right all along. Don’t look so miserable.’

***

I crept through the living room door and gazed down at Kathy as she slept on the sofa. Her slip was up around her waist and one of its straps halfway down her arm. I slipped my coat off, sat on the carpet and leant back against the sofa. I turned and kissed her neck.

Kathy’s eyes slowly opened. ‘You’re late, where’ve you been? I’ve been going round the bloody bend with worry.’

‘Ron’s dead.’

‘Tell me it wasn’t you.’

‘I could have stopped it happening. Too busy having a good time.’ I shook my head and gave her the blank stare for a few seconds, ‘I’ve been talking – to Kenny, then the police, and then Kenny again. Ron’s dead, don’t look like that. It wasn’t me. I should have stopped it though.’

‘Christ.’ She frowned. ‘Who did it?’

‘Who do you think?’

‘Not Kenny, please not Kenny.’ We wrapped our arms around each other and Kathy kissed the back of my neck.

‘It was only ever going to be either Kenny or me.’

‘Don’t joke – please.’ We stared at one another, Kathy shut her eyes and sighed. ‘I don’t believe this is happening. Tell me its some kind of sick joke?’

I said, ‘I feel responsible, culpable.’

‘No!’ Kathy’s eyes blazed away and her fingers tightened their grip on my shoulder. ‘No, never think that – we fell in love. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone.’

I loosened her fingers and stood up, ‘I’ve got to tell you something about Kenny.’

Kathy sat up and I walked over to the window. Looking out over the market place and watching her reflection at the same time. The only sound of rain hammering against glass. Kathy’s image in the window became distorted by rivulets dribbling down as I told her everything, almost everything. I struggled to catch her expression. I turned and sat alongside her. Kathy looked up at me, her eyebrows came slowly up, into that elegant arch that I adored.

Her mouth opened a touch as she stared at me. ‘Why did he put mum and dad through all of those years?’ A solitary tear journeyed down her cheek as she whispered, ‘You were right, not that it gives me any pleasure to say it.’

Kathy folded her arms and stared down at the floor. She stood and came alongside. Her arms came around me and she pushed her lips into my neck. I felt the wetness of her tears as she kept kissing my neck, over and over.

I said, ‘He told me not to tell you.’

‘I’m sure he did. Since when did you two suddenly become bosom buddies?’

‘He came and saw me in hospital.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that?’

I placed my finger gently on her lips; I wanted this to be the last lie I ever told her. ‘It doesn’t matter, he never told me about Declan until tonight. Tonight, outside the police station, I got the full confession. He’d convinced himself that you’d go back to him. Kenny blames Ron’s assault for that not happening.’

I felt her nod, Kathy talked through her sobs, short sharp machine gun bursts. ‘He said that – when we met in the social club – if he ever found out who attacked us – he said he’d kill them.’

And he did.

I sensed her concentration drifting away from me as my news sunk ever deeper into her consciousness. I lifted the sash on the window a touch. The sky had lightened over the east. A mild cloudy day, rain dappled the lead-coloured puddles. Just a black morning in early autumn, a substantial heavy sky that softened rooftops, a snuff-brown coloured photograph of heavy coated commuters stood on slate grey pavements.

Then a soft hand on my shoulder, Kathy’s voice, ‘Were you surprised he’s confessed to everything?’

I shook my head.

Kathy pushed against me and squeezed my shoulder. ‘I’d kind of hoped he wouldn’t in a way. I don’t think dad will get over it.’ We gazed down on the market square and Kathy whispered, ‘How do you feel?’

I nodded and said, ‘Sad, how about you?’

‘I’m all right, we’ll get through all of this.’

I watched rain tumbling out of the black, scudding clouds. I felt her arms come around my waist, her warm cheek rested gently between my shoulder blades. I glanced down at Ron’s dried blood on my fingers and shivered.