‘Some of the things they say he does,’ Bet was saying.
George, nodding along, ‘Slices their tits off, right?’
‘Takes out their wombs, this copper was saying.’
‘Eats bits and all.’
‘Another?’
‘And keep them coming,’ I said, sick.
I staggered round the corner of my road and there he was, under the streetlight.
A tall man in a black raincoat, a hat, and a battered briefcase.
He was standing motionless, staring up at my flat, frozen.
‘Martin,’ I said, coming up behind him.
He turned, ‘Jack. I was getting worried.’
‘I told you, I’m fine.’
‘Been drinking?’
‘About forty years.’
‘You need some new jokes, Jack.’
‘Got any?’
‘Jack, you can’t keep running.’
‘You going to exorcise my demons, are you? Put me out of my fucking misery?’
‘I’d like to come up. To talk.’
‘Another time.’
‘Jack, there might not be another time. It’s running out.’
‘Good.’
‘Jack, please.’
‘Goodnight.’
The telephone was ringing on the other side.
I opened the door and answered it.
‘Hello.’
‘Jack Whitehead?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I’ve got some information concerning one of these Ripper murders.’
A man’s voice, young and local.
‘Go on.’
‘Not on the phone.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Not important, but I can meet Saturday night.’
‘What kind of information?’
‘On Saturday. Variety Club.’
‘Batley?’
‘Yeah. Between ten and eleven.’
‘OK, but I need a name?’
‘No names.’
‘You want money I suppose?’
‘No money’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘You just be there.’
At the window, the Reverend Laws still under the streetlight, a lynched East End Jew in his black hat and coat.
I sat down and tried to read, but I was thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her hair, thinking of her ears, thinking of her eyes, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her lips, thinking of her teeth, thinking of her tongue, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her neck, thinking of her collarbone, thinking of her shoulders, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her breasts, thinking of the skin, thinking of her nipples, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her stomach, thinking of her belly, thinking of her womb, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her thighs, thinking of the skin, thinking of the hair, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her piss, thinking of her shit, thinking of her hidden bits, praying Carol stayed gone, thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her, and praying.
I stood up and turned to the bed, to be under the sheets, thinking of her, touching me.
I stood up, I turned, and there she was.
Ka Su Peng gone.
Carol home.
‘Did you miss me?’
The John Shark Show
Radio Leeds
Friday 10th June 1977
Chapter 13
In my dream I was sitting on a sofa in a pink room. A dirty sofa with three rotting seats, smelling worse and worse, but I couldn’t stand.
And then in the dream I was sitting on a sofa in a playing field. A horrible sofa with three rusty springs, cutting into my arse and thighs, but I couldn’t stand, couldn’t get up.
Someone’s tapping on my face.
I open my eyes.
It’s Bobby.
He smiles, eyes alive, teeth tiny and white.
He pushes a book on to my chest.
I close my eyes.
He taps on my face again.
I open my eyes.
It’s Bobby, in his blue pyjamas.
I’m on the settee in the front room, the radio on in the back, the smell of breakfast in the house.
I sit up and pick up Bobby and his blue pyjamas, put him on my knee and open his book.
‘Once upon a time there was a rabbit, a magic rabbit who lived on the moon.’
And Bobby’s got his hands up, pretending they’re rabbit’s ears.
‘And the rabbit had a giant telescope, a magic telescope that looked down on the earth.’
And Bobby’s making a telescope out of his hands, turning round to stare up at me, hands to his eye.
‘One day the magic rabbit pointed his magic telescope at the world and said: “Magic telescope, magic telescope, please show me Great Britain.”
‘And the magic rabbit put his eye to the magic telescope and looked down on Great Britain.’
And suddenly Bobby jumps down from my knee and runs to the lounge door, arms flapping in his blue pyjamas, shouting, ‘Mummy, Mummy, Magic Rabbit, Magic Rabbit!’
And Louise is standing there, behind us, watching, and she says, ‘Breakfast’s ready.’
I sit down at the table, the neat cloth and three places, Bobby between us, and look out on the back garden.
It’s seven, and the sun is on the other side of the house.
Louise is pouring milk on Bobby’s Weetabix, her face fresh, the room slightly cold in the shadow.
‘How’s your Dad?’ I say.
‘Not good,’ she says, mashing the cereal for Bobby.
‘I’m off today. We can go up together if you want?’
‘Really? I thought they’d have cancelled all days off.’
‘They have, but I think Maurice must have swung me a day’
‘He was at the hospital Tuesday’
‘Yeah? Said he was going to try and get up.’
‘John Rudkin and all.’
‘Yeah?’
‘He’s kind, isn’t he? What did your Uncle John buy you?’ she asks Bobby.
‘Car, car,’ and he tries to get down.
‘Later, love,’ I say. ‘Eat your Weetabix first.’
‘Peace car. Peace car.’
I look at Louise, ‘Peace car?’
‘Police car,’ she smiles.
‘What’s Daddy’s job?’ I ask him.
‘Peace Man,’ he grins, a mouth full of milk and cereal.
And we laugh, all three of us.
Bobby’s walking between us, one hand for Mummy, one for Daddy.
It’s going to be really hot and all the gardens on the street smell of cut grass and barley water, the sky completely blue.
We turn into the park and he slips out of our hands.
‘You’ve forgotten the bread,’ I shout, but he just keeps on running towards the pond.
‘It’s the slide he likes,’ says Louise.
‘He’s getting big, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah.’
And we sit on the swings among the quiet and gentle nature, the ducks and the butterflies, the sandstone buildings and black hills watching us from above the trees, waiting.
I reach across and take her hand, give it a squeeze.
‘Should have gone to Flamingo Land or somewhere. Scarborough or Whitby.’
‘It’s difficult,’ she says.
‘Sorry,’ I say, remembering.
‘No, you’re right. We should do though.’
And Bobby comes down the slide on his belly, his shirt all up and his tummy out.
‘Getting a paunch like his dad,’ I say.
But she’s miles away.
Louise is in the queue for the fish stall, Bobby tugging my arm to come and look in the toy shop window, to come and look at the Lone Ranger and Tonto.
All around us, a Friday.
And the sky is still blue, the flowers and the fruit bright, the telephone box red, the old women and the young mothers in their summer dresses, the ice-cream van white.
All around us, a market day.
Louise comes back and I take the shopping bags and we walk back up Kingsway, Bobby between us, a hand for both of us, back home.
All around us, a summer’s day.
A Yorkshire summer’s day.