‘I’m in trouble with the police,’ Aaron said. ‘That’s what I mean.’
Alfred opened his coat and stuck a thumb in the armhole of his cardigan, a comforting stance which made him feel more himself, not even the old man’s image to chinwag him mercilessly into the slough of indecision whenever he had to do something about the business. After drumming up sufficient respect at the funeral, and arranging a spread of baked meats that the old bugger would be chagrined not to be present at, he would be finally on his own, able to go to the Devil or wherever else the inclination might take him. The mixing of freedom and exhaustion made him feel as if he’d had too many eggnogs at Christmas, and not in any mood to hear another man going on about his troubles. ‘Did you knock into another car, and not report it? Ah, here comes Fred with some tea, bless him!’
‘Worse than that, I’m sad to say.’
‘And he’s got beans on toast as well. I can’t think how he does it.’ He took out his soft leather wallet and put a tenner on the tray: ‘That’s for my favourite waiter.’ Two bob’s more than enough, his father would have said.
‘I’ll see that he gets it.’ Fred folded the note in four to fit the bottom right of his waistcoat, then left them talking like childhood pals, himself amazed at how Old Nick’s tantrums and the Sword of Damocles could bring such different breeds together. Not that the situation made Enid seem much sweeter when she beamed her needle eyes at him, but she was only a kid so what could you expect? All the same, she was sweet enough on that bookseller who was far enough over the hill to be her father. I don’t know how people have either the gall or the luck: but you’d think I was running a knocking-shop the way they screwed each other blind upstairs last night.
‘You mean,’ Alfred said, ‘that you can get more money for a book if you write the author’s name in front?’
‘That’s about it.’ Aaron didn’t know why he had told him. ‘Among other things.’
‘And the police can nick you for it?’
‘They certainly can.’
Alfred picked up the slice of toast, beans falling as he chewed. ‘You’re in a bit of a fix, though I’ve heard of worse pickles.’ Having swallowed his food, he laughed wide enough to show a couple of gold fillings. ‘You might get off with a caution from the judge if you sign him a copy of the Bible!’
Fred doled out refills from an enamel jug as long as his arm. ‘To the top,’ Wayne said. ‘If we get out of this place in one piece we’ll always call here for a drink on our way to somewhere else. We’re pals now, aren’t we?’
‘I reckon so. You’ll be very welcome.’ Like hell you will, he told himself.
‘Fill a mug for our mate Garry,’ Lance said. ‘It’s time we woke him up from his long night’s sleep.’
Fred walked away saying he would make a fresh pot. ‘He’s sure to appreciate it’ — wanting to be out of range because too many people in the world were insane, the sort who overtook on the inside lane of the motorway, or walked into plate-glass windows on coming out of a pub at afternoon closing, or hit their wives if the home team lost or only drew — such types as you had to avoid for your own good by staying in the kitchen which in any case was the best place to be alone in.
‘I hope he’ll bring plenty of sugar,’ Wayne shouted to the others. ‘If Garry’s tea ain’t sweet he’ll be cross, and I’ve never seen anybody as happy as Garry when he’s cross. Even I get frightened.’
Keith touched Eileen’s hand before beginning to eat. An old scar fanning from his left eye had whitened out of the grime. She hadn’t noticed it before, normally so blind she needed years to take in what another person looked like, and as for knowing them after forty-eight hours, well, she hoped Keith wouldn’t mind if she went on staring, wanting to remember him whether she saw him again or not, because if he got sent down for twenty years that’s how it would be, unless he gave her a photo. ‘I don’t want you to leave me. I couldn’t stand it. I never want us to be apart. I love you.’
Words failed at her lips. She hated tears but couldn’t stop them.
‘I love you.’ He did, whether or not she would always remain a mystery. ‘Don’t worry.’
She was satisfied with that, would have to be, but she would also expect him to let her make up later for her silence, how much later she didn’t know, an uncertainty that kept her tongue still. She wouldn’t worry either about both of them being blown to bits, or getting carried to the hospital. She couldn’t think about it because it was impossible to imagine.
‘There’s no problem,’ he said. ‘We’ll be together, no matter how long we’re apart. Forget the circumstances. They won’t kill either of us. Now you’re crying again. Please don’t do that.’
She was crying for him, in inexplicable rage, about something lacking all significance, crying out of an agony of spirit meant for him alone, and because of what he had told her about Gwen. ‘I’m just so fucking happy,’ she sobbed.
‘So am I. But you’ll have to stop swearing if you want to convince me.’ He held her warm fingers. ‘It’s not necessary to swear. I believe you, without you swearing every time.’ He thought he would do her a favour, so that she might have some kind of chance in life.
‘I’ll try never to swear again.’ She leaned forward to kiss him, and knocked over an empty glass. ‘But it often comes without me knowing.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Alfred said. ‘The signatures are still in the books, whether they’re true or false. So what are they complaining about? They aren’t going to disappear. They’ll give you a slap on the wrist and tell you not to do it again. Nobody gets sent down for a thing like that.’ He lit a cigar and passed it across, then ignited his own. ‘In two years, maybe less, you’ll be back on course, wondering what the fuss was all about. Mind you, a chap like you should never have left that chemistry job. There’s too many temptations for people who set up on their own. Don’t I just bloody well know it?’
During the snow-shifting his toothache hadn’t much bothered Aaron, when it surely ought to have done, but now his whole mouth ached so that he didn’t know where the bad tooth was. ‘It’s my sister I’m most concerned about.’
‘Never worry about a woman.’ Alfred leaned closer, pale at the idea that Eileen or Jenny might hear and take him up on such views. His married life had been one long time-and-emotion study, which was why he still lived in the usually happy home. ‘Women are always all right. Society takes more care of them nowadays than it does a man, which is fine by me, because I’m old-fashioned. Your sister will let it flow over her without too much harm. Anyway, when we get out of here I’ll keep an eye open for your case, to see if it gets in the papers. I can follow it up, now that I’ve met you.’
Parsons was dead, though she wasn’t convinced there was any need to feel either guilty or bereft. You can’t save anyone from their folly, and to assume any responsibility for it is unjustified pride. She could have helped him more than she had, made it easier for him to cope, but only if she had been another person. If they had put the body out of the room and not left it under blankets she wouldn’t expect any moment to see an arm move, a head rise and a mouth call for champagne. The dead weren’t dead till they were buried or cremated, and then you couldn’t always be sure. She thought of him as he had been when alive, weak and good-natured (unless gerrymandering Union meetings), often kind to her. After Raymond left she had moved into a smaller house, and Tom got a friend’s lorry to shift her stuff, all for the price of the petrol and a few drinks. He even made two journeys in his own car to transport the fragile items.