I stared at him, wondering how much credence to give to his story. He sat, head still drooped forward.
‘Maybe they just changed the engine.’
‘Wouldn’t have fit in the chassis; it was differently configured.’
‘Or maybe your dad made a mistake.’
‘But what sort of mistake? The number plate was the same, couldn’t have been mistaken about that. The car was different. One thing my dad knew about was cars. I tell you, it wasn’t the same car but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like it was. Don’t you see? The woman who came back, who was she? Did anyone see her? Yes, I know, lots of people saw her from a distance, but who spoke to her? Who saw her up close? Only the doctor and Sheriff Preseli as far as I can tell. If he did kill her, and the rumours all got a bit too much, well this would be a way to stop them, wouldn’t it? Easy to arrange: find a similar car, get a woman to dress the part, make sure no one meets her . . . you see what I mean?’
‘Sheriff Preseli would need to be in on it.’
‘That’s right. And you’d need a woman to act the part. But no one else need know. I’m just saying, that’s all.’
I thanked him and stood up to leave.
He put his hand on my arm. ‘Is it true that Frankie’s dead?’
‘Yes, it’s true. I saw it happen.’
‘What were his last words?’
‘He cried out for his mum.’
A look of wonder stole across the old man’s face. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. The image of Frankie Blowtorch on his deathbed, crying for his mum, robbed him of the power of speech.
Meici Jones was in my office when I got back. He stood up as I entered and raised his arms as if playing maracas, swivelled his hips to turn side-on to me and made a clicking sound with his tongue.
‘New suit – got it from Fosters. The mayor says I will be doing some public engagements when the human cannonball starts so I’ll need some new togs. What do you think?’
‘It’s very suave.’
‘Yeah, I think so too. They’ve given me an account. No one else in my village has an account at Fosters. I got these, too.’ He held out a small white paper bag. ‘Gobstoppers. Take one.’
As if mesmerised, I reached into the bag and took one. ‘Thanks, Meici,’ I said. I put the gobstopper on the desk, next to the phone. ‘I’ll have it later, with my tea.’
He walked into the kitchenette and brought two tumblers from the drainer. I was surprised; I didn’t think Meici drank. Before his mum was sent down for murder she oversaw every aspect of his life and was the sort of woman who would smell liquor on a man’s breath from 50 yards away. People like that can smell it tomorrow through a crystal ball.
Meici put the tumblers down and took a small bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. The bottle contained a chocolate-coloured liquid. He waved the bottle. ‘It took me ages to find where she kept it.’
‘What is it?’
He giggled. ‘My mum’s cough mixture.’ He poured out two small measures, chinked the glasses and handed me one. ‘Made by Auntie Pebim. It’s got a special mushroom in it from the Amazon. Sospan uses it too in his under-the-counter ice cream.’
‘I haven’t got a cough.’
‘Who’s going to know?’
‘What are we celebrating?’
The lines of his cheeks flickered, the corners of his mouth quivered as he tried to bottle the irrepressible excitement. ‘You’ll never guess what.’
‘What?’
He reached under the table and brought out another Fosters suit, in a glistening polythene covering.
‘That looks to me dangerously like the sort of clothes a man might wear at his wedding,’ I said in genuine surprise.
He grinned. ‘I asked Chastity to . . . marry me . . . She said yes!’
I was dumbfounded.
‘What do you say to that, eh?’
‘That’s . . . that’s tremendous.’
‘Okole maluna!’ He raised his glass. ‘That’s Hawaiian for cheers.’
‘Okole maluna!’ I replied. I held my glass up to try and sniff without it being obvious. It seemed inoffensive: mushrooms perhaps or a wooden box used to hold vegetables. I sipped. It was sweet, woody, mossy, but not unpleasant. Meici knocked his back in one and exhaled with satisfaction, slapping his chest in that strange ritual of the amateur drinker.
‘When I was young,’ he said, ‘I sometimes used to pretend to have a cough even though I didn’t. Those were the times when . . .’ Two deep grooves formed at the bridge of his nose as he searched for the right word. ‘I suppose you could say, I was . . . it was . . . I was . . .’
‘Happy?’
His brow furrowed as he contemplated that possibility. Was it possible he had been happy once?
‘When’s the wedding?’ I asked.
‘Next week. I’m going to do my inaugural cannonball flight just before the service. We’re doing it down at Plas Crug, going to invite the whole town.’
‘Sounds like quite an affair.’
‘I think so. I think Chastity deserves it, don’t you?’
‘Isn’t it perhaps . . . oh, I don’t know, a little bit much to do in one day – first human-cannonball jump and getting hitched?’
‘What do you mean, Lou?’
‘It would be a lot on anybody’s plate.’
‘I want to make her proud, Lou. Chastity hasn’t had much of a life. I want to make it special for her.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘Birds, eh?’ he said with the wry detachment of the man of the world.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘birds!’
‘I bought her a present. One of those “women’s handkerchiefs”. From the catalogue. Didn’t have to hide it at the end of the lane neither. You should have seen the postman’s face when I told him. “You can come right up to the house, now,” I said, “mum’s not here any more.” Lord of the Manor he called me. Who’d have thought it? He says he might bring a lingerie catalogue next time. I’ll invite you round. You wouldn’t believe how brainy Chastity is. I think of all the birds I’ve had she is the best. She’s nuts about you.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Always going on about you, she is.’ A thought clouded his brow as he considered the implications of that. He blinked it away. ‘I’m glad really because you are one of my best friends. She says we’re lucky to have found each other, me ’n’ you, Lou. Do you think that?’
‘Yes, we’re very lucky.’
‘I never had a friend before you so Chas says it’s incredible that I found such a good one. Thing is, Lou, I was wondering . . . I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I haven’t got any other friends, so I was wondering . . . will you be my best man?’
I froze and my grip tightened on the tumbler. Meici was so absorbed in the moment he didn’t notice.
‘Chas says we can all go on holiday together, to Caldey Island. I’ve always wanted to go there. I bet you’ve been, haven’t you?’
‘No, but I’ve had one or two clients who have.’
‘Chas has been. She says the best thing is the gift shop. They make their own toffee. Chas says anyone’s allowed to buy it.’
‘That’s what I’ve heard, too.’
Meici shook his head in wonder. ‘Imagine if my mum heard about that! She’d say it was made by Satan; he makes loads of stuff.’