All Bones and Lies (25 page)

Having sloughed off responsibility so stylishly, Mr Herbert turned back to the paperwork he was signing.

‘You realize this form's dated back from months ago, when we first started working in the house. Will your mother mind that?'

‘No,' Colin told him. ‘She won't mind at all.'

And he practically had to force himself not to reach out and snatch it.

The fire officer snapped the catch on his portable hose reel. ‘Well, that's me finished. Except, of course, for filling out your “dangerous structure” warning.'

‘Dangerous structure?'

The fireman nodded at the only bit of woodshed that was still standing. ‘That wall behind the mangle could come down in a puff of wind.'

‘I could fetch it down now,' Mr Herbert offered, as if his conscience had been rather troubling him. The two professionals stepped with impunity through the permanent spell Colin kept laid across the threshold. He heard them chattering to one another. ‘Look at this rubbish!' ‘It is
astonishing
, isn't it, what people keep?' They were speaking, thought Colin, as though he were dead or unconscious, or nothing to do with the place he had spent half his life in. And then he realized it seemed an age since he'd been here. Running his fingers through the charred silt across the workbench, he wondered what he ought to save. Should he, for example, rescue his poor neglected Suzie, for old time's sake? He peered in the drawer, awash with hose water, and tugged it open, trying to pretend his only concern was for chisels. The magazine came out in a sodden lump. What were you supposed to do with books and papers that were soaking wet? Freeze them, then brush off water crystals, page by page?

Could he be bothered?

No.

The fireman rooted in the filth on the floor. ‘Now that's worth saving.' He tipped the worst of the water out of the spell box and handed it to Colin. Inside was clutter from another lifetime. Some greasy stumps of candle. A few
scummy mirror shards. The hawkmoth chrysalis was none the better for a proper soaking. The fox's tooth looked even dingier and more pathetic than usual. And there seemed far more stupid bleached chicken wishbones in the casket than he could imagine anyone ever wanting or needing.

Oh, and a photo of his father. He pulled it out, still sodden wet, and stared at it while the thoughts sprang. I'll be the opposite of you. Where you stayed silent, I'll speak up for her. Where you played blind, I'll see. But, most of all, when you were gone, I will be there. Always.
Whatever
.

It was a pretty box, though. She'd like that. She could keep something
nice
in it. Jewellery, or beads or hairbands. Something like that.

Turning it over, he emptied his warped childhood on the floor without regret, and glanced at his watch. My God! What with there being no word yet from Mel, he had only a moment to nip along and order more dog food before it was time to play safe and fetch Tammy.

How strange it felt – how very comforting – to have a deadline nothing to do with work. Or Mother.

‘I have to go now,' he informed the two of them. ‘I have to pick someone up from nursery.'

Nobody snorted. Nobody made a face. The fireman only asked him, ‘What about this shed? Will you be taking Mr Herbert here up on his offer?'

‘Yes,' Mr Herbert said, pleased to have come to terms with conscience so easily. ‘Just say the word, Col.'

He looked from one to the other as they stood waiting. And then he simply said it. ‘Yes. If you would, please. Take the whole lot down.'

The wail of sirens had brought the gardeners out in force along the backs.

‘I see you're finally making a success of getting rid of that horsetail, Edmund.'

‘Indeed yes, William. You see I'm working to a brand-new principle. “One in, three out”.'

Colin found himself, as usual, spotted through a bare patch. ‘Is that you, Colin? How is your poor, dear mother? Back amongst us soon?'

‘Tomorrow,' Colin assured her. ‘Failing that, Saturday.'

Today, nosiness was clearly taking precedence over disapproval. ‘And things in the house? It wasn't your place, I hope, that all those noisy sirens were headed for earlier?'

Colin put on a burst of speed in the hope that the Mansons' thick beech hedge would screen the deceit in his headshake. But self-interest, as usual, had triumphed over general curiosity. ‘You wouldn't happen to be off to the shop, would you, Colin? Would my asking a tiny little favour be in order? Just a packet of pins and a couple of bananas?'

‘And twenty Kensitas, if you're that way anyway.'

‘And if Mr Stastny should happen to have any more of those little jars of horseradish—'

Turning, he spoke up so everyone could hear first time. ‘Happy to help. But I'm afraid that, this time, you'll all have to give me the money first, because I've left my wallet in the car.'

Could they have slid away faster, with less fuss? He stood entranced. How
easy
things were when you dared
step out of half-light. It was like growing muscles, or getting wings. It was like—

That's right. It was like
living
.

Next time, he'd miss out that excuse about the wallet. Oh, yes, it was a sturdy and determined Colin who strode past the Emporium, whistling, to step in the shop and give Mr Stastny his order. Fearlessly he ambled back past the sprinkling of frost-tops still busy in their gardens, most of whom made great play of affecting not to notice him. Giddy with power, he slid in his car and made the vehicle coming up behind slam on its brakes as he pulled out. Driving back into town, he sped across two separate sets of amber lights. No sirens followed him. The world went on. He even dared leave the car up at the top end of Stemple Street without a ticket, gambling on getting back safely with Tammy before any warden dared slap on a fine. And it was only after he'd cut through the little alley beyond Market Square and, still humming cheerily, was taking the stone steps up to the nursery two at a time, that Colin even realized he'd just walked down Bridge Row without a thought.

What sort of personal landslide was going on here? What else could change?

His charmed life, in a blink, one step through the doors. ‘Gone?
Where?
Who
took
her?'

The nursery helper was practically backing away from his panic. ‘Nobody
took
her, Mr Riley. She went off early, with her mum.'

His world came back to rights. ‘With Mel? Where?'

‘I don't know. Home, I suppose.'

Best not to mention Mel no longer had one. Best just
to catch up, and then break the news. Would they be on the bus? Or walking back through Abbey Shopping Centre? Either way, if he drove fast he'd probably make it. Again his sense of purpose lent him wings. And over-keen sight. A half a dozen times he must have thought he'd spotted them, their heads together on some bus, or reflected in windows, only to realize he was staring at strangers. So by the time he finally overtook them, walking past Chaffer's Bonemeal Factory, his expectations had fallen so flat it was Mel who waved crazily, seeing the car slow.

‘Col! Hope you didn't think Tam had been snatched. It's just I came home early.'

Early? In his book, she was already a day late.

She caught his look. ‘Didn't you get my message?'

‘Message?' He scrambled from the car in time to counter Tammy's suicidal charge into the street to greet him. ‘Col! Col! We did
painting
.'

Mel sounded more peeved on her own behalf than his. ‘Honestly! I couldn't have made it clearer if I'd tried. Your stupid switchboard put me through to the wrong place. But the man said he had to get in touch with you anyway about the bill for some gas fire. And since I only had a couple of—'

‘It doesn't matter.' He had his Tammy in his arms, and nothing mattered. Though Mel did still have to be told. And, preferably, before she reached the end of the road and turned into Tanner Street.

‘I'm afraid there's been just a little bit of trouble at the flats.'

‘I thought you'd take her to spend the night at your own place. Or at your mother's.'

‘And so I did. But—'

Too late. With some new elasticity in her stride, she'd covered the last steps and, turning the corner, seen in front of her, instead of the unfêted architectural bin-end of Priding's least-favoured civic son, just a vista of clear skies and sunlight.

‘Col?'

Embarrassed, he shifted Tammy onto one arm, and slid the other through hers. ‘Bit of a shock?'

She took another step forward. ‘Where's it
gone
? What
happened
?'

Tam hadn't even noticed. All she was doing was poking sticky fingers in his hair, and twisting it tightly while she chattered about nursery.

‘Bit of a chapter of accidents, I'm afraid. Too long a story to go into now.'

Even charred rubble could take a moment to make its point. But things were sinking in. ‘Did it burn
down
? For God's sake! Is it
gone
?'

She sank on the kerb. After a moment's doubt, he lowered himself beside her, with Tam still clinging round his neck, smelling of poster paints and chocolate. They were sitting in a different street: sunlit, and shadowswept. He could see all the way to Abbey Towers, and the sycamores beyond. He could see traffic shooting cheerfully over the hump of the West Bridge, and even the arch of the entrance to Vane Park. It was like being in another world. And suddenly the thought struck. After his mother died, would he sit with the stuffing this knocked out of him, as shocked as Mel, finding it almost as difficult to believe that such an overpowering presence
had vanished from his life? Would he be sad, or glad? Or just amazed? And would he, afterwards, be at a loss, like some poor actor locked in a telly series for years and years, who, when the show was axed, found that he'd lost, not just the part he'd played, but the one thread that held his life together, and seemed more real than any of the roles he faced in all his involuntarily salvaged hours?

Best not to brood. Shifting Tam on his knee, he slid his arm round Mel, to comfort her. ‘The general view, I think, is that, in the long run, it may all prove a bit of a blessing.'

Mel was indifferent to the long run and the general view. She shook him off. ‘All right for you! My
things
were in there! What about my
stuff
?'

‘Oh, well,' he said. ‘I managed to save some of that.'

Tipping Tam off, he stumbled to his feet and led her and her mother back round the corner to point out the box he'd been ferrying about for a couple of days now.

The sharp-eyed Tammy spotted the paw first. ‘Teddy!' Hurling herself headlong into the boot of his vehicle, she dug for her precious soft toy.

Mel wasn't far behind. ‘Is that my benefit book? Thank God for that!' Pushing aside the envelope he'd dumped on top, Mel rooted deeper. ‘Brilliant! You saved the photos!' She tugged out the poster he'd rolled so carefully. ‘Is this—?' Unravelling an inch or two, just to be sure, she spun round to hug him – ‘Oh, Colin! You're a gem!' – before turning back to her digging. ‘And look! You even thought to save my first
ever
costume – my absolutely best lucky one. The one I love most in the whole world!'

She fell on the rag he'd taken for some dress-up.
He shot out a hand. ‘Careful! I used that to wrap—'

‘Lavender!' squawked Tammy, spotting her precious glass snowstorm. Fast learner that she was, she scrambled instantly into her car seat and held out her hands, already whispering. By the time he turned back, Mel had spread the glistening red costume against her body and, resting a hand on his wing mirror, lifted a leg to flex an ankle. Only two days away, and yet she looked so different. Had she grown taller? Stretching each foot in turn, she raised her legs both higher and more gracefully than he'd have thought possible. Her skirt fell away, exposing all too much leg for Colin, who dragged her attention back by flapping the envelope.

Mel tilted her head in the middle of a leg bend to glance at the sender's name, richly embossed in steel-grey letters across the top. ‘Taw, Grant and Sorlence? Fine. Toss it out.'

All of the bureaucrat in him came to the fore. ‘You have to read it, Mel,' he told her sternly. ‘This isn't simply junk mail. I had to
sign
for it.'

‘I like that! You were the one who told me I was to throw them away without bothering to read them.'

He stared at her. ‘Sorry?'

She was far too absorbed in her stretching to notice his face. ‘And a bloody good thing, too, or I'd be knee-deep in them. This must be the fourth, at least.' She took a moment from arching gracefully over backwards to chortle, ‘Though none of them have been addressed to Melchior.'

‘Melchior?'

The penny dropped.

‘Not Taw, Grant and Sorlence, Mel! Tor Grand Insurance!'

Can someone bending like a lily shrug?

‘Mel.
Read
it.
Now.
It might well be
important
.'

She raised her leg so high, his heart thumped. ‘But they still sound like bailiffs or solicitors or something. And I've had quite enough bad news today. If you're so bothered,
you
read it.'

Bothered, he certainly was. What madness had come over him, to give instructions to someone so careless to toss post of any description away? What had he brought down on their heads? Imminent arrest for a failure to show up for jury service? A final summons for that gas fire?

Ripping open the envelope, he flattened the contents on his car roof and, ignoring her leg-lifts, began on the letter.

‘Mel, I do think you really ought to listen to this. Mel—'

It was like trying to talk to human origami. Each time he glanced at her, she was a different shape. Who would have thought a body could slide with such ease from swallow to shepherd's crook, from sickle to gazelle?