Desire Line (26 page)

I've got this friend he's really nice and on his own and missing his family in Japan so I'm all he's got. He needs me more than you and Mum. Don't get mad. And don't blame him because every day he wants to come and explain it all and I said no. Only now Mum has run off or something which is just stupid. I don't want you to be sad or Mum. I'm not that bad person you all think. Why didn't you sort things out with Mum? And when he comes can you just be cool with Tomiko – he's really scared. I'll call you tonight. Tomiko says he wants to but I don't know.

x Eurwen

Mother and daughter's hands seemed identical. Both needed effort. I reread parts but even after I was sure of the sense, there were still problems with it. Then all it took was a question too far from me and— another first— Josh cried. In a dry, grating way, trying not to but at least without the howling and destruction this time. He kept his eyes covered, wishing probably that I wasn't there. I've never been close-up to a crying man before. Redness and moisture and the spasms of throat and lips you see in the very young are the same when grown-ups let themselves go, making unsightly babies of them— of him, so I couldn't stand to see. Age must come like a sneak thief to men like Josh and carry off their reserves. As it had Geoffrey's but with different results. He never cried.

Ravenous myself by now, I gave Josh a bottle of Harp from the cool store instead of another whiskey while I went and filled sandwiches out of vacuum packs of meat slices and added mustard from a tube. We made a grim picnic of it, silently chewing our share of the food like we were each eating alone, him mechanically, gagging on the crusts because he hadn't left beer for the end. There was even something dry and
papery
about the cough. It had me regretting the fudge all over again and that sent me back to his attempts at kindness in the past that couldn't be wiped out by a frightened boy obsessed over a shattered door. I hadn't any comfort to offer but it was important to keep thinking of him as a responsible, decent man, to admire Officer Meredith's
courage and professionalism
. A good man, my grandfather. Yet his years were passing uselessly in Westport and you only had to look to be reminded how hard. ‘Can I get anything else?'

‘Na. You know where the bed is— if you've about had it, which I know I have. What's the time?' Raising his chin's an extreme effort. He's made of lead. ‘God! It's only ten. Seems more like midnight— but go up if you like. Take it— with you.'

The brass poker gleamed, the letter commending bravery wasn't readable in the shadows and Josh lowered himself into a chair with an oldie's
urh-h!

What a release to leave the lot.

Opposite Josh's bedroom the L-shaped guestroom was fitted tight into the eaves with a narrow skylight for a window and a single divan positioned under it. One cupboard only provided, always cracked open to prevent mustiness. Accessed from the landing, an old-style shower stall, lavatory and basin took up the perfect square cut out of this space. I emptied my overdue bladder and got a cold wash without disturbing Josh's possessions with my WeberKit that holds razor, toothbrush, clippers, scissors and my supply of
 
 
all in a box the size of wallet. It's a complicated design puzzle and I'm the sort of person who couldn't help stop and admire – even at a totally wrong time – as I toyed with an extra pill before replacing all the contents. If people were this easy to put back together then Big success, Yori! Instead of no-use Yori, who went and lay down naked under the skylight, the visible few stars a reminder of Tess. Despite everything I still expected to sleep. Japanese can sleep anywhere, hence their trains according to Tomiko used for bedroom extensions. But each time I drifted off I was aboard
Stena Coole Park
again,
plunging to the bottom of the Irish Sea with it. The pink meat sandwiches were not that well stowed and the thought of my return trip to Holyhead grew unbearable, the way trivia does if you add in plenty of other troubles. Being a murderer. Sara coming back. Josh. And having to contact Eurwen— and Tomiko. Josh. In a sweat I jolted awake yet again, staring at the same constellation till I gave up and I set myself a task. How do you mould the recent hours into any sort of shape? Obviously Sara's death had been a body blow to the one downstairs but was he really
in mourning?
Did he have any right to be?

Sara's story always used to end with
me
killing her by getting conceived.

Unless—?

Only
another
murderer could understand how involved this got me. OK— so Josh was doing Man in Love now even though he'd left this particular love well before he became a widower and anyway no other couple was ever
that
badly suited. Eurwen and Tomiko only managed a close second even though they once— but couples aren't that simple. Love finds out your crazes and cracks as I know, Kailash. How about this then? My grandparents' attraction fermented to top strength during the years she was alone in Oxford while he withdrew to Rhyl. And here's a stunner to them both, it burst out of the bottle when Sara arrived on the Avonside doorstep. They had
stayed in
love.
For the first time ever Tomiko had got it completely right—
Forget who you love? Easier remember who you haven't met!
So they couldn't just play house waiting for Eurwen, couldn't just eat and sleep and bathe and keep the place tidy, could they?

Until he—

And then she—?

And then he—?

Geoffrey's speculations were pretty dark. His own wife hadn't joined him in them, judging by the collection of photographs given to Josh. A gift like that goes to the innocent not the guilty, not if I knew Fleur. She never believed he'd hurt Sara. Josh did though. Look at the state of him— I recognised it because I'd been cast in the part of Killer all my life and I'm an
ICON DELETED
. But with Josh everything was complicated. He was tough as corundum and I'd felled him by asking, ‘You couldn't sort it between you, you and her?'

If the reverse
has a reverse side what was on Josh's? What had he done?

Tomiko used to tell the story ‘Burning Girl'
*
. It was a very sad one. And unique in always finishing with an unexpected twist, as though a box of endings were stored in his head. So the hero might be
choja
(undeserving-lucky) and he and the girl of the title survive, just, and their son grows up a good man. Othertimes they both died. Sometimes only
he
died and she married a
daimyo
(a lord). And this last was
Tomiko's
favourite.

Maybe Josh's too if he ever heard all the options.

Personally I preferred a punchline I could anticipate like ‘Good luck comes too – he catches fish! – and one day the village matchmaker finds him a pretty bride—' except bride probably wasn't in Tomiko's vocabulary. Girl, then. Woman. Wife. I flipped onto my back for about the tenth time, instantly uncomfortable again in Josh's spare bed that had been ready made up though only I slept in it as far as I knew. Never Eurwen. I'd questioned Josh, Why didn't Eurwen want her mother's watch or her mother's necklace? More tears were the result. Should've persisted though. By tomorrow the armour would be back in place and I'd missed my chance with this stranger that made animal-type cries of pain. We'd always struggled, even when Tomiko left and it should've been easier for him—

A knock and, ‘You awake?' and he was in the doorway, fully-dressed, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He must have woken in his chair and needed to come and check I was actually in the house and not a nightmare. Now he stood there swaying.

‘What?' I said.

‘She—' Josh looked ready to overbalance in more ways than one. ‘She came for Eurwen, that's all she did.'

‘I think I knew, yes.'

‘It was only normal and right and I didn't give her credit. I treated her like— ah, fuck me, fuck fucking me! Everything was messed-up. Eurwen was acting out— she'd gone off, yeah? You'll have heard all this, yeah? I was onto her, though! I was all bloody over it. I'd have rooted her out. She was with her mates, girls always are. I knew that. Boys'll live on the streets but with girls it's a mate. But oh, no-o! Sara had to come and find her. Can't trust me!' (I thought of the enquiry agents and had to agree). ‘But any mother would do the same. They would! You're not meant to die for it.'

‘No.'

‘She shouldn't have died. It was wicked, you understand?'

‘Of course.'

‘No you don't. My fault.'

‘OK.' I expected him to carry on, get it off his chest at long last. Starting with Eurwen.
She
ran away first. Everybody glossed over that fact afterwards. The humiliation alone must've stung for a father and a policeman and it's from
his
house she went! Then all the things he'll have tried straight away don't work. Sara is suddenly there! – He was wheezing horribly.
Go on
,
I willed him. But by staying dumb he gave me time to do some tipping of my own. Against. The wheeze just invited me to worry— was self-neglect. He still had enough oxygen to say she'd killed herself if she had or provide an alternative if not.
Go on!
But we're not a talking family. Lack of encouragement from me let a moment like a pinchpoint slink off and then it was gone. He seemed to shrink into his own outline before pulling the door shut so hard it jumped in the frame, wouldn't have been a surprise to hear the handle clunk onto the floor, Avonside all over again. And that was it, a teaser, a ninety-second trailer for a movie not yet out.

I cringe at my unconcern. I'd apologise to Josh if he could let me. Back then the choice I made was to flick the light on and instead of going after him, tug Sara's case out. Both plastic bags got emptied onto the bedcover.
Had Eurwen not wanted her mother's necklace— or watch?
A proper examination of said watch held directly under the bulb showed the gold to be very yellow, meaning pure. Spidery Arabic numerals were embossed on an oval mother-of-pearl dial and for inscription there was just a maker's name, Girard-Perregaux. It was splendid and very much hers, something I could just see on her small wrist and when I wound the miniature wheel, the tick in my ear was like a reward. Next up was Sara's necklace, a silver chain meant to be hung with seven milky stones, not opals and now six. (OK, not splendid— I'd been right— but pretty-ish.) Luckily number seven's keeper remained attached and open just enough to make a repair simple. Position the elements, close the ring— why hadn't anyone done it? I set to. But my fingers weren't strong enough. I realised it first attempt and still can't give up, changing my grip, getting puncture wounds in the process from neighbouring leaf shapes that were sharper than they looked. Every time I started to apply pressure the ring wriggled out of my grip. First I laughed at myself – so much for loving things, Yori, so much easier than people. Then swearing, each attack more ham-fisted than the last, it took a while before admitting defeat. I dropped it in favour of the rest of
the stuff
and rummaged not caring what else got damaged and who they'd been precious to, pictures, writings, novels— and I pulled out the diary. Actually it was an organiser as well (Fleur had kept one) big and heavy as a vintage softback. Inside, instead of Sara's own details, she'd written
Please return to Professor G.W. &
Dr F. Severing, Pryorsfield, Boars Hill, Oxford
with a postcode and phone numbers for both as though they were still there.

Every page after this was covered, not just the diary part where printed dates from January 1
st
2008 (Bank Holiday, England & Wales) had been crossed through and overwritten, but the coloured section dividers as well and the blank A to Z of names, all readable as in her letter to Fleur if you were willing to skip bits.

September 23
rd

Please understand, darling, that when we are together again, I mean to be completely honest. That has been part of our problem, my keeping too much to myself. How last night went, for instance: it would be easy to feign that the following never happened, to convince myself, and then you, I behaved differently, but I do not intend to.