A Cool Head

Chapter Three. Gravy’s Story (2)

It took me a while to find her house. I don’t know that part of the city. Benjy’s car had one of those little map-readers, but I didn’t know how to work it. I can drive a car, though, not much different from dodgems. Benjy’s was an automatic. Those are the cars I can drive. So I drove to her address. The piece of paper was in the glove box. Why is it called that, a glove box? I tried it with my own gloves, but they wouldn’t fit without squashing them, and I didn’t want to do that. But I found the piece of paper and it had her name on it, plus her address. She was called Celine Watts. I stopped the car beside some kids on bikes and showed them her address. They shook their heads. Then I tried at a bus stop and a man pointed up the road. So then I got lost a few times but a woman on her way home from the shops told me exactly what to do. Right, and right again. I write with my right hand, that’s a good way to remember left from right.

Ten Merchant Crescent was a council house on a council estate. But there wasn’t too much graffiti and no supermarket trolleys or burned-out cars. It was quite nice, really. I parked the car by the kerb and had to work out how to use the hand brake. Then I walked up her path and pushed the bell. I didn’t hear any noise from inside, so I tried again. Then I knocked instead, and a voice called out from behind the door.

‘Who’s there?’ It was a woman’s voice.

‘I’m Gravy,’ I called back. ‘I’ve come about Benjy.’ See, the thing was, I needed to tell someone. I needed someone to know what I knew.

‘Who?’

‘Benjy. Your friend Benjy.’

‘I don’t have a friend called Benjy.’

I looked at the piece of paper. ‘It says Celine Watts.’

‘It’s pronounced Se-leen,’ she called out. Then the door opened an inch and I could see a bit of her face and one of her eyes. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Gravy. A pal of Benjy’s. Look.’ I held the paper up so she could read it. ‘It was in his car, and now he’s… he’s had a bit of an accident.’

She stared hard at the piece of paper, and then her eyes met mine. ‘Who sent you?’ she asked. She sounded scared.

‘Nobody sent me.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’

‘No.’ I think I sounded properly shocked.

‘You don’t look like you are.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But I don’t know anyone called Benjy.’

‘He had your name in his car.’ I pushed the piece of paper closer to her.

‘So I see.’ The door had opened another couple of inches. I could see more of her now. Her hair was brown and short. Her face was round and shiny. Her eyes were green. ‘So this friend of yours called Benjy, he had my name and address in his car?’

I nodded, and she looked over my shoulder.

‘Is that his car or yours?’ she asked.

‘His, I suppose.’

‘You suppose?’

‘Well, it’s not his usual car. His usual car is green, a bit like your eyes.’

She almost smiled. ‘And what’s happened to Benjy?’ The door was all the way open now.

‘He’s not very well.’

‘Who is he? What’s his last name?’

‘I don’t know his last name.’

‘Do you work with him?’

‘No.’ I paused while I had a think. ‘I don’t know where he works. But he must have a job because he always has money.’ Then I corrected myself. ‘Always had money, I mean.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying he’s dead?’

I sniffed and rubbed my nose. ‘I suppose so,’ I said. Celine Watts lifted the piece of paper from my fingers.

‘And you found this in his car?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s not the car he usually drives?’ She was looking over my shoulder again. ‘How did he die?’

‘I don’t know.’ I think she could see that I was lying. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

‘A look at what?’

‘A look at the car.’ She squeezed past me, leaving her door wide open. I wanted to tell her that all the heat would escape, it was the sort of thing my mum would say. But instead, I followed her. She opened the passenger door. ‘Area like this, you should have locked it,’ she said. She was opening the glove box.

‘My gloves wouldn’t fit,’ I explained, but she wasn’t listening. She took out a book and started turning its pages. It had drawings of all the parts of the car. But at the back there was another piece of paper, folded in four. She opened it up.

‘It’s a bill,’ she said, ‘for fixing the car.’ Then she stopped speaking. There was a gurgling sound in her throat. Her mouth stayed open.

‘Gravy,’ she said, ‘do you know a man called Donald Empson?’

I shook my head. ‘Is this his car?’

‘I think so,’ she said. ‘It’s his name on the bill.’

‘And you know him?’

She placed a hand to her chest, as if to check her heartbeat. Warm heart, cool head. ‘I know who he is,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you sure you don’t know how your friend Benjy died?’

‘I think someone killed him.’ Tears were coming into my eyes. I wiped them away.

‘He was a friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’ I repeated it four more times for luck. She seemed to be thinking about things, staring into the distance. Then she turned her attention to the open door of her house.

‘Police told me I’d be safe,’ she said. She shook her head slowly. We stood together in silence for a minute, and then she asked me what was in the bag. It was on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

‘It’s not mine,’ I said.

She was already unzipping it. When she looked inside, she saw my gloves first, but then she saw what was beneath them and she placed the hand to her chest again.

‘It’s Benjy’s money,’ I explained. ‘I don’t know what to do with it. I was hoping you’d be a friend of his…’

She looked at me and then smiled. It was a big, beaming smile, and it was followed by a laugh.

‘I am a friend of Benjy’s,’ she said, taking my arm and squeezing it. ‘This was supposed to be my surprise.’ She nodded towards the bag. ‘And now you’ve delivered it. Thank you, Gravy!’

I was a bit confused. ‘The bag’s for you?’

‘It’s money for my holiday.’

I thought about it, but it still wasn’t clear. It seemed all fuzzy in the middle.

‘I need to be going,’ she was saying. ‘Quite soon, Gravy.’ She was looking at the open door again. ‘I just need to pack a few… no, maybe not. I can buy whatever I need. No passport, though.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Passport’s at my flat.’

‘Is this not your house?’

‘My cousin’s. Police called it a “safe house”, fat lot they know. I’ve only been here two days, and Don Empson’s got the address.’ She looked around us, suddenly fearful. ‘Need to get out of here, Gravy,’ she decided. ‘Somewhere safe. Can you drive?’ She realised what she’d said and laughed a short laugh. ‘What am I saying? You drove here, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ I said.

‘So maybe you can give me a lift?’

‘The bus stop?’ I guessed, but she shook her head.

‘Edinburgh.’

‘That’s miles. We could run out of petrol.’

‘We’ve got money,’ she said, grabbing my arm again. ‘Plenty of money, remember? My holiday money.’

And with that, she lifted out the bag, then got into the car, resting it on her lap.

‘Are you going to leave the door open?’ I asked, pointing towards the house. ‘The heat will get out.’

‘Let it,’ she snapped. But she could see I wasn’t happy. ‘The rooms need airing,’ she explained. ‘Place gets stuffy otherwise. Now come on.’ She patted the driving seat. ‘I want your best Jeremy Clarkson impression.’

‘Who?’

She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Just get in and drive, Gravy.’

‘I don’t know Edinburgh. I’ve never been there.’

‘We’ll take the motorway. Don’t worry, you won’t get lost.’ Her face went sad again. ‘Unless you don’t want to help a friend of Benjy’s. If you don’t want to help me, just say so.’

But I did want to help her. I wanted to see her smile again. It was a good smile. A smile like my mum’s.

‘Okay,’ I said.