Linda, As in the Linda Murder

48

The dreams were coming more frequently now. About that summer almost fifty years ago when he got his first proper bicycle and his dad taught him to ride it. Although that night the dream hadn’t been about his red Crescent Valiant but about his dad and his mum.

A strange summer when his dad’s holiday never seemed to end. Eventually he had asked him. ‘How long is your holiday, Daddy?’

At first his dad had looked a bit odd, then he had laughed and ruffled Jan’s hair and everything was back to normal again. ‘As long as I need to teach you to ride your bike,’ Daddy had replied. ‘That’ll take as long as it takes, and I don’t suppose my job will run away from me.’ Then he had ruffled his hair again. Once more than usual.

It really had been an Indian summer, because his dad became more and more like an Indian with every passing day. Thin, suntanned, his skin stretched tight over his face. ‘You look like a real Indian,’ Jan had said to him.

‘That’s not so strange,’ Daddy replied. ‘With all this lovely weather we’ve been having.’

One night he had woken up. He must have heard a noise. He had padded slowly down the stairs and when he reached the hall he saw that his dad and mum were sitting on a chair in the kitchen. Mummy was sitting in Daddy’s lap, facing the other way with her arms round his neck, her head buried in his chest. His dad had one arm round her waist while he gently stroked her hair with the other. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he was muttering. ‘It’ll be all right.’

And neither of them had noticed him, and he had crept back to his room in the attic and eventually fallen back to sleep.

When they were having breakfast the following morning everything was back to normal again. ‘Are you ready, Jan?’ Daddy asked, putting his coffee cup down. ‘Shall we take a turn on the Valiant?’

‘Always ready, Daddy,’ Jan replied.

And then he woke up.