The Living and the Dead in Winsford

52

‘They said at the pub that Castor had gone missing. You never told me that.’

I think for a moment. ‘No, maybe I didn’t mention it.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t really know. It was during the Christmas holiday period when you and Jeremy were in Scarborough.’

‘It’s still odd that you said nothing about it.’

‘Do you think so? I thought I had done, in fact.’

What is all this? I think, and for the first time I feel a pang of annoyance directed at Mark Britton. Or maybe it’s aimed at me. I ought to have told him about those awful days when Castor was missing: instead I’m keeping quiet and telling lies and holding information back when it’s quite unnecessary, and in the end I won’t be able to keep it up.

‘At least nobody can accuse you of being an open book,’ he says. ‘I’m not scared of mysteries, and sooner or later I’ll get to read all the pages, won’t I?’

He laughs, and I choose to do the same. After all, this is one of the last occasions we shall meet. At least for the foreseeable future. I take a piece of cheese and a mouthful of wine, and he does the same. We are sitting in his kitchen, and I feel rather upset when I think the thought: the thought that I won’t be sitting here any more.

‘It’s not even possible to Google you,’ he adds. ‘It’s a stroke of genius, using a pseudonym.’

I nod. ‘Genius is the right word.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me what name you’re using?’

‘Not just yet. Sorry.’

Does he suspect something? Is Mark beginning to understand that there are hidden and worrying motives behind my veil of secrecy? Perhaps. I can’t make up my mind. He likes casting out flies on the water like this, in the hope of getting a bite: and he didn’t do that a month ago. But I can’t say that I don’t understand why he does it.

Especially if I mean as much to him as I suspect I do.

But this isn’t going to be the very last time we meet. We have another weekend left, assuming I really do leave here on the twenty-ninth as planned. I’ve looked into my diary and put a cross by that day. I must remember to get rid of that diary, but there are quite a few other things that must be disposed of as well.

‘I’m in love with you, Maria — I take it you realize that?’

That shouldn’t have been an unexpected declaration, but I nearly drop my glass even so. I don’t recall hearing such words since. . I try to remember if Martin ever said anything like that. I’m damned if I know. But Rolf no doubt did.

How many people are there in the world who never hear such words: an assurance that somebody loves them?

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you for saying that. I like you an awful lot, Mark. My life out here on the moor has become so much more meaningful since I met you. But I can’t make any promises. . if that’s what you are after.’

He sits for quite a while, weighing over what I said — I would do the same if I were him. Then he nods and says: ‘You know, I feel pretty confident regarding our relationship. There must be some reason for you turning up in this very village.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘No doubt there was a meaning.’

‘We are grown-up people,’ he says.

‘We are indeed,’ I say.

‘We know what it means to be in denial.’

‘We’re experts at that.’

He leans forward over the table and takes hold of my head with both hands. ‘In love with you, did I say that?’

E-mail from Martin to Gunvald:

Hi Gunvald. Thank you for your message — great to hear that you’re enjoying life down under. The situation in Morocco isn’t nearly so enjoyable, I have to admit. I have total writer’s block, and to tell you the truth I feel utterly dejected. We might go back home to Sweden sooner than intended: I know it’s a bloody awful time of year and all that, but what can one do? Anyway, take care of yourself — we’ll keep in touch. Dad

From Eugen Bergman to Martin:

My dear friend! Come home at once if you’ve run into a brick wall. There’s no point in wandering around in a foreign country and suffering. And a play might be just the right thing, don’t you think? You’ve never written anything for the theatre before. But we’ll see how it goes with that, the main thing is that you keep your head above water. My very best wishes — to Maria as well, of course. Eugen

From Soblewski to Martin:

My dear friend! You are far too young for depressions! But I can imagine how sitting in that very country with that very story could make anybody go crazy. I suggest you leave it and try to find other distractions — and if you really are on your way home, you are more than welcome to stay a few days in my house, which might enable us to talk things through properly. Your lovely wife and your dog are welcome too, of course. No new bodies have been reported and I have no idea whether they managed to identify the old one. I have heard nothing more about it. All the best, Sob

I read Soblewski’s message very carefully, especially the last sentence. No new bodies have been reported and I have no idea whether they managed to identify the old one.

I think it over. Surely, I think, surely this must be the most positive piece of information I could have wished for? I sit there for a minute or so, considering it from every conceivable point of view, but I can find no other possible assessment.

What happens next is up to me, of course.

E-mail from Martin to Eugen Bergman:

We shall see, my dear Eugen. It’s hard, but maybe we’ll do as you suggest and head northwards. Don’t have too high expectations of the play, though. All the best, M

From Martin to Soblewski:

Thank you for your concern. We shall see what happens. M

From Christa to me:

Damn and blast! I knew there was something about those dreams! But of course you are the one on the spot down there and will have to take care of the breakdown. I can’t say I’m surprised, I’m afraid. As you know I’ve had my share of depressed menfolk. They’re worse than three-year-olds with earache if you ask me — sorry to have to say that. But for God’s sake make sure you come home so that we can meet and talk everything over. I’ll be staying in Stockholm until the middle of February, so there’s time. Then a month in Florida, thank the Lord. Keep in touch and come home! Christa

From me to Christa:

I’m afraid things are no better here. I think we’ll probably do a runner in a week or so’s time. So if you are still in Stockholm maybe we can meet at the beginning of February. I’d like to put Martin on a flight home and drive all the way myself, but of course that’s not possible. In any case, thanks for your concern. Love, Maria

From me to Gunvald and Synn:

Dear Gunvald and Synn, just a line to let you know that your dad’s not very well at all. We plan to start our long journey back home a few days from now. I don’t know if he’s written to either of you, but it’s pretty unlikely. He is very depressed, and hardly speaks to me at all. Keep your fingers crossed that we get home safely and can get some help. Love, Mum

Well, I think to myself, that’s the foundation for what comes next done and dusted, and it’s with a feeling of relief and cautious optimism that I leave Winsford Community Computer Centre for the last time.