Towers of Silence

Chapter Thirty Six

“I was gobsmacked,” I told Diane. “He’d already claimed that Roland wanted to keep in touch which I knew was a lie and then he sprang this. But I couldn’t see that he’d be making it up. As far as I know he’d never clapped eyes on Eddie before.”

“Bit weird.” She agreed. “What’s this Eddie like?”

“All right. Well, I thought he was. Good with people, passionate about his work. Helpful.”

“So, ask him about it.”

“Oh, I intend to. As soon as possible. It’s a bit awkward though because it means he wasn’t being straight with me. And I can’t see why. Of course the other side of all this is Roland, who thought his father turning up on the doorstep had led to his mother cracking up and that wasn’t it at all. He must have been to hell and back, poor kid. Now I can tell him how wrong he was, once I’ve talked to Eddie Cliff and got things a bit clearer.”

“Another?” Diane held up her beer glass.

“Please – and crisps.”

While she was at the bar I worried some more about Horace Johnstone’s version of events. There was a possibility that he was writing himself out of the picture because he felt guilty, though I’d not seen much sign of that. Maybe he had met Miriam and she’d freaked out. He’d panicked and left her. Later he hears she is dead. But the description of Eddie Cliff was too close to be coincidental. He must have seen him. Could he have seen him at the centre and then invented the bit about the car. Possibly, but why? To point me in a different direction? That only made sense if Horace Johnstone had done something he wanted to keep hidden. The more I chewed it over the more muddled I became. I thought about the timing – it wasn’t exact but presumably it was after Roland had gone off to wait in the park at two-ish and before Martina got in around four o’ clock.

Diane returned with our drinks and two packets of cheese and onion crisps. I took a swig of beer, opened my crisps and ate a handful.

“What about the other lad, the one that was running off?”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said. I trailed him twice. He spent one day mooching around the Arndale and the next on an odyssey to York.”

“York?”

“York. Stood outside a house, watched the occupants, went home in tears.”

“Aw!”

“And I’ve no idea what’s going on there. I thought perhaps a girlfriend, unrequited love. But there was no girl the right age. I even asked his mother if he was adopted, thought he might be tracing his roots. She thought I was bonkers.”

“Is he stalking them?”

“I thought about that but it’s the first time he’s been up there so that doesn’t fit. He even stopped to ask me directions.” I pulled a face.

“What did you do?” Diane exclaimed.

“Bluffed my way through it. Seemed to work. All I can do now is find out who lives in the house, hope it means something to his mother.” I took a drink. “Mmm.” The beer was just cool, tasted full and bitter and had a creamy head that meant you had to lick your lips after each drink. Perfect. “So, tell me about Iceland.”

“Thunderbirds are GO. All on schedule. Bit of a panic when the airline couldn’t find a note of my booking.”

“You’re joking.”

“They’d just lost me somewhere.”

“Over the North Sea.”

“Saves on the catering. It’s sorted now.”

“You go Friday?”

“Yes. Thermals are packed and Christmas cards posted.”

“Mine aren’t.”

“So how’s Christmas shaping up in the Kilkenny/Costello household?”

“Nana Tello is on the brink of accepting Ray’s offer. She’ll spend all day needling Laura if recent form is anything to go by.”

“How does Laura cope?”

I grinned. “She smiles sweetly and replies politely. She’s got far more control than I ever had. You can see it drives Nana Tello mad; she wants a scrap.”

“Why’s she like that?”

“Jealousy? I don’t know. Yours truly can do no wrong these days.”

“You’re joking.”

“Flavour of the month. I think I preferred being the devil within.”

“Does Ray say anything?”

“Oh, yeah. He blows up after so much and then she goes all quiet and cold or tearful. But I think I’ll stick my oar in if she starts this time. It’s horrible for the kids let alone Laura. Goodwill to all men.”

“You’re really looking forward to it then.”

I gave sickly smile. “I’d rather come with you.”

“The course is fun. Oh, and they’ve got a television crew coming over from Germany, arts documentary, so that’s another spin-off.

“Brilliant. And after Iceland?”

“The world,” she said in a phoney American accent. “Warrington actually,” she went into broad Mancunian. “Children’s library.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I like libraries.”

“It was the children’s bit.”

“Nah. Won’t have to do much with them, a design workshop. Well-behaved group of schoolchildren, teacher present.”

I smiled.

“And New Year, of course.” We’d both been invited to the party at our old friends’. “Are you going to Harry and Bev’s?”

“You bet. Means I can bring Maddie; babysitters are pretty scarce at New Year. Are you?”

She screwed up her nose. “You know I hate New Year. I might just rent a video and curl up with some smoked salmon and single malt.”

“Chris and Jo will be there. Be a chance to catch up with people.”

“You bringing Stuart?”

I grimaced. “Don’t know. Probably not. We haven’t talked about it really. He might be doing something with his family. And if not that would mean me explaining who he was to Maddie.”

“Still a secret?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. And I didn’t like it, I realised. One of the things I was becoming more uncomfortable with was the secrecy we’d imposed upon ourselves. It had seemed sensible at the time, for the sake of the children, to give us chance to work out whether we were suited before involving anyone else, but I wasn’t so sure any more.

It’s the secrecy I can’t stand, Susan Reeve had said, the lies and the secrecy.

From a completely different perspective I agreed.

I tried phoning Stuart at his place when I got in. A woman answered the phone.

“Is Stuart there?”

“Who is this?”

I was thinking the same thing.

“Sal Kilkenny, I’m a friend.”

She put the phone down.

I felt like I’d been slapped.

How dare she? Who was she? Some other new conquest that Stuart had forgotten to mention? My cheeks burned with outrage and I found myself talking aloud, spluttering with indignation. It really wasn’t worth it. Crikey, seeing someone after years in single-parent purdah was tough enough without rude behaviour from anonymous third parties to contend with.

I got ready for bed and lay there rehearsing my speech to Stuart, adapting it to suit his reactions. But whichever version I chose; penitent Stuart, blasé Stuart, misunderstood Stuart, bastard Stuart, I always ended up reaching the same final line.

Goodbye.