Chapter 41
SPENCE
‘Mike used to come here,’ Al says, looking up at the sign outside the Cap and Ale pub. ‘Pickled egg shuck up inside a packet of Walkers ready salted.’ Her voice takes on that wistful tone again.
‘Sounds disgusting. Can’t imagine his breath was all that fresh either.
What a dreamboat…’ Dreamboat. Who even am I right now?
Georgia’s message is rubbing up against Alice’s hopeful tone.
It’s clear from the photos and exclamation marks that she loves Edinburgh so far.
True to her word, Heather has kept me updated with every bit of progress, even asking me if it’s OK to let George go to the loo on her own in a museum. She’s trying so hard.
‘Is Georgia having fun?’ she asks as I tap out a quick reply.
‘Yeah… she really likes it.’
‘Good.’ She smiles. ‘That’s good.’ She looks away, her hands trailing the brickwork outside. That small smile lifts the corner of her mouth. She’s once again lost in his world. I get it. She’s close to getting the answers she needs. But if I’m being honest… I just want this to all be over.
She takes a breath and smiles up at me.
‘Let’s see if we can get you your answers,’ I say.
The pub is dark. Mahogany bar. Stale beer. Fruit machine churning out some winnings. Footy on in the corner. Alice looks around as though it’s made of gold.
The bloke behind the bar is tall. If I had to guess, I’d say late fifties. Dark hair, open collar on his maroon shirt, thick forearms, the kind that would win an arm wrestle.
A regular necks the last of his pint of ale, groans and gets up from the bar-stool before saying, ‘See you later, Carl.’
Alice’s eyes widen at me, and a slow smile crosses her face.
‘Aye. I’ll be here.’ He turns as we approach. ‘What can I get you?’
But it’s like she doesn’t hear him, eyes scanning every facet of the poor bloke’s face.
‘Pint of Peroni,’ I say. No need to stay sober now we’re apparently staying over.
‘Diet Coke, please.’ Alice smiles up at him like he’s the next messiah.
‘Visitin’?’ he asks, pulling on the pump.
‘Yep,’ Alice says brightly. ‘I’m Alice,’ she says, putting out a hand. He looks at her hand like she’s about to pickpocket him. He finishes pouring then shakes her hand.
‘Carl.’
‘I…’ she starts, a blush flushing up her neck. ‘I knew your brother.’ The words rush from her mouth.
I turn to her, the words no, you didn’t on the tip of my tongue. But what good would saying that do?
Even now… even though she knows she wasn’t the woman he was writing to, she’s still trying to hold on to him. Or maybe… her old life.
He doesn’t answer, instead turns his back, reaching for a glass and pouring her Coke. ‘Ice?’ he asks.
Alice’s finger taps on the bar.
‘Um, yes. Please.’
She looks at me for help. Confusion. Desperation.
‘We’ve found some old letters,’ I begin. ‘And we think they’re from your brother. Michael Jones, right?’
He wipes down the bar. ‘Aye, that was his name. What kind of letters?’
Alice finds her voice. ‘They were to a girl, woman. Alice?’
He glances up then, hand tightening on the cloth in his hand.
‘My brother died in eighty-five.’
‘We know,’ Alice adds, and jumps into a garbled explanation about everything that has happened since she got the letters.
‘So what do you want with me? Seems like Kate’s filled you in.’
‘Well, we were hoping that you might be able to help us? Find her?’ She swallows. ‘Alice?’
Another customer comes to the bar. ‘Usual, mate,’ he says. Carl nods towards the back of the pub, a small alcove next to the fruit machine. We take the hint and make our way over.
‘He looks like him, don’t you think?’ Alice asks.
‘I guess.’
I drink too quickly while we wait. Alice’s leg is bouncing.
Carl makes his way over, turning the chair backwards, straddling it.
‘So, what do you want to know?’
‘Just anything you can tell us about her, anything Mike might have said. Any help you could give us would be great.’
‘Why do you want to know? I mean, Mike’s long gone.’
‘I’m…’ She knots her hands on the table. ‘I would like, with your permission, to write an article, talking about his art, the person he was.’
‘Why? What good would that do. He’s dead.’
Alice, double blinks. ‘I know… but his letters… his art…’ She trails off.
‘Look.’ He turns his head, checking the bar then back again. ‘I don’t really know what you want.’
‘Kate mentioned,’ I begin, ‘that they visited the address he had for her, left flyers… We just wondered if she ever got in touch? After…’
Carl takes out a packet of tobacco and some papers, lining up the filter.
‘Aye. She did.’ He pinches the tobacco and runs it in a straight line.
Alice presses her lips together.
‘There was a note by the phone the day he…’ He rolls the paper. ‘The day we lost him.’
We wait for him to finish. ‘I… I was young. Didn’t know what to do with it after…’ He licks the paper, sealing it.
‘Do you—’ Al swallows. ‘Do you remember anything that could help us find her?’
He puts the roll-up behind his ear.
‘It was the wrong number. The address he ’ad.
It was number 16, not 76. Look, I don’t know what raking over the past will do—’ he tucks his Rizla inside the tobacco pouch, seals it and taps his fingers on it ‘—but I reckon he would have liked you to find her. Obsessed, he was. Back then.’ He stands.
‘Can you… wait here? And tell anyone who comes in I’ll be back in a tick.’
He leaves the table, strides across the pub and through a door.
We wide-eye each other, not knowing what to say. Alice snorts a laugh. ‘God, I hope no one comes in.’
After five minutes have passed, and thankfully no customers, Carl reappears holding a brown cardboard box. He drops it on the table, almost sending our drinks flying. He straddles the seat again.
‘I… There were more. Of his drawings, like. I used to… I was an annoying little shit at times, but he was my big brother. Idolised him, I did.’ He scratches the back of his head.
‘There’s a load more, drawings. Some finished, some…
Anyway, I used to keep them, after he scrunched them up.
Never let him know that, though.’ He smiles.
‘Thought I could make a few bob out of them, if I sold them when he made it big, you know? I always thought he would.’ He taps the box.
‘Take them. It’s about time they saw the light of day. ’
‘Thank you.’ She reaches over and rests her hands on his large fists.
‘Aye, well, it’s the least I can do. The last thing I did was give him the finger.’ Even though the sentiment is blunt, there is still a touch of humour there. ‘And you checked with Kate? I mean, she’s happy with you writing about this stuff?’
Al nods.
‘Right, well. Best get back to it.’ He stands. ‘Oh, and you might want to ask her about the ring.’
‘The ring?’ she asks.
‘Aye, Mike wore it round his neck like a bloody crown jewel. It was hers. Alice’s. There’s a load of sketches of it. Like I said. Obsessed, he was.’
Alice’s whole body shifts forwards, her face lit up like a beacon.
I feel it then. The shift.
My throat tightens as I try to swallow. I’m not jealous. Not… exactly. But it’s hard to compete with a man who never got to disappoint her.
I thought we were close to the end of this.
But it feels like we’re right back at the beginning.