Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
‘You look a bit tearful.’
‘It’s the light.’
It’s Sonny.
Gloria came back without the tea. The three sat on their wooden chairs facing the window. The sun was behind Gloria’s house and, low in the evening sky, hit the roof of number four. Edward felt his stomach heave – not so much with physical nausea as with anxiety. What was wrong with him?
‘That’s number one, I’m number two,’ said Gloria.
‘Close,’ said Terry. ‘My darling, Edward is going to ask you a couple of questions.’
He wanted to find the right question for Gloria. His head hurt and his stomach rumbled with anxiety. He asked, ‘Did you see the Ukrainian man, Lev Malnyk, leave the house?’
‘No. And—’
‘Yes?’
‘Not Prince Andrew.’
‘Not him?’
‘Prince Andrew and Mr Lev. Left separately.’
‘It’s not good today,’ whispered Terry.
‘What’s not good?’ asked Gloria.
‘Please don’t worry, my love,’ said Terry, ‘and just see if you can answer Edward’s questions.’
‘I couldn’t give the police much, except the mirror.’
‘The mirror?’ Edward put in.
‘A man in a mirror.’
‘Went in?’
‘This came up with the police, Gloria, didn’t it?’ That was Terry again, and Gloria asked: ‘Did it?’
Edward had taken his phone out of his pocket to make notes, but was stopped by a light touch on his arm. Terry, between Gloria and Edward, whispered, ‘She doesn’t like screens. Finds them upsetting.’
‘Well, she’s right there,’ said Edward.
‘A man in a mirror, that made the police roll their eyes.’
‘Did you see anyone on the day of the disaster, Gloria?’
‘What disaster?’
‘The crash at the pizza restaurant in Sidmouth,’ said Edward, beginning to understand why the police had left the trail after this visit.
‘You know what he is talking about, lovely,’ said Terry, with real tenderness. ‘The police came?’
‘Why didn’t they ask me? I would have told them—’
‘They did ask you,’ said Terry, but now it was Edward who put a hand on his arm.
‘—told them about the box.’
‘This again,’ said Terry.
‘A big thing like a microwave removed by the man in the mirror with four arms.’
‘Where did he take it?’ Edward asked.
‘Down there, silly!’ Gloria said, pointing left, which was the obvious direction, the end of the estate they had entered from.
‘He couldn’t exactly go into the field, could he?
’ The field was behind the house. A barbed-wire fence marked the rear boundary of the properties.
Edward guessed it had been put there by an angry farmer.
The conversation chugged this way and that, like a steam train grinding across countryside and trying to find rails. They kept coming back to the men who left the house opposite with the box, and every description was different.
Terry was asking, ‘How many men were there, Gloria, with the box?’
No answer. Why did this box keep coming up? Was the box the mirror? What was removed from Malnyk’s flat on the day of the crash? What if she had got the day wrong? He asked Terry, ‘All these comings and goings with the mirror et cetera, was that the same day as the crash?’
‘I believe so,’ said Terry. ‘No point checking with …’ – he rolled his eyes towards Gloria – ‘but yes, the police were here the day after the incident, and she was talking about yesterday, so that we do know.’
‘So he came straight here, the man in the mirror? Were they wearing costumes or something?’
‘Fancy dress!’ laughed Gloria. Edward stared, wondering if that was an answer or just some kind of word association she was playing in her head. They would get nowhere here.
When Gloria said, ‘Billy, would you like another tea?’ even Terry looked moved by how lost his neighbour was.
Edward could not leave fast enough, mounting his moped and almost forgetting the crash helmet he had left on the grass. As he tugged it onto his head and put the key into the ignition, there was a tap on his shoulder – of course. Terry.
‘Are you okay to drive? You’re looking pretty shell-shocked. Dementia can do that.’
‘I wish I had it myself sometimes,’ said Edward. This man was hanging on to him like a limpet. ‘Tasteless, sorry,’ he added, not sure what to say.
‘You’re crying.’
‘It’s the wind.’
‘You’re wearing a crash helmet, which is airtight.’
‘There was some wind when I put it on. The visor was up. The wind caught my eyes, and I put the shield down.’ This was silly.
He opted for candour instead. ‘I lost my son. A sudden death. Your lady did too. She thought I was her son. I wondered if that’s me in thirty years, thinking I’ve got him back. All the good memories are bad now.’
‘Every sunrise is a fire that burns you down.’
‘Who said that?’
‘A country singer, I think.’
‘I had memories of it in there. Never gets any easier. Burns you out from the inside, like the firebox on a train.’
‘It does that,’ said the man elliptically. ‘Chin up.’ He slapped the motorbike seat as if releasing Edward. Revving the moped, Edward asked: ‘Which way is Barton Ottery from here?’
The old man thought about it. ‘A minute from Tipton St John, isn’t it? Tipton, then left at the bend, up the hill. If you get to the Wildflower Retreat, you’ve gone too far.’
Nothing Edward had heard in the last hour had made any sense at all, like looking at a map scissored into small pieces, shuffled and glued into a collage. It was a fitting end to an outing where Edward had learnt precisely nothing of value.
Or so he thought.