2007 - A tale etched in blood and hard black pencel (44 page)

He thinks of Jojo at the school today, that concentrated, slightly worried look on her face. “Who better indeed?” she had asked. A question to which she had already worked out the correct answer.

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He waits until it’s late, almost closing time, then takes a seat at the bar and orders a pint. He drinks it slowly as Jojo sees out the last customers and eventually the rest of the staff. He thinks about Colin, better able to mourn him now that he knows the truth. Thinks not about what Colin became, and definitely not about what he contemplated but couldn’t see through to conclusion. Instead, he thinks about those younger days. He thinks about the games they played: Colditz and pinkies, two-man hunt, best man fall, Colin’s killernne. He thinks about those endless football matches, Colin’s goalkeeping feats on the soft grass. And he thinks about the last time he heard Colin talk innocently about his passions, before his later enthusiasms set him on a different path. Must have been early Second Year. It stands out because it was after the onset of Colin’s new-found stature, and thus rare—and kind of precious—that they ended up in such an involved conversation. Colin was talking about the stars, something he had done quite a few times at St Lizzie’s too, though Martin assumed he had by this point abandoned his nine-year-old stated ambition of being an astronomer. Colin knew everything about the sky. He had even got this huge telescope for his Christmas in Primary Five.

“The most amazin thing aboot the stars,” he said, “is the distance, and the time it takes their light tae reach Earth. If a star’s twenty light years away, then the illumination generated by the events happenin right now—the fires and explosions—won’t shine on us for another two decades.”

The staff run off the till, fill the glass-washer, empty the ashtrays, turn off the music. Jojo switches it back on once the last of them has gone, puts on a CD, then fills herself a large glass of wine and takes a seat next to Martin.

“You’re a fly one,” he says softly.

“Fly? How?”

“It was Eleanor at the lodges, wasn’t it? Not Robbie. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jojo takes a sip of wine and looks him in the eye over the rim as she swallows. “So Professor Brainbox worked out the answer yet again,” she says.

“Took me longer than you, though. But don’t worry. I’m not going to tell the teacher.”

“Well, if you’re smart enough to solve the big question, you must know the answer to the one you just asked.”

“I guess. You figured the polis have got a solution everybody’s happy with, so you’re protecting Eleanor from a whole load of grief.”

“I’m protecting Robbie, too,” she says.

“Robbie? How?”

“It’s a hell of a thing he’s done for Eleanor. I don’t want that taken away from him.”

Martin nods. “That’s…You’re really the sweetest girl, Jojo,” he says. “I mean it.”

“I liked it when you called me Joanne.”

“Okay. Joanne.” He takes a sip of his pint and places it down very carefully on the bartop so that his fingers just brush against hers. “I’ve got one last question for you,” he says.

“What?”

Martin stands up and glances over his shoulder at the empty room. There’s a slow song playing on the stereo, some old soul number from 1985.

“Would you like to dance?”

Jojo takes his hand and smiles.

“I’d love to.”