Little Fingers! (31 page)

A few days
before my mother died, a man came round to our house to talk to my
mother. I was upstairs listening to music, so I wasn't paying that
much attention. When the front door bell rang, I glanced outside
the window and got a glimpse of her visitor. I saw him for less
than a second and, as he had turned away from the door waiting for
it to be answered, I only caught the back of him. I could not
possibly prove it, but I am convinced he was George
Knightly.

* *
*

“
Hello. It is
Dave Cheveley here, The Sun.”

“
Hello, Dave.
I have missed you.”

“
Yeah, right.
How well did you know George Knightly?”

“
I met him
once at his house when I briefly joined the music festival
organising committee.”

“
Is that
all?”

“
Yes,
Dave.”

“
How well did
you know Tom Becker?”

“
I never even
talked to him, Dave.”

“
Well, you're
not much use to me, then, are you, Julia.”

“
I am afraid
not.”

“
Happy
hunting. 'Bye.”

* *
*

It was about
this time, Inspector, when we started spending our evenings
together in the Hanburgh Arms. Not all our evenings, by any means,
but two nights a week, at least.

I don't really
know why. We just seemed drawn to each other. Ostensibly, you were
pumping me for information, perhaps with a lingering suspicion that
I might have been a busy lady. I had time on my hands. It was that
moment of limbo when Mary and I suspected that Frank knew all about
us, but we were not sure, and Mary was unwilling to confront the
issue. So Mary spent her evenings at home and, ironically, Frank
and I spent them in the pub, Frank with his cronies, and especially
Tony James, me with you.

Our
conversation was desultory and pitted with holes. After all, we
were not lovers, yet we passed many pleasant hours nonetheless. To
be honest, I would rather have been with Mary, and that was not
possible. I am not sure where you would rather have been. You ended
up with me.

“
If you two
spend any more time in this pub together, you had better get
married, or at least buy the pub,” Brenda chided us.

“
Is this how
you treat your best clients?” you asked. “We keep this place
populated.”

“
Shouldn't
you be out there catching criminals?”

“
If you tell
me who they are, I'll gladly catch them.”

“
Well, just
about everybody in here is drinking and driving.”

“
Yes,” you
replied, “but I only catch real criminals.”

“
And then
not.”

“
I will,
Brenda, I will. I promise you. Just tell me who it is.”

“
I know, I
know. I can tell you, it is really bugging me too. Perhaps I should
sit down here with you, and Julia can cover for me behind the
bar.”

“
I wouldn't
know where to start,” I said.

“
You're
right, Julia, it is not your scene. Come back when you need the
money.”

* *
*

And finally
Frank admits to Mary that he knows all about us. Not all about us.
Enough to be concerned.

He holds Mary
by the shoulders. “It is all right, Mary. We go far deeper than
this.”

“
Are you
sure?”

“
Of course I
am bloody sure.”

They hold each
other for a long time, while the washing machine swishes out a
mechanical beat.

“
Do you want
me to leave, my love?” Frank asks her.

“
No.”

“
Do you want
to run off with her, up to the House? Move in with her?”

“
No.”

“
Do you want
her to come and live here?”

“
No, not
really. I like it here with just you.”

“
You must
have discussed it.”

“
We
did.”

“
And…..?”

“
We couldn't
work out a solution either.”

Frank laughs.
“This is crazy. Isn't there a single unreasonable person around
here anywhere?”

“
No. We all
want a perfect answer.”

Frank sits
down in his favourite chair, and holds his head in one
hand.

“
I couldn't
believe it when I realised what was happening, although it was
obviously true. Strangely, it wasn't really a shock either. It was
simply a question. What do we do now? I have so much faith in you,
so much love for you, I can not believe that we can ever go
wrong.”

“
We
won't.”

“
We had
better get Julia round and thrash it out then, man to woman to
woman to man.”

“
You must
have been practising that line, darling.”

“
Funnily
enough, not. It just occurred to me as I said it. Give Julia a call
now.”

When I ring at
the front door, Frank quickly answers it. “Come in Julia. It is
nice to see you.”

I search his
eyes for sarcasm or malice. There isn't any that I can detect.
“Come and sit down. Let me get you a drink. Vodka and coke, I
assume. I have sat there watching you drinking it enough times, or
do you fancy a change?”

“
No, that is
good for me. Hello, Mary.”

Mary smiles
wanly at me, and points me towards a single chair, what we used to
call a “comfy chair”, although it isn't at this moment.

Frank comes
back into the sitting room. “Here you are, Julia.
Cheers.”

“
Cheers.”

“
Can I say
one thing?” Frank begins.

“
Of
course.”

“
Well, two
actually. The first is that I feel no animosity towards you
whatsoever, Julia. You love Mary, I can see that, and why shouldn't
you? I love her too.”

“
OK.”

“
And the
second one is that we are going to sort this thing out somehow.
No-one here is going to get hurt any more than they choose to
be.”

“
That is very
generous, Frank.”

“
I am being
honest, Julia, and pragmatic, and I would ask you to be the
same.”

“
I
will.”

“
Good, then
we understand each other. So, Julia, the big question is what do we
do from here?”

“
I don't
know, Frank.”

“
Even better.
Then there are no foregone conclusions.”

“
No.”

“
No,” repeats
Mary.

“
Can we carry
on as before?” Frank inquires. “As if I didn't know?”

“
You do
know.”

“
All right.
Does it have to be any issue at all? Do we just play it by
ear?”

“
Yes, we
could do that.”

“
No,” Frank
contradicts me, “we can't. If we do that, things will drift. There
will be misunderstandings. There will be jealousies. Things will
get ugly. We need to agree a solution we are all entirely
comfortable with.”

“
But what is
it?”

“
I'm buggered
if I know.”

Mary leans
forward. “Julia, will you stay the night?”

Frank looks
startled.

Mary
continues. “Let's try it.”

“
Try what?”
asks Frank.

“
Let's try
it,” Mary repeats.

“
You mean a
three-some?” Frank challenges.

“
I mean a
relationship between the three of us, however it works
out.”

“
I am not
sure I can cope with that,” Franks admits.

“
None of us
are, Frank. This is new territory for all of us,” Mary consoles
him. “So get your kit off!”

“
You have got
to be bloody joking.”

Mary fixes him
with a straight look. “No.”

So we try it.
Mary undresses me. I have never seen eyes on stalks, but those are
Frank's eyes. Then we undress Frank. He protests ineffectually.
Naked, his feet actually do not smell. He is more attractive that I
would have guessed. He stands there, exposed. There is a hesitation
between Mary and me. How do we relax him? After a few seconds, I
drop to my knees and start to pleasure him. He is literally sucked
into our relationship. From there it is easier. The peace treaty is
sealed. It is not what he would have voted for, but it is what we
can all accept. All of us. We are not exactly home, but we are past
the hotel room.

* *
*

And then there
is the miscarriage. I am excluded again. Frank and Mary close
ranks. It is their grief. They have been trying to have a child for
many years. That opportunity eludes them in a slurry of blood and
despair.

They refuse to
answer my calls. Frank bars the door on me. Mary must be left to
rest. It is a grief I am not allowed to share in. I was only an
intruder after all.

Back to the
pub, and to you, Inspector.

Back to my
empty house, and to rooms that absorb my thoughts. Back to an empty
diary, and no Tom to talk to, no Mary. Back to the beginning, and
you, Inspector, do not count. You are only making
weight.

Eventually,
Mary comes to my front door with a suitcase in her hands. “Julia, I
have to go away. Will you come with me?”

“
What about
Frank?”

“
He will stay
here. He will hold the fort. We will all be back together, but, for
now, I need to escape. Save me.”

Well, I
already have my assignment from you. I have to write about
everything I have seen. “Come in, Mary. I will only be a few
minutes.”

I search the
Internet, and find the house in Bézier. I try to book it from
tomorrow. It takes. I search Ryanair. £423 for two one-way tickets.
“Your payment has been accepted. Your confirmation is XYC4RC.” We
leave immediately.

* *
*

We drive out
to the lake about 20 minutes away from the mill. Su and David, who
own the mill, have told us it is worth visiting, and that there is
a community of Brits who live out there. They have under-played it.
I don't know why.

We approach it
down a road which is returning to the rough track whence it
started. Some signs went up the other day, saying “Beware. Poor
road surface.” We wonder what they thought it was like three months
ago. We worry whether we will need a four-by-four to complete the
journey.

There is deep
gorge to our left, and then, unannounced, a stunning, shy, elegant
viaduct with a track running across it. A couple of tourists are
standing midway. Entering the village, having branched onto the
main road, there is a second one, its brasher, blowsier elder
sister, curvaceous, colonnaded, and the lake, the deepest of
turquoise.

There is a
beach all around the lake, and an island that even small children
can almost walk to through the water. The wind is gusting hard and
warm on this bright October day. There is a sparse population of
families spread across the shore and into the water in cheerful
groups. Several of the women could raise the water level by several
inches if they were ever to join their hippopotami relatives.
Instead, two of them are dancing, without music.

“
I am
suddenly feeling slim again,” Mary remarks.

We lie on the
beach and watch. We, too, are being surveyed surreptitiously but
not intrusively. Our emotions together are still for the first time
since we left England, maybe even for the first time.

“
What a
wonderful place,” Mary adds.

“
I wasn't
expecting anything like this.”

We hug up, and
the locals seem entirely comfortable with our behaviour.

Back in Su and
David's restaurant, El Almendro, we castigate them for not selling
us the lake properly. “Yes, it is beautiful,” they say. “It is
excellent for children.” I glance at Mary. She steals herself not
to react, and continues to smile.

“
Nice place
you have here.”

“
Thanks.”

The chef is on
show in that the kitchen is only separated from the dining area by
a long, low counter. He looks to be enjoying himself. He is
obviously not the sort of chef who throws pans around when things
get tense. Alternatively, the diners are the sorts of people who
know how to dive under the tables at the sight of
trouble.

“
It hasn't
happened yet,” Su remarks. “We did have some trouble before the
restaurant opened, though. There was a dispute with the plasterers
over money, and one of them picked up a hammer and threatened to
smash the place up if we did not pay him what he was demanding. Our
partner, Paul, grabbed hold of a wrench, and threatened to trade
damage to the man's head blow-for-blow.”

“
Now that is
more like a real chef,” I observe.