The Year of the Ladybird (20 page)

‘Who else knows?’

‘What does it matter?’

‘It does matter. Who else knows? I mean who do you know for certain who knows?’

‘Calm down, David. If they do know they’re really not that interested. Not as interested as you seem to think anyway.’

I nodded. I looked out to sea. I was thinking hard.

‘I was more surprised than interested, to be honest.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well I didn’t think she would be your type. She’s quite hard-faced. When you get to know her. Oh, am I speaking out of turn now?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘I was a bit taken aback. When I realised, I mean.’

‘Right.’

‘She just didn’t seem to be the sort of woman I would have expected you to go for.’

‘What sort of woman would you have expected me to go for?’

‘More feminine. More sophisticated, I suppose.’

‘More like a dancer?’

‘That’s the word I was trying to think of,’ she said.

‘I’ve been an idiot,’ I said.

Along with Gail I was responsible for organising the Glamorous Grandmother competition that afternoon. The previous week when I’d organised the Glamorous Grandmother
I’d been an adulterer. Now I was wondering whether it was possible that I was a murderer’s accomplice. It hadn’t escaped me that maybe Colin had stuck a pig’s trotter or two
in those bags of meat just to disguise any dismembered human remains. Of course, he might not have done; but all things were possible. I was moving in a world where I didn’t know what people
were capable of.

I supposed that murderers’ accomplices did trivial and quotidian things like anyone else. I mean, murderers peel potatoes and watch quiz shows on the television. But I think it must be
quite rare that a murderer’s accomplice has to organise a Glamorous Grandmother competition.

And my mind was slipping from the job. I had command of the microphone and before a small audience in the ballroom I had to conduct, in turn, an ‘interview’ with each of about
fifteen ladies of a certain age. I would ask them where they were from and a number of stock questions. One of these questions was to ask the lady what was the best piece of advice she had ever
received. Halfway through the show I was about to ask this question to contestant number eight and my mind went blank.

When I say blank, I don’t just mean I forgot my words. My mind drained. I stalled. My jaw became paralysed. I was aware of the audience waiting for me. Contestant number eight turned
towards me with an expectant expression on her face. Everything went silent. Someone coughed. Then there was a nervous laugh from somewhere. I actually had the microphone held to my own lips, but
it was as if time was passing for everyone except me. I couldn’t progress time in my own world, and therefore I couldn’t speak. A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. Contestant
number eight smiled awkwardly, turned away and gently patted the hair at the nape of her neck, then she looked back at me again. Someone in the audience made a comment.

I saw Gail come towards me, her eyes huge. She gently took the microphone from my fingers. ‘There’s been a bit of a bug going round the staff,’ she said into the microphone,
‘and I think David’s got it.’ There was a murmur of sympathy from the audience. ‘He doesn’t like giving up but if we can get him to sit down for a minute then
I’ll carry on.’

I took the cue. I patted my stomach a little theatrically perhaps, but enough to confirm for the audience that what she said was true. I made my way out of the ballroom and went to the gents,
where I stood at the sink throwing cold water on my face.

I quickly pulled myself together and went back into the ballroom, ready to reclaim the microphone but Gail indicated to me that she was fine. Pretty soon we had a winner: a sixty-three-year-old
school-dinner lady from Mansfield who was not only a grandmother but a great grandmother. And a big round of applause please.

After the show I cleared the gear away with Gail so that the afternoon tea-dancing could start. I apologised to Gail for making a hash of the show.

‘We’ve all dried on stage,’ she said. ‘It happens.’

‘You were brilliant. Thanks for giving me a way out.’

‘You’re sweet!’ she said.

Sweet, I thought. But was that all that had happened? I’d dried? Got stage fright? It felt like much more. It felt like something terrible was coming to get me. Some spirit of nemesis. We
cleared away to leave the floor ready for the afternoon tea-dance and as I made my out I saw one of the barmen pointing in my direction. He was directing towards me a man in a scruffy beige suit.
The man made his way to me across the ballroom floor, passing between campers who had commenced a slow foxtrot.

‘David Barwise?’ said the man. He had sandy hair and freckles, and a sad-looking face. His suit was crumpled and his collar was a little grubby. He had an offbeat air about him. He
stared out at the world like a herring on a fishmonger’s slab.

‘Yes.’

‘Could we sit down somewhere and have a chat? I’m Detective Constable Willis.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What’s it about?’

He put a finger to his ear to suggest the ballroom music was making it difficult for him to hear, and he gestured that we go out into the lobby. There we found a couple of hard chairs and sat
down. He pulled a small notebook out of his suit pocket. A pencil was inserted into the metal spring binding the pages of the notebook. He took the pencil out of the spring and licked the lead tip.
Then he leafed through the pages of the notebook, stopping when he appeared to find something interesting. His brow corrugated for a moment. Then he went back to flicking the pages until finally he
arrived at a blank page. He laid the notepad on the table and wrote my name at the head of the page. ‘It’s about Terri Marchant.’

I blinked.

‘She’s gone missing.’

‘Terri the cleaner?’ I asked.

‘Yes, Terri the cleaner.’

‘Well you should ask her husband, Colin.’

‘We can’t find him.’

‘Well, he got fired from here.’

‘No he didn’t. He got suspended. But he’s gone missing, too, and normally that wouldn’t be a cause for concern but Terri’s brother says she’s taken nothing
with her. Nothing from the flat she shares with Colin, no money, no clothes. All her things have been left behind. Which is odd. Do you know where she might have gone?’

I kept flashing on the night we had dumped the condemned meat, and the fact that Colin had worn gloves while I hadn’t. I wondered if I was being carefully set up. ‘Why would I
know?’

‘Well, you’re a friend of theirs. So people tell me.’

‘I’m their friend? Who says that?’

‘Look, you’re a member of the same political party as Colin and Terri, right?’

‘You’re crazy. They are in the National Front. Or rather he is.’

‘Look, I’m not interested in your politics, son. But I’m told you’re in the same party.’

‘No I’m not! He’s like a fascist!’

‘I’ve told you, son. I don’t care if you’re in the Chairman Mao party. It’s of no interest to me.’

‘Chairman Mao?’ I said. ‘I think that’s the other end of the spectrum, isn’t it?’

‘You’re not listening to me: I’m not here to talk politics. I just want to ask you if you have any thoughts about where she might be.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

‘But you went to some meetings with her?’

‘No. Who have you been talking to? I went to one. One meeting, but with Colin, not Terri. And I didn’t even know what that was.’

‘You went to a National Front meeting without knowing what it was?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Exactly.’

He smiled. If you could imagine a dead fish smiling that was how it looked. ‘There are some National Front members in the police force. One or two. But I’ve never been to one of
their meetings by accident.’

‘Really? Well that’s what happened.’

‘So you’re saying you don’t know Terri Marchant.’

‘No, I do know her. She used to work here.’

‘Still does.’

‘Yes. I mean I know her. And I know Colin, her husband. But I’m not his friend. He’s a nasty piece of work.’

Willis chewed his thumbnail and stared hard at me for what seemed like a long time. ‘Was there anything between you and Terri?’

‘Why on earth would you suggest that?’

‘Don’t get excited.’

‘Excited? I’m not excited.’

He smiled. ‘Perhaps you have a guilty secret.’

‘Is that a joke?’

‘You tell me, David. You tell me.’

I was determined not to look away from his beady-eyed gaze. He weakened first. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘is there anyone else I might talk to?’

‘There are a couple of lads in the kitchen who were at that meeting you just referred to. Though Terri wasn’t there. I don’t think she’s a party member.’

‘She is.’ Willis consulted his notebook. ‘Pete Williams and Dan Hanson?’

‘Yes. That’s them.’

‘I’ve already spoken to them. Anyone else?’

I thought about mentioning that Tony was a party member but I guessed Willis already knew that. ‘No. What do you think has happened to her?’

Willis got up from the table. ‘They had a violent row. After that, no one seems to have seen her, though according to the brother Colin is still around. So we’re guessing.’

‘Who is the brother?’ I asked him. I didn’t even know that Terri had a brother. I wondered if that was who had told DC Willis that Terri and I had a relationship. Perhaps Terri
had confided in him.

‘John Talbot. I think he’s another of your blackshirt chums.’

I ignored the jibe. I remembered John Talbot. I’d met him when Colin introduced me to Norman Prosser at the meeting. He was also the man who’d seen me coming out of the pub with
Nikki the day we’d gone into town. So that was Terri’s brother. It was a tight circle.

A couple of young girls in backless tops and tiny shorts waddled by on high-heeled shoes carrying glasses of lager. Willis watched them go. Then he looked at me. ‘You have an easy
life,’ he said. I didn’t know whether it was a description or an instruction.

He nodded, almost microscopically. ‘So you had nothing to do with her?’

‘Who?’

‘Terri.’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I barely knew her. If I were you I’d be asking myself who exactly suggested that I was her boyfriend when I’ve had nothing to do with her. Who
would want to deflect your interest on to me, I mean. If I were a detective, that’s the question I’d be asking myself.’

‘I don’t know why you’re getting steamed up,’ DC Willis said. ‘I’m just trying to work out what’s gone on here, that’s all.’

‘But you’re saying I’m her boyfriend!’

‘I’m not saying that at all. I’m just asking a few questions. I’m just looking for help. That’s all. You’re reacting like someone with a guilty
conscience.’

‘In that case,’ I said, ‘it must be possible for people who are not guilty to behave as if they are guilty. Have you thought of that?’

He looked at the page of his notebook on which he had written my name and nothing else. He closed the notebook, inserted the pencil back into the spiral binding and put it in his pocket. Then he
stood up. ‘I think about it all the time,’ he said. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

I watched him walk out of the ballroom lobby. I don’t know where he went or who he spoke to after me. I stayed in my seat for a while afterwards, trying to think. The slow foxtrot in the
ballroom had given way to a rumba.

Early evening I had to supervise the theatre for a screening of
The Sting
, a film with Robert Redford and Paul Newman that had come out a couple of years earlier to
great acclaim. But because it was repeated every week I had by now seen it a good few times and it held no surprises.

Distracted, I made my way across the car park to the theatre. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going, but as I passed in front of one of the parked vehicles someone
sounded a horn loud enough to make me jump out of the way. It was just Pinky, climbing out of his car with a lot of shopping bags.

‘You’re in a world of your own,’ he said. He came over to me and pulled a carton of No. 6 cigarettes out of one of the bags and shoved it into my hands. ‘Here, have one
of these. Say nothing. You okay?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Sure.’

‘You don’t look okay.’

‘No, I’m fine. Thanks for these.’

I went off to the cinema and did my usher’s job. I sat away to the side of the auditorium, gnawing my hand. The fact is that I’d been trembling since my run-in with the police
officer. My guts were in a state of riot. I was falling apart, and I still hadn’t a clue about what had happened to Terri.

I knew I needed to get some help.

After the film was over I went to the Tavern singalong bar. It was there that you could find many of the kitchen staff drinking. I found Williams and Hanson, the two skinhead kitchen porters
with whom I’d travelled to the National Front meeting. Williams, the buck-toothed one who’d called me a poof, looked up from his pint and scowled.

I spoke to the other one, Hanson. I handed him the carton of No. 6 cigarettes. ‘I came by these but I don’t smoke. Split ’em with your mate.’

Williams looked baffled and showed me a bit more of his teeth, but Hanson was very glad to have the ciggies. ‘Nice one, mate. Can I get you a pint?’

‘Another time. I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘No worries, mate.’

‘I wondered if you’d seen Colin or his missus.’

Hanson turned to his pal. ‘We ain’t, have we? Ain’t seen them for a good few days. His pal shook his head. It was clear they knew nothing. ‘Been a copper here asking
about them.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Well, if you see Colin tell him I’ve got some ciggies for him, will you?’ I knew perfectly well they wouldn’t see him before I would.
‘Or his missus. if you spot her or hear where she might be, give me a shout, will you?’

‘No problem, mate.’ Then, as I made to leave, Hanson raised a thumb in the air. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You’re all right, you are. Sound.’ Then he turned to
Williams. ‘He’s sound, he is.’

Williams said nothing. He lifted his pint to his lips and took a sip through his prominent teeth.