Dominion

film released of it going off in the New Mexico desert. The Germans said it had been faked. ‘I’ve never been sure those stories are true,’ Frank said. ‘I know the atom bomb’s theoretically possible, but the amount of uranium you’d need is so colossal. I’ve heard the Germans are trying to build one, too, but they haven’t got anywhere. If they had we’d have heard about it.’ He looked at his brother, scientist to scientist. ‘What do you think?’

Edgar gave him a hard stare. ‘We’ve got the atom bomb. We’ve other things, too, new types of incendiary bomb, chemical weapons – in a few years we’ll have intercontinental missiles. The Germans probably will, too, by then, but we’ll have atom bombs on top of ours.’

‘And then where will we all be?’ Frank asked sadly.

‘I don’t know about you, but we’ll be safe.’

‘While Britain’s tied to Germany.’ Frank shook his head. He had always hated the Nazis and Blackshirts, the whole pack of bully-boy thugs. He had wished Britain hadn’t surrendered even back in 1940.

Edgar had never liked Frank talking back to him. He frowned as he took another gulp of beer. ‘Got a girlfriend yet?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Never had one, have you?’

Frank didn’t answer.

‘Women are bloody bitches,’ Edgar announced suddenly, so loud that people at neighbouring tables stared. ‘So I had a fling with my secretary, so bloody what? Now Ella’s taking half my salary for alimony.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I could do with my share of the money from Mum’s house.’

‘I don’t mind. We can sell up if you like.’ So that was why Edgar had really come over; he wanted his inheritance.

Edgar looked relieved. ‘Are the deeds at the house?’ he asked.

‘Yes. In a drawer. With Mum’s bank books.’

‘I’ll take those, if you don’t mind. For – what do you call it – probate?’

‘If you like.’

Edgar asked, ‘You still working at that lab assistant job at Birmingham University?’

‘I’m not a lab assistant. I’m a research associate.’

‘What are you researching, then?’ Edgar’s tone was belligerent; Frank realized he was very drunk. He remembered a lecturer at Birmingham who had got divorced and turned to drink; he had quietly been given premature retirement.

‘The structure of meteorites,’ he answered. ‘How their elements bond together.’

‘Meteorites!’ Edgar laughed.

‘What are you working on?’

Edgar tapped the side of his nose in a ridiculous drunk’s gesture, setting his glasses askew, then lowered his voice. ‘Government work. Can’t tell you. They weren’t that happy about my coming over here for the funeral. I have to report to the embassy every day.’ He picked up the menu. ‘What’ve they got for pudding? Jesus, spotted dick.’

Mrs Muncaster’s funeral took place a few days later. Frank arranged it with the local vicar, careful not to tell him of Mrs Muncaster’s religious views. Apart from Frank and Edgar, only a couple of women from the days of the seances came; Frank had found their details in his mother’s address book. They were old now, sad and faded. After the service one of them came up to the brothers and said their mother was with her husband on the other side now, walking through the gardens of the spirit world. Frank thanked her politely though Edgar flashed her a look of distaste. As they walked away from the cemetery Edgar said, ‘Talking of spirits, I could do with a drink.’

They went to a pub in Esher High Street. Edgar drank heavily, but this time didn’t get aggressive. To Frank the service had just been a rite, a performance like the seances, but it seemed to have affected Edgar. He said, ‘Strange to think mother’s gone. God, she was an odd one.’

‘Yes, she was.’ There, at least, the brothers could agree.

‘I have to go back soon, I’m needed at Berkeley. But I could stay on a few days.’ He looked at his brother. ‘It would help me if we could get the house on the market.’

Frank had had more than enough of Edgar; he had been counting the hours till the funeral was over. ‘You do that if you want,’ he said. ‘I need to get back to Birmingham today.’

‘You could stay here a day or two. I don’t know when we’ll meet up again. Jesus,’ he said again, ‘Mum’s gone. Everyone in my life’s bloody gone,’ he added self-pityingly.

Frank spoke quickly. ‘I said I was going back to work tomorrow.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Edgar, I have to go now, really, if I’m to get back in time.’

Edgar’s mouth set in a sulky pout. He stared at Frank through his glasses. Then he held out a big meaty hand. Frank took it. ‘Well,’ Edgar said heavily. ‘That’s that.’ Then a nasty glint came into his eyes as he nodded at Frank’s hand, the damaged outer fingers. ‘How’s that, nowadays?’ he asked.

‘A bit painful in bad weather.’

‘It was a strange accident, wasn’t it?’

Frank met his brother’s eyes and realized that Edgar knew what had really happened. He’d been at university by then but he kept up with friends from Strangmans and someone must have told him. Frank stood up. ‘Goodbye, Edgar,’ he said, and walked quickly away.

He went back to Birmingham and returned to work. It was a beautiful October, sunny mellow days succeeding each other, yellow leaves falling gently from the trees.

For the last ten years Frank had lived in a big Victorian villa divided into leasehold flats. He had four rooms on the first floor. The building was not well maintained, the paint on the front door and the windows peeling, half the sash windows rotten. One Sunday, ten days after his mother’s funeral, he was sitting reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea when his doorbell rang. He started violently, then went downstairs and opened the front door. Edgar was standing there, obviously the worse for wear, although it was only three in the afternoon. Frank stared at him blankly.

‘Surprised to see me?’ Edgar asked. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ Frank turned and went back upstairs, Edgar following. Frank’s heart was racing. Why had he come? What did he want? They went back into the flat, which Frank had furnished from junk shops when he moved in.

‘Jeez,’ Edgar said. ‘This reminds me of Mum’s house. I’ve put it with an agent, by the way, got a lawyer to get the probate started.’

‘All right,’ Frank said.

‘I decided to come up and tell you. You should get a phone. Most people in the States have a phone.’

‘I don’t need one.’

Edgar looked at two dusty framed photographs on a little table. ‘You’ve got one of Dad, I see. God, he did look like you.’

Frank looked at the sepia portrait of his father in uniform, staring fixedly and uncomfortably at the camera. Frank sometimes wondered if he was seeing the trenches, anticipating them.

‘What’s the other one?’ Edgar asked.

‘My year at Oxford.’ Why has he come? Frank thought. What does he want?

Edgar crossed to the bookcase, looking at the well-thumbed science-fiction novels. ‘Hey, I remember some of these from when you were a kid. You were always reading them during the holidays.’ He turned and gave Frank a rubbery half-drunk smile. ‘I’m flying back tomorrow evening, I thought I’d come up and tell you about the house.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I didn’t want to part on bad terms.’

‘Oh.’

‘Mebbe I could stay over, perhaps come and see your labs tomorrow.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Frank babbled. ‘It’s not convenient. I’ve only got the one bed here, you see.’

Edgar looked hurt, then angry and somehow baffled.

‘I don’t really get visitors,’ Frank added.

Edgar’s face set. ‘No. I don’t suppose you do. Mind if I sit down?’ He weaved his way to an armchair. ‘Oh God, Frank, don’t put on that monkey grin.’