Disordered Minds

'Branksome.'

'It's been freezing all day. Why were you sweating?'

'I felt ill. You can't be ill in this country if you're black. It frightens the natives.'

'Don't talk crap, Jon! We have our ups and downs but, by and large, we're pretty peaceful.'

'Then why are we going to war?'

Andrew turned to look at him. 'Is that what this is about? Were you given a hard time in the States?'

His friend gave a hollow laugh. 'It's an Arab thing. We're all potential terrorists.'

Andrew shook his head. 'Except you're not an Arab. You're half Jamaican, half Chinese and by some freak of genetics you ended up looking like a Bedouin.'

Jonathan's jaw set in a hard line. 'How do you know what my parentage is?'

'You got rat-arsed the week after Emma left. I couldn't follow most of it but I had the Caribbean-Asian conflict rammed down my throat.' A confused loathing of his parents mixed with racist hatred of anyone of Afro-Caribbean or Chinese descent because of the vicious gangs who had terrorized him as a child.

'Why haven't you mentioned it before? Why let me go on pretending?'

'It wasn't my business. If you want to be an Arab or an Iranian, then so be it. I don't see it matters very much unless it causes problems for you. Does it?'

Nationality's a choice, not a birthright... 'No.'

'Then why are you here? Why were you feeling ill at the station?'

'It was jet lag. I just needed a bit of time, so I leaned against a wall.'

'How long for?'

'I can't remember.'

'Then this woman appeared and went through your briefcase?'

'Yes.'

'Didn't you think that was a bit peculiar?'

Jonathan glanced at him, showing eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. 'I do now,' he muttered. 'At the time I believed her. I even thanked her for her kindness. You can't get much stupider than that ... allowing a woman to make a fool of you, then thanking her for doing it.'

It explained the Falstaff reference, Andrew thought. 'Oh, come on, pal, you were conned. It sounds like a professional scam ... look for people in trouble, then rip them off while you're pretending to help them. You should have told the police. She's probably well known to them.'

Jonathan didn't say anything.

'All right, I'll tell them. What did she look like? What sort of age?'

'I don't know.'

'You must have some idea.'

He went back to staring at the floor. 'I felt sick every time I moved my eyes, so I never really looked at her.'

Andrew shook his head. The whole story was becoming more and more bizarre, and he found himself sympathizing with the sergeant's view that Jon was suffering mental problems. 'This isn't a figment of your imagination, is it?' he asked bluntly. 'Does this woman actually exist?'

'Why would I invent her?'

'Because you're up shit creek without a paddle, mate. You've lost your passport, your money and your return ticket. You've alienated the only useful contact for a book on Howard Stamp and had yourself arrested for behaving like a maniac. What the hell's been going on?' No answer. Andrew stood up. 'This is crazy. I'll ask them to phone George Gardener. At least she can tell us what happened at the pub.'

'She said she knew Roy Trent and saw me at the Crown and Feathers.'

'George Gardener?'

'The woman. She had a dark fringe and spoke with a Dorset accent.'

'Who's Roy Trent?'

'The landlord.' There was a long pause. 'He's the bully, Andrew. He pretends to be helping her, but he does it in a cruel way. He called me a wog and a darkie and said I only got the place at Oxford because I was the token black.'

'Ri-i-ight.' Andrew watched him for a moment before turning the door handle. 'When did you last have a decent night's sleep, Jon?'

His friend gave another muted laugh. 'I think too much,' he answered cryptically.

*8*