“Jeannie reckoned it was hormones.”
“Hormones?” Roz echoed blankly.
“What sort of hormones?”
“You know.” He looked embarrassed.
“Monthly ones.”
“Ah.” PMT? she wondered. But it was hardly a subject she could pursue with him. He was of a generation where menstruation was never mentioned.
“Did Mr. Martin ever say why he thought she did it?”
He shook his head.
“The subject didn’t arise.
What shall I say? We saw very little of him afterwards. He talked about his will once or twice, and the child it was all he thought about.” He cleared his throat again.
“He became a recluse, you know. Wouldn’t have anyone in the house, not even the Clarkes, and there was a time when Ted and he were close as brothers.” His mouth turned down at the corners.
“It was Ted started it, mind. Took against Bob for some reason and wouldn’t go in.
And others followed suit, of course, the way they do.
Reckon I was his only friend at the end. It was me as realised something was wrong, seeing the milk bottles outside.”
“But why did he stay? He was rich enough to let number twenty-two go for peanuts. You’d have thought he’d go anywhere rather than stay with the ghosts of his family.”
Mr. Hayes muttered to himself.
“Never understood it myself. Perhaps he wanted his friends about him.”
“You said the Clarkes moved. Where did they go?”
He shook his head.
“No idea. They upped and went one morning without a word to anyone. A removal van took out their furniture three days later and the house stood empty for a year till the Blairs bought it. Never heard a word from them since. No forwarding address. Nothing. What shall I say?
We were good friends, the six of us, and I’m the only one left now.
Strange business.”
Very strange, thought Roz.
“Can you remember which estate agent sold the house?”
“Peterson’s, but you won’t learn anything from them. Little Hitlers,” he said, ‘all bursting with self importance Told me to mind my own business when I went in and asked what was what. It’s a free world, I pointed out, no reason why a man shouldn’t ask after his friends, but oh, no, they had instructions of confidentiality or some such rubbish.
What shall I say? Made out it was me the Clarkes were cutting their ties with. Hah!
More likely Bob, I told them, or ghosts. And they said if I spread those sort of rumours, they’d take action. You know who I blame. The estate agents’ federation, if there is one, which I doubt…” He rambled on, venting his spleen out of loneliness and frustration.
Roz felt sorry for him.
“Do you see much of your sons?” she asked when he drew to a halt.
“Now and then.”
“How old are they?”
“Forties,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“What did they think of Olive and Amber?”
He pinched his nose again and waggled it from side to side.
“Never knew them. Left home long before either of the girls reached their teens.”
“They didn’t baby-sit or anything like that?”
“My lads? You wouldn’t catch them baby-sitting.” His old eyes moistened, and he nodded towards the sideboard where photographs of two young men in uniform crowded the surface.
“Fine boys. Soldiers.” He thrust out his chest.
“Took my advice and joined up. Mind, they’re out of jobs now, what with the bloomin’ regiment being cut from under them. It makes you sick when you think them and me’s served Queen and country for nigh on fifty years between us. Did I tell you I was in the desert during the war?” He looked vacantly about the room.
“There’s a photograph somewhere of Churchill and Monty in a jeep. We all got one, us boys who were out there. Worth a bob or two, I should think. Now where is it?” He became agitated.
Roz picked up her briefcase.
“Don’t worry about it now, Mr. Hayes. Perhaps I could see it next time I come.”
