Cold Hand in Mine: Strange Stories

times, unpredictably as before; and things had continued to be marvellous, though, naturally, not so marvellous as the first time, because things seldom are. I realized very clearly that, situated as I was, I was fortunate in Maureen, though it was a disadvantage that I had virtually no voice in our arrangements, however unavoidable that might be. Very much had Maureen been a further reason for my not moving out.

Now that I had made up my mind, I took the initiative with her, even though I realized that her husband, Gilbert, would almost certainly be there too, let alone the children. It was almost the first time I had been down there since my visit soon after my arrival.

I rang, and the husband answered the door. He was in very old clothes, I could hear the children screaming in the room behind him. I hardly knew him, and, in any case, the conversation I am about to report was the only serious one I ever had with him.

'Maureen is away,' he said, as if there could be no doubt why I had called. 'She's in hospital. A breakdown. I'll give you the name of the hospital, if you like. Though it'll probably be some time before you'll be able to see her.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' I said. 'But not altogether surprised.'

I realized by his look that he completely misunderstood me.

'It's this house,' I elucidated. 'I've decided to move.'

'If you can find anywhere else.'

'Quite,' I said. 'I suggest you should think about moving too.'

'All together, in fact?' He was not hostile, I thought, but he had again misunderstood me. It would indeed have been nice to continue living in the same building as Maureen, but I had taken for granted that it was too much to hope for, with accommodation of any kind as short as it was then; and has been ever since, needless to say.

'Splendid, if we could find anywhere. But I suggest that you and Maureen should move too in any case. This house is all wrong.'

He glanced at me. 'Will you come in and have a coffee? I've become quite good at pigging it since Maureen left.'

'Thanks very much,' I said. The situation was not what I had had in mind, but I was willing to talk about recent events to anyone remotely suitable.

'Sorry I'm not togged up.' He pushed back the door for me to go in first.

The din and dust inside were duly frightful, but Maureen's husband set about making the coffee as if we had been alone in the flat, and the children stared at me for only a minute or two, then started running up and down again. I picked up the Observer.

'What exactly do you mean by wrong?' asked Gilbert in due course. 'Milk and sugar?'

The coffee really was good, and thoroughly welcome, even though so shortly after my own small breakfast.

'The people on the floors above don't run a normal business.'

His brow creased slightly. 'I agree with you.'

'I don't know what they do.'

'Maureen doesn't either. You know we used to have that cove, Millar, in here from time to time. He paid a small pourboire, and I admit we were damned glad to have it. I find life a struggle, as I don't mind telling you. But Maureen never discovered very much about him. I never met Millar myself. I take it you know him quite well?'

'Not really.'

I thought I could tell him exactly how much I did know of Mr Millar, even though I had to speak more loudly than I should have wished, because of the din in the room.

Gilbert listened very carefully, and then, after a moment's thought, shouted out: 'Children! Go outside and play.' I was surprised by the way they instantly departed and climbed up to the street: in those days, safe and almost silent on the Sabbath. 'And I take it that there've been developments since?' he continued.

'In that connection I'm rather glad the children have gone,' I said.

'Sex or spooks?' asked Gilbert. 'Have some more coffee?' he went on before I could answer. 'Sorry, I forgot.'

'Thank you very much. I'm the better for it.'

'I'm sorry Maureen's not here.'

'I hope it'll not be too long,' I said.

We paused a moment, lapping coffee.

'Are you clairvoyant?' he asked.

'Not that I know of. I'm probably too young.' He was perhaps six or seven years older, despite all those children. 'Why? Do you think I've imagined it all?' I put it quite amiably.

'It just struck me for one moment that you might have seen into the future. All these people slavishly doing nothing. It'll be exactly like that one day, you know, if we go on as we are. For a moment it all sounded to me like a vision of 40 years on — if as much.'

And indeed I had to take a moment to consider.

'But they're doing it all the time,' I objected. 'Now. Well, not this moment. I think not this moment. But you can go up and look tomorrow. See for yourself.'

'It's not something I particularly want to see. Forty years on. Though I was at Harrow, strange as it seems.'

I admit that I was surprised. I doubt whether I had then knowingly met another Harrovian, though I knew the song he had quoted.

'I was sacked, of course.'

I attempted an appropriately expressive look before returning to the matter in hand.

'Maureen must have seen,' I continued. 'Isn't that why she's not here? Wasn't it all too much for her?'

He eyed me a little; then said nothing. I suddenly apprehended the possibility that he might attribute Maureen's breakdown simply to me.

I pressed my point about the people upstairs. 'Do you know how much Maureen knows? Some of what there is to know is pretty shattering.'

'I really don't doubt it. I agree with all you say. I told you so.'

'There's a bit more. Something rather different.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'I think I should.'

'Sorry the coffee's finished.'

'It was good.'

'Well?'

So I told him about the even odder events of that morning and of the night before. After all, I had to tell someone.

'So we've got the Un-Dead in too?' he commented.

I stared at him.

'What's the matter?' he asked. 'Isn't that more or less what you were implying?'

I must have continued to stare at him.

'Or did you mean something quite different?'

'On the contrary,' I replied, 'I think you've got it. It's just that it never occurred to me.'

'That you were visited by a creature from another world than this? Or supposed you were. I thought that was your point?'

'What never occurred to me was —' I couldn't quite say it. 'I've told you,' I went on, 'that Mr Millar gave me the impression of having something very much on his mind.'

'A haunted man, in fact. Yes, I got that,' said Gilbert.

I cannot pretend that my voice did not sink a little foolishly.

'This house might be haunted by the ghost of his victim.'

Maureen's husband looked straight at me. 'Victims. Didn't your friend in green put it in the plural?'