They continued along the Embankment. Looking down the river, Jury could see the black prospect of Waterloo Bridge. In another three minutes, they were there.
Jury nodded his head toward the curb. “There’s a spot. Pull over.”
“It’s a double-yellow line. It’s a loading zone.”
“What the hell difference does that make? You’re the Filth. Pull over.” Wiggins did, and Jury slammed out of the car and crossed the street.
“Well, would’ya look who’s here?” said Mags, in a surprisingly friendly way, considering Jury was, as he’d just told Wiggins, the Filth. Possibly this cool attitude toward police might have been owing to the benevolent overlooking by police of Mags’s and the others’ bit of London real estate-the wide concrete slab beneath this end of the bridge. By night, the little group, dispersed during the day to various begging and other posts (they had their routines just as structured as any CEO’s), called this place home. The police allowed them to sleep rough here as long as they vacated the place during the day.
Mags collected old magazines (which were stacked about her feet now) for no reason other than that they were there. “You lookin’ for young Benny, then?”
“I am. Is he around or is he across the river?”
“He was back early, then went-there’s Sparky comin’ along now!”
Jury looked upward to the Embankment walk, where a yellow balloon appeared to be sailing of its own volition above the wall and saw the white terrier, Sparky, walking, stopping, starting, stopping, with Benny following in his wake. Sparky was the busiest dog Jury had ever seen, and Benny the busiest lad. Benny was twelve and made deliveries for five tradespeople across the river in Southwark.
They disappeared from view and then were making their way down the steps.
“Mr. Jury!” Benny called.
When Sparky saw Jury, he broke out in a rousing chorus of barks and began hurling himself at the air as if the only thing holding him back from his object-Jury? the yellow balloon? the sun?-was gravity.
“Sparky, sit!” Sparky, an extremely well-trained dog, sat, but it was clearly a stretch of his bonds that he did so. “You okay, are you, Mr. Jury?” asked Benny, looking concerned. “Mebbe a bit wore out, but still like your old self? Of course, you’d be used to that kind o’ thing-you know, gettin’ shot at. Gettin’ beat up, knives coming at you out of the fog, dark alleyways-”
It was clear that Benny hoped Jury was used to it. “You’re right, but a funny thing is, it never gets any easier to take.”
“I expect not. Gemma and me and Sparky came to see you in hospital, but this slag of a nurse wouldn’t let us in. Well, I knew they’d not allow Sparky, but he coulda just sat under a chair. And listen: they nearly called the Social on us, seein’ we was two kids out and about without a grown-up.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Benny. I’d’ve done something about it if I had.” It was laughable to think that these two children couldn’t take care of themselves. Extremely laughable, considering what they’d been lately put through. “And how are you keeping?”
“Oh, I’m still doing the rounds, still puttin’ up with old Gyp. But, listen: Mr. Tynedale told me I could live at the Lodge if I wanted. That was quite nice of him, I thought.”
“He’s a nice man, Mr. Tynedale. And are you going to?”
“Nah. Anyway, Gemma was pretty prissy about it, tellin’ me all the things I’d have to do, like be careful of my language and take a lot of baths and give Sparky baths all the time. And learn how to bow, and so forth.”
This litany of rules and regulations sounded to Jury extremely Gemma orchestrated.
Benny went on. “Do you think maybe Gemma’s jealous, Mr. Jury? I mean, in one way Gemma’d like me to live there, but in another way, she wouldn’t. The way I see it”-Benny stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels a few times-“is Gemma’s been, you know, top dog for a time-”
Sparky, who’d been looking from Benny to Jury, barked.
Benny lowered his voice and said from behind his hand, “Sparky don’t- doesn’t-like dog comparisons, Mr. Jury.” In his normal voice he said, “Gemma’s been kind of
“Well, Gemma seems to do pretty well on her own, Benny. She certainly did a great job that night.”
Benny didn’t like being reminded of “that night” when Gemma went missing because he hadn’t been in on the action; Sparky had, but not Benny. Sparky, thought Jury, smiling, had most definitely been
But what Benny said was, “That ain’t-isn’t-no way to live though, Mr. Jury, I mean being on your own.”
Apparently, Benny didn’t think he himself was. Jury said, “The thing is, you get used to a certain way of-being, and it’s not always a good thing to change it. Take yourself, Benny. You don’t want to change how you’re living. It feels right to you.”
For that, thought Jury, was really it. It was balance. Balance lay in not deliberately changing things around. There was so much change thrust upon us (he thought of the death of Benny’s mother) that it helped to keep whatever we could unchanged, to keep unchanged whatever was in our power to do so.
“Benny, I’ve got to go. Let me know what you decide, will you?”
Benny nodded. “Sparky don’t want all them baths, I can tell you.”
Jury smiled. “I don’t blame him.”
Hearing either his name or “bath” or both, Sparky barked.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Cambridgeshire!” said Wiggins, after Jury got back to the car. “But-”
Jury sighed. “Not you, too, Wiggins. Look, I’m not going there for lessons in dressage; all I want is to ask Arthur Ryder some questions.”
“But, sir, I think your doctor should-”
“My doctor has.” Jury thought for a moment. “We’ll stop in at Victoria Street first-”
Wiggins stared at him as if Jury had spaced out in hospital.
“I only want to see Fiona and Cyril.”
“Fiona,” Wiggins began as he pulled away from the illegal parking spot, “Fiona is fully aware of the situation. ‘Now you tell Mr. Jury to go straight home’ is what she said. Cyril, well, he keeps himself to himself, but I’m sure he’d agree if he wasn’t a cat.” The car flowed into traffic heading north.
Jury sighed. “Okay, then I expect we’ll just go on to Cambridgeshire.”
“I’m glad you’re seeing sense.”
