‘Where exactly is the itch?’
‘I love strange stories, tell me about the wedding.’
‘That coin looks awful lonely.’
‘Not really, he has three brothers right in my pocket.’ I put the coin on the window ledge. ‘Tell me about the wedding.’
‘I do seem to remember how surprised everyone was about the announcement; it was less than a week after Gethsemane Walters went missing. It seemed a bit improper really, what with her mum beside herself and that. And then there was the other thing . . . Three brothers you say?’
‘That’s right, three big strapping brothers who work for the bank.’ I took another coin out and put it on the ledge next to the first.
‘Not a very big family, is it? Are there any cousins?’
I took out a third coin and held it poised over the other two. ‘What was the other thing?’
She licked her lips. ‘We were all a bit surprised her marrying the Witchfinder because she couldn’t stand the chap. Mrs Mochdre had always had a candle for Gethsemane’s father, the balloon-folder. The funny thing was, he’d been courting them both: Ffanci and Mrs Mochdre. He couldn’t make up his mind. Then Ffanci Llangollen got pregnant with Gethsemane and it sort of made up his mind for him. Some people think it was a bit convenient Mrs Walters falling pregnant like that, almost as if she trapped him on purpose, but I wouldn’t know.’
‘So Mrs Mochdre married the Witchfinder on the rebound?’
‘Not really, it was nine years later, just after Gethsemane went missing. That was why it was so strange. He had always been sweet on her, but she would never have anything to do with him. Then all of a sudden we hear they are getting married.’
‘Was she expecting?’ I put the third coin down.
‘That’s what we all thought, but they’ve never had children.’ She took the coins and dropped them in her pocket. ‘Well, she’s had plenty of time to repent her haste, hasn’t she?’
‘They’re not happy?’
‘Who could be happy married to him? That wedding bed is a torture rack, so they say.’
‘In what way?’
‘The usual way, only worse. He has “tastes”, you see.’ She gave a swift glance up and down the street and said softly, ‘Conjugal beastliness. She’s been a martyr to it. I won’t say any more but there are those who say he only joined the ecclesiastical cops for the handcuffs.’
I wandered down through the castle grounds, past the Crazy Golf which isn’t any more crazy than the way most of us spend our lives. Instinct drew me towards the ocean. The hangover had sharpened in the fierce sun and in my head a goblin beat a putting-green-sized gong with the insistent regularity of a metronome. The sun overhead pulsed in time with the rhythm. I hoped that there might be a cooling movement of air at the seafront but the water just shimmered and sighed with exhaustion. The Pier drooped.
Every case is different on the surface but underneath it every case is the same. Whatever problems bring the people of Aberystwyth to my client’s chair they are all driven by the same deeply held conviction that when things go wrong they have a right of redress. Those for whom life has been a long series of misfortunes know this childish belief to be false. But others are puzzled and shocked when Life eventually knocks on the door with a bill. Carefree days have to be paid for. They are indignant, as if Life has no right to do this to them, although all the evidence suggests it is what Life does best.
Feeling unaccountably glum, I walked towards the bandstand in search of Eeyore. Was this the spiritual crisis Llunos mentioned? Did the lake really represent the collective unconscious of Aberystwyth into which, over the years, we have thrown our repressed memories along with old prams and shopping trolleys? Or maybe there is a more humdrum explanation: the reappearing spire of the church reminds the townspeople of the years of modest achievement that have passed since the last time they saw it; reminds them with sharp poignancy of the desolation that is their fate.
I found him sitting on a bench near the children’s paddling pool, staring out to sea. I joined him. He pointed to the junction with Terrace Road. ‘There used to be a stop over there, the number one tram. From Constitution Hill to the railway station. That’s where it turned. Your mother used to be the conductress.’
‘Did you ride for free?’
Eeyore looked aghast. ‘Of course not! Your mum was brought up respectable.’ He looked genuinely indignant for a while and then smiled and looked thoughtful. ‘There would have been terrible consequences for the town if I had done that.’
‘Really? What sort?’
‘There would have been no Louie Knight.’
‘That sounds pretty bad.’
‘Her father was a policeman, you see, before the war I mean. He fell at Dunkirk. Well, if I’d taken to travelling without paying I don’t think she would have thought much of me. You might never have become a twinkle in my eye.’ He shook his head in mock horror at the very idea. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t go riding without a ticket.’
‘What made you go up north to Llandudno?’
‘Oh things. Can’t remember now, to tell the truth.’
‘That was the same summer that Gethsemane Walters went missing.’
Eeyore hesitated. ‘Er . . . yes, we went the month before. As I said, I wasn’t here when that fuss was happening.’
As far as I knew, Eeyore never lied to me except for the little white lies that all parents tell, about Father Christmas and the tooth fairy and all the other little hints that behind everything there is a benevolent and all- powerful hand directing the events of our lives. But last time we spoke about this I was sure he said he went up north after the affair.
‘How come you never talk about mum, Dad?’
He shifted position awkwardly. ‘Never know what to say. And, besides, thought it might unsettle you.’
‘I don’t think it would.’
‘Oh.’
‘But it might have once.’
‘I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Bogart:
Mrs Mochdre walked past and moved towards the railings, pretending not to see us. I waved and, forced to acknowledge us, she gave a curt grimace in response.
‘Ffanci Llangollen’s sister,’ I said. ‘Last to see Gethsemane alive.’
We watched her walk briskly down the Prom, hugging the railings as if they would spare her the obligation to be sociable.
‘You wouldn’t think so now,’ said Eeyore. ‘But I arrested that woman once.’
‘What for? Gossiping without due care and attention?’
He laughed. ‘Some daft incident at the Pier. She took a hammer to the mechanical gypsy fortune-teller.’
‘Didn’t she like her future?’
‘You couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. She said the Devil had spoken to her out of its mouth. She was always hearing voices in those days; Satan, she said. Although why he spent so much time talking to her I’ve no idea.’ He pressed the back of his hand gently against my shoulder. ‘Anything wrong? You seem mellow.’
‘Hangover.’
‘Yes, I could smell the booze even before I saw you, but there’s more.’
I sat for a while, contemplating the gong ringing in my head.
‘You don’t have to say if you don’t want,’ said Eeyore.
‘I think I might be spooked by the lake. Either that or Calamity going away at Christmas. It was only for a week or so but it made me think about things. Now I keep getting this dream, I’m sitting at the bottom of a well looking up at the world. There’s a steam train and some elm trees. And a woman.’
Eeyore nodded. ‘Is it Myfanwy?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you hear from her?’
