on the carpet beside him.
‘Listen to this,’ Trevor said. ‘It’s called “Phrases suitable for Cheese”.’
‘Suitable for what?’ said Collie.
‘Cheese, it says. Code word, obvious. Listen to this what you make of it. There’s a list.
‘I thrilled to his touch.
I was too young at the time to understand why my mother was crying.
As he entered the room a shudder went through my frame. In that moment of silent communion we renewed our shattered faith.
She was to play a vital role in my life.
Memory had not played me false.
He was always an incurable romantic.
I became the proud owner of a bicycle.
He spoke to me in desiccated tones.
Autumn again. Autumn. The burning of leaves in the park.
He spelt disaster to me.
I revelled in my first tragic part.
I had no eyes for any other man.
We were living a lie.
She proved a mine of information.
Once more fate intervened-
Munificence was his middle name.
I felt a grim satisfaction.
They were poles apart.
I dropped into a fitful doze.’
‘Read us it again, Trev,’ Leslie said. ‘It sounds like English Dictation. Perhaps he’s a teacher as well.’ Trevor ignored him. He tapped the notebook and addressed Collie.
‘Code,’ he said. ‘It’s worth lolly.’
An intensified expression of misery on Collie’s face expressed his agreement.
‘In with a gang, he is. It’s bigger than I thought. Question now, to find out what his racket is.’
‘Sex,’ Leslie said.
‘You don’t say so?’ Trevor said. ‘Well, that’s helpful, son. But we happen to have guessed all that. Question is, what game of sex? Question is, national or international?’
Collie blew out his smoke as if it were slow poison. ‘Got to work back from a clue,’ he said in his sick voice. ‘Autumn’s a clue. Wasn’t there something about autumn?’
‘How dumb can you get?’ Trevor inquired through his nose. ‘It’s a code. Autumn means something else. Everything means something.’ He dropped the notebook and painfully picked up the other. He read:
‘Peckham. Modes of communication.
Actions more effective than words. Enact everything. Depict
Morality. Functional. Emotional. Puritanical. Classical.
Nelly Mahone. Lightbody Buildings.
Tunnel. Meeting-house Lane Excavations police station yard. Order of St Bridget. Nuns decamped in the night.
Trevor turned the pages.
Entry Parish Register 1658.5 May.
Rose, wife of Wm Hathaway buried
Aged 103, who boare a sonn at the age
of 63.
Trevor said, ‘Definitely a code. Look how he spells “ son”. And this about bearing at the age of sixty- three.’
Collie and Leslie came over to see the book. ‘There’s a clue here,’ Collie said, ‘that we could follow up.’
‘No,’ said Trevor, ‘you don’t say so? Come on, kids, we got to look up Nelly Mahone.’
‘If we’re going to have a row,’ Mavis said, ‘turn on the wireless loud.’
‘We’re not going to have a row,’ said her husband, Arthur Crewe, in a voice trembling with patience. ‘I only ask a plain question, what you mean you can’t ask him where he’s going when he goes out?’
Mavis switched on the wireless to a roar. Then she herself shouted above it.
‘If you want to know where he goes, ask him yourself.’
‘If you can’t ask him how can I ask him?’ Arthur said in competition with the revue on the wireless.
‘What’s it matter where he goes? You can’t keep running about after him like he was a baby. He’s thirteen now.
‘You ought to a kept some control of him. Of course it’s too late now -‘Why didn’t you keep some control -‘
‘How can I be at my work and control the kids same time? If you was -‘There’s no need to swear,’ Mavis said.
‘I didn’t swear. But I bloody well will, and there’s no need to shout.’ He turned off the wireless and silence occurred, bringing a definite aural sensation.
‘Turn on that wireless. If we’re going to have a row I’m not letting the neighbours get to know,’ Mavis said.
‘Leave it be,’ Arthur said, effortful with peace. ‘There’s not going to be any row.’
Dixie came downstairs. ‘What’s all the row?’ she said. ‘Your stepdad’s on about young Leslie. Expects me to ask him where he’s going when he goes out. I say, why don’t
‘Sh-sh-sh. Don’t raise your voice,’ Arthur said.
‘He’s afraid to say a word to Leslie,’ Dixie said.
‘That’s just about it,’ said her mother.
‘Who’s afraid?’ Arthur shouted.
‘You are,’ Mavis shouted.
‘I’m not afraid. You’re afraid…‘
‘Keep time,’ said Trevor. ‘All keep in time. It’s psychological.’
And so they all three trod in time up the stone stairs of Lightbody Buildings. Twice, a door opened on a landing, a head looked out, and the door shut quickly again. Trevor and his followers stamped louder as they approached Nelly Mahone’s. Trevor beat like a policeman thrice on her door, and placed his ear to the crack.
There was a shuffling sound, a light switch clicked, then silence.
Trevor beat again.
‘Who is it?’ Nelly said from immediately on the other side of the door.
‘Police agents,’ Trevor said.
The light switch clicked again, and Nelly opened the door a fragment.
Trevor pushed it wide open and walked in, followed by Collie and Leslie.
Leslie said, ‘I’m not stopping in this dirty hole,’ and made to leave.
Trevor caught him by the coat and worked him to a standstill.
‘It’s all clean dirt,’ Nelly said.
‘Sit over there,’ Trevor said to Nelly, pointing to a chair beside the table. She did so.
He sat himself on the edge of the table and pointed to the edge of the bed for Leslie and the lopsided armchair for Collie.
‘We come to talk business,’ Trevor said, ‘concerning a Mr Dougal Douglas.’
‘Never heard of him,’ Nelly said.
‘No?’ Trevor said, folding his arms.
‘Supposed to be police agents, are you? Well, you can be moving off if you don’t want trouble. There’s a gentleman asleep next door. I only got to raise me voice and -‘
Collie and Leslie looked at the wall towards which Nelly pointed.
‘Nark it,’ Trevor said. ‘He’s gone to football this afternoon. Now, about Mr Dougal Douglas-’
