Jeremy returnedwith Juliette’s drink. ‘Here you go.’
‘Cheers,’Juliette said, as her glass met with Morton’s and Jeremy’s bottles.
‘You two reallyshould come over more often you know, we miss you up here,’ Jeremy said.
‘Yeah,’ Mortonsaid half-heartedly.
‘Could you dosomething for me, Morton?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Uh-huh,’Morton answered, not liking the sound of owing Jeremy a favour.
‘Will you callin on Dad more often while I’m away? He’s getting on a bit now and he’dlove to see more of you.’
Morton took adeep breath, resenting the implication and doubting the statement. ‘Yeah,sure.’
‘Great,thanks. It’ll be a big weight off my mind.’
‘Do you knowwhen you’re likely to be back?’ Juliette asked.
‘Hopefully sixmonths, but you never know,’ Jeremy answered. ‘Anything could happen.’
‘We coulddeclare war on any unsuspecting part of the Middle East if there’senough oil there,’ Morton said, taking a large mouthful of beer and receivingan admonishing hand squeeze from Juliette. He really needed to tone downthe sarcasm.
‘I thinkthere’s a bit more to it all than that,’ Jeremy said.
‘WMD?’ Mortonmumbled, his hand feeling like it had been crushed in a vice. Jeremy letthe comment slide and changed the subject.
‘How’s yourwork going, Juliette? Enjoying rounding up criminals?’
‘I love it.Well, apart from the late nights and crappy shift patterns.’
‘What sort ofthings do you have to do? Is it like the regular police?’
Juliettelaughed. ‘Well, the regulars call us CHIMPS – Can’t Help in Most PoliceSituations. That about sums it up. Mostly we confiscate alcoholfrom fourteen-year-old boys, liaise with the community and direct traffic,’Juliette said with a laugh.
The doorbellsounded and Jeremy excused himself to answer it.
‘Morton, stopbeing such an arse,’ Juliette whispered as soon as Jeremy was out of earshot.
‘Just listen tothem,’ Morton said, quaffing his beer and indicating a large group of soldiersin the doorway, ‘All this macho bear-hugging and back slapping.’
Juliette took adeep breath and moved across the room towards a table of buffet food. Morton headed into the kitchen, pushing past more army clones. The placewas like a wartime working men’s club, he thought. Keep up the goodwork, chaps. Don’t let old Blighty down. He cracked openanother beer and took a swig. Busy washing up at the sink was asmartly-dressed lady with white hair in a neat perm. She turned andsmiled. ‘Hello,’ she said brightly. ‘Are you Morton?’
Morton nodded,having no previous recollection of the woman. He realised that he wasprojecting his resentment at being there onto the poor lady. ‘Yes, that’sme,’ he said with a smile.
The lady pulledoff her yellow Marigolds and offered her hand. ‘Madge,’ she said. ‘I’m a friend of your father's.’
‘Nice to meetyou,’ he said tentatively, shaking her hand. Madge? All hecould think of was Madge Bishop from Neighbours.
‘I’ve heard alot about you. You’re a genealogist, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right,’Morton answered, surprised to find that his father had discussed him at all,much less his career. He took another mouthful of beer and listened asMadge spoke, her eyes suddenly lighting up.
‘That must be awonderfully interesting job. All those stories and personal historiesyou’re uncovering - how exciting! I dabbled with my family history a fewyears ago before everything went online and you had to haul out huge ledgersfor each quarter of each year just to locate a person’s birth, marriage ordeath. Just finding my grandfather’s birth entry took me nigh on a wholeday once! Now it’s all there at the click of a button.’
Mortonremembered the hours and hours he had spent in the early years of his career atthe Family Records Centre in Islington, a building always bustling with amateurand professional genealogists alike, all vying for precious desk space in whichto place the voluminous tomes containing thousands of names. ‘I must havespent half my life trawling through records there,’ Morton recalled. ‘Andthe censuses were just as bad, with only the 1881 census having been indexed.’
‘Oh yes, theywere all microfilmed weren’t they? Amazing to think how quickly thingshave changed. What is it that you’re working on at the moment?’
Morton took adeep breath and explained the highlights of the job to her, enjoying the factthat he had a genuinely interested audience. Madge asked questions alongthe way but had little to offer in the way of suggestions or avenues he had notyet considered pursuing.
With a vaguetwitching in his bladder, Morton excused himself and headed upstairs to thebathroom and urinated, deep in thought. The downstairs loo would havebeen more convenient but the solitude of the upstairs bathroom was moreappealing. He zipped up, took a swig of beer and went into his oldbedroom. He had occupied this room for eighteen years. It wasfilled with more memories than any other place in which he’d lived; illicitteenage drinking sessions and clumsy gropes all took place here. He hadhis first kiss on that very bed. It had all gone horribly wrong when hispuckered lips met with Clare Smith’s gaping mouth, her fleshy pink tongue tryingto probe apart his clenched teeth. She said it hadn’t mattered and thatshe wouldn’t tell anyone, but by first lesson the next day he was dumped and bysecond lesson the vast majority of the school were puckering up as they passedhim in the corridors. Such wonderful memories, he thought.
He sat down onthe bed and finished his beer, welcoming the furring and blurring of hismind. He glanced around the room; there was no trace of his ever havingresided here. Within days of his leaving for university his father hadredecorated the entire room, as if that were the last time that Morton wouldever go home. No thought for the long holidays or life afteruniversity. The curtains, the pictures, the carpet, the ceiling light –everything replaced. They’d even changed the door. Something aboutdrawing-pin holes from his Madonna posters.
Mortonsighed. A long time ago. A very different world. He left theroom and his melancholic nostalgia behind and headed down to the kitchen. Madge was engaged in a conversation with a tall stout man in armyuniform. Morton opened another beer then scoffed down two prawnvol-au-vents and a tuna sandwich. He was about to grab a handful ofcrisps when he heard his father call for the assembled crowd to quieten. He was going to do a speech. Great, this party
