massala. 'What kind of life's she got now?'
A good year they'd been doing this, Maddy and Vanessa, meeting up every week or so, when shifts allowed, a drink or two first and then a curry. A good goss and a natter. Bit of a bitching session, sometimes. Rules and regs. Pay. All that dyke or station-bike innuendo that was supposed to have been knocked on the head once and for all.
At twenty-nine, Vanessa was not only younger than Maddy but shorter and broader too, a figure on her and she didn't care who knew it. Before joining the force, she tried secretarial, then nursing, but not for long. Glorified bloody chambermaids, that's all you were. More blood and piss than the pubs in Kentish Town, which was where she was currently stationed. Three years as a uniformed constable and she still wasn't certain she'd stick with it.
Maddy had met her on a training course soon after moving down to London: 'Integrating Police Work with the Ethnic Community'. Vanessa sizing up the Asian community worker who was leading the afternoon session. 'Wouldn't mind integrating with that,' she'd winked. 'Given half the chance.' It turned out Vanessa lived no more than a few streets away from Maddy herself, Upper Holloway.
This evening, eyeing up one of the waiters whenever he passed their table, Vanessa reminded Maddy of that first occasion and asked her had she ever, you know, been with anyone Indian, Pakistani?
Maddy said she didn't think she had.
'I had this lad once…' Vanessa said, lowering her voice as she leaned forward. 'Student nurse at the hospital. Great big eyes.'
'Just the eyes?'
'Stop.' Laughing. 'Lovely-looking he was, beautiful skin.'
'You'll be telling me next you had him in the storeroom cupboard amongst the bandages and bedpans.'
'Better than that. Upstairs, on one of the empty beds. Ward was temporarily closed down because of the cuts.' Her face was flushed but it was probably due to the curry.
'What happened?' Maddy said.
'What d'you mean what happened?' Vanessa laughed again, louder than before. 'Too long ago to remember? Draw you a diagram if you like.'
'Not that, you idiot. I mean what happened to the bloke?'
'Oh, him. I dunno. Next week he'd moved on to Obstetrics. Good, though. Top Ten, I'd say.' She grinned. 'How about you? Top ten shags of all time.'
Maddy looked warily round, prepared to be embarrassed. 'Don't joke. I'd be scraping the barrel to come up with five or six.'
'You're kidding.'
'You should try getting married before you're twenty-one. Trims your sails a bit, I'm telling you.'
Vanessa crossed her knife and fork across her plate. 'You never were? Married that young?'
'Wasn't I?'
'How come you never said?'
'I don't know. Don't much like talking about it, I suppose.'
'Well, who was he? At least tell us that. What was his name?'
'Terry, his name was Terry. Okay? Satisfied? He was this bloke, older, a bit older, and I was just a kid, still living at home, and I thought he was God's gift. Now let's just leave it, right?'
'Right.' Vanessa shrugged and ordered two more bottles of Kingfisher. No point in pushing it further, she could see that. Not unless she fancied trolling along to the karaoke session in the pub later on her own.
'I keep thinking,' Maddy said a few minutes later, 'that poor little lad, Paul Draper's boy, growing up without a dad.'
'She'll find someone else, won't she? If she's any gumption. Kid'll not remember.'
Maddy shook her head. 'You really think it's that simple?'
'Yes. If you want it to be.'
'Sometimes I wonder,' Maddy said, 'if you know you're even born.'
'Fuck off,' Vanessa said, laughing. 'And pass us over that aubergine thingy if you're done with it.'
Shortly after midnight, the two women emerged from the raucous glitter of a late-night extension and set off, arm in arm, along the Holloway Road. Vanessa had talked Maddy into a duet version of 'Dancing Queen' which had been fine until Maddy had lost it two-thirds of the way through and faltered to a halt.
'What got into you?' Vanessa asked. 'We were going great.'
'I don't know. Suddenly realised what I was doing, I suppose. Up there in front of everyone. Looking a right prat.'
'Come on,' Vanessa said, 'I'll walk you to the end of your street.'
'You're sure? No need.'
'No, do me good. Walk off some of that beer. Nothing worse'n waking up of a morning, feeling bloated.' She laughed. 'Less it's not waking up at all.'
'Not funny, Nessa.'
'Sorry.' Vanessa gave her arm a squeeze. 'Really got to you, hasn't it? What happened.'
'Last night,' Maddy said, 'when I got home, getting ready for bed, I saw these specks of mascara here, alongside my eye. Except it wasn't mascara, it was blood.'
Vanessa didn't say anything else until they reached the corner of Maddy's road. 'Take care,' she said, giving Maddy's arm a squeeze. 'Get some sleep, eh? Try not to think about it too much. And give me a call tomorrow.'
'Okay,' Maddy said, 'if I can. You take care too.'
Maddy watched for a moment as Vanessa quickened her pace, and then turned towards home. The click of her low heels on the pavement as she walked. Here and there, lights faint behind drawn curtains or lowered blinds. Of course, what had happened had got her rattled. Grant, Draper. It stood to reason. Only now that wasn't all. Her key stiffened for a moment in the lock, then turned. She knew she should never have said anything to Vanessa about being married, about Terry, fetching all that up from where it lay buried, started herself thinking about him after all this time. Terry. All abs and promises. She allowed herself a rueful smile. North Wales, the last she'd heard from him. Married again and good luck to the pair of them.
Maddy poured the last of the orange juice into a glass and carried it into the living room. No way that would have been him, skulking mid-week round a North London boozer, staring at her from the back of the crowd. His face stopping her in her tracks, mid-chorus. Everyone clapping, laughing. 'Dancing Queen'. Just someone who looked a bit like him, that was all.
The curtains were drawn fast across the French windows to the garden, shutting out the night. The glass was cold in her hand. She sat there until her legs began to numb, willing her eyes to close, her mind to still.
4
At first, Elder had wondered if he would ever get used to the weather in this part of Cornwall. Mostly, like a delinquent five-year-old, it was unable to make up its mind five minutes at a time. Sunshine followed by fierce lashings of near-horizontal rain and then sunshine again, and through it all, sun and rain, the near-inevitable wind. 'Keeps you on your toes,' the locals said when he complained. When they said anything at all.
Then, one late, dark afternoon towards the end of October, he realised there'd been three days solid in which the fog had rolled in off the Atlantic, met and mingled with the mist veiling down off the hills, and never lifted, pressing down an immovable grey, and through it the rain had continued to fall, harsh and unyielding, and he had barely noticed.
Sitting in the deep corner of the kitchen, illuminated by a single bulb, he had read steadily – Priestley currently, a threadbare edition of The Good Companions – rising occasionally to make tea or switch on the radio for
