lower wall towards the river. ‘Down there, look, by those—’
Two policemen were going after Mumford, close to the shimmering sheet of the river.
‘Poor chap can’t seem to walk away from it, can he?’ the Bishop said.
But Merrily was already running down the hill, the throbbing voice inside her chest keeping time with her pounding feet, going, No… no… no… no…
They were bringing him back over the wall, one pushing him to the other who’d leapt over onto the pavement, Andy shouting, ‘Don’t you stupid bastards ever listen?’
The cops had an arm each. At the side of the road, a third shone his torch on them.
‘Andy? Andy Mumford?’
‘Get them off me!’
‘It’s all right, boys,’ the third cop said. ‘Who told you?’
‘Small town, Steve.’ Mumford shaking them off, brushing at his arms where they’d gripped him.
‘Did you see…?’
‘Didn’t get a chance, did I?’ In the torchlight Mumford’s face was smooth and cold, like washed grey stone. ‘These cretins—’ He looked up, saw Merrily. ‘Mrs Watkins.’
‘Andy, what’s—?’
‘Better go and make sure, hadn’t you?’ the third cop said.
Merrily found herself following Mumford over the wall, nobody blocking his way now they knew who he was. It was a longer drop the other side than she’d been expecting, and she stumbled, Mumford catching her arm.
‘Couple of neighbours waiting for me outside the house, with Dad. One was walking his dog by the river when he seen these boys come out of the pub by the bridge and go wading into the water.’
The policeman called Steve came alongside.
‘Can’t believe this, Andy.’
Mumford said nothing. They reached another cop and two paramedics in luminous jackets. There was a stretcher, and two wide-beam lamps were sparing them nothing. Merrily looked once and then turned away, fists tightening, watching the moonlit river washing under Ludford Bridge, hearing the hard questions, the terse replies.
‘No mistake, Andy?’
‘No.’ Mumford moving round the body. ‘No other injuries?’
‘Not that we can see.’
The swab of froth on Phyllis Mumford’s mouth had made it look as if she’d swallowed soap. Had made it seem, at first, like she was still alive, blowing bubbles. The bandage on her leg had been hanging loose, like a pennant.
Mumford grunted, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
‘Nothing anybody could’ve done,’ Steve said.
‘Didn’t go off the bridge, then?’
‘Be more damaged, wouldn’t she, Andy? Looks like she got over that wall, same way we just came in, just started wading out from the bank and then slipped on the rocks. Anybody’d fall over in a minute, in the daytime even. No chance at all at night, see.’
‘Not at her age.’
‘No. What can any of us say? If those boys had got there five minutes earlier… I’m real sorry, mate.’
‘Aye.’
Merrily turned, and Mumford was there. They walked back slowly towards the wall, Mumford clearly coping with it the only way he knew how — like he hadn’t retired and this was someone else’s mother. Someone else’s mother, someone else’s nephew, someone else’s life.
‘Cold water,’ he said. ‘They always reckon a heart attack gets them first.’
‘I’m sure it… must,’ she said. ‘Andy—’
‘A mercy. Under the circumstances.’
‘—Why? Why would she come out in the dark, on her own?’
‘You tell me.’
‘This is just…’ Standing there, stupidly shaking her head. ‘I should’ve…’
Didn’t know what she should’ve done. This was altogether beyond comprehension.
‘My fault, ennit?’ Mumford said. ‘Should’ve noticed the way she was going. Should’ve had her assessed. Couldn’t expect the ole feller to see it, he en’t noticed her for years.’ His arm came back and he smashed his right fist into his left palm. ‘Christ!’
‘It’s not…’ She caught his arm on the rebound. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Look, Mrs Watkins, I got a long night…’ He turned away. ‘Long night ahead of me.’
Sounding like what he was really talking about was the rest of his life.
Someone helped Merrily back over the wall: the Bishop.
‘Saw a chap I knew. Merrily, this is beyond all—’
‘Aye,’ Mumford said, calm again, as if that one slam of the fist had been like a pressure valve.
‘Andrew. Look… where’s your father?’
‘One of the cars, last I seen. With Zoe — policewoman. Dunno which one it is.’
‘I’ll find it. I’ll talk to him.’
‘Only I’d leave God out of it, if I were you, Bishop,’ Mumford said and turned to Merrily. ‘These accidents will happen, won’t they? Ole women shouldn’t play by the river at night.’
Merrily thought,
As they stepped onto the pavement, several people were trailing past and, as they faded into the lights, she saw that they were wearing old-fashioned evening dress, two women in long black frocks and two men in tailcoats and top hats. She thought of posh restaurants, the new and affluent Ludlow, Phyllis Mumford dying alone, on the edge of all this.
‘Need to call the wife.’ Mumford had his mobile out. ‘Pick up the ole feller, take him back to our place.’
‘I could—’
‘I’ll see to him. You get off home.’
She wanted to scream, For God’s sake, you’re not a copper now, you’re one of us!
‘Come over to the car, Andy,’ Steve the policeman said. ‘We better sit down, sort some things out.’
Merrily was left alone. The party in evening dress had stopped, gazing down to where a knot of police and paramedics were concealing the body. They were not what she’d thought, these decadent revellers. A ruby glistened like a bubble of blood in the cleft of the chin of one of the women and one of the men in top hats wore eye make-up and his hat had ribbons hanging behind, like an old-fashioned undertaker.
‘Come on…’ A policewoman came over, arms spread wide. ‘Don’t hang around, please.’
‘Is she dead?’ one of the girls said, like she was asking about the time of the last bus.
‘You can read about it tomorrow. Come on.’
‘I won’t be here tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ the policewoman said.
‘Was it suicide?’
This was an older, quieter voice. Merrily saw that there was a fifth person in the group, this woman wrapped in a grey cape so long that it was touching the pavement.
The policewoman said, ‘Do you have anything to tell us about this incident, madam?’
The woman smiled faintly, with a shake of the head, as the blue beacon light passed over her face, brushing like a strobe effect over an eagle nose and causing a glistening like hoar frost in hair that was like strands of tarnished tinsel. And Merrily recognized her. Partly from Mumford’s description, but mainly…
Pale arms outstretched, fingers clawed, sleeves of a black robe slipping back. A copper bangle like a snake…
Merrily froze, hands clasped, catching a long-ago devilish reflection of herself in a mirror: white lipstick and a black velvet hat and mascara caked on like chocolate. Heard her own mother, appalled: You’re not walking out of this house looking like that…
‘No, I thought not,’ the policewoman said. ‘So would you mind not blocking the footpath, please?’
