Divorcing Jack

by Colin Bateman

  I looked up into her eyes and said: 'I haven't had any revenge yet.'

  'What would you do to me?'

  'Not on you. On him. You stopped me. I don't need to get any revenge on you. I deserved it.'

  'Don't come all holier than thou, Dan, it doesn't suit you.'

  'I'm serious.'

  'Yeah.' She stood up and stepped onto the landing. 'Goodnight.'

  'Patricia!' I called after her.

  She stopped and stood with one hand on the banister. 'What was he like in bed?'

  'Ah,' she said, nodding her head slightly, 'so that's what you're after. It isn't me you're thinking of at all, it's your fuckin' male ego ...'

  ‘I just need

  'Come back alive, Dan, and we'll talk about it, okay?'

  She spun quickly away from the stairs and strode determinedly into the room I had first woken up in after being shot. I made a move to go after her and then stopped. Maybe she had a point.

  22

  I waited in the bushes on the edge of the Botanic Gardens for Mouse to arrive. It had turned into a beautiful morning: a cloudless sky as smooth as lino; the sun, low, but already promising intensity, hung on the tree line as if resting before the big push up to noon. There were other men waiting in the bushes as well, dirty, unshaven characters with the shallow complexion you get on men who have spent too much time standing in undergrowth, but they didn't come near me. I tried my best not to feel slighted, but it was tough.

  Mouse wasn't followed, unless the police had employed a troop of Brownies. He sauntered into the park and made his way towards the monkey puzzle tree. The fact that it wasn't really a monkey puzzle tree would have further confused anyone listening in to our brief telephone conversation. We had grown up in this park as under-age drinkers, always meeting in the shadow of the great five-armed tree which dominated the south side of the park. Mouse had called it the monkey puzzle because in those early days he was more interested in botany than designing missiles and had recognized it in a book. Actually, he got it completely wrong, but by the time we found out it was too late to change its name.

  I stepped out of the bushes as the Brownies were passing. Their commandant moved to the side of her pack to protect them and gave me a withering look. I smiled sheepishly at her. She barked at the children to hurry along. I still wasn't looking my best.

  Mouse stopped by the monkey puzzle and knelt down to tie his shoe. I was no expert, but it looked like a pretty ham-fisted attempt at surreptitious surveillance to me. His lace wasn't even undone and he just kind of played with it for a bit while he eyed up the surrounding bushes. He saw me coming towards him but looked away. It was a moment before his eyes came back for a closer inspection.

  He was about to speak but I put a finger to my lips and said quietly: 'Mouse, for once in your life, try not to shout, eh?'

  He shrugged impassively. 'OKAY.'

  'Lower,' I said. He nodded. 'That's fine,' I said.

  It was good to see him. He was wearing a black sweatshirt and a pair of fading black jeans. He was unshaven and his glasses were dirty. His sandy hair looked, as ever, windswept. But he was clean: an outsider to the whole sordid business. I hadn't seen that much of him since he'd married and I'd met Patricia. Weekends and parties mostly, but we went back. There are things that happen between males when they're growing up that bond them for life. I had once seen him try to commit suicide by putting his head in the fridge.

  'Well, how's it goin'?' He asked quietly; well, quietly for him. The Brownies could probably have picked it up if they'd been interested. He stood up and shook my hand. For a moment it threw me off my guard.

  'Just wonderful. Mouse,' I mumbled.

  'No need to be sarky.'

  'Would you love me if I was any other way?'

  'I wouldn't love you at all, Starkey.'

  'Well, now that's settled, what about the car?' He twisted his head more or less in the direction of Botanic Avenue. 'Down there. I went and hired one. A green one.' He knew I knew nothing about makes of cars. 'It's an automatic and takes unleaded petrol. There's half a tank in it and three vouchers towards a glass tumbler with George Best's head on it. You need another four. I put two names on the insurance document, my own and a fairly illegible D. Stark. We have third-party fire and theft insurance.'

  'I'm glad we have both.'

  'You have a licence?'

  I nodded. I still had Lennie's from the guesthouse. 'You want to tell me what's going on, Dan?'

  'No.'

  'You want to tell me where you're going?'

  'No.'

  He was embarrassed. He looked at his shoes. Fading purple brothel creepers. Other people looked at his shoes, they got embarrassed. 'Dan,' he said, 'you didn't do everything they say you did, did you?'

  I looked mock hurt. 'Hey, Mouse, it's me. Dan Starkey, ace reporter who couldn't kick his way out of a paper bag. What do you think I am?'

  He didn't look convinced. 'What about Patricia?'

  'Patricia's fine. She was kidnapped by some people, but I got her back. She's staying with a friend.'

  'Dan, I know all your friends.'

  'Mouse, I'm sure the police do as well by now. I can't go to them, yet, for obvious reasons. She's with a new friend, if you like, but she's okay. I'm sorry I can't really tell you more. It wouldn't be safe.'

  ‘I wouldn't tell, Dan,' he said, suddenly sounding like the eleven-year-old I had first met in this park. In this park where I had met Margaret such a short while before.

  I nudged his arm and we started walking slowly along the tarmac path that skirted the central green. It made it look less like a gay encounter. More like an honest heart-to-heart between a bohemian lecturer from Queen's and a born-again thug. 'I know you wouldn't, Mouse. But what you don't know can't hurt you.' Cliches aren't cliches for nothing. 'I take it the police have been to see you.'

  'Sure. A couple of reporters. Then a few hoods in suits. The wife chased them away.'

  'Good on her. What about the bug?' .

  'She's feelin' a lot better.'

  'In the phone. Mouse.'

  'I know. I was only joking.'

  'Is this a time for humour?'

  'Probably.'

  'Okay. The phone.'

  'Standard bug.'

  'Police?'

  'That would be illegal.'

  'Police?'

  'Can't tell.'

  'Whoever it is, they're not likely to have heard anything, are they? I mean, you don't know anything.'

  'They've heard plenty.'

  'Meaning?'

  ‘I compiled a five-minute audio tape of excerpts from The Godfather and played it to a random number in New York. I got a Chinese guy who seemed quite happy to listen in. Whoever was taping will be confused for a little while at least.'

  'Glad to see you're making yourself useful. Mouse.' I stopped and took hold of his arm and gave him the look that said, wise up. 'Listen. Don't do anything really stupid, you know? A lot of people have gotten killed over this.'

  'But not by you?'

  'I've told you.'

  'You haven't told me anything, Dan. I'd like to help. I'd like to know what the fuck is going on.'

  I started him walking again. 'Mouse - look, it's just so fuckin' complicated. Look - you know that film, who was it, Cary Grant was in it, you know. North by Northwest, where the guy is chased all over the place by bad guys and the cops alike, right? And no one will believe him and everyone keeps betraying him. Right?'

  'Right.'

  'Well, this is kind of the same, but instead of suave, sophisticated Cary Grant you have a fuckin' eejit like me runnin' around, okay?'

  'Okay.'

  'Okay.'

  'A bit like The Thirty-Nine Steps too.'

  'Yeah. Sure.'

  'Or The Terminator.'

  'I think we'll leave it with The Thirty-Nine Steps, Mouse.'

  'Here,' he said suddenly, stopping and thrusting the keys into my hand. His skin felt clammy. 'I wouldn't be going do
wn through the centre of town, Dan. Traffic's startin' to jam up.'

  'More bomb scares?'

  'Nah, sure today's Brinn's big peace rally. They're sealin' off round the City Hall.'

  'I hadn't heard about it.'

  'Ach, he's turnin' more American every time I hear him. He calls it a peace rally, but it's an Alliance rally. If we had a decent hall in the city the Provos hadn't blown up he'd hold a fuckin' convention. But still, miss the centre, security's liable to be tight.'

  ‘I expect it'll be aimed at people heading into the city. I'm heading out.'

  'Oh yeah?'

  'And that's as much as you hear.'

  'You used to tell me everything.'

  'I used not to be wanted for murder. Mouse.'

  He said quietly: 'No, I suppose not. Look, all the gang, they've been askin' for you. You know we're there, if you need us. Not out of any misplaced sense of loyalty, you understand, but just 'cause we're pissed off with the cops coming round and questioning us and searching our houses. Okay?'

  'Of course. They cause much damage?'

  'Ach, not that much. Sure we were planning a new kitchen anyway, this way the bastards have to buy us a new one.'

  'Tell them I'm okay.'

  'Okay apart from your clothes, eh?'

  'Yeah, well, horses for courses, y'know? I fit in better dressed like this.'

  'God, I wouldn't like to meet who you're dealin' with.' I grinned. 'You wouldn't.'

  'Gerry, y'know, had a theory that you're enjoying all this. That you're savin' it all up for a column or two in the paper.'

  'I've never put myself out for a story yet. Mouse, you know that. Tell Gerry he can stick his theory up his hole. And the wife's okay?'

  'Fine. You know what she's like.'

  I nodded. 'Still pullin' the strings. . .'

  'Yeah, well, I'm kinda used to it.' He smiled suddenly. 'She's not really talkin' to me at the moment 'cause I wouldn't take her to see Peter Ustinov in the Opera House. I mean, I don't mind him, but the only tickets left were £26.50 each. Y'know? I wouldn't pay £26.50 for the second coming of Jesus Christ, 'cause y'know fine well there'd be some cow in a fur coat in the row in front sayin', "Of course I saw it the first time. . ." So I'm gettin' the silent treatment.'

  Small talk. I loved it. I wanted back to it. But things would never be small again.

  * * *

  It was time to go. I stopped him by a park bench occupied by a solitary wino. His brown trench coat appeared to be colour-coordinated with his beige paper drink bag and deep ruddy face.

  I put my hand out to Mouse. 'Thanks, Mouse. It was good of you.'

  'That's what friends are for, mate.'

  It had a kind of sad finality to it. He turned and loped off towards Queen's Physical Education Centre on the other side of the park. I watched him for a moment and then turned towards the car.

  As I turned, the wino said: 'Fuckin' poofs.'

  I winked and blew him a kiss.

  I tried the key in three green cars before I found the right one. I hadn't driven an automatic in a long time, but it's the sort of driving even an imbecile can pick up in a couple of minutes.

  Traffic was nearly all in the opposite direction, and heavy. Maybe they'd declared a holiday for the peace rally. Last time there'd been this many people on the move for peace we'd gotten a Nobel Prize for our efforts. It didn't bring peace but it bought a powerful lot of sausage rolls for meaningful inter-denominational coffee mornings. Ah, journalistic cynicism.

  BBC Radio Ulster was giving the rally the full treatment, live broadcast 'n' all. Up the Shankill Road they were giving it the full treatment as well. A carload of peaceniks up from Dublin strayed off course, stopped and asked for directions. They were dragged out and badly beaten. There was too much security about the city for the IRA to try anything much that day, but that didn't stop them lobbing a few mortars at army bases near the border and taking over a small village near Crossmaglen for a few hours in the predawn, just to prove that they could.

  It was a twenty-minute drive to Bangor. I wasn't mentioned once on the news, which was a relief. Towards the end of the report the newsreader said that a body believed to be that of an American reporter had been found in the north of the city. Cause of death had not yet been established. I thought it would have been fucking obvious. Still, it was early days. A dead American was big news and there'd be reporters swarming all over it soon enough, once Brinn got his peace rally out of the way. Brinn and peace. McGarry and his tape. Margaret and me. Patricia and Coogan. And all for the want of a little overtime and too much alcohol.

  23

  'Remember me?'

  'No.'

  'Sure you do. I sold you a tape a while back.'

  'Sorry, mate, no idea.'

  He wasn't really interested. There were plenty of tapes. A lot of Irish country and western. The Monkees' greatest hits. The New Seekers. But no classical cassettes at all.

  'It was a classical tape. You know, the music from all those adverts on TV.'

  'Sorry,' he said. He was concentrating on his newspaper. He hadn't looked at me yet.

  'It's important.'

  He looked up. 'Sorry.'

  'Really important.'

  Maybe he was impressed by my hair. He said, languidly, 'It's not my stall, mate. I buy at a standard price and sell at a standard price. It's not exactly collector's corner, y'know? I hardly look at the things.'

  I took a twenty-pound note from my pocket. Lee had lent it to me. 'Would you look at one of these?' I asked.

  He folded his paper up. 'Now that I would.'

  ‘I was asking about a tape. Classical stuff.'

  'You know what was on the cover?' He was leaning over towards me now, almost sniffing the money. He had a shrewy face and he read the Sun. I don't pay much attention really to the singers, y'know? But I usually remember the covers.'

  I could barely remember it. It hadn't been important.

  Then. I shrugged. ‘I don't know. I suppose it was an old oil painting. Something Nordic maybe. With Vikings. They usually are.'

  'All sorta like Valeries and stuff, right?'

  'Something like that. Yeah.'

  'Sure. I remember that.'

  'You know who you sold it to?'

  He shrugged and nodded at the money. I handed it over.

  He riffled through the tapes. 'It's not here.'

  ‘I know that. I need to know who you sold it to.'

  ‘I ... well, y'know, I've a lotta trouble with kids stealing things. Happens all the time. Thing is, I don't remember selling it. Could have been knocked off. I mean, kids don't listen to classical stuff, I know, but they could have done it just for badness, y'know?'

  'This isn't very helpful.. .'

  He shrugged.

  ‘I thought maybe if someone was prepared to pay twenty pounds for a crappy tape, he might pay some more, eh?'

  I tutted. 'Listen,' I said, 'don't give me a hard time. It was me ma's favourite tape, right? I sold it by mistake and now I don't mind payin' to get it back rather than break her heart, so give us a break, eh?'

  'For another tenner, I could put you in the right direction.'

  I looked at him hard. This intimidates few people.

  I said: 'Look, I can understand you wanting to earn some money, and, sure, I really want the tape. But I can't pay you any more. I've paid you twenty quid and I think you should play fair by me. We're coming up to the elections and we're all meant to be much nicer from here on in.' I gave him a hopeful smile. He wasn't fooled by it. I tried another tack. 'Or to put it another way, I will stay here all day and really annoy you. And if that doesn't work I'll start eating your books. That would be bad for business.'

  He looked at me. Expressionless. Save for a little tick in the left eye. Or his right, if you were him.

  'Are you serious?'

  'Partly.'

  He smiled the way a shrew might smile if it suddenly discovered quantum physics. 'Okay,' he said. 'Okay,' I said. />
  'Okay,' he repeated. 'If it's the one I'm thinking of, I didn't sell it. I took it with the rest of the stuff when I left day before last. It was my day off yesterday. That's when the boss does his day's graft, God love him. So he's the one would know.'

  'So you'll phone him?'

  'I've got this place to mind.'

  'Sure the phone's only over there and there's no one else around. It would only take you a moment. I'll mind the stall if there's a rush.' I looked over into his cash box. There were only a few coins and a fiver. 'I'll promise not to make off with the bullion.'

  He shook his head slightly, but it wasn't a negative reaction. He chuckled to himself while he passed. 'I don't know if he's in. He plays a lot of golf.'

  I reached into the cash box and picked up ten pence and chucked it to him. He dropped it. 'For the phone.'

  The phone was about twenty yards away. It was early yet and the centre was still mostly empty. Those people on the move were on their way to work. Stocking shelves. Selling shirts. Weighing bananas. Slicing beef. What they would all give to be in my exciting shoes. Who was it said about the man with no legs, are there many in your shoes? Brinn? Brinn's wife? Where was she now? Standing on a sun-kissed platform beside her husband, waving to the tens of thousands pursuing peace and a new beginning. Except there weren't any new beginnings, just old beginnings dressed up.

  I shuffled in behind the stall. His books were about as impressive as his tapes. Trashy romances mostly, a few dishevelled hardbacks with their library stickers ripped out, the complete works of William Shakespeare in one volume of tiny print and a huddle of Cold War thrillers.

  I sat down on his stool and took a sip of his coffee and glanced at the Sun. Purely for research purposes. I wasn't mentioned on the first three pages.

  Somebody knocked on the stall, three knuckle raps on the wood, as if at a door.