“You’ve got grandchildren and you’ve never seen them? Oh Arthur, that’s awful.” Beth was totally aghast. It was not a situation she could see happening in her own life. “Have you made any effort, I mean, telephone, e-mail?”
“No, not since my ex-wife died and neither has he. I desperately want to see my grandchildren before I shuffle off this mortal coil but you know how it is. The longer you leave it, the more difficult it gets. I couldn’t bear it if he rejected me or just ignored me. I suppose I’ve taken the easy option.”
“Oh dear, poor Arthur. I wonder what we can do to help. We must think of something.” Beth took his arm and lapsed into meditative mood as they tramped on towards Arthur’s rustic residence. She was determined to restore contact between this gentle man and his faraway kin before she took her leave of him.
23
Arthur lived in a delightful cottage in a tiny hamlet on the outskirts of the woods. The large garden at the back of the house showed signs of cultivation even at this unhelpful time of year. “Freshly-dug new potatoes on Christmas Day! Can’t beat them.” Arthur smacked his lips in anticipation of the delicacy awaiting him two weeks hence. He was, it transpired, a botanist specialising in roses, varieties of which were also on view in the garden. He had moved here thirty years previously to concentrate on his writing.
“I actually have one named after me,” he informed them modestly. “A white one. I helped them out at Kew a few years ago with some infection their roses were getting and they cultivated a new strain specially for me in acknowledgement—the Arthur Penfold! It’s starting to appear in garden catalogues. Now, I’m writing my autobiography, amongst other things,” he observed quietly. “It’s called A Rose by any other Name. Of course, you can see why she didn’t like it here,” he went on gently and without rancour. “But I honestly thought she’d grow to appreciate it, particularly after James was born. As it happens, I was offered a post at the University in Melbourne and I was tempted but my life and my work are here. Adele just didn’t understand—what is it… ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood leads on to fortune’? She took it and I didn’t. She went and I stayed behind and here I’ve been ever since. But enough of me. What about you?”
They explained the circumstances of the attack as briefly as possible, leaving out the more unlikely details.
“Any names at all?” Arthur wondered. “If I could report it without mentioning your names, we might be able to get this sorted once and for all.”
“I think one of them was involved in last night’s affair,” Beth said. “Pugh? Does that ring any bells?”
“Ah! Could be Philip Pugh—well-known local nasty. It’s about time something was done about him.”
The conversation moved on to another recent acquaintance who, it turned out, Arthur knew.
“Gilbert? Yes, I know him. Funny little chap. Something almost not human about him. Lived round here for years. Doesn’t socialise much, but we all know him.” Beth and her partner exchanged sidelong glances. “Never sells anything, of course. Not quite sure how he survives. Lives on benefits, I suppose, like so many people nowadays. Did you meet his equally appalling partner? Claims her name is Jeanne Larousse and that she’s a member of the famous French publishing dynasty. I don’t think dyeing your hair red automatically qualifies you for membership, somehow.”
Gareth was curious. “What’s his angle, all this business about Joan of Arc’s waistcoat? How did that come about? It’s a load of rubbish, isn’t it?”
“Well, Dark is his real name, I think. I rather suspect “Gilet d’Arc” is as close as he could get to his own name. Got it into his head from an early age that they were related. Anyway, about twenty years ago he suddenly produces this old rag and says that it’s her waistcoat, miraculously saved from burning, and that he’d got it at a country market somewhere in France, just like that. I ask you! I’m not sure if he’s actually ever been to France. Won’t let anyone see it, let alone touch it, of course, and no question of carbon-dating or anything like that. Just sheer madness, it’s safe to say. Better protected than the Turin shroud!”
“Anything else strike you as odd?”
“I did see another chap there, a few years ago, who looked just like him. Brother, perhaps? Similar sort of face but very cruel eyes, as I recall. Don’t know if he was a relation of some kind. Scurried off as soon as he saw me. Had a partner and a young child with him as I recall.”
“No name, I suppose?”
“Peter?” Arthur volunteered the name cautiously. “That seems to ring a bell. Gilbert muttered something about his old friend Peter Pepper being the salt of the earth. Does that help?”
Gareth could not keep the astonishment out of his voice. “Peter Pepper? Are you sure? He doesn’t usually show himself to hu… I mean, he doesn’t mix much with the outside world. And he had a wife and child with him?”
“Yes, I’m pretty certain he did. You know him, then?”
“Know of him, certainly. An old acquaintance of my grandfather’s. Not a nice person at all. To be avoided if at all possible.”
“Well. I’ll keep an eye out for him. We’ve got enough unpleasant people around here already. Anyway, enough chat. Let’s get some food organised.
As they munched their way through ploughman’s lunch and assorted home-grown salad vegetables, Beth came back to the subject that was pre-occupying her. She said: “I don’t suppose you have any way of getting in touch with your son, do you, Arthur? An e-mail address, perhaps, or even a phone number?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to ring him. I do want to see them, of course, being much declined into the vale of years, but… .”
“E-mail, then perhaps?”
“Yes, I do have an e-mail address for him, although it’s probably years out of date.”
“Let’s try it. I’ll help you compose something suitable.”
Ten minutes later, the e-mail was sent. A reluctant and very nervous Arthur simply wrote: “James I would like to see you and your family. I know it’s been a long time but I hope you can see your way to replying. Love. Dad.”
“Do you think he’ll reply? How long will I need to wait? What if he’s not going to? Supposing he doesn’t get it? He’ll never reply then.”
“Shh, patience, patience, Arthur. You’ve only just sent it.” Beth chided him gently. “It’s the middle of the night over there, so he probably won’t even see it till the morning. At least you’ve taken decisive action. Try to forget about it for now.”
A further ten minutes later, there was a ping and the Mail flag popped up on Arthur’s desk-top. In a trembling voice he read: “Dad. Thank you so much for being a braver man than I am. Karen and I would love to see you, and the kids are talking about it already. Come over to Melbourne as soon as you can and stay as long as you like. Your loving son James.”
An overwhelmed Arthur could not prevent the tears of joy from flowing as he hugged Beth. “Thank you, thank you, my dear. You’ve made an old man happier than you can possibly imagine. Whatever divine power sent you here, blessings upon them forever!”
It took the old boy a while to regain his composure. Gareth made some preliminary enquiries on the Internet. There was no chance of a flight before the New Year but flights were available, and a lot cheaper, in January. Arthur e-mailed his son to pass on the information and received an enthusiastic reply in return. They chatted on for a while until Gareth said: “We must push on. Aberystwyth awaits.”
“I’ll take you, of course. There’s no question of your walking any further.”
“That’s very kind. All thoughts of travelling incognito have gone anyway now and we’ll make up some time.”
Arthur had one of those old beetle-shaped Rovers that was obviously his pride and joy. Its dark green hue was spotlessly polished and the leather interior had been lovingly restored
. “A labour of love,” he explained. “It was in a pretty poor state when I got it and I’ve been working at it on and off for about ten years now. I knew I’d get there sooner or later… . such stuff as dreams are made on…” His voice drifted away in a haze of contentment. He obviously loved a chance to show the old girl off now and then.
“Right, Aberystwyth, here we come,” he pronounced proudly, as they set off on the next stage of their journey. Gareth and Beth were glad to be on the move again, with the end of their journey possibly in sight. They could be in London by that evening and a step closer to the confrontation that they knew must eventually and inevitably take place.
24
A British Sunday is a miserable affair at the best of times—a cold gloomy December afternoon makes it many times worse. Darren and Megan sat lugubriously over their lukewarm coffees in a glum cafe near the station. Sleet lashed against the cafe’s dirty windows and did nothing to improve the mood of the few customers huddled up morosely inside. Even the cheap plastic Christmas tree seemed to droop with apathy.
“Remind me again what your Dad said,” Darren asked without enthusiasm. “Tell them there’s a change of plan? Who’s he with, anyway?”
“Some girl called Beth, apparently, whoever she is. I hope she’s an ok sort of girl. No, I’m sure she is. I can’t imagine Gareth picking up some trollop on his travels. Dad said to tell them the arrangements have changed and to get on the first train that’s leaving. What’s all this cloak and dagger stuff about, love?” She squeezed the young man’s hand and gazed enquiringly at him.
“I don’t know any more than you do. My Granddad and my Dad and your Mum and Dad belong to this organisation called Fox. Something to do with doing good in the world, apparently.” Darren struggled to keep the cynicism out of his voice. “You’ve seen those funny little badges they wear. Anyway, it seems Gareth and this Beth are key figures in this strange little world and someone’s out to get them. It all sounds very film noir to me and highly unlikely. It appears we’ll be told more in due course. We’re not going to miss them sitting here, are we?”
“No, no. We’re ok here. They’re on foot, so they’ve got to come this way.” As she spoke, an elderly vehicle drew up outside the station. After some conversation and many hugs, two figures emerged and made their way into the station. It was only Gareth’s height that enabled Megan to spot him. Even so, with his woolly hat pulled down over his ears, he was not immediately recognisable.
“Damn!” Megan exclaimed. “I think that’s them! Come on, Darren, we’ll miss them!”
They grabbed their coats and dashed for the door. “Gareth! Wait!” Megan called as she pursued him. The taller of the two figures in front half-turned, a confused expression on his face. “Gareth, wait! It’s me, Megan!”
This time Gareth did stop and turned round unexpectedly. Megan ran into him and ended up hugging him a little more enthusiastically than might otherwise have been the case. Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth was amused to see Beth’s face lose its usual serene expression and turn to something almost akin to annoyance.
“We’ve got to talk to you. We’ve got a message for you,” Megan gabbled breathlessly.
“Woah, woah, slow down.” Gareth disentangled himself from his friend’s embrace. Introductions were made and Beth made a point of bestowing on Darren her most angelically radiant smile. He in turn mouthed at Megan as if to say “Mmm, not bad!”
“What’s all this about a message?”
“Somebody called Theeth’s been in touch? Does that mean anything to you? Dad said you’d know who it was. Too dangerous to ring you directly, he said. Said he thinks you’ve been spotted and to get on the first train you can find. Don’t aim for London now. Go to-morrow. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, although the first part’s a bit out of date. We were attacked on our way here this morning. Not a very enjoyable experience.”
“Attacked? Are you all right? What happened?”
“Set upon by a gang of thugs but we were saved by the arrival of a dear old chap and his dogs—he gave a lift to the station, which is why we weren’t walking. No harm done. So he wants us to get to wherever we can when we can, but not London. That’s fair enough, I suppose.”
“Yes. It seems you might be expected if you head towards London and going somewhere else might confuse them, whoever they are.”
“Ok, we’ll do that then. Can you do something in return? Ask your Dad to find out if PP has any children, particularly young ones.”
“PP. Er, yes, ok. Is it important?”
“Yes, it could be. Theeth will know how to get in touch with me. At least, he hasn’t had any trouble so far, so he should be able to manage it again. Right, we’d better get inside and see what trains are around. Lord knows where we’ll end up.” They shouldered their rucksacks again, took their leave of Darren and Megan and made their way towards the platforms.
“Known her long, this Megan, have you? Good-looking girl, black hair, big round eyes, big boobs. No wonder you like her!”
“Ooh, touch of the green eye, is it? Don’t be silly, I’ve known Megan since she was eleven. She’s the daughter of old family friends. Anyway, she’s totally besotted with Darren and he with her.”
“Yes indeed, a handsome and charming young man. Is he an old family friend as well?” she enquired cuttingly.
“Yes, he is as a matter of fact,” Gareth replied rather curtly. “His grandfather was my grandfather’s solicitor. They go back along way. He’s a Fox and so are Megan’s Mum and Dad. They’re good people. We can rely on them in an emergency.”
“Humph!” Beth was more or less satisfied. They glared at each other for a moment, then smiled and embraced briefly, much to the disgust of an elderly couple who had to manoeuvre themselves round the stationary couple ensconced in the middle of the platform.
“Young people these days, I don’t know,” the man muttered as they tottered past, wheeling their suitcases behind them.
Beth grinned. “I wonder if they’re related to Mrs. Flounders?”
“God, I hope not, for their sakes. Can you imagine it, a whole lot of oldies going round the country attacking young people with their umbrellas? Shades of Monty Python!”
Beth pointed. “I think this train’s just about to leave, Gareth. Quick, we can just make it. We can pay on the train.”
They sprinted along the platform and managed to clamber on board just as the guard was blowing his whistle. They found seats, took off their rucksacks and sat down, right opposite, much to their amusement, the old couple they had just been talking about. He was unfolding a tabloid newspaper and she was unwrapping crinkly foil to reveal some unappetising-looking cheese sandwiches. Gareth bade them a cheery good afternoon and Beth unleashed her dazzling smile once again. The woman stared back stonily while her husband muttered something about loud music and peace and quiet.
“Oh well, suit yourselves”, Gareth grunted and set about studying the information panel above the carriage door. “Looks as though we’re going to Shrewsbury.” he informed his travelling companion. “Mind you, they all go to Shrewsbury from here! Then we could go on to Manchester, it seems. That’s not a lot of good.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we see if we can get to Liverpool, then we can stay at my place. Might have to change a couple of times, but it should be possible. We can get our clothes washed and generally take stock.”
“Have you got room? What about your family?”
“We’ve just move into my Auntie’s house in Crosby. I told you she left me everything. Great old barn of place, so there’s plenty of room. Fran’s doing a fashion-shoot in London and my Mum’s on a cruise, which means there’ll only be Gwyneth there and she’s working nights at a care home at the moment, so there’s no problem.”
“Right. Let’s do that. Sounds like a good idea. I’l
l text Stan and ask him to let Theeth know of our change of plans.”
They disembarked at Shrewsbury, were lucky with a connection to Chester and eventually found themselves on a train bound for Liverpool, one of those all-station jobs that seem to come to a stop at every halt and siding. Gareth was surprised to discover that Runcorn, for example, has not one station but two. At long last they plunged into the huge brick tunnels at Edge Hill, paused briefly and finally juddered painfully into Lime Street station.
The relief Beth felt on being back on home turf could be seen on her face. She marched along the platform, with Gareth having to take large strides to keep up with her. They emerged from the station into darkness lit up by many street lights and Christmas decorations and filled with swirling snowflakes which added to the already ghostly impression. The imposing pillars of St. George’s Hall almost seemed to nod a welcome to Gareth as he plunged into the wintry scene. It was as if the city was saying “Right. You’ve had your fun in the country. Now the big boys are taking over!”
25
Ah, Liverpool! What a wonderful place! What can I tell you about it? Like all great maritime cities, it has an extra special atmosphere that inland towns just can’t match. Whether it is the tang of the salty spray blown in from the sea, the inevitable influx of colourful characters found in all great ports or something else again, there is no doubt that Liverpool has an ambience all of its own. Because of its location, there are significant Welsh and Irish presences and these in their turn have contributed to the strong, somewhat catarrhal Scouse accent so beloved of locals and comedians alike. Like all regional twangs, it is beautiful in moderation but can border on the unattractive if too strong—think Brummie, Northern Irish, heavy Scottish and you’ll know what I mean. Scousers have a reputation for untrustworthiness—there is possibly a basis for truth here but television performers such as Harry Enfield have a lot to answer for in perpetuating this myth. Your average Scouser is a friendly chap with a witty sense of humour, quite capable of laughing at himself. “What do you call a Scouser in a suit?” “A thief!” “What do you call another Scouser in a suit?” “The accused!”
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