by Ian Martyn
Parking on Clayton Road, Kirby wandered over to Mystique, which had a sign in the window, “Closed until further notice”.
‘I stopped by other day, sir, as you asked,’ Shirley said.
‘Hmm,’ Kirby said as he cupped a hand against the window and peered inside.
‘The sign was up then. No one in.’
‘Hmm.’
‘About the shoes.’
‘Sorry, yes. There was this strange woman looking after the shop when I called in. Titania she liked to call herself, although her real name’s Jane. Mind you, the whole place is a bit strange so I suppose she fitted right in.’
‘I see what you mean, sir,’ Shirley said as she joined him at the window, peering at a rack of floaty dresses and a Buddha, decked with beads.
Kirby moved his head from side to side wondering if he could see a light on in the back. ‘Yes, she was away with the fairies half the time. Which is rather appropriate.’
‘Sir?’
‘Midsummer Night’s Dream, Constable.’
‘Sir?’
‘You know, Queen of the Fairies.’
Shirley frowned.
‘William Shakespeare?’
‘Oh, I see,’ Shirley said in a tone that indicated she didn’t.
Kirby shook his head. ‘You’ve heard of Shakespeare, right?’
Shirley’s frown turned into a scowl as put her hands on her hips. ‘Yes, sir! In the sixth form they even took us to see one of his plays.’
Kirby glanced back at her. ‘Oh, which one?’
Shirley let her hands drop. ‘Er, dunno. I was more interested in trying to sneak off and get Daren Pugh to buy me a drink at the bar. He was trying to get off with me you see, so…’
‘Yes, thank you, Constable. However, as fascinating as your adolescent love life no doubt was, I’m not sure I need to hear about it.’
Shirley blushed. ‘Er no. Of course. Sorry, sir.’
‘Anyway, it seems Titania ain’t there now.’
Shirley rattled the handle and knocked on the door, but there was no response. ‘Been a day or two,’ she said, pointing to the pile of mail, leaflets for takeaway pizza and the free catalogues that usually went into the recycling unopened.
‘So,’ Kirby said. ‘I’m guessing it closed soon after I left.’
‘That’s a coincidence.’
Kirby looked at her.
‘Suspicious,’ Shirley corrected herself.
Kirby smiled. ‘Come on, let’s go and ignore all the flagrant minor infringements we’ll find in Harold’s little emporium.’
The bell tinkled its welcome
‘Nice,’ Shirley said. ‘If you like the faded 1960s’ look.’
‘I think for Harold that constitutes modern.’
As Kirby now understood it, fifty years or so was only a fraction of the time Harold and his shop had existed. He guessed that if you asked the older locals, like the lady in the coffee shop, they would say that Harold’s shop had always been there. What they wouldn’t be able to tell you was just how long “always” was.
In front of Kirby was a bucket containing five or six string mops. A hand-written sign said, “Free bar of carbolic with every mop”. From the depths of dusty interior came a detached voice. ‘Morning, Jonah, Shirley.’ A few seconds later an ancient, inhabited grey cardigan with leather patched sleeves shuffled around the corner.
‘Alright, Harold, we can dispense with that.’
Harold grinned and the arthritic, elderly man became a good foot taller, straight-backed and of indeterminate age.
‘I don’t know why you do it.’
‘I have an image to keep up,’ Harold said, still smiling.
‘And how did you know it was us?’
‘CCHV,’ Harold said.
‘CCHV?’
‘Closed Circuit Harold Vision,’ Harold said, pointing to the convex mirror hanging in the depth of the shop above the ancient till, which was one of those where the little white flags with the price jerks up when you bang on the keys.’
‘Ever thought of CCTV?’ Kirby asked.
‘Nah. No one ever tries to nick anything from me. At least not more than once, and even then they don’t get away with it.’ Kirby suspected it was true, but refrained from enquiring as to how Harold achieved that on the grounds that he might not like the answer.
Shirley had picked up a can of sweetcorn and was examining the date on the bottom. Kirby took it from her and put it back on the shelf.
‘But…’ Shirley said.
‘I warned you.’
Harold ignored the exchange. ‘So what brings you back this fine morning, Inspector, Constable? ‘Some of my enticing bargains?’ He added pointing to the mops.
Kirby shook his head. ‘Tempting, I admit, but perhaps not this time. I wanted your take on last night and then I thought we might go and pay the girls a visit.’
Harold rubbed a longer finger under his nose as a black cat meowed and arched its back against his leg.
Kirby watched the cat, which stared back with large, green, unblinking eyes.
‘Just a cat,’ Harold said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Boudicca.’
‘Boudicca?’
Harold shrugged as if to suggest it was as good a name as any. ‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘You don’t say. Since you appeared in my life, Harold, I’ve seen and heard a lot of things that I haven’t liked. However, that doesn’t mean I can ignore them.’
‘Sure?’
‘Try me.’
Harold glanced at Kirby and then Shirley. ‘Alright, but you really are going to need me now.’
‘That’s why we’re here.’
Harold nodded. ‘Let’s go in the back.’
‘What about the shop?’ Shirley said. ‘I’d hate for you to miss a sale.’
Harold was already clacking through the bead curtain. ‘It’s OK, Boudicca can handle it.’
“The back”, as Kirby knew, was part kitchen, part storeroom. Boxes of crisps and toilet paper were piled up together in one corner, along with other boxes that Kirby didn’t recognise. Shirley’s gaze wandered across the various items of stock.
‘No good will come of that,’ Kirby said.
‘Sorry, sir.’
In the middle of the room was a solid pine table and a couple of chairs that might have a presenter on the Antiques Roadshow quite excited.
‘I like what you’ve done with the place,’ Shirley said as she sat, making an effort to focus on the table.
Harold grunted from where he was standing at an old stone sink. He filled a battered kettle which he then placed on an ancient-looking gas stove. Kirby watched as Harold turned the ivory-coloured knob and stood at arm’s length holding a match. The initial flame leapt about two feet in the air before settling down.
‘I’d get that checked out if I were you,’ Kirby said.
‘Don’t worry. We have an understanding. Coffee?’
‘Go on then.’
‘Why not,’ Shirley said before adding, ‘As long as it’s not out of date by more than a decade.’
Harold reached on to a shelf and took down a bottle of Camp coffee, then spooned the thick brown goo into three battered and chipped mugs he’d taken off a wire draining rack.
‘What the hell’s that?’ Shirley whispered to Kirby.
Kirby smiled. ‘Oh, you’re in for a treat.’
Harold filled the mugs with boiling water and topped them up with milk from an actual glass bottle.
‘Is that semi or soya?’ Kirby asked.
‘What?’
He took the mug Harold was offering him. ‘Nothing.’
Shirley held her mug in both hands and peered into its murky depths for a second before pulling it towards her and sniffing experimentally.
Harold pushed a small bowl with a rose on it in their direction. ‘Sugar?’
Shirley shook her head without looking up from her mug.
‘No thanks,’ Kirby said
Har
old took it back and shovelled four heaped teaspoonfuls into his own mug.
The first sip took Kirby back into his grandmother’s kitchen. He could see the flowery patterned apron she wore every day, except on Sundays, and smelled the comforting mix of Dettol and boiled cabbage which was always there. The latter was something of a mystery as his grandmother hated cabbage. She said that was because she’d been forced to eat it as a child on account of it being all her dad seemed to grow on his allotment.
Shirley took a sip and wrinkled her nose. ‘Jeese!’ She took another. ‘Actually, it’s not that bad. Although not much like coffee.’
‘So, Harold?’ Kirby said, glancing across at Shirley who was still sniffing and sipping, ‘now that Shirley’s approved your attempts at alchemy, what’s your take on last night?’
‘Just the start.’
‘I was afraid you might say that.’
Harold sipped and paused, then added another spoonful of sugar. ‘I think Marianne was testing the theory, as it were.’
‘I thought you said those riots some years ago were the same thing?’
Harold shook his head. ‘A crude blunderbuss-style approach, which is why I suspect it didn’t work.’
‘And this time?’
‘Marianne’s clever, don’t ever underestimate her. She’ll have learnt from that and refined whatever it is she’s doing.’
‘Which is?’
Harold shook his head. ‘That sort of magic’s not really my thing. Dangerous game.’
‘In what way?’ Shirley asked.
Harold shifted in his seat. ‘You’ve got to be strong to wield it. Get it wrong and it’s likely to consume you. She almost lost control of it last time, which is why I think we haven’t heard of her for some time. She’s been recovering.’
‘So we force her to over-stretch herself?’ Shirley said between sips. ‘Problem solved.’
‘Except that she’d take Jesmond with her and perhaps a good chunk of Newcastle as well.’
‘Ah,’ Kirby said.
‘Maybe…’ Shirley paused, then smiled. ‘We could lure her over to Blythe and have a go there?’
Kirby frowned at his junior officer. ‘Constable.’
Shirley shrugged and stared into her mug. ‘Sorry, sir. Just an idea. Two birds and all that.’
‘Yes well, I’m the one who’d have to write the report and explain it to the chief.’ He turned back to Harold. ‘And Sarah?’
‘Part of that refinement is my guess.’ He shrugged. ‘One to wield the power, the other to act as a safety valve in some way. And Sarah’s a child of this world, which may help as well.’
‘So Sarah’s definitely in on it?’ Shirley asked.
Harold shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She might not realise what she’s doing when she’s with Marianne and then not remember a thing when it’s all over. Although I think that might be bit much, even for Marianne.’ He sucked in a breath and worry lines creased his forehead. ‘And despite everything, she is Marianne’s daughter.’
‘Great,’ Kirby said, ‘two of them.’ He drained his cup. ‘Come on, I think we’d better get round there.’
thirty-two
Kirby rang the bell. To his surprise, the door was opened by a slim woman with auburn hair, who he guessed was in her mid-forties. ‘Er, hello, is Susie in?’
The woman smiled. ‘I’m sorry and you are?’
‘Quite right,’ Kirby said, taking out his warrant card. ‘Inspector Kirby. And this is Constable Barker. At the back there is…er, Harold.’
The woman leant to look past him. ‘Good to see you, Harold. It’s been a while’
‘Oh hello, Connie.’
‘Excuse me?’ Kirby said.
At that moment Susie appeared, rubbing her hair with a pink towel. ‘Who is it, Mum?’ she said before looking up. ‘Oh hello, Inspector, Shirley, ooh and Harold.’
‘I think you’d better come through and I’ll make some tea,’ Susie’s mum said.
‘Good idea,’ Kirby said as he followed her down the passage. ‘Is there anyone you don’t know?’ he whispered to Harold. Harold shrugged.
Kirby waited while the kettle boiled and Susie’s mum made the tea. She joined them in the four seats around the table while Susie leant against the worktop. ‘So would someone like to explain?’ he said, raising his eyebrows in Harold’s direction.
Harold smiled across at Susie’s mother. ‘Jonah meet Connie, Susie’s mum and er… yes, er… Marianne’s sister.’
‘What! And you knew…’
Harold held up his hand to hold back the torrent that just might be heading in his direction. ‘Wait. I didn’t realise until now that Connie here was Susie’s mother. Although, looking at them, perhaps I should have guessed. But I haven’t seen Connie in a long time.’
‘So…’
Harold’s second hand joined the first. ‘Listen, Marianne and Connie are sisters but that’s it, I promise.’ He looked at Connie, his face pleading for support.
Susie took the opportunity of the pause to get her own, ‘Mum!’ in. ‘That… that makes Sarah and I cousins. And… and… you knew and didn’t tell me?’
Connie took a deep breath. ‘I know, dear, and I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have said something before now.’
Susie’s face, which had been pink, was now a definite explosion-pending red colour. ‘Perhaps!’
‘Wow,’ said Shirley, ‘And I thought my family was dysfunctional.’ Kirby frowned at her. Shirley took a keen interest in the pattern on her mug.
It was Kirby’s turn to hold both hands in the air. ‘If one person could give me a succinct, and I mean succinct, account of what’s going on?’ He glared at Harold who passed the glare on to Connie.
Connie glanced around the table before focusing on Susie. ‘Alright, alright, I might have told you, love, before now.’
‘Might? I…’
Kirby held a hand up again. To his mild amazement, silence returned.
Connie continued. ‘And it’s why, I’m sure, you and Sarah hit it off. I didn’t say anything for good reason at the time.’ This time she held up a hand to stop Susie’s interruption. ‘And I’ll explain in more detail when there’s just the two of us, OK?’ In answer, Susie scowled and crossed her arms, although the affected sternness was lost a little due to the pink towelling dressing gown with a cute rabbit, complete with stand-out floppy ears, on the pocket.
Connie turned back to Kirby. ‘Yes, Inspector, Marianne and I are sisters, which is one of the reasons I’m here. I wanted to check up on things. Believe me, I am not part of whatever Marianne is planning and I never will be. And if I can help you I will. We come from the same womb, but that’s where our association stops. I know Harold because we all come from the same… the same village, I guess you’d call it.’
‘In this other world? A concept I’m still struggling with by the way.’
‘I don’t know,’ Shirley chipped in, ‘might explain some of the characters we see around the town of an evening.’
‘And the politicians worry about migration from the EU,’ Kirby muttered. ‘So how many of you are there, and why come here anyway?’
Connie glanced at Harold, who nodded. ‘Not many. There’s always been some movement of people who know. Most don’t, of course.’
‘There’s a relief.’ Kirby looked towards Connie. And you? I understand, I think, why Harold’s here. No disrespect, why did you come or rather stay?’
Connie studied Kirby for a second in which he felt his whole character was being assessed. She then turned to Shirley whose wide-eyed look of surprise indicated she felt the same. ‘I don’t know what Harold’s already told you. However, like him, I’m trusting you because if Edna hadn’t seen something in you that meant she trusted you, you would never have got to Harold.’
Connie glanced across at Susie, who still had her arms crossed, although her face had returned back to a healthy pink colour. ‘Our village,’ she said, looking at Harold, ‘have always known. We are all gua
rdians of the secret, although a few, like Harold, make it their life’s work. Your world has chosen to forget us, but we haven’t forgotten you. So in many ways we are children of both worlds. We take it seriously, Inspector. How can I put this, our worlds occupy the same place, just in sort of different dimensions, and in many ways they are very similar. Even our histories are connected. However, your world has accelerated ahead and left ours far behind to the point where contact between the worlds, such as Marianne is trying to instigate, may be an inconvenience for you, but disastrous for us.’
‘In what way?’
Connie took a deep breath. ‘The riots of a few years ago were horrible and not something anyone in their right minds would want repeating. However, repairs were made, people made speeches, a few programs were put in place and, essentially, your world carries on as if it had never happened. However, if Marianne succeeds then the power it would give her would make her unstoppable. Marianne is one of the most dangerous types of people, someone who believes she knows exactly how things should work and that she is the person to make those things happen. Give those sort of people absolute power and… well your own history also has a few examples of that.’
During the conversation Susie said nothing, her scowl just deepened to what Kirby could see was again becoming a dangerous level. Even the cute bunny seemed to have lost his smile. Susie’s foot was tapping. ‘And you never thought to tell me any of this?’
Connie cast a pleading look at her daughter. ‘Please, Susie, I will explain. In the village, the tradition is that the revelations take place on a person’s twenty-first birthday. Perhaps it was silly of me to stick to that. But up till now there seemed no harm in it. I would then have taken you to the village and all would have been made clear.’
Susie’s foot-tapping increased in tempo. ‘But… but… Sarah… and…’
Connie’s eyes pleaded with her daughter. ‘Please, dear, this is for you and me.’
Susie took a breath and huffed her displeasure before letting her shoulders sag in resignation. She settled for a glare, just to let her mother know she wasn’t off the hook.
Satisfied that an imminent explosion had been contained, Kirby glanced at Susie and then back to Harold. ‘You have all this in common and you still didn’t know that Susie was related to Sarah?’
