by Syd Moore
I paused. Was this the right moment to tell him about my ghost?
No, it was the moment that Martha decided to phone me.
I glanced at Andrew and apologized.
‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Don’t mind me.’
Requesting that I bring some sausage rolls, ‘about fifty’, and cucumbers ‘cut into lengths of about two to three inches’, Martha prattled on about the decorations for the house, asking if I thought she might need more blue balloons, enquired what I would be wearing and who I would be bringing, if anyone.
I thought thirty-six blue balloons was probably enough, told her I hadn’t thought about my outfit yet and was just about to duck out of answering her last question when an idea popped up out of nowhere.
I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and mouthed at Andrew: ‘You doing anything tonight?’
He shrugged and shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’
‘Do you want to come to a friend’s party? It’s round the corner from here. I haven’t got a date and she’d be really pleased if I actually turned up with a bloke for once.’
He shrugged again. ‘Why not?’ Then laughed, and crinkled his eyes into a wicked looking smile. ‘Did you just ask me on a date? Och, the tongues that’ll wag in the staff room!’
I broke off from informing Martha of this new information and whispered at him shrilly, ‘Don’t push it.’
‘As if,’ he said, and added something else in an undertone that, as Martha was in the middle of saying a long, convoluted goodbye, I didn’t manage to catch. Instead I pulled the cushion from behind my back and lobbed it at his head. He ducked and made for a book at the foot of the armchair, then the doorbell rang.
Alfie swept into the room as Andrew was answering the front door. He eyed me suspiciously. ‘What are you doing, Mummy?’
Arrangements sorted, I hung up and told Alfie I had been playing. He accepted that, and then announced he needed a wee. I didn’t want to disturb Andrew, who was directing the movements of two deliverymen unloading a flat-screen television, so I took Alfie upstairs to find the bathroom.
It was as featureless as the kitchen. Again, dirt-free and neat but with no clue to the identity of its owner.
I couldn’t help myself though and on the pretext of looking for some more toilet paper I opened the only cupboard in the room and rifled through it: razors, deodorant, paracetamol, shower gel, plasters. Pretty functional. The most luxurious item in there was some alpine air hair gel. No condoms.
If I hadn’t had my son in tow I might have had a quick look at the bedrooms, but there was the possibility that Alfie might blurt something about it, so it was off the agenda. For the moment.
Downstairs Andrew had restrained himself from ripping open the wrapping of his new TV. It was placed carefully against the recess in the wall that had once been a fireplace.
‘Plasma screen?’ I read the packaging.
‘The old one was just about to conk out,’ he said shiftily.
‘Right.’
Alfie plodded over to him. ‘Can I watch it?’
‘Not now, darling,’ I said.
‘Aww.’ His bottom lip went straight out.
‘Listen, Alfie,’ Andrew crawled over to him and tugged playfully on the toggle of his dungarees. Alfie giggled.
He looked so cute. My son didn’t look bad either.
‘This will take me a long time to set up. Why don’t you come round again when it’s all sorted out?’
Alfie put his head on one side and weighed it up. He wasn’t convinced.
‘And,’ Andrew continued, ‘I’ve got a television in the kitchen that’s just for kids. It’s very tiny. Only children can see what’s on the screen. Do you want to have a look?’
Alfie perked up. ‘Just for kids?’
‘That’s right. Wanna see it?’
My son slipped his hand into Andrew’s and they disappeared into the kitchen. It was an odd little scene. I was still smiling when Andrew returned alone. The tinny sound of a children’s programme wafted in with him.
‘So?’ he said, and took his place on the floor next to the TV. ‘Where were we?’
I said, ‘Tobias Fitch.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘So, do we think he was real?’ I asked.
Andrew looked up, a half smile on his lips. ‘Oh, I know he was real.’
‘You do?’ I looked back at him astonished. Could this be some kind of test? ‘How?’ Now it was my turn to use my fingers for speech marks. ‘How do you “know” he was real?’
‘Because I’ve found him. Well, actually I’ve located a living relative. At least that’s what it looks like.’
‘How on earth …?’ I was on the edge of my seat.
‘I’ve had several years’ head start on you. I did some research back when I was looking at Eden. There’s a guy that has the same name and can be traced back to a man of the same name who lived in the 1800s. Not sure exactly how that’s happened but Tobias Fitch is alive and kicking. Well perhaps not kicking. He’s ninety-two.’
‘Good grief!’ I sat up straight. Wow. ‘Well, we need to talk to him. Can we see him?’
‘Well, I contacted his son six years ago on the pretext of researching my Eden biography. I think Tobias had a stroke. I’m not sure. I phoned again and was told he was too ill to see me and had no knowledge of the Primus. I left it to them to contact me and then …’ he shrugged. ‘I got distracted by my own problems. They never phoned me back. I didn’t pursue it.
‘Last Tuesday, when I was back at home, I found my notepad. It had all his details in so I dialled the number on the off chance he’d still be at the same address and not in a home or dead. There was an answer-phone so I left a message.’ His voice went sort of sheepish. ‘I said I was calling on behalf of you. Hope you don’t mind. I know it was presumptuous.’
I shook my head lightly and grinned, but to be honest I was thinking: ‘Oh you did, did you? Why would you do that? Why not wait and give me the number?’ Was this over-enthusiasm or something darker? Perhaps it was simply that he couldn’t resist taking over, like most men who got involved with a project at the beginning. I made a mental note to think about it later and shrugged.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, leaning forwards, oblivious to any change in his audience, ‘two hours later his son phoned me back. Tobias Fitch will see us next week.’
I was silent for a minute, momentarily stunned. I leant forwards on the sofa. ‘This is incredible. Where is he?’
‘Antwerp,’ said Andrew, watching the implication sink in.
I blinked and let my mouth fall open. That town had come up before. The last part of the journal. ‘Isn’t that where the captain who may have killed her fled to?’
‘According to Eden’s journal it is.’ Andrew shrugged. ‘We can’t presume anything but I’d say Mr Fitch was worth talking to. Only if you want to? He might know nothing about Sarah Grey.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, but I’ve come this far.’
‘Mind if I tag along?’
‘Of course not. But next week?’
‘He’s old and frail. We need to act swiftly.’
‘Gosh, yes, I suppose we should.’
‘I’ll research the flights and hotel if you can sort out who’s going to look after Alfie.’
I nodded. ‘OK. Sure.’ I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone to text Mum. She’d probably be up for having Alfie. ‘How long will we be away?’
‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘I’d say we should have at least two days there. You know what it’s like with old people.’
I told him I didn’t actually.
He smiled kindly. ‘Yes, of course. I used to see them all the time in my previous career. They have good days and bad days. Sometimes they’re bouncing around but I’d hate us to go all that way and find him on a bad day and either not get to see him or not get much from it.’
I agreed. ‘So I’ll ask Mum if she can have Alf for three nights. If s
he can’t I’ll ask Lottie. My sister,’ I added, in response to his raised eyebrows.
On my phone there was another text message from Martha: ‘could u drp cucumbs round now? Also pre-cook sausies, please. x x x’
‘Look, I’d better go,’ I said reading it. ‘Gotta sort out some stuff for Martha and I am knackered. I need to get a rest before the party.’
‘Yep, that’s cool,’ he said, as we both stood up. ‘I’ll get online and check out some prices.’
We were standing in the centre of the lounge a few feet apart when Alfie wandered in. I think I must have been looking at Andrew, adrift in his gaze, as I didn’t glance at my son. It was only when I heard him say, ‘Look, mummy,’ that I turned around.
He was standing in the doorway picking at something in his hand. ‘It’s like Sarah’s.’
As my eyes focused the room around me receded. Alfie’s fingers slowly uncurled. There, in the centre of his little white palm was a pine cone.
My stomach lurched, and before I could think rationally I flung myself at Alfie and pulled him to me with all my strength. ‘Where did you get this from?’ My hand latched on to his wrist. I was kneeling in front of him so our faces were level. ‘Where? Tell me.’
My voice must have been shrill, inner horror exploding out of my mouth unchecked by customary maternal reassurance, for Alfie’s little mouth trembled and formed into a wail.
‘It’s OK, Sarah.’ Andrew was beside me, hushing and gentle. ‘Let him have it. I don’t mind.’
‘Shut up,’ I spat. ‘You don’t understand …’
Andrew’s voice rose over mine, firm but filled with confusion. ‘I’ve just always liked the shape of them.’
Alfie’s sobs were full on now, his body shaking with the rhythm of his breath. ‘On, on the table.’
‘That’s right.’ Andrew bent down, plucked the cone from Alfie, tossed it in the air playfully and caught it with the other hand. ‘It was a habit of Imogen’s that I’ve kept on. I have a ceramic bowl on the table. As a centrepiece. Not particularly original, I know, but … well, it’s a sort of reminder.’
I looked up at him. ‘It’s yours?’ My breathing abated slightly.
‘I collect them now and then.’ His eyes skated from Alfie to the pine cone to me. ‘You OK? I don’t mind him having it, honestly.’
Anger, fear and all those horrid emotions that had me in their grip a mere second before collapsed instantly into relief. Wretchedly I hugged Alfie tightly my arms. ‘Oh I’m sorry, honey. I thought …’ My son willingly surrendered to this gentler embrace and hugged me back, then he punched me lightly on my shoulder. ‘Naughty Mummy. You made me upset,’ he said, nuzzling back into the crook of my arm.
I squeezed him tenderly, my heart falling back into a more regular beat. ‘Sorry, Alfie. Mummy’s a bit tired.’
‘Silly Mummy. Can I have an ice cream?’
I wiped away the stains of his brief tears. Smiling, I conceded, ‘I think it’s the least I can do, don’t you?’
Enjoying his brief conquest, Alfie extricated himself from my arms and walked to the door. ‘Get it then.’ Everything has to be instant when you’re four.
In spite of myself I laughed. Andrew’s hand appeared before me. I took it as he pulled me to my feet. ‘You all right?’ Above the easy smile his forehead was furrowed.
‘Sorry, yes.’ I shook my head and tried to grin. This wasn’t the time to explain. ‘I don’t want him thinking he can take whatever he wants from other people’s houses, you know.’ Sorry, Alfie, I thought. You can have a double ice with two flakes.
‘It’s all right, really. I know what they’re like at that age …’
Now it was his turn to mask himself: his shoulders swung sharply towards the hall but I caught the shadow of desolation darkening his eyes before he could dodge my gaze.
I drifted after him, out into the hallway, still reeling but doing my damn best not to show it. ‘So, we are agreed – we must go to Antwerp next week. I want this sorted out and tied up quickly.’
‘Yep,’ he nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly.’ He unlocked the latch and opened the door for us, sort of went a little red and said, ‘Do you want me to pick you up tonight?’
I smiled, ‘No, it’s fine. I’m going to walk and you’re on the way.’
The purchase of the ice creams did Alfie and I the world of good. We walked down to the Old Town and sat on the sea wall, swinging our feet as the lemon sorbet and lurid double bubblegum scoops melted down our hands and dripped onto the sand.
I was feeling better in myself, but still weighed down with a good helping of self-reproach and guilt. I should have been more restrained. I stole a sideways glance at Alfie: blue ice cream covered the entire lower half of his face. He was watching one of the fishing trawlers coming in past Bell Wharf. The tide had turned and there was a lot of activity out in the estuary: yachts and dinghies were being pulled up the side of the beach. A couple of coastguards stood outside their watch house, training binoculars at a sand bank across the water. Gulls shrieked and flapped in the trail of a fishing boat making its way back to shore.
I said to Alfie in a bright, high voice, ‘Hey, Mister. Do you fancy going to Adventure Island tomorrow?’ It was a fair-ground by Southend pier. A hallowed place for local kids.
He squinted his eyes at me and shrugged. ‘Nah!’
This was unusual. ‘No? Why not?’
‘Let’s just come here and have a chat,’ he said.
It was so gorgeously put, so marvellously understated, so completely Alfie’s way of telling me everything was OK, I felt tears well up and had to look away. I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him into my side. Then I bent down and kissed his head. He looked up and smiled. I kissed his blue cheek and the tip of his nose. He squirmed away but he giggled. Then he said, ‘Why do sailors walk funny?’
I laughed. ‘Is this a joke?’
He ignored me and squawked, ‘Pieces of eight, pieces of eight.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You mean pirates.’
‘Yeah, sailors.’
‘Well, some of them have wooden legs. I suppose that can’t help.’
‘Wooden legs!’ He looked as if this was the first he’d heard of such a ridiculous notion.
We looked at each other and giggled. Then Alfie jumped off the wall and made like a robot doing a sea jig. With a final ‘Ha, ha, me hearties,’ he swung around and hopped dramatic ally down to the shoreline to have a root around in the surf.
I stared after him. When this was over I would take him to Euro Disney or somewhere he’d like. He had been so amazing lately. I almost felt grateful to him. Sometimes he seemed so much older than his years. So wise.
Unlike me, who was starting to look unstable. Andrew probably thought I was completely neurotic. Or over-protective (which I was at the moment). But then the Andrew that I had known prior to the holidays was a borderline control freak anyway. My son was my priority and rightly so.
Andrew’s pine cone collection was worth thinking about though. Was that a coincidence? A clue?
Or a warning?
It was difficult to work out. Let’s face it, he was difficult to work out.
Alfie got bored with throwing stones at jellyfish and came back to the wall, pushing his luck with a polite demand for sweets. By then I had resolved to stop jumping at the slightest thing. And I’d made a silent promise I’d sort this out once and for all. Then it would all go away. It had to.
Before we left I spent the last two minutes visualizing such vivid blue spheres that when I opened my eyes the beach looked purple, but I felt more composed.
After dropping off cucumbers and buying 50 sausage rolls I found the post had come in my absence. I sorted through a couple of bills, Music Weekly and a letter from the doctor requesting I attend an appointment at 3.45 p.m. on Thursday afternoon. I stuck it in my phone and busied myself with cooking, feeding Alfie and resting before the party. Things were moving on.
The party was in full s
wing when we arrived. Martha immediately made us feel like film stars and announced us to the twenty or so folks in the house. I went to put the sausage rolls in the kitchen whilst our host took Andrew by the arm and led him into the back garden, where most of the guests were hanging out.
We had been lucky with the weather. In the warmth of the evening, the azure glow of the garden lights and the white wooden furniture could fool you into thinking you were in the Med.
‘Reminds me of being on holiday,’ Andrew commented. ‘It’s really nice.’
I agreed. ‘They’ve put a lot of effort into sorting the place out. It was a shell when they bought it.’
Andrew had washed his hair tonight and made an effort with his clothes. A short-sleeved, but kind of funky patterned shirt, showed his lean tanned arms. He’d put on some nice jeans and a decent pair of trainers. If I’d bumped into him in a bar I might have fancied him on sight.
My friends certainly took a shine to him. Sharon, resplendent in sequins, snuck into the kitchen when I was refilling our drinks. She was, of course, already drunk and was making pantomime innuendo. She kept winking and nudging and said in a ludicrously loud voice, ‘Oooh. Don’t mind yours, madam.’
‘Shh, Sharon! He’s not mine. We’re just friends.’
She’d gone over to mix a jug of cocktails and kept glancing back at me with a wide grin, absurdly pleased to have hit a soft spot. ‘So he’s up for grabs then, is he?’ The more animated she got, the louder her volume.
‘Come on, Shaz. Be quiet. I don’t want him to hear!’ Mortification wasn’t a strong enough word.
‘Might realize that you’re flesh and blood, after all?’ Sharon put her arm round my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. ‘Just joshing. Never get a chance to tease you. We’re pleased, you know that.’ She slipped her arm through mine. ‘Come on, introduce us. I’m dying to meet him.’
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and gave up.
