The Writer

by RB Banfield

“He made himself at home without a fuss,” said Miss Hudson. “Looked like he owned the place, so much that I almost gave him my power bill to pay.”

  “But he was no trouble?”

  “He tore some of my nets,” she replied in a manner that made it difficult for Sophie to tell if she was angry or content, “and all day wanted to go outside. Made such a racket, meowing all the time. He’s a meower, that one. But I didn’t let him get the better of me, and I told him you would be back from your holiday soon.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that he was a pain like that. He can be a naughty boy when he doesn’t get what he wants. I’ll pay you for the damage.”

  “No need, dear. They were old nets and I was going to get new ones anyway. It was just that he was such a pest when he didn’t get his way; nothing at all like he is when he comes over to visit when you’re at work. Shows you cats can be different when you own them.”

  “He can be like that, but he’s normally a nice boy. He just missed me, I think. He acts up when he misses me.”

  “Men can be like that. Exactly like that, actually. A mixture of animal-brain and child-brain. Men, I mean, not your Ginger.”

  Sophie was about to point out that because he was a male cat that didn’t mean he was like a male human. Then she thought it wasn’t a good time to start disagreeing with her since she had been so much help.

  “They don’t get to see you when they want,” Miss Hudson continued, “or they don’t get what they want from you when they want it, they go a little nuts. I never had any need for them, and if I had it my way, more young women would do the same, and let them all go.”

  “Do you mean cats or men?”

  “Men, dear. Oh, wouldn’t the world be so much better if men were like cats? Feed them, let them sleep where they want, and go out and catch mice when they need to. On second thoughts, that’s about all men do anyway.”

  “Gendry was very nice, as it always is,” Sophie said, trying to change the subject. She was unsure if she was now talking about men or cats, but knew that it was most likely to be men since it was her favourite subject.

  “Tell me all about it. Did you have a good time? Did you finish writing your book as you wanted?”

  “I didn’t get it finished, and I admit, I’m not really sure about it. I think I need to redo the whole thing. I have some new ideas I want to try.”

  “That’s good. New ideas are good.”

  “I met a man I thought I could trust,” Sophie said and then wished she hadn’t have blurted that out. Not to Miss Hudson, anyway. She would be better off telling Ginger.

  “Trust?” she returned like a raw nerve had been struck. “You can’t trust any of them. You should know that. I hope you told him to go take a hike. You tell him that, my girl. Don’t be taken in or flattered. They’re all the same.”

  “I did. I did exactly that, Miss Hudson. I told him I wasn’t interested. And Gendry has some good hikes for him to go on, too,” she added with a laugh.

  “I’m so happy you see it the same as me. You ask me, we just don’t have need of any men ruining our lives.”

  Miss Hudson was pleased with her and while it meant that the two would continue to be friends, and Ginger will be watched again in the future, Sophie wondered if she might be looking into a mirror of herself in fifty years time. If she continued to have the same idea then she might end up being exactly the same, alone and old, and hating all men on account of meeting one or two bad ones. Then she wondered again if she was far too hard on Craigfield and she should have taken the chance with him. Perhaps the only real fault to him was that she didn’t know much about him, since what she did know was probably invented.

  When the boards under his feet groaned with each step Max knew that he was in a genuine small town. Sal’s had a big veranda next to the door and each and every single board creaked when he walked on it. Two small wooden doors, both dented and worn, formed the main entrance. They swung open with just a light touch. The dim light inside contrasted against the bright sun so much that at first Max could hardly see a thing. He stood there in the doorway, expecting that everyone in there was looking him over to see if he was a friend or foe, a local or a tourist. Once he could see enough to walk further in, he went over to the long counter. There were three old men sitting at the far end. They had been talking with a large woman behind the counter but now all four were staring at him.

  “Hello,” he greeted them as he sat on one of the nearest bar stools and placed his crutch across two vacant seats. “My name is Max Marshall. You might have heard of me. I’m a writer. I’m visiting Gendry, doing some research. Looking to get a feel for the place, hear what the people are thinking, that kind of thing.”

  Sal slowly walked down to him, never in a hurry. “What do you want to do that for?” she asked with a puzzled expression.

  “For my book. I want to set the story here, in Gendry.”

  “Why, have you run out of better places?” called one of the three old guys, to the amusement of the others.

  “Ease up on him, Elbow,” Sal rebuked. “If he wants to put Gendry on his map then I say we don’t interfere.”

  “No, leave it off his map, or any map,” said Elbow. “I like it the way it is, good and unknown. How do you think we can have a peaceful town if people start knowing about it? First thing that goes is the peace, and it’s going on a journey where it’s never coming back.”

  Max had no idea if they were joking or being serious. Whatever it was, no one was laughing. “How did you get the name Elbow?” he asked politely.

  “You’d like to know,” Elbow replied bluntly as he made his way slowly off the stool and then walked outside with very quick strides. He seemed to be making a show of it.

  “I would, actually,” Max said to him with a smile, but it didn’t stop Elbow from leaving.

  “He’s not normally about that,” said the older of the two remaining. He had a smooth voice and might have been trying to apologise for his friend, but Max couldn’t tell. “Leave him be. For my part, I’d be honoured to feature in your story. I take it you want it to be accurate; otherwise why come all the way up here? My name’s Gene Best, and this is Sam Hendersen, but we know him as Two-Tooth. I have the honour of the title of retired mayor of Gendry. Although I still consider myself to have another term left in me. But honestly, I’d be more convinced about that if I was just a little bit younger. Tell me, are you planning on moving up here? Been a lot of city people move here, last few years. If you do, I’d like you to consider my favour come election time.”

  “I’m just here for research, I’m sorry. How old are you, Gene, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Eighty-one in two weeks,” he said, proud to admit it.

  “Forget it, you’re too old,” Two-Tooth said to him as he gave Max a hard stare. He sounded to Max like he was the gruffest of the three. “Elbow’s right, we don’t want news of our town spreading. Bring in too many more city people. No offence to you, son, but we’ve already lost a good man to city people, and far as I can see, that won’t be the last. Chose for yourself another town, if you don’t mind.”

  “You can’t blame what happened on all the city folk,” Gene said to Two-Tooth. “Sophie’s from the city, remember?”

  Elbow then came back in, and walked with the same quick strides back to his stool. “Too hot out there,” he told his friends as he reached for his half-filled beer glass.

  “Who’s Sophie?” asked Max.

  “Susan’s granddaughter,” said Gene, “and a fine looking girl she is.”

  “She’s a writer too,” said Sal. “Gone back to the city now. You might know her, Max, since you’re a writer. Didn’t you say you’re a writer?”

  “Yes, and actually,” said Max, “I think I’m staying in her room.”

  “Look at that,” said Two-Tooth, “one leaves and one takes his place. Can’t win.”

  “Better than that other one who was housed there,” said Elbow, “that murderer.”
r />   “I’m sorry, did you say ‘murderer’?” asked Max.

  “Gendry’s very own genuine murderer,” Elbow said like he was proud of it. “Fellow from the city, he was, and friendly with young Sophie too. Girl was lucky, if you ask me, that she didn’t get too close and cosy with him.”

  “Did he kill someone here?” asked Max. “A local?”

  “No one knows for sure and no one can prove he killed anyone,” Gene said, trying to calm everyone down. “These are just wild rumours. Forget about it. No, just forget about it. Nothing’s been proven, but leave it to old has-beens at Sal’s to speculate. Worst thing you can do, son, is to listen to us.”

  Sal leaned close to Max. “That’s the only true thing I’ve ever heard him say all day,” she whispered before she then went back to the cash register.

  Max looked at her and then them, not knowing what to think. Then Sal started laughing and the three old guys followed, and offered Max a free drink on the house. He realised that he was now accepted in the town. Not only did he have the blessing of Gene and possibly his two old friends, but also of Sal. He ordered the next round of drinks for them too, and that helped him find answers to as many questions as he could think of.

  After two hours of hearty socialising, Two-Tooth abruptly changed his tone. He looked at Max without speaking for a good two minutes before Max noticed.

  “City folks,” Two-Tooth said when everyone quietened for him, “should stick with city folks. Just my opinion, but Gendry folks aren’t city folks and never will be. You and others like you come from the city trying to live with us, but you never fit in. You say you’re just here to write a story about us. Okay, write your story for the city folks to read. Gendry folks won’t read it, since they know you’re not from Gendry. Only someone from Gendry can write about Gendry.”

  “Are you suggesting that I should only write about the city, since that’s where I’m from?” asked Max.

  “All I’m saying,” Two-Tooth said as he focused on his almost-empty glass, “is you can never understand us and there’s no point in trying.”

  “I don’t understand city folks either,” said Max. “Where does that leave me?”

  They all agreed, including Two-Tooth, and made some jokes at Max’s expense. Max was not pleased, however, to think that this man was right. Some old and probably alcoholic small-town waste of space, who saw more of his glass than anything else in his life, could take one look at Max and see everything he needed to. Max had nothing to offer back to him, and for the first time in his life he realised that he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to prove himself to anyone. Yes, he agreed that he didn’t understand people as well as maybe he should, and that his life was incredibly uninteresting, and he had nothing to offer. But in the long run none of that really mattered. He didn’t know how he got to where he was, or why nothing had turned out very well for him, and why no one seemed to take him seriously. All he knew is that he just wanted to write, and that was what he loved more than anything else.

  Having been back in the city for two weeks, Sophie needed nothing less than another holiday. Perhaps this time somewhere peaceful. Or perhaps the Gendry she knew as a child. Right from the first hour of the first day back at her job she started dreaming that she was still in the old Gendry. The birds were singing, the trout biting, children running amuck, the town was whispering about bad people from the city, and Susan was trying to find men for her to marry. It saddened her to realise that those things would still be going on without her there.

  While it was true that her own bed and pillow were the two best things in her world, and her friends continued to give her more than enough gossip, and watching her soap opera television shows were so much better when she was alone in her pyjamas with a bowl of popcorn and too much butter, nothing could replace the easy-going and friendly world of Gendry. What was worse was in thinking how out-of-place she felt there. It was her home town and yet it wasn’t. She had outgrown it.

  During one lunch break, on another cold and overcast day, when the city’s smog seemed to always be at its worst, when she went to see if she could find some new clothes at one of the sales, she saw a familiar face in the crowd. At first the face only registered as someone she knew, before she had a name to go with it. When she realised who it was she could not help but say his name.

  “Craigfield.”

  He had seen her before she saw him and he was standing still on the other side of the road, waiting for her to see him. He was dressed in a long black leather jacket and he had a briefcase tucked against his chest. His expression was impassive, and he was not moving, just standing near to the street and forcing people to walk around him.

  Sophie decided to keep walking but then looked back and saw that he was still there, but now he wasn’t looking at her. Shrugging off her own instincts, or fear, she crossed the road and approached him.

  “So you are stalking me?” she asked, feeling safe on the street with the lunchtime crowds.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said evenly, not showing her any emotion. “I’m just passing you by on the street when I saw you, or can’t I do that either? I do happen to live in the city too, you know. You’ve probably walked past me on other occasions, but since you didn’t know me you took no notice. And what about all these other people, also passing you by in the street, are you accusing them too? No you’re not, since you don’t know any of them.”

  “If it means anything to you,” she said with growing nervousness, not really wanting to apologise but knowing that she should, “I was a little hasty in thinking you were lying, when you were in Gendry, the last time we spoke. I did send the twins out to follow you; that’s true. But I never thought they would leave town and go into the city. And thank you for bringing them back; I don’t think I managed to tell you that. It was very nice of you. So, thank you.”

  “What’s this?” he asked with the slightest of sneers. “You’re being nice to me now?”

  She started to back off. “I can understand if you just want to go on your way, and go wherever you’re going, and not stay and talk some more. I wasn’t very nice to you back in Gendry, and that wasn’t fair. I know that now. If it means anything to you, I’m sorry.”

  He seemed to relax at that and Sophie noticed sadness in his eyes. She then saw that he looked different; calmer and more natural. That was the way he was when she met him at Sal’s, and why she was willing to walk and talk with him.

  She shuffled from foot to foot, and gingerly asked, “So, are you married or not? I don’t remember what you said about that.”

  “Not,” he said with a natural smile getting warmer.

  “So,” Sophie asked awkwardly, “did you want to start over?”

  He took a breath and then couldn’t stop breaking out a big smile. “Can’t see why not. Perhaps if we could forget everything that happened back in Gendry.”

  “Would make it easier,” Sophie agreed. “Not like this place has anything to remind us of that place.”

  He was about to say, “Only you,” but thought it best not to.

  His first day had been productive and he achieved much more than expected. Given his tiredness from the train and the fact that he didn’t arrive until after noon, he assumed his first day would be slow. But Max had managed to chat with the old bar guys for a good four hours, and Gene had given his endorsement to write anything he wanted about the town. In turn, Max promised to write Gene up as a viable candidate in the next elections, and the more Sal protested the more he felt determined to do it.

  He planned to start out early tomorrow and go door to door to ask each resident nicely if he could have an interview. That way he might gain a family story about some interesting relative, and even allow him to put that person into his book. There was one resident he wanted for his book more than any other, but their first meeting had not gone well. Since he would be spending most of his time at Susan’s house, that was the place where most of his story needed to take place, and for that to happe
n he needed her endorsement. He knew that he could just go ahead and invent a new character, but Max wanted to keep the authenticity going.

  “I’ve been hearing some interesting talk in town,” Max said to Susan after he asked to see the menu for the night’s meal. He knew about Simona’s cooking and he would be happy with anything she served. “Seems there was a murder here not long back. Unusual for the town.”

  “Yes, Allan Longbottom,” said Susan. She had been looking though a furniture catalogue, thinking of changing the curtains, a project that had been in her mind for the last year. Some decisions just couldn’t be rushed.

  Max waited for her to go on.

  “Poor unfortunate man was Allan,” she said. “I never knew much about him, but then, some people prefer to live like that, out of the public eye. Funny how you can see someone every day and yet know nothing about them, and never discuss anything other than the weather. How could he not be a stranger when he never wants to have a conversation?”

  “And it was one of your boarders who did it? Is that right?”

  “Oh no, you have your facts entirely wrong there, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have anyone like that staying around me and my children. No one who’s a murderer is allowed into my house. I’m sorry, but I do have my limits.”

  Max swallowed nervously, thinking that she would view him differently if she knew what he had wanted to do to Craigfield that fateful night when he caught him sleepwalking. But that was a dark time for him and he was over it all now.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” he asked carefully, “how can you tell what a murderer looks like? How do you know I’m not a murderer?”

  “Because I can see it in your eyes. Even if you get that angry, enough to swing with intent, you wouldn’t be able to do it. I can tell with people. And it was the same with the man they’re talking about, I knew he was a fine young man. Some ghastly rumours around town about him, too. Some people are just not nice. They really should watch what they say before they start in on people they don’t know.”