by Mark Hayden
We couldn’t linger: it’s a long way from the Fylde to Heathrow. Kelly had been running her eye over Stacey, in much the same way that Joe would look at a heifer in the auction mart. She nodded her agreement to Mina, and I collected Stacey’s meagre belongings from the car. There were hugs all round and we left them to it.
‘You never told me what Stacey was convicted of,’ I said when we were back on the motorway.
‘You never asked.’
‘Because you told me not to ask that question about your … colleagues. In jail.’
‘So why are you asking now?’
‘Because you’ve never dumped one on a friend before.’
‘I didn’t dump her,’ said Mina. I said nothing. ‘Maybe. A bit. Stacey got a year for theft, handling stolen goods and fraud. She used to receive stolen credit cards and use them to buy things. Groceries, usually, or things she could sell on for cash.’
‘And Kelly knows this?’
‘It would have been wrong not to tell her. I think she’ll be good, though.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I gave Kelly half of the thousand pounds to hold as a deposit on a flat when Stacey leaves the farm. She won’t give it to her otherwise, and will only pass it on to the landlord. It’s a good incentive for Stacey to grow up.’
‘I thought she was older than you.’
‘She’s twenty-three.’
Mina is nearly twenty-eight. Poor Stacey.
Mina squared herself in the car seat. ‘What Stacey needs is a good reason not to go home for a long time. I hope that Kelly gives her one. There are very few happy endings for ex-cons who don’t have rich boyfriends like you. And don’t say you’re not rich; next to Stacey, you might as well be Bill Gates.’
We’d barely been alone since getting back from Spain, what with Myfanwy, the seminar and the road trip, and we spent most of the journey to Heathrow discussing practicalities. Arun messaged her to say that he was in India and would collect her from Mumbai airport. It’s funny, Mina only ever says Mumbai when talking about the airport. The city is and always will be Bombay to her.
Arun will take Mina to a cousin’s house in the city, and she was looking forward to seeing the cousin’s wife, Radha Bhabi again. She wouldn’t be going out to her mother’s family estate until Friday at the earliest.
She didn’t open up until we were on the M25, just a few junctions from the hotel and the airport. ‘You know what I’m most scared of?’ she said. ‘That I won’t care. That she will die and that it won’t bother me.’
‘You can’t plan feelings,’ was all I had to offer. True, though.
‘I wish I wasn’t going and I’m excited to go. It was you who said that feeling two opposites is normal. I wish your god had not blocked that tarot reading. Something is changing, Conrad, and we need all the inside information we can get.’
‘The Allfather is not my god. We have an understanding, that’s all.’
‘Not from where I’m sitting. Where are we eating tonight? Wherever it is, it won’t be as good as Hartsford Hall.’
‘It won’t, but it doesn’t have to be. It just has to be good enough for today.’
‘You should be a priest because you’re so full of shit sometimes. It’s a good job I love you.’
6 — Spare Part
Saying goodbye the next morning was terrible. I watched her go through security not knowing when – or if – she’d come back. All I could do was make sure that I was still alive to greet her, and be there for her on the other end of the phone she’d just given me.
Of course I had a phone already, just not a smartphone. I hate them. Mina had given me a £70 budget model and said, ‘For me. Please. Everyone in India uses WhatsApp. The roaming charges are terrible. If you go on a mission, just let me know and leave it behind. Just until I get back.’
I spent fifteen minutes locking down every privacy setting I could find, then sent her a WhatsApp.
I love you too XXXXX came straight back.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and went to collect the car.
I got to RAF Shawbury, Shropshire, while the Stores was still open and went to collect my kit. Officers have to provide their own dress uniforms, but all the day-to-day gear comes from Stores.
‘Well, well, well,’ said a disembodied but familiar voice. ‘If it’s not the bad penny himself. I thought we’d seen the back of you, sir. Won’t be long.’
The owner of that voice and its deep Yorkshire accent has been dispensing RAF Stores since I was an officer cadet. He’d delivered his welcome message from behind a closed grille, and I looked around. Why have they fitted CCTV since I was last here, I wonder?
The grille went up and the Stores Sergeant gave me a big grin. ‘You’ve lost even more hair. Sir.’ He took a closer look, and the smile disappeared. ‘Sorry, sir. I couldn’t see the scarring from down here.’ He is not the tallest airman in the service.
‘Acid,’ I said.
‘Nasty. How’s your leg, sir?’
‘Good enough to get me back here.’
‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the chitty. Have a look at this.’
He put a bundle of clothing on the counter and pointed to a hand-written note on the label:
SIZE: CONRAD BLOODY CLARKE SIZE
‘You’re a Stores legend, sir. Welcome back.’
It was the first time I’d smiled since breakfast.
The second WhatsApp came in while I was finding my way round the new accommodation blocks. Very smart they are, too. I got a shock when I saw that the message had gone to Myfanwy and Vicky as well.
Mina: Arrived. No problems. First monsoon due tomorrow.
Myvvy: Wow! So exotic! Take care. Xxx.
Me: What’s exotic?
Myvvy: The picture
Me: What picture?
Mina: Change your settings.
Vicky didn’t join in because she was presumably doing something at Lunar Hall. I logged on to the public WiFi, changed the settings and a picture of bright lights and heavy traffic appeared, just as a new message appeared. This one was for me alone.
I hope that you are missing me as much as I am missing you. Don’t tell me if you’re not. Just take care and don’t crash any helicopters. You might not be so lucky next time. India is a very big country and I feel very small without you. Sleep well. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
You don’t need to know my reply.
I was expecting to fast-forward the story at this point. Being a pilot is all about practice, practice and more practice, and I’m afraid that flying practice is very boring. Unless you’re the pilot, of course. I was looking forward to the training, yes, but I was looking forward to the scene at Heathrow Arrivals even more. As I went to bed that night, I imagined Mina’s splash of colour behind a trolley full of cases coming through that gate and into my arms. Fate had other ideas.
‘If you’d like to wait over there, sir, someone will be with you shortly.’
Feel free so substitute madam for sir in that sentence, and I’ll bet you’ve heard it a lot in your lifetime. In the services, it’s ten times worse, and not usually so polite. Welcome to the Defence Helicopter Training School.
My path to certification began with a Class I medical, and that began with my eye test.
‘Read the chart, sir, starting at the top.’
‘H for Hotel, C for Charlie, Tango, Alpha…’ I carried on until I’d finished.
‘Very funny, sir. Did we take a peek on the way in?’
There is no sarcasm quite like that from a sergeant to an officer. I’m used to it, but I had no idea what he was on about, so I smiled. Safer that way.
He tapped his computer, and the letters on the screen at the other end of the room shuffled randomly. Except for the huge H at the top. ‘Again, sir.’
‘Hotel, Tango, Mike …’
This time he said nothing, and just made me sit in front of a fearsome, desk-mounted ophthalmoscope. Two minutes later, he switched off the light and s
at back while I blinked away the tears.
‘You’re not wearing contacts,’ he said.
‘Why would I?’
‘Have you had surgery, sir?’
‘On my eyes?’
‘Yes, sir. The leg surgery is in your notes. Good luck with the musculo-skeletal test later, by the way.’
‘Thanks, and no, no eye surgery.’
He double-checked his computer. ‘Then how can you explain this, squadron leader, sir? Your eyes are better now than when you applied for your commission twenty years’ ago.’
That’s a stumper. I could guess, and the answer would be magick. Mages age in strange ways. I wasn’t going to tell the sergeant that.
‘Good genes and a hangover, I expect. I remember having a skinful on the night before my first medical, so I must have under-performed then.’
He wanted to fail me. He really did, but he couldn’t. He stamped a form, put it in my records, and then showed me the door. ‘If you’d like to wait over there, sir, someone will be with you shortly.’
See? I’m not exaggerating. It happened eight more times before I got my medical certificate.
The rest of Thursday and all day Friday was spent in one-to-one theory classes or reading on my own. Thankfully, it’s only a two hour drive from Shawbury to Clerkswell, and at least Myfanwy was pleased to see me.
‘I’ve found us an ally,’ she said after putting a slice of cake in front of me, placing the plate on top of the first invoice from the landscape gardeners. She’s been supervising a makeover of the grounds. I started with the cake.
‘Mmm. Delicious. Who’s the ally?’
‘It’s a surprise. She’s coming for tea tonight. I mean supper. You’re all so middle class round here, I thought supper was cheese, crackers and hot chocolate. Why can’t you call it tea like everyone else? How’s Mina?’
‘You know how she is. We’re all in the same WhattsApp group.’
‘Yes, but she was due to see her mother today, wasn’t she?’
‘I had a phone call from her on the way down. Her mum wasn’t well today. Or, as Mina put it, her mother wants to wait until Saturday, when she can organise a reception committee to intimidate her own daughter. She’s going tomorrow.’
‘Poor Mina. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Now, what about that Dragon seminar? You didn’t tell them anything about me, did you?’
‘No. You’d have a queue of Mages down to the Inkwell if they knew. You might even be at risk.’
‘Of what, for goodness sake?’
‘Some Mages would happily kill you if they thought they could get their hands on a viable Dragon egg.’
‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘How’s Ben?’
Her smile switched back on. ‘All good, thanks to you. I think.’
‘No ladies practice tonight?’
‘No. I didn’t want to bother you, Conrad, but it’s all kicked off here. We’re having a constitutional meeting next week to put the women’s team on an official footing. That’s why we need an ally.’
‘We?’
‘Team Elvenham. The other side are Team Bloxham. Tell me, Conrad, I know that Jules Bloxham said some horrible things about Mina, but you and Stephen have hated each other for years. Why?’
‘It’s not just us. Our fathers didn’t get on, either. The Bloxhams are just jealous, that’s all. They own the biggest, oldest house in the village, and they’re much richer than the Clarkes, but we’re the oldest family. So long as we’re around, they’ll never have that.’
I smiled, and Myfanwy took me at my word. What I said was all true, but there’s a lot more. It would do her no good to know the real reason the Clarkes are in a stand-off with the Bloxhams.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘Carole’s down for the weekend, and they’re looking at wedding venues, so no practice tonight, and no Ben either.’
Carole is Ben’s sister. She’s engaged to a Mage of some sort. A Mage who walked out of the pub when he saw Myvvy, Vicky and I sitting in the corner.
Talking of Vicky. ‘Did you get a strange message from Vic last night?’ I asked.
‘No. I knew she had no plans to come down here, so I wasn’t expecting to hear from her.’
I pulled my lip. I didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but they are close. ‘You know she went to Lunar Hall?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I thought she’d be gone a couple of nights, max, but she said something had come up and not to expect her back in circulation for a while.’
‘That’s not like her.’
I shrugged. ‘She’s getting promoted. Perhaps this is a trial run. She made a point of saying that she’s still with Dr Somerton.’
‘She’s a card, is Francesca. Vicky will be okay with her.’
Myfanwy may be the first person in decades to describe the Keeper of the Queen’s Esoteric Library as a card, but she was right: Francesca would keep an eye on my soon to be ex-partner.
Myvvy got up to cook. She waited until her back was to me before saying, ‘It’s a shame. All the wedding venues are out of the village, so I can’t go.’
I murmured something and went to get changed.
It was another warm evening. Very warm in the kitchen. Agas do that. Myfanwy had insisted we and our mysterious guest eat in the morning room, so I spent half an hour setting up and laying a table. The dining room seats twenty, and I would have used it, but Myvvy feels it’s a bit OTT. Perhaps it is.
‘Here she is,’ said Myfanwy from her vantage point in the kitchen. I went to get the door.
‘Hello, Conrad,’ said the sweet old lady on the doorstep.
I fought with every sinew not to retreat down the passage, and managed to mumble, ‘Miss Parkes. I haven’t seen you in years.’
‘That’s because you avoid me. Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
I stepped back. ‘Sorry.’
Miss Parkes ruled the village school with a rod of iron for nearly forty years. She carried on well after her sixtieth birthday, and only retired when she lost a long battle against arthritis. Her last triumph had been making sure that my sister won a scholarship to an intensely academic girls’ boarding school.
I pulled myself together. ‘Come through. How’s things? How did you meet Myfanwy?’
I settled her in an upright chair in the drawing room and poured two glasses of Manzanilla from the bottle I’d brought back last week. It really is good stuff on a hot day.
‘Thank you, Conrad. I found Miss Lewis on my doorstep offering to help with my garden.’ She looked down her nose. ‘I think she went to most of the old biddies, but I was the first to take her seriously. That garden was running away from me.’
Miss Parkes could afford servants if she wanted them. Time hasn’t softened her Scottish accent, but it has taken its toll on the rest of her. No wonder she was glad of help.
Myfanwy breezed in and gave our guest a kiss. I tried not to stare. No one had ever kissed Miss Parkes in my presence.
‘Hi, June,’ said Myvvy. ‘Won’t be long.’
Who’s June???? No one had ever called her by her first name, either. She’s never been tall. She didn’t need to be. She was still straight-backed and her hair was still in military waves, but her hands gripped the sherry glass with difficulty.
She saw me looking. ‘This is a good day,’ she said. ‘Warm weather suits me. I’d join your parents in Spain if I were a bit younger. Missed my chance there.’
I did a lot of fetching and carrying that night. Anything to avoid being told off. Myfanwy found it highly amusing. The crucial moment came when they discussed tactics for the ladies cricket committee.
Myfanwy would nominate Miss Parkes for President, and they’d let Jules Bloxham become Chair. The key battleground would be the post of secretary.
‘I suggest Nell Heath from the village shop,’ said Miss Parkes.
‘That would be lush,’ said Myfanwy, ‘but I’ve already tried. She told me she can’t take on no mor
e in the village.’
I’d been keeping quiet up to now. ‘You need to make a sacrifice,’ I suggested.
‘You what?’
‘Tell Nell you’ll work Sundays in the shop during the cricket season. Ben might not be keen, but Nell will be your friend for life.’
‘A very good suggestion, Conrad,’ said Miss Parkes.
I couldn’t help it. ‘Do I get a gold star?’
‘Not for that, but your father always kept an excellent brandy. I can’t imagine he took it all to Spain. One of those might be worthy of reward.’
On my way to the cellar, I wondered how she knew about Dad’s brandy.
I found Ben leaning on the big roller at Mrs Clarke’s Folly the next morning. He was filling in the team sheet for today’s men’s game.
‘Hi, Conrad. You’re first on the team sheet today. I wasn’t going to drop the Man of the Match was I?’
I lit a cigarette. ‘Yes, you are. Team orders.’
‘Eh? What team?’
‘Team Elvenham. Do you know who Myfanwy’s recruited? Miss Parkes.’
‘No! Not Highland Parkes! Team Bloxham don’t stand a chance now. Are you saying that Highland Parkes wants me to drop you? What for?’
‘She said that I’d be rubbish today, and she’s right. My head’s in India, Ben, and if you rotate Stephen Bloxham into the team, you can rotate him out without an argument.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I am.’
He tore up the team sheet and started again. ‘You know, something weird happened the other day.’
‘Sounds like my life. Go on.’
‘Myfanwy poked me in the face. Hard. She drew blood.’
‘What you two get up to behind closed doors is your business.’
‘Ha ha. No, seriously. She came round and I said, “How’s my little Welsh dragon?” and she stabbed me with a fingernail and says, “Don’t call me that ever again.” Then she burst into tears. What’s that all about?’
Oh dear. Poor Ben. ‘No idea. Maybe she misheard and thought you were calling her fat? How’s Carole?’
