Peter Robinson: The Price of Love and Other Stories

“Oh, I’ve got help. Some local lads help with the papers, and there’s Geoff helps with going to wholesalers, stocktaking and whatnot.”

“Geoff?”

“Geoff Salisbury. Nice lad. Well, I say ‘lad,’ but he’s probably your age or older. Always there when you need him, is Geoff. And with a smile on his face, too. There’s not too many folk you can say that about these days.”

“True enough,” Banks agreed. So the ubiquitous Geoff Salisbury had his feet under Mrs. Walker’s table, too. Still, he did say he did odd jobs, and Banks assumed Mrs. Walker paid him for his “help.” He had to make a living somehow. It didn’t seem that one could go far around the estate, though, without finding some traces of its patron saint, Geoff bloody Salisbury.

The bell jangled and someone else walked into the shop. Banks half-expected it to be Salisbury himself, but when he turned he was gob-smacked by what he saw. It was Kay Summerville. And looking hardly a day older than when he had last seen her thirty years ago. That was an exaggeration, of course — her eyes had gathered a few crow’s-feet, and the long blond hair that still cascaded over her shoulders now showed evidence of dark roots — but she still had her figure and her looks.

A hoarse “Kay” was about all he could manage.

She seemed equally stunned. “Alan.”

“Are you two going to stand there gawping at each other all afternoon or are you going to step aside, young man, and let the lady get what she’s come for?” said Mrs. Walker.

“Of course.” Banks moved aside.

Kay smiled. She was wearing a thin white T-shirt under a blue denim jacket, and hip-hugging blue jeans. The hips looked as if they were worth hugging. She caught him looking at her and gave him a shy smile.

“Packet of Polo mints, please, Mrs. Walker, and” — she turned to the magazine rack and picked out a copy of Marie Claire — “and I’ll take this, too.”

Banks stood by the door and loitered, pretending to be looking at a display of anniversary cards. When Kay had finished, she walked toward him.

“Walk back with you?” he said.

She did a little curtsy. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

Banks laughed. He had been sixteen when he had first met Kay, and just about to go into the lower sixth. Kay had been fifteen, about to enter her O-level year. Her family had just moved up from North London, and Banks had seen her walking along the street in her blue jeans and orange jacket, or in her school uniform — white blouse, maroon jacket, gray skirt probably just a couple of inches too short for the principal’s liking — pouty lips, pale skin, head in the air, and her long blond hair trailing halfway down her back.

She had seemed unobtainable, ethereal, like Mandy from the factory and, if truth be told, like most of the women or girls Banks lusted after, but one day they met in the newsagent’s, just like today, both wanting the latest issue of New Musical Express. There was only one copy left, so Banks, being the gentleman, let Kay take it. They walked back to the estate together chatting about pop music. Both were Cream fans, upset about the band’s splitting up that summer. Both loved Canned Heat’s “On the Road Again” and hated Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were the Days.” Kay said she would lend her NME to Banks when she had finished with it. He asked her when that would be, and she said probably Saturday. Emboldened, he went on and asked if she’d like to go to the pictures with him on Saturday night. He could have dropped in his tracks when she said yes.

They went to see Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush, on a double bill with I’ll Never Forget What’s ’isname, and that was it, the start of Banks’s first serious relationship.

“I heard about your mother,” Banks said, holding the door for her. “I’m sorry.”

Kay pushed a stray tress of hair from her forehead. “Thank you. She’d been ill for a long time. She was riddled with cancer and her heart wasn’t strong. I know it’s a cliché, but in this case it really was a blessing.”

“Is that why you’re up here?”

“Yes. I’ve got to deal with the house before the council relets it. The rent’s paid up till the end of the month, so I thought I’d take a few days and get it all sorted. You?”

“It’s Mum and Dad’s golden wedding tomorrow.”

“That’s marvelous.”

“It is pretty remarkable, isn’t it? Fifty years. What kind of work do you do?”

“Investment banking.”

“Oh.”

Kay laughed. “Yes, that’s usually the reaction. Quite a conversation stopper.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just... I don’t...”

She smiled at him. “It’s okay. Most people don’t. Even the ones who do it. What about you? I seem to remember Mum saying you had something to do with the police.”

“True. Detective chief inspector, CID, Major Crimes.”

“Well, well, well. I am impressed. Just like Morse.”

It was Banks’s turn to laugh. “Except I’m not on telly. I’m real. And I’m still alive. Like your job, it’s usually a conversation stopper. You must be the first person who hasn’t jumped a mile when I told them what I do for a living. No skeletons in your closet?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

They reached Banks’s parents’ house and stopped on the pavement, both a little awkward, embarrassed. It was one of those moments, Banks felt, like the one thirty years ago when he had asked her out for the first time. “Look,” he said, “seeing as we’re both up here this weekend, would you like to go out tonight, maybe find a country pub, have a bite to eat or a drink, do a bit of catching up? I mean, bring your husband, by all means, you know...”

Kay smiled at his discomfort. “Sorry, there’s only me,” she said. “And yes, I’d love to. Pick me up at half past seven?”

“Good. Great, I mean.” Banks grinned. “Okay, then, see you this evening.”

Banks watched Kay walk away, and he could have sworn she had a bit of a spring in her step. He definitely had one in his, and it couldn’t be dampened even by the sight of Geoff Salisbury talking to his mother in the hall when he opened the front door.

“Morning, Alan,” Geoff said. “Have a good time last night?”

“Fine,” said Banks.

“That the Summerville girl you were talking to?”

“Yes,” said Banks. “We’re old friends.”

Geoff frowned. “I was sorry to hear about her poor mother. Anyway, must dash. Just a passing visit.” He turned back to Ida Banks. “Right, then, Mrs. B, don’t you fret. I’ll pick up everything we need for tomorrow, and I’ll pop around in the morning and do a bit of tidying and vacuuming for you. How’s that?”

“It’s all right,” said Banks. “I can do that.”

“Don’t be silly,” his mother chided him. “You don’t know one end of a vacuum cleaner from the other.” Which might have been true at one time but certainly wasn’t any more. “That’ll be just dandy, Geoff,” she said, handing him a plastic card, which he put quickly in his pocket. “I know we can always rely on you.”

It was too late to argue. With a smile and a wave, Geoff Salisbury was halfway down the path, whistling “Colonel Bogey” as he went.

“I mean it,” said Banks. “Anything needs doing, just ask me.”

His mother patted his arm. “I know, son,” she said. “You mean well. But Geoff’s... well we’re used to having him around. He knows where everything is.”

Does he, indeed? thought Banks. “By the way,” he asked, “what was that you just gave him?”

“What?”

“You know. The card.”