Peter Robinson - Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

Coronation Street was one of those rituals every Monday and Wednesday when, tea over, dishes washed and put away, homework and odd jobs done, the family sat down to watch television together. So it was an unexpected disruption when someone knocked at the door. No one ever did that. As far as the Bankses were concerned, everyone on the street – everyone they knew, at any rate – watched Coronation Street and would no more think of interrupting that than… well, Ida Banks was lost for words. Arthur Banks answered the door, prepared to send the commercial traveler and his suitcase of goods packing.

The one thing that entered nobody’s mind when he did this, because it was such a disturbance of the normal routine, was that Joey, Banks’s pet budgie, was out of his cage, having his evening constitutional, and when Arthur Banks opened the front door to admit the two detectives, he left the living room door open, too. Joey seized the moment and flew away. No doubt he thought he was flying to the freedom of the open sky, but Banks knew, even at his young age, that such a pretty colored thing wouldn’t survive a day among the winged predators out there. When they realized what had happened, everyone dashed out in the garden looking to see where he had gone, but there wasn’t a trace. Joey had vanished, never to return.

More of a fuss might have been made over Joey’s escape had the new visitors not become the center of everyone’s awed attention. They were the first plainclothes policemen ever to enter the Banks household, and even young Banks himself forgot about Joey for the time being. Looking back now, it seemed like some sort of ill omen to him, but at the time he hadn’t seen any significance beyond the simple loss of a pet.

Both men wore suits and ties, Banks remembered, but no hats. One of them, the one who did most of the talking, was about the same age as his father, with slicked-back dark hair, a long nose, a general air of benevolence and a twinkle in his eye, the sort of kindly uncle who might slip you half a crown to go to the pictures and wink as he gave it to you. The other one was younger and more nondescript. Banks couldn’t remember much about him at all except that he had ginger hair, freckles and sticking-out ears. Banks couldn’t remember their names, if he had ever known them.

Banks’s father turned off the television set. Nine-year-old Roy just sat and gawped at the men. Neither detective apologized for disturbing the family. They sat, but didn’t relax, remaining perched on the edges of their chairs as the kindly uncle asked his questions and the other took notes. Banks couldn’t remember the exact wording after so many years, but imagined it went along the following lines.

“You know why we’re here, don’t you?”

“It’s about Graham, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You were a friend of his, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“No.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“Did he say or do anything unusual?”

“No.”

“What did you do?”

“Went shopping in town.”

“What’d you buy?”

“Just some records.”

“What sort of a mood was Graham in?”

“Just ordinary.”

“Was anything bothering him?”

“He was just like normal.”

“Did he ever talk about running away from home?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he might go if he did run away? Did he talk about any particular places?”

“No. But he was from London. I mean, his parents brought him up from London last year.”

“We know that. We were just wondering if there was anywhere else he talked about.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about secret hiding places?” The detective winked. “I know all lads have secret places.”

“No.” Banks was unwilling to tell them about the big tree in the park – holly, he thought it was – with prickly leaves and branches right down to the ground. If you made your way through them, you ended up hidden inside, between the thick leaves and the trunk, like being in a teepee. He knew Graham was missing and it was important, but he wasn’t going to give away the gang’s secrets. He would look in the tree himself later and make sure Graham wasn’t there.

“Did Graham have any problems you were aware of? Was he upset about anything?”

“No.”

“School?”

“We’re on holiday.”

“I know that, but I mean in general. It was a new school for him, wasn’t it? He’d only been there one year. Did he have any problems with the other boys?”

“No, not really. He had a fight with Mick Slack, but he’s just a bully. He picks fights with all the new kids.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen any strange men hanging around the area lately?”

“No.” Banks probably blushed as he lied. He certainly felt his cheeks burning.

“Nobody?”

“No.”

“Did Graham ever mention anyone bothering him?”

“No.”

“All right, then, son, that’s it for now. But if you can think of anything at all, you know where the police station is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m sorry about your budgie, really I am.”

“Thank you.”

They seemed all set to go then and got to their feet. Just before they left, they asked Roy and Banks’s parents a few general questions, and that was it. When they shut the door, everyone was quiet. There were still ten minutes of Coronation Street left, but nobody thought of switching on the television set again. Banks remembered turning to Joey’s empty cage and feeling the tears gather in his eyes.

Annie waited until Martin Armitage’s Beemer had got a respectable distance ahead, then let a local delivery van get between them before she started to follow. The roads were quiet at that time in the morning – they were quiet most of the time, if truth be told – so she couldn’t appear too conspicuous. At the village of Relton, he turned right and followed the B-Road that ran about halfway up the valley side.

They passed through tiny Mortsett, which didn’t even have a pub or a general store, and Annie got stuck when the delivery van stopped to make a call at one of the cottages. The road wasn’t wide enough for her to pass.

She got out and prepared to show her warrant card and ask the driver to get out of the way – there was a passing area about twenty yards farther along – when she noticed Armitage pull over and stop about half a mile beyond the village. She had a clear view of the open road, so she brought out the binoculars she kept in her glove compartment and watched him.

Armitage got out of the car with his briefcase, looked around and started walking over the grass toward a squat stone shepherd’s shelter about eighty yards off the road, up the daleside, and she didn’t think he was nervous because he was breaking the government foot-and-mouth regulations.

When he got there, he ducked inside the shelter, and when he came out he wasn’t carrying his briefcase. Annie watched him walk back to his car. He stumbled once over the uneven ground, then glanced around again and drove off in the direction of Gratly.

“Birds, is it?” a voice asked, disturbing Annie’s concentration.

“What?” She turned to face the deliveryman, a brash gelhaired youngster with bad teeth.

“The binoculars,” he said. “Bird-watching. Can’t understand it, myself. Boring. Now, when it comes to the other sort of birds-”

Annie flipped him her warrant card and said, “Move your van out of the way and let me pass.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “No need to get shirty. There’s no one home, anyway. Never is in this bloody godforsaken hole.”