Quintin Jardine - A Coffin For Two

He sat down on one of the wooden chairs set around the room’s small table, and looked up at me, for quite a long time. Finally he did something that for him was really very strange. He smiled. I hadn’t seen him do that since Jonathan was born. ‘It’s funny that you of all people should ask me that. When Ellen and I were engaged, I used to think that you were a waster. A scatter-brained, self-indulgent waster, without a career plan, and with no idea of where you were going in life.’

I laughed. ‘Life’s a Mystery Tour, pal. Didn’t anyone tell you?’

But he held up a hand to shut me up. ‘Yet there was one thing about you of which I was really jealous. I used to look at you and Jan, the way you were together, the way you touched each other without even knowing you were doing it, the way you looked at each other, and I wished that I could be like you, in love like that.

‘I supposed that once you were married, that was what did it. I was wrong, though. I was proud of Ellen, and I did my best to give her the best, but I never could feel that way you and Jan used to look, or the way you and what’s her name looked when you turned up in Perrouges, just before Ellie left.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t persuade her to go, did you?’

I shook my head. ‘No, man. You did that yourself.’ I felt thoroughly sorry for him now. And a lot more reflective than I had been half an hour before.

‘About that lawyer’s letter, Oz,’ said Allan. ‘That was temper and pride on my part. Tell Ellen I’m sorry about that; I shouldn’t have tried to bully her. We can sort out a separation agreement, but between ourselves. As long as I can see the kids when I like.’

I interrupted him, right there. ‘No, not just when you like. Jonathan and Colin are best with their mother, all right, but they deserve a father too, even if he does live a long way off. You can stop being a husband, Allan, but you can’t stop being a dad. I know yours wasn’t around, and I know you used to treat mine as if he wasn’t there either. Well, you should look to him now. You’ve got a lot to learn about dadship, and you won’t find a better role model than Mac Blackstone.’

‘I hear you,’ he said, standing up. ‘Tell Ellen from me that it’s okay.’

‘No, sir,’ I answered, firmly. ‘I’m just the bridge-builder. Tell her yourself. Phone her tonight, then as soon as you can, take some time off from this place and visit her and the boys. Sort everything out between you. Think about this as you do it, Allan. You and my sister don’t belong together any more. You probably never did. But maybe there’s someone out there for you, someone to make your eyes light up. Who knows, there might even be more than one!’

My failed brother-in-law smiled again. ‘One step at a time, Oz, eh. But I’ll call Ellen tonight, that’s a promise.’

Allan stretched out an arm to usher me to the door. ‘How are you and Prim doing anyway? Still together, I take it. You haven’t come from Scotland to see me, have you?’ He looked at me, working a few things out for the first time. ‘No, surely not: not with that tan.’

But I wasn’t listening to his small talk. I was looking at his left wrist.

‘Allan,’ I asked at last, ‘where did you get that watch?’ He glanced at me. ‘Familiar, is it? Last time I saw your dad, I noticed the one he was wearing. I saw the same model in Jenners, so I bought it for day-to-day wear. Did you think I’d pinched Mac’s?’

‘Don’t be daft. No,’ I lied, ‘it’s just that I bought my dad his in a jeweller’s shop. I thought it was pretty exclusive, that’s all. Can I have a look at it?’

He shrugged, unfastened the strap, and handed it over. I walked over to the window and looked at the steel back. It was smeared by wear, but a quick rub with my thumb cleaned it up. I read the number on the back. ‘921428.’

‘Okay?’

‘Aye, sure, Allan. What did you pay for it?’

‘One ninety, I think.’ That was a relief. Dad’s was ten quid cheaper.

With the air cleared my brother-in-law was more relaxed than I had seen him. ‘Do you want to hang around and eat with me tonight?’ he asked. ‘You could give me some tips about being single.’

I shook my head. ‘No thanks. No hard feelings, but you’ve got a call to make and I’ve got a home to go to. I don’t have an overnight pass!’

I hung around Lyon for an hour or two, after I left Allan’s office. I sent postcards to my dad and to Jan. Finally I phoned my sister, reckoning that I’d killed enough time to let her get home from teaching or from picking up Jonathan from school, whichever was on her agenda for the day.

Ellie was more than delighted when I told her that Allan was seeing sense and would phone her that evening. Her relief came down the phone in waves. ‘Thanks a million, brother,’ she said. ‘I was really worried that he was going to dig in his heels. You didn’t have to lean on him too hard, did you?’

‘No. Not at all. The guy doesn’t exist in the same world as you and I, Ellie. I just made him realise that you can’t live in his any more. He’s got the message now. You should be able to sort things out between you from now on.’

‘Let’s hope so. I’ll do my best. But I’m not going back, Oz, come what may.’

‘No, and he won’t expect that.’

She chuckled. ‘Imagine. You being my minder. What would Mum have thought?’

‘She’d have been astonished. Simple as that.’

‘She’d have been proud too.’ Ellen paused, as each of us thought of our mother. ‘I owe you one, Oz,’ she said.

‘Bollocks to that, Sis. You’re still well in credit when it comes to us looking out for each other. You can do something for me, though. Send me some new photos of you and the kids. I’ll send you some of Prim and me, and of where we live now. It knocks Perrouges for six, I’ll tell you.’

‘You sound as if you’ve really settled in there, son.’

I laughed. ‘We sure have. We’re real locals now. We know where all the bodies are buried!’

I made it back to St Marti just after 9 p.m. Casa Minana was closed for the day, but there were still some open-air diners at the tables outside Meson del Conde and the Esculapi, most of them in heavy sweaters against the cool of the autumn evening.

The apartment was in darkness when I opened the door. I wondered whether I had missed seeing Prim at one of the tables, until I found a note on the sideboard.

Dear Oz

I’m taking the Carrilet into L’Escala, then on to the Trattoria. If you don’t show up there by 11, I’ll take a taxi home. Lurv

P

The phone rang early next morning, around 8:30 a.m.. Well, it was early for us. I swung myself around to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up the portable hand set from its cradle.

‘Hola,’ I mumbled, expecting it to be one of the many wrong numbers generated by the L’Escala exchange.

‘And hola to you too, son,’ said Mac the Dentist. ‘Rub the sleep out of your voice, for fuck’s sake. What’s happened to the old rise and shine Oz? Jesus, here am I, all ready for a day’s drilling and filling and you’re still sounding like last night’s washing up.’ As an irregular user of the telephone my father has no idea of proper etiquette. Under that heading I include niceties like not phoning before breakfast.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ I croaked. ‘I had a busy day yesterday. I did eight or nine hundred miles.’

‘Aye, I know. Your sister told me all about it. Allan phoned her last night, like he promised you. They had a civilised conversation, he said he was sorry about that lawyer’s letter, and he spoke to the boys … well to Jonathan, at least. Wee Colin hadn’t a clue who he was; he thought it was you, in fact.