Barry Maitland - The Marx Sisters

An elderly man, stooping like a black stork over his notes, gave a brief tribute to Eleanor’s work for the socialist cause. Peg then took his place at the lectern and thanked all those who had come to pay their last respects to her sister, as well as to those who had written. They would, she said, with an affecting sob, be glad to know that, despite all the changes to the street where they had lived happily for so many years, her sister would find her last resting place there, as she would have wished-indeed on the very spot where their great-grandfather had once lived and their grandfather had been born. The new owners of Jerusalem Lane had kindly arranged that Eleanor’s ashes would, together with a few of her most precious possessions, be placed that very evening in a specially prepared casket and sealed into the foundations of the new building. A plaque in the foyer would record these circumstances.

Kathy was as baffled by this announcement as were obviously the rest of the gathering, through whom a ripple of uncertain applause briefly passed.

For all that, Kathy felt her tear ducts sting as everyone rose at the end and sang Jerusalem to wish farewell to the departing casket.

Outside she stood alone for a while, uncertain why she had come. She stamped her feet, her breath forming trails of steam in the still cold air. Already it was almost dark. She thought of Brock and his friends on the North Downs, rugged up in their Range Rovers, no doubt, or red Mercedes sports, drinking hot coffee spliced with whisky, and his sensible admonition to her to have fun. Easier said than done, she repeated to herself, feeling her spirits sink miserably towards her frozen feet.

Her gloom was interrupted by a hoarsely cheerful Scottish accent.

‘Hello, Sergeant. Was that not grand? There’s nothing like the Red Flag and a few verses of Jerusalem tae stir the blood. Even if neither of them was written by a Scotsman.’

‘Hello, Mr Finn. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘Och aye, lassie. Peg asked me tae come along. Do ye know Mr Jones here?’

‘Yes. Hello, Bob.’

‘Oh, it’s Bob, is it? Did you know that this laddie once accused me of bein’ a member of the middle classes? Can ye credit that?’

‘Shocking.’ Kathy smiled at Bob.

‘Well’-Finn rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet-‘I’ve always maintained that the real point of a funeral is the wee dram at the end, tae restore the spirits of the living, but I think Peg’ll be tied up with her friends, so I suggest we retire tae the pub I saw up the road before we get frozen tae the spot.’

Bob nodded his head vigorously. ‘I knew we could rely on you for a really sensible suggestion, Danny. Kathy?’

‘Why not.’

She returned to her car and was about to start the engine when she heard a tapping at the passenger window. She looked across and her heart lurched to see Martin Connell’s face through the glass. She stared stupidly at him for a moment until he banged impatiently on the door again, and she leaned across and opened it.

‘Could freeze to death out there,’ he complained as he got in quickly and slammed the door. He was wearing a black coat, black leather gloves, gleaming white shirt and an expensive silk tie that Kathy thought just a little flashy for a funeral. He turned to face her, and gave her one of his big, warm, charming smiles, his eyes travelling speculatively over her features.

‘You’re looking good, Kathy. Really good.’

‘What do you want, Martin?’ She heard her voice unnaturally flat, and resented him for it. Even my voice isn’t my own when he’s around, she thought to herself.

He smiled and didn’t answer straight away, as if he would first read everything that was going through her mind. Just another bloody lawyer’s trick.

‘Well, I wanted to see you, speak to you again. It’s been a long time.’

The words weren’t important, it was only necessary to use the voice, so confident, so sonorous, to bring to life the well-remembered style, the warm, easy, habit-forming styles as addictive as a drug, which she had allowed to soak deep into herself through long susceptible hours on the phone, in the dark, in whispers and in parked cars just like this.

‘No, Martin. I don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to say.’

He leaned across to her, uncomfortably close in the intimacy of the car, his left arm stretched out with his black gloved fist on her steering wheel.

‘We’re working on the same case, Kathy. We’re bound to see each other.’ His voice was intimate, patient, amused. ‘We could help each other. One way or another.’

She took a deep breath, glad to feel angry now. ‘Clear off, Martin. Just clear off. Find someone else to try it on.’

He drew back with a little smile. A tactical withdrawal. Try a different tack. ‘You lot are making a hash of this one, Kathy.’

There was something in his voice which chilled her suddenly. The grown-up was telling the child how reality was going to strike her down if she didn’t do what was required.

‘That Sergeant Gurney, for instance. Left himself wide open, walking into my chap’s office like that, and rifling his files, without a warrant. The girl says he pushed her aside, rather brutally actually. He doesn’t know how much trouble he’s in. And it’ll reflect on Brock, of course.’

Kathy clenched her jaw, getting her anger under control.

‘Does Lynne know where you are today?’ She got some little satisfaction from seeing him blink at the mention of his wife. ‘In fact, it only occurred to me the other day, that I never really knew for sure if she knew about us. Did she know, Martin? Did she know that she was the second choice for the trip to Grenada?’

Connell stared at her for a while, his lips pressed tight together, then abruptly turned away and yanked open the car door. A flurry of snow sprayed into the car as he got out. Just before he slammed the door closed again, he stuck his head back in and hissed, ‘You are the hardest bitch I ever screwed, you know that?’

Kathy leaned over and banged the lock down on the door. Several small flakes of snow lay on the passenger seat, melting in the warmth he had left there. She gripped the steering wheel, and began to shake.

In the snug of The Crooked Billet, Danny brought them their drinks, brandy for Kathy and Scotch for Bob and himself. He raised his glass.

‘Tae absent friends.’ For a moment they were quiet, savouring the heat of the spirits slipping down inside. Kathy took a deep breath, willing Connell out of her mind.

‘Well,’ Danny said, licking his lips, ‘Peg will be moving out at the end of the week.’

‘What!’ Kathy stared at him. ‘Is that what her announcement about Eleanor’s ashes was all about?’

Danny Finn smirked. ‘Aye. It just needed the right negotiator tae make everybody happy. The trouble with most people who try tae get their own way is that they don’t bother tae listen tae what the other party wants. Well, I was a shop steward for a while, and I learnt that the first priority in any negotiation is tae understand what the other man really wants-which may not be what he says he wants.’

‘What did Peg really want, then?’ Kathy asked sceptically.

‘She wanted tae do the right thing by her sister Eleanor. She didn’t really want tae stay any more in Jerusalem Lane, but she didn’t want tae let down her sister. It was Eleanor, ye see, who first brought them all tae the Lane, on account of their great-grandad Karl Marx having lived there, and their grandad, Freddy Demuth, being born there. It’s a fascinatin’ story. Anyhow, we eventually came to an answer.’

‘You conned her, you mean.’

‘Don’t be so suspicious, lassie.’ Danny looked hurt. ‘I’m not trying tae rob the old dear. The answer we came tae was this, that Eleanor can stay in Jerusalem Lane, in perpetuity, and Peg can go tae a lovely wee modern apartment that’s just been completed in a refurbishment job we’ve done up in Highgate, not a stone’s throw from great-grandaddy’s final resting place in Highgate Cemetery, which she likes tae visit every Sunday afternoon.