Peter Lovesey - Upon A Dark Night

‘Oh, God!’ said Rose with absolute conviction. One of the supervisors was at her side almost at once to tell her it was no problem.

‘I’m so sorry. It slipped out of my hand. Of course I’ll pay,’ Rose offered.

With the minimum of fuss the area was roped off and the glass swept up. She joined a queue. She looked along the length of the checkouts for Jeremy Barker (or Parker) and his mother. They were either still touring the shop, or they had slipped out. Rose decided not to linger. It was too dangerous. She paid for the few items she had, and left. Ada would be waiting for her in Green Park.

Ada liked her steaks cooked medium rare and she stood in the kitchen doorway to make sure Rose didn’t leave them too long under the grill.

‘They’d better be tender after all this trouble,’ she said.

‘Don’t complain to me if they’re not.’

Ada laughed heartily. ‘Can’t complain to Sainsbury’s, either.’

While the cooking was going on, Rose gave Ada a less frantic account of what the boy Jeremy had said.

‘Just a kid,’ Ada said thoughtfully. ‘How small did you say?’

‘Under school age.’

‘Three? Four?’

‘Four, I’d guess.’

‘You’re wondering if you can rely on a little scrap like that? They’re just as good at recognising someone as a grown-up is.’

‘He was a bright little boy. I think he was sure he knew me,’ said Rose.

‘As someone who gave him chocolate chip cookies on a train?’

‘From Paddington, he said. He had plenty of time to get a look at me. You’re right, Ada. Kids are just as observant as grown-ups. More so, if they think they can get something out of them.’

‘But did you recognise him? Watch those steaks, petal. When I said rare I meant it.’

Rose pulled out the grillpan and turned them over. The smell was appetising. She was changing her mind about eating one, even though it had been in such close contact with Ada. ‘No. I didn’t, but I wouldn’t, would I?’

‘Something’s got to click some time. What did you say his name is?’

‘Jeremy Barker. Or Parker.’

‘Pity. There must be hundreds in the phone book.’

Presently Rose lifted the pan from under the grill and asked if the steaks would do.

She scooped some vegetables into a colander. They took everything upstairs on trays and sat on their beds to eat.

Ada said, ‘Stupid of me. We should have liberated some wine. You shouldn’t eat fine steak without wine. They do a superb vintage Rioja.’

‘How do you smuggle out a bottle of wine?’ Rose asked in amazement.

‘With style, petal, and a piece of string.’

‘String ?’

‘The best Rioja is always covered in fine wire netting. You thread the string through and hang the bottle under your skirt. It’s bumpy on the knees, but you don’t have to go far.’

Rose watched Ada start on her third fillet with the same relish she had shown for the others.

‘You said you couldn’t think on an empty stomach. Has this helped?’

‘It’s beginning to,’ said Ada. ‘What am I to think about – your problem?’

‘It would help.’

‘Things are becoming clearer, aren’t they?’ said Ada. ‘If that kid in Sainsbury’s had his head screwed on right, you were seen recently on a train travelling from London Paddington to Bath Spa. Some time since, you were in a tangle with a motor vehicle – and came off the worse for it. There’s a good chance it was driven by a local couple who brought you to the Hinton Clinic and later phoned to enquire if you were still in the world of the living. Their car may have had a silver fish mounted on the bonnet. Fair summary?’

‘I think you’ve covered all of it.’

‘No, I haven’t. There’s yourself. A well brought-up gel, going by the way you talk. Southern counties accent, I’d say. Certainly not West Country. Anyway, that’s a London haircut, in my opinion. True, you’re a casual dresser, but none of the stuff you told me you were wearing is off the bargain rail. It all suggests to me that you work for a living, in a reasonably well-paid job that doesn’t require grey suits and regular hours. And you’re not a bad cook, either.’

‘Thanks. But where do I go from here?’

‘We could see if the Winemart down the hill is still open.’

‘But I’ve got to be careful with my money…’ Then she saw the gleam in Ada’s eye and said, ‘No way. I’ve taken enough risks for one day.’

They finished the meal in silence.

Ada was out of bed early. She muttered something about phoning a friend and then plodded downstairs.

Rose lay awake, but without moving, disappointed that another night had passed and no old memories had surfaced. Her known life still dated from less than a week ago. And now she was putting off doing anything else. She wasn’t idle by nature, she felt sure. She hated the frustration of having no purpose for the day. She didn’t want to spend it sitting in Harmer House or aimlessly wandering the streets of Bath. She wept a little.

What an opportunity she had missed by walking away from the little boy in Sainsbury’s. She was certain in her mind that he really had seen her on the train. She should have asked him to take her to his mother. In a train journey of an hour and a half, she and the woman must have exchanged some personal information. Must have. Clearly they had been on talking terms, or she would never have bought cookies for the child. Two women of about the same age had things in common. At the very least they must have talked about their reasons for travelling to Bath.

If Ada hadn’t involved me in the shoplifting, she thought, I might be lying in my own bed this morning.

Sod Ada.

She wiped away the tears, sat up awkwardly and examined her legs. The bruises had gone from blue to greenish yellow. Her ribs still hurt, but the body was recovering. Then why not the brain?

In this chastened mood, she speculated what would happen if her memory never returned. Unless she took drastic action, she was condemned to eke out her existence in places like this, or worse, dependent on welfare handouts.

She had no skills or qualifications that she knew of. The descent into self-neglect, apathy and despair would be hard to resist. That was how people ended living rough.

The sound of the stairs groaning under pressure blended in with her mood. Then her thoughts were blasted away by a spectacle almost psychedelic in effect. At nights Ada wore an orange-coloured T-shirt the size of a tent and Union Jack knickers. She seemed to relish prowling about the hostel dressed like that, startling the other inmates.

‘I’ve got Hildegarde started on the cooking. She would have overslept. I said you’d probably want mushrooms with yours, am I right? She can’t say mushrooms, but she knows what they are now.’

Rose started to say, ‘I don’t think I-’

‘Yes, you do. Get a good breakfast inside you. We’ve got things to do.’

‘Oh, yes – like another supermarket? No thanks, Ada.’

Ada made her feel mean by announcing that she’d been on the phone to a friend who had forgotten more about cars than she or Rose were ever likely to find out. If anyone in Bath knew about silver fish mascots, it was Percy. He had promised to see them in his used car mart on the Warminster Road at ten.

The overheads at Percy’s Car Bargains were minimal. He had about eighty used vehicles lined up on a patch of gravel beside the A36 and his office was a Land Rover. Two tattooed youths were employed with buckets and sponges. They probably got paid in used fivers, with no questions asked about tax and National Insurance.

‘My dear Miss Shaftsbury, my cup overflows,’ Percy said in an accent that would not have been out of place in the Leander Club marquee at Henley. ‘You and the young lady of mystery.’