Reginald Hill - Midnight Fugue

Feeling his evident pleasure in his own smartness like a pain, she said abruptly, ‘Do you still work here, at this pub?’

‘No. Sometimes I come back to give a hand if they’ve anything big on. But I moved on. I’m in charge of a fair-sized catering operation now.’

He spoke with a quiet pride, but he didn’t offer any details.

She said dully, ‘So you got your memory back. And you decided you preferred your new life to your old one. Great.’

‘It wasn’t as simple as that,’ he urged. ‘At first, it didn’t feel like recovering my memory, more like losing my mind. Then I met someone…’

‘A woman, you mean.’

‘Yes. We got together. I suppose, for me anyway, at first it was as much for comfort and warmth as…anything. But then she got pregnant. That was a waking point. Not the final one, perhaps, but a huge lurch back to reality; two realities, the one I wanted, which was here, and the other one that I’d escaped from but knew I’d have to deal with if I was to take my second chance.’

‘Second chance?’ she said. ‘That how you saw it?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said seriously. ‘I’d lost everything. Now I was getting it all back. How else should I see it?’

This was too much. Second chance! In all the joy of moving into a steady relationship with Mick, she had never ever thought of it as a second chance, an opportunity to replace what she had lost. Seven years of watching and helping her daughter grow, how could they ever be replaced?

‘And me? What about my loss?’ she cried.

‘I told you,’ he said patiently. ‘I went back to check you out. I had to know what damage I’d caused. When I saw that you and Purdy…well, I knew that I couldn’t change what had happened, couldn’t offer any kind of reparation. All I would do if I showed myself was cause even more damage.’

‘That was a very handy conclusion to reach, wasn’t it?’ she sneered. ‘Gave you the excuse to do exactly what you wanted to do.’

‘That too,’ he agreed. ‘We’d both repaired ourselves, started new lives. It made sense not to risk shattering both of them again, didn’t it?’

‘Maybe. In which case, why are we sitting here?’ she demanded.

He shifted in his seat and she could feel his relief at this step away from what had bound them together in the past to what had brought them together in the present.

‘I know why I’m sitting here,’ he said. ‘I heard something breaking on the terrace at the Keldale and I looked up and found myself looking straight at you. The real question is, what are you doing here? This photo you mentioned, have you got it with you?’

‘No. I gave it to the police, to the man I was having lunch with. His name’s Dalziel. He’s head of the local CID.’

‘I’ve heard of him,’ he said. ‘And this was a picture of me in MY Life?’

‘Yes. In the crowd, during the royal visit last week.’

‘And that didn’t strike you as odd? You know I wouldn’t bother to cross the street to see a member of our clapped-out royal family.’

‘That was the old you. What do I know about the new model, this happy relaxed guy with a good job in the catering industry? Listen. It was definitely you in the picture.’

‘Looking like I look now?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It was like you as you used to be.’

‘Anything else? Why did you choose to stay at the Keldale, for instance?’

‘There was a message with the photo. On Keldale notepaper. I thought it might signify something. I had nothing else.’

‘What did the message say?’

‘The General reviews his troops. Remember?’

‘Of course I remember,’ he said with a reminiscent smile that made her want to hit him.

‘But you’re saying you didn’t send the message or the photo?’ she said.

‘Why would I?’

‘Why would anyone?’ she snapped.

He stared at her gloomily for a moment, then said, ‘I can only think of one reason. I’ve been a fucking idiot.’

‘Why does that not surprise me? I’m sorry, I mean, how? What have you done?’

He took the water bottle from her and downed an inch.

‘I told you, there’s been a period-in fact, it’s only come to an end today-like when you wake up in the morning but you’re not really fully awake. I knew who I was again, but I wasn’t yet totally back in the real world. I can’t have been, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. But it seemed harmless. In fact it seemed stupid not to, like turning down a gift from the gods.’

‘What the hell are you talking about, Alex?’

‘I needed money. It seemed important to give her the best possible start, to show everyone how proud I was, to show God how grateful I was…’

‘Who? Who are you talking about?’

‘My daughter,’ he said. ‘I wanted to throw her a really splendid christening party.’

She looked at him with realization dawning, though perhaps the realization was that she had known this all along, but hadn’t wanted to admit it.

She said with a calmness that frightened her, ‘That’s why you were in the garden. The christening party. It was yours.’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘For your daughter.’

‘Yes.’

‘What have you called her.’

‘Lucinda.’

That was when at last she started crying.

Peter Pascoe entered the Keldale at a speed just short of a run and shouldered aside a middle-aged woman at the reception desk.

The receptionist didn’t wait for him to speak but said, ‘Room number 36.’

Pascoe was on his way up the stairs before the displaced guest had time to finish saying, ‘What a rude man!’

Upstairs he saw the door marked 36 was open.

As he rushed towards it, the thought occurred that he was doing exactly what he’d tried to tell Dalziel not to do. But he did it all the same.

A figure stooping by the bed straightened up, alerted by the sound of Pascoe’s entry. For a moment his imagination put a shotgun into the man’s hands. Then he saw it was DC Seymour and he was holding a laptop.

‘Oh hello, sir,’ said Seymour. ‘The Super’s through there.’

He nodded towards a door connecting this room to the next.

Pascoe went through.

‘What kept you?’ grunted the Fat Man, shaking the contents of a drawer on to the floor, then stirring the scattered underwear with his toe.

‘For Christ’s sake, Andy, what are you doing here?’

‘What’s it look like? Trying to spot owt that’ll tell me where these scrotes have gone. How about you, Pete? You following me, or what?’

‘I’m trying to stop you getting yourself killed.’

‘Nice of you. Apart from that, got anything new to share with me?’

‘Nothing important,’ snapped the DCI. ‘Just that Novello’s out of danger, if that’s of any interest to you.’

He was immediately sorry for his shortness as the Fat Man sank on to the bed as if his legs had lost the strength to hold him.

‘Thank Christ for that!’ he said with a religious fervour that could hardly have been matched by an archbishop. ‘I were starting to think…thank Christ for that.’

It was only now that Pascoe realized just how heavily the sense of his responsibility for Novello’s plight had been weighing on his boss.

‘So what have you found?’ he said, trying to turn the subject.

‘Bugger all, so far,’ said Dalziel.

The phone rang.

He picked it up, listened, said, ‘You’re a star,’ and dropped the receiver back on its rest.

‘That were that bonny lass on reception. Think she fancies me. I got her to check if these Delays were in. Aye, don’t look surprised, did you think I was going to smash the door down single-handed? When no one replied I asked her to check the car-park video, see if she could spot the Delays going out. I just missed the bastards!’ He smashed his left fist into his right palm in frustration. ‘They must have gone out of the car park minutes afore I turned in. They were likely around when we were here before, Pete. If only I hadn’t waited till I were sure…’