Roger Curtis - Lights in a Western Sky

‘Everyone remain inside please,’ the policeman said.

Brian went up to him. ‘Where’s my wife, where’s Fenella. I need to go with them.’

‘Please wait here, Sir. It’s all in hand. It’s dark on the moor and you could easily get lost. My colleagues will be back just as soon as they’ve assessed the situation.’

A few minutes later Frank, Eric and another policeman returned from the moor. The second policeman approached Brian.

‘We found your wife, Sir, and are arresting you for her murder. We’d be grateful if you’d come with us. No trouble, now, Sir.’

Brian suddenly made a run for the door, but was stopped by Frank with a vicious punch to the stomach. With a policeman on each arm, he was dragged from the room, protesting violently.

Graham felt sick and bewildered. He needed to think, to be alone, to puzzle out what had happened. Nothing seemed to make sense. He made for the toilets, passing the last of the hair-pieces, which again caught his attention. Once inside he locked himself in the furthest cubicle. Lowering the seat, he sat heavily upon it.

He was not alone in seeking seclusion. A few moments later he heard the door open. Through the gap between the cubicle door and its frame he could see Frank, the barman, talking to his former companion on the settle.

‘You were great, George. Hope you didn’t have to lie still too long. Better tidy yourself up, though, and get the grass out of your hair – and get rid of that shirt. I take it that’s sheep blood and not yours. That was a brilliant ploy to get rid of the husband.’

‘I always did have a penchant for theatrical solutions,’ George replied. ‘Much more satisfying than the last one, eh Frank? Never did get much credit for pushing that biddy over the edge. Some of the membership still think she just slipped. Only one small problem this time, though. Your steak knives are getting a bit blunt – or the cow had a neck like leather.’

‘Which reminds me,’ Frank said, taking a plastic bag from his pocket and opening it. ‘Here’s a fresh handkerchief – with the woman’s blood on it this time. Better fish his one out of the bin – we wouldn’t want to confuse the real police when they come looking tomorrow, now would we?’

The walls of Graham’s cubicle seemed to shrink before his eyes, expanding the gap between the panels and the floor and the band of light where the door just failed to close. He imagined himself growing moment by moment like a metamorphosed pupa within its cracking case, ready to burst into a hostile and hungry world. For the first time he noticed the drops of water falling from the cistern above his head and the rivulet beside his feet that was advancing towards the shrinking door. On top of that he was fighting an urge to sneeze.

But worse was to come. Into Graham’s mind came the image of the brass plate below the last of the female busts, and the year: 1996 – ten years before. His stomach churned. He spun around to be sick into the pan. But not so quickly that he did not hear the final snatch of conversation outside the cubicle.

‘Just one thing, though,’ he heard George say.

‘What’s that?’ Frank replied.

‘That bloke from the Sheffield chapter. Must have left with the others. Can we trust him?’

‘Sheffield chapter? There isn’t a Sheffield chapter.’

I like riding on buses ’cause then I can think properly. So I was angry when Chloe poked me in the side and I caught her grinning with her hand in her armpit. She was in one of her taunting moods, sitting behind, like when I hate her most. Ma just watched, as usual.

‘He doesn’t remember where we have to get off,’ Chloe said. ‘He really doesn’t remember!’ She could be a real pain when she wanted.

Actually I did remember, but it was no use telling them. I remembered the black gates and the big red letter for hospital. And the word, though I was no great reader. ‘Hos-pi-tal,’ I said.

‘Cor…ect,’ Chloe said. I saw her sniggering.

After we’d piled off – just to show I remembered – I ran up the path, darting in and out of the crowd. But Ma thought I was trying to lose them and came storming after. When she caught me she was breathing hard and her face was red. Her fat body wobbled like a jelly on two legs, ’specially when each foot came down. I could see her raise her arm to cuff me, but a look came into her eyes and she peeked around, like she does in the supermarket sometimes when I know she’s nicked something. Maybe she thought she’d look stupid, hitting a boy as big as her, ’cause I’m fifteen now, but that never stops her at home. She doesn’t do it to Chloe, though she’s just as bad, even when Chloe’s on my side. But Chloe’s a bit younger and perhaps that’s why.

We walked up to the building with Ma in the middle, holding our hands. I wondered if she was squeezing Chloe’s like she was squeezing mine. But she couldn’t be, because she would have squealed. As for me, I’d learnt not to.

There were lots of people on the path. Each side there were miles and miles of grass and trees, but no-one there, well not many. I wanted badly to go there and run about, like you couldn’t do at school ’cause the playground is all concrete, or at home ’cause the back yard – the garden Ma calls it – is all bricks and broken bottles. You’d only fall and cut your knees, Ma said, and Chloe said why don’t you clear them up and Ma gave her one of her looks and that shut her up.

We reached the hospital steps and I remembered the crowded entrance where we’d come before and I’d run off ’cause the people pressed in on me and I got scared. It took them ages to find me and in the end Chloe did, in the blanket room. It was warm and safe in there, and smelt a bit like Chloe when she was a baby and had just been washed. I was glad it was Chloe what found me. Play scared, she said, then they won’t be so angry. But the nurse – the one with the yellow hair – wasn’t angry at all, nor was the doctor. I liked them for that and was quite good when he examined me, though I got a bit fidgety towards the end.

Anyway, we were walking up the steps. At the top there were two ladies in front of the big doors who weren’t there last time. They were rattling cans and you could see they wanted to shake them in front of people’s noses, but couldn’t because their feet seemed stuck to the ground. Funny that. I couldn’t read what was on the tins, but Chloe could.

‘Tsunami appeal,’ she said

I knew what that was, ’cause I’d seen the waves coming in on television. Chloe cried when she first saw it, but I liked the way the cars floated along like boats and got bashed. Then she said about the people and I cried too. Actually I cried until I went to bed then dreamt about how it was for the dogs and cats though I hadn’t actually seen any. I suppose the water got them first ’cause they’re not so high.

‘We should put some money in the tin,’ Chloe said. Ma said we didn’t have enough money to put any in and pulled on our hands. Then Chloe whispered to me she’d given me a pound for an ice-cream and I could put that in. And I said no way would I give up my ice-cream and for once Ma was on my side and tugged Chloe’s hand harder than mine. Then Chloe was angry.

‘You never help anybody,’ Chloe said. ‘You just think about yourself, all the time. Doesn’t he, Mum?’

‘He can be a right selfish little bugger sometimes.’

And I thought about that.

When Ma got us to where the chairs were I started to think Chloe might be right, ’cause Miss Mabbs my teacher sometimes says the same thing. I never could see why I should help anybody, but maybe the Tsunami thing changed that. I felt bad about not putting my pound in the tin.