All Bones and Lies (19 page)

So, yes. Good luck to Dilys. Stay away. Don't come back now. Don't lend a hand. Hold firm, as things get worse and more and more visits have to be made, and toasters confiscated and windchimes stuffed with paper. But how come he didn't feel, as usual, that he was being dealt the poorer hand? Because he didn't. He couldn't help it. Usually at times like these, a little wallow in self-pity had been his compensation. This time it didn't come. He sat there waiting, but he just felt chirpy. Somehow he was sure in his bones that, right as his sister might be in principle – and she had justice on her side, no doubt of that – not only was he utterly incapable of slamming the door between himself and his mother, but there was something in it for him over and above more bloody drudgery.

It's just he wasn't yet sure what it was. Or how he'd recognize it when it came.

CLARRIE WAS ON
him before he'd even got through the door. ‘No point in taking your jacket off. The police rang. You're to go down Sperivale Road.'

‘Sperivale Road?' His heart flipped. ‘Why? Is it the restaurants?'

She gave her little how-should-I-know? shrug before swivelling back to whatever it was she'd just lost on the computer. No need to ask. It had to be the restaurants. And what with it still being early enough for the snarl-up at Hammer Road not to have cleared yet, it was quite possible that, by the time he arrived, the police would have sorted the matter out nicely. It was a cheerful Colin who walked down the stairs and found that, even after the slightly unpleasant stand-off with Herbert in the Mice'n'Maggots van in the narrow car-park entrance, it was his gears, and not his spirits, that had slid hastily in reverse.

After a satisfactorily long wait at the Sperivale lights, he pulled round the corner. The narrow strip of pavement outside the restaurants was bright with condiments. Mr Haksar stood flanked by brothers, uncles and sons,
watching his sister-in-law shriek from an upstairs window. All the Lees stood in a line, alternately jeering and looking bored. And the pair of police officers appeared to have parked their buttocks so very comfortably on the wall as to practically invite accusations of idling. ‘Waiting for you,' they explained when Colin pulled up the van outside New China Heaven and stepped out, crunching on a sea of coriander.

Colin said hopefully, ‘I suppose it's a police matter now,' and then, disquieted by two blank looks, added firmly and hastily, ‘What with the public disturbance.'

One of the officers lifted an eyebrow.

‘All this palaver,' insisted Colin, taking care not to step in a pile of boiled noodles.

The younger of the policemen jerked a thumb. ‘Well, when that tin of yellow stuff hit the side door, Geoffrey here did think we might have an “intentional or reckless” on our hands . . .'

Colin gazed at the sunny drifts of turmeric. ‘Yes?'

But the officer offered only a Clarrie-style shrug. Colin said desperately, ‘But what about all the rest of it? Harassment! Damage to property! Threatening behaviour! Invasion of privacy! Not to mention interference with means of employment, and presumed loss of earnings!'

‘Well, there you are,' said Geoffrey comfortably. ‘You've clearly got it all off pat. Best left to you, I reckon.'

‘I can't do anything. I'm not police!'

‘More up your street than ours, though, isn't it? Restaurants and such . . .'

Colin surprised himself. ‘This isn't restaurants! This is
an endless mindless bloody squabble over a wall! This is phone calls all day every day, till I can't concentrate on anything else, let alone leave the office. This is my voicemail bunged up every morning and my secretary in tears! This is me at the end of my tether. This is
impossible
.' He really felt it. ‘Quite impossible!' He saw them staring at him. ‘No! No, no. I'm sorry. I've struggled on by myself quite long enough. Look at the state of this pavement! Dumplings all over! Those prawns will be stinking by lunchtime if someone doesn't clear them up. And I suspect that's chilli on that meter. If anybody parking should end up touching that by accident and not wash their hands very thoroughly indeed, they could end up with seriously inflamed eyes. Or
worse
,' he added darkly on reflection. ‘No. This is the limit, I'm afraid. I have to insist. You are the long arm of the law. Well, stick it out and do something!'

Astonished at himself, he stepped back into bean curd.

Then, did he hear it? Did he really hear it?

‘Or—?'

‘
Or
,' Colin said, with equally quiet menace, ‘I'll feel obliged to get in touch with County Hall and take it higher.'

What he of course meant was, I'll go straight back and hand my notice in. I'll walk away from the whole boiling rather than cope with this lot a single day longer. I'd rather lose my pension and start again doing something as poorly paid but a bloody sight easier. But it just came out in the way it did, and after a good long stare the officer called Geoffrey must have decided to take him at his word because, turning to his companion, he
muttered equably enough, ‘All right, then, Jamie-boy?'

‘All right,' said James. And slipping on authority with more ease than most men put on a sock, the two strolled through little piles of stir-fried cucumber towards the families waiting on the pavement. There followed a welter of shrieking from the upstairs window, and some long grinding argument in which the only element of agreement between the two camps was indicated by a series of matching black looks in the direction of Colin. But one, at least, of the officers must have been blessed with the mediator's gift, because after a few more threatening glances and shaken fists, the ranting on both sides diminished to receding tides of sullen grumbling. Colin's relief was palpable as, one by one, the Lees vanished through the door into the shadows of Old China Heaven. And, stooping only to pick up the huge pans they'd clearly brought outside to serve as weapons, the Haksars slid silently into their own restaurant, with only the youngest reappearing a few moments later to stroll to the side door, whistling, with a dustpan and brush.

Jamie-boy ambled back. ‘Happy?'

Colin considered. He hadn't cared for the dark looks. But perhaps it was to be expected that, as the one who'd failed to stop things getting out of hand, he'd find himself absorbing the blame for this little street battle. He couldn't resist shooting a warning ‘I-hope-your-father's-not-thinking-of-using-that-turmeric-again' look up the alley at the Haksar boy before admitting to the officer, ‘Well, perhaps it'll put a stop to some of the trouble.'

‘Any time,' said the officer, giving Colin cause to wonder what possible reason, apart from simple sloth, had
caused the two of them to be so reluctant to intervene in the first place. Another squall of temper from the window above reminded him he'd be wise not to linger; and, crunching his way back over coriander seeds, he slid in his own van and followed the police car down Sperivale Road, peeling off only when it occurred to him that, with a quick detour, he could pick up his mother's glass snowstorm – and one for Tam, if they looked suitable – and still gain a bit of sympathy at work for an irritating start to a long, tiring morning.

Mel's face was dark with disappointment. ‘Oh, it's
you
.'

Even for a man accustomed to tepid welcomes, this was discouraging. If the warm clamp of Tammy's arms around his legs had not made turning round impossible, he would have thrust the box at her and simply fled. Instead, he stood his ground as best he could. ‘I've brought a present.'

Rolling her eyes, she stooped to prise him free. ‘For Christ's sake, Tam! Let the poor bugger through the door.'

He stepped in, wincing. But it was better not to disapprove in case she took revenge. Anyone who could fuss about a plastic windmill could slap a safety embargo on a large glass ball. If she was in this bad a mood, he would be wise to clear the contents of the box with her before even letting Tam know there was anything in it, apart from fresh fruit and a bottle of vitamins.

Neatly avoiding the upraised, grasping little fingers, he passed it over.

Mel raised the flaps. ‘I've got a toaster, thank you. And mine is newer.'

Oh, God. Wrong box. Mumbling idiocies, he fled to the lift, then down the four flights of stairs. The occupants of the vehicle parked beside his seemed to take an inordinate interest in his rootings in the back of the van. Were they planning a robbery? He could leave out some of the freezer food he'd taken off Betta-Shoppa's shelves for being past its date stamp. (That might teach them a lesson about other people's property.)

Or he could take the coward's way, and as good as buy them off by abandoning on the tarmac the box of hideously unattractive Monsters-From-The-Deep fridge magnets he'd had to impound for their overly high lead levels. They could resell those fast and well. But suppose they dropped some as they fled? Fearing that Tam might find one lying on the car park later and finger it, or, worse, put it in her mouth, he ended up locking even these unwanted horrors back firmly in the van before starting on the long urine-stained climb up the stairwell.

His second appearance in her doorway brought no more pleasure than the first. This time, so there'd be no mistake, he handed over only the glossy ‘Gifts from the Gods' bag he'd put on top of the apples. ‘That's what I meant to give you.'

The transformation was astonishing. ‘Colin! How did you
know
?'

‘Know?'

She hadn't even tweaked the bag to peep inside. And even if she'd felt the hard round lump through its stiff sides, she couldn't possibly have guessed what it might be. Hunting for meaning, his gaze fell, just in time, on two lonely birthday cards propped on the gas fire. ‘Oh,' he
said, almost lightheaded from the sense of disaster averted. ‘We in the council have our methods.'

She lifted the softly rustling sphere out of the bag.

‘It feels so
heavy
.'

Thank God he hadn't chosen Pluto trailing that mangy slipper through the snow. Or Snow White, looking wistful. He would have walked through fire rather than let her know this present hadn't been for her. Never had he seen anyone take such an age to unwrap anything. She spun it out till Tam went crazy with frustration, giving him the excuse to pick up his darling and hold her closer to the gathering excitement as, layer by layer, her mother reverently pulled off the trademark rainbow tissue from Priding's most expensive shop.

‘Oh, Colin!'

Inside the perfect glassy dome, the pearly figure with upraised arms spun on her shimmering lake. The snowflakes swirled around, settling on tiny fir trees and distant hills, and her own upswept hair. He told Mel truthfully, ‘I thought it looked a lot like you when you did that pirouette thing by the stove,' then, to his own astonishment, heard himself tacking on, quite unnecessarily, a glib, kind lie. ‘I thought you'd really like it.'

‘
Like
it? Oh, Colin! It's—'

Tears sheeted down.

‘Oh, Christ!' he said, and kicked the door shut behind him. After the statutory few seconds of frozen staring, Tam started wailing worse than Mel. He shifted her to the other arm. ‘Mummy's all right,' he said firmly. ‘All that she needs is for you to show me how to make her a cup of tea. Can you do that?' On the way over to the kitchen
area, he took the chance to sweep her so close to the gas fire that the draught from her leg sent the greetings cards flying. ‘Whoops!' he said cheerily, taking the risk of putting his back out by stooping with her still in his arms to retrieve them and put them on top of the telly.

‘They'll be much safer here, Mel. You really shouldn't ever put anything inflamm—'

Shut up! he ordered himself. Give it a break.

Pushing aside the unwashed crockery, he dumped Tam on the small space that served for a counter and pointed at the sugar tin. ‘Is that the tea?'

Tam shook her head. He pointed to the coffee jar. ‘Is
that
the tea?' Tam used the flat of her hands to wipe tears sideways into tangled hair, then made a face and pointed.

‘Oh, there!' said Colin, switching on the kettle. ‘And how many bags do you think I should put in the cup?'

Tam raised one grubby finger.

‘You're good at this.' He kept her busy, pointing at spoons and sugar and putting him right over and over, till Mel's tea was ready and her weeping had quietened principally to sniffs. She sat, still clutching the snowstorm, while he continued to distract her daughter and put himself a little more at ease by rerouting the dangerously long lead to her kettle.

Once it was safely tucked away behind the microwave he'd been longing to take away to get tested for leakage, he took a chance and dared look Mel's way again. ‘Ready?'

She nodded. ‘Ready.'

He said to Tam, ‘Now take it easy, sweetheart. Mum's feeling—'

Stumped for a way of putting it, he finished with the
word his mother always used to drain the last of what little confidence he had before school matches. ‘Peaky.'

‘Peaky?' She tested the new word, and in her state of barely soothed anxiety, repeated it louder and louder. ‘Peaky, peaky,
peaky
!'

‘Hush, sweetpea. Mum's upset.'

Was it his mere tone of concern that sent Mel back in floods? Instantly, Tam's shrieks shot into an hysterical crescendo. ‘
Peaky! Peaky! Peaky!
'

Someone upstairs banged on the floor.

‘Oh, Christ!' Mel screamed at the ceiling. ‘Didn't your bloody children ever make a sound, you dried-up ratbag!'

Tammy shrieked louder. To try to calm things, Colin gave her a warning frown. ‘Sssh, Tam! Be quiet!'

Failing to stem her yells that way, he tried putting his finger on her lips. At once, she lurched forward to bite him. Terrified she'd topple off the counter, he seized her elbows, and, as she struggled to push him away, her screams went into orbit. She drummed her bare heels as hard as she could against the flimsy door of the cabinet.