Little Fingers! (26 page)

“
I think not.
There is no need to put him on the spot. Let him find out in his
own way, and come to terms with it himself. He will probably spend
an inordinate amount of time by himself on the river bank. Then he
will choose to do the sensible thing. Frank has his moments, but he
is never vindictive or unkind. He is not a bigot either. And we
have known each other a long, long time. We are like a pair of
shoes together.”

“
That does
not translate to a threesome too well. There are not many people
about with three legs.”

“
You may have
to be the socks then, or the laces.”

I kiss Mary,
and hug her close. “That is settled then. I hope that you are
pregnant.”

“
Well, two
mothers are always better than one, as my mother never
said.”

“
And I can
keep Frank occupied until you are fit to return to normal
duties.”

“
I think he
would rather enjoy that, and I am beginning to think that you would
too.”

“
It sounds
like I might get plenty of sleep.”

“
You haven't
heard him snoring, although, if you open your windows at night up
there at the House, you soon will, I promise you.”

* *
*

Trying to
unearth clues, takes me to some very strange places in my mind. I
am currently on holiday with the Berringers in Malaga. Well, I am
not really, but I want to think myself into that man's
head.

“
Can't we go
out, Jeff?”

“
In a
minute.”

“
What are you
looking at?”

Jeff is
sitting on the patio, watching the sea. The clouds are gathering,
the sea is threateningly still. There are several power boats out
in the bay making their final runs. People on the beach are
beginning to rustle, to pull their clothes on, to wash whatever is
covered in sand, to collect their things.

Next door,
Carla is playing in the garden. She is eight years old. Every now
and again she smiles at Jeff. He smiles back, and tries out some of
the phrases he has learnt in Spanish. She laughs at the mistakes he
makes. He knows and does not care. He is making contact. He is on
square one of the game, moving across to square two.

“
Juice?
Thirsty?” He mimes thirst and the quenching of it.

Eventually she
understands.

“
Ice.”

“
You want an
ice-cream?”

“
Ice.”

“
Ice-cream?”

Carla goes
off, and comes back with an ice-cream stick.

“
Ah, you have
had an ice-cream.”

Carla looks
puzzled, then guesses that he is asking her whether she has had an
ice-cream.

“
Si.”

“
Jeff, let's
go out.”

“
All right,
Phyllis. Are you dressed?”

“
Yes,
Jeff.”

“
Have you got
your make-up on?”

“
Yes,
Jeff.”

“
Are you
wearing your dancing shoes?”

“
Don't need
them, Jeff.”

“
Then let's
go!” Jeff puts on a wolfish expression and lunges at Phyllis, who
swerves and giggles.

“
You're not
seventeen now, Jeff Berringer.”

“
I am up
here.” Jeff taps his head.

“
That could
be the problem.”

“
There is
nothing wrong with feeling seventeen, Phyllis.”

“
I don't feel
seventeen. I feel my age. Seventy-six. Would you believe that I am
seventy-six?”

“
Given that I
am seventy-eight, yes. Still, we are not doing badly. We can still
dance. I could probably even run a few yards. I can certainly swim.
Life has been kind to us.”

“
So let's get
going.”

They climb
into the Renault Twingo they are borrowing, and head towards the
main part of the town. The streets are mid-touristy, not the
squeezing mass of mid-summer, not the deserted streets of February.
In a few weeks things will start to wind down. The street vendors
are beginning to migrate. “Do you want to buy a genuine Rolex? Do
you want some binoculars to view the bay? Do you want a donkey?”
“No, no, no thank you.”

The
Berringers' favourite restaurant is in the corner of a square, and
specialises in seafood. They go there are least twice a week, and
are greeted as regulars. “Mr. Berringer, Mrs Berringer. Welcome!
Your table is waiting for you.”

“
Thank you,
Carlos.”

“
Your tan is
coming on nicely, Mr. Berringer.”

“
This is my
favourite time of year. Now and June.”

“
There can be
storms in September. Everyone is tired. Shops start to
close.”

“
And we get
the town back to ourselves.”

“
Yes, Mr.
Berringer.”

They order
paella between the two of them, as ever, and a bottle of Rioja.
They watch the people on the streets, and wave at one or two, who
come over and sit at their table for a while. They are very popular
among the expats of the region.

“
How long are
you staying this time?” asks Walter.

“
Oh probably
a few weeks,” replies Jeff. “We will get back mid to late
October.”

“
What a
lifestyle, eh? Who would have guessed when we were young that
things would end up like this, living it up in the sun in our
seventies, not a care in the world?”

“
Yes, it's
unbelievable, isn't it?”

“
And some of
the money the youngsters have nowadays. That is even more
incredible. They don't even seem to have to work for
it.”

“
Oh well, as
long as we have what we want……….”

“
You have to
admit, Jeff, it is a bit galling nonetheless.”

“
No, it
doesn't bother me. You can't take it with you. And I cannot imagine
that I would be happier with more than I have now - the sea, the
sun, Phyllis by my side, and a plate of paella in a charming
restaurant where we are known and welcomed. All this and heaven
too!”

“
It's a good
philosophy, Jeff.”

“
Jeff has
always known what he wanted, and stopped when he got it,” comments
Phyllis. “We wanted a child of our own, but that was not to be. So
we adopted Mary instead. What a wonderful child she has proved to
be.”

“
Not such a
child now. Fifty-two.”

“
She had a
sister we considered adopting too, but Jeff said that one would be
enough. No need to overdo it. So we left her behind. We felt guilty
about it for quite a while. Really torn, but it was the right
decision. It meant that we could pour all our love into Mary. Jeff
did meet her sister once, just to make contact, however it was not
a success. I am glad that we did not adopt her.”

“
She was
pretty angry. Made all sorts of accusations. Most unpleasant
business.”

“
Mary lost
her husband last week under most unfortunate circumstances. He was
found strangled.”

“
Oh, how
terrible. Poor thing.”

“
Yes, she was
devastated by it. We suggested that she come out here to take a few
weeks off, but there has been the funeral to arrange
first.”

“
Aren't you
going back for it?”

“
No. We
thought about it. You cannot bring back the dead, can you? I don't
know what he was mixed up in to come to that grizzly end. We are
better off out of it. And Mary can come and have some peace and
quiet out here. Besides, she knows everyone in the village, so she
has lots of friends to comfort her. She doesn't need us. Parents
cannot keep running every time when you are fifty and they are in
their seventies. You have to be able to stand on your own two feet
eventually, don't you?”

“
Too right.
Life's too short,” Walter re-assures them. “Well must be getting
on. See you around.”

“
And you too,
Walter.”

Walter rejoins
his party. “You'll never guess what. Jeff and Phyllis' son-in-law
was murdered last week, and they aren't even going home to the
funeral.”

“
How uncaring
can you get?”

“
Some people
get very selfish in their old age. I cannot imagine doing that to
Frances. Heavens no!”

* *
*

I often find
weddings as miserable as funerals. What does the church know about
marriage, and even more what does the Reverend Simon Stanley know
about it? It feels like a whole tradition of blind monks discussing
the colours and the nature of the sea in order to help two
inexperienced sailors to cross it safely. Why does the church not
recognise the depth of its ignorance and just throw a party - no
moralising, no advice, just lashings of goodwill and great music. I
am sure that the evangelicals do something like that.

Fortunately,
the wedding between Charlene Brown and young Tom Becker has all the
makings of a great event. Charlie knows everyone of course, and
everything about everyone, including the stuff that did not happen.
Her Maid of Honour is Brenda, so all are involved in the joyous
arrangements.

The whole
village has been pitching in. The florist is providing the flowers,
the butcher the meat, the greengrocer the fruit and veg, the off
licence the wine and soft drinks.

It is a
wedding that will bring happiness and prosperity to all.

The Reverend
Simon Stanley has his homily prepared around the theme of every
cloud having a silver lining. Where there are showers, there must
be sunshine. Where there is conflict, let there be harmony. Where
there is hatred, let there be love. Where there is anger, let there
be compassion. He knows just the passage he will be quoting from
the Bible, an unusual text for a wedding, yet most apt under these
circumstances. He is at least trying to provide some valuable input
within traditional constraints.

Charlie's
father, Harry, is very proud of his daughter. He is both honoured
to give her away, and reluctant to do so. Still, young Becker is a
good lad, and may end up running the funeral parlour one day. Henry
Spence is very fond of him, and Henry's daughter, Kate, shows no
interest in it at all.

The
congregation starts to assemble outside the church, greeting each
other with warmth on this most festive of days. The ushers, friends
of Tom, are trying to shoo them into the church with little effect.
Robin Marsden, the best man, marches up and down the path, checking
the rings, and hoping to God that he will not lose them between now
and then. He fears for his speech. He has never given a speech
before.

Everyone
greets Mary Knightly gently in deference to her recent bereavement
and Sally Willows too, although Sally in contrast to Mary, is not
giving any impression of requiring careful handling. She has the
socially-detached air of a paid assassin who will gun down the
person responsible for her brother's death on the steps of the
church, before or after the service. Everyone who was around in
those days remembers what Sally was like as a young girl, fiery and
headstrong. Each one knows the story of what she did to Dr.
Berringer.

I step up to
introduce myself, somewhat apprehensively, but Sally smiles and
shakes my hand. “My brother spoke very highly of you, Julia. I am
sorry that your relationship was cut so short. You would have been
very good for him, I am sure. You might even have rescued him from
himself, the way that he talked about you. He said that you were
somehow familiar, and that he felt he had known you for
years.”

We converse
for a while, in fact. She describes, quite naturally, her
devastation at the death of her brother, and her determination to
get to the bottom of who killed him. Do I have any ideas? She has
heard that Inspector Frampton and I are spending a great deal of
time together. What is he thinking? How confident is he of finding
out who did it? Can she rely on my help in the future?

“
Of course
you can, Sally. When whoever he is killed Tom, he killed a part of
me too. He murdered a close and intimate friend of mine, and he
threw me under suspicion so that I was arrested as a suspect and
hounded by the press. Apart from my feelings for Tom, I have a
direct stake in bringing this man to justice.”

“
Thank you,
Julia. I get the strong impression that I can rely on
you.”

I admit here
that I over-stated greatly my sentiments for Tom. They were not as
pure, by any means, as I suggested to Sally. However, it seemed
politic to get Sally on my side, and to commit myself to being
indisputably on hers, which in fact I am. I have no desire to be
shot by Sally as a result of her drawing the wrong conclusions
about my involvement with Tom. On the other hand, what was she
doing secretly in the village on the day of Tom's death?

Brian and Kate
arrive, with their four children, followed by Frank and Mary, who
greets me warmly, openly in public.

The ushers
finally succeed in persuading us to move towards our allotted pews
in the church. Shuffling, scraping and coughing ensues. Waving at
people as they come in late. Lifting of eyebrows in greeting. Tom
Becker and Robin Marsden stand side-by-side as if a terrifying
ordeal awaits them. Will Charlie turn up? Will he be able to say
the words? Will the rings still be there? Tom's parents and
Charlie's mother are in opposite choir stalls, with their
respective families, according them a good view of each other and
of proceedings. Both mothers were barely sixteen when they had Tom
and Charlie, so still in their mid-thirties now. Both their fathers
are considerably older. Arnold and Pat Becker are notoriously happy
together, but have never had any more children. Harry and Tessa
Brown can be heard arguing across the entire village through the
open windows of their home, altercations they continue into the
local shops and the streets of the Hanburgh, and no doubt
everywhere else beyond. Nevertheless, they have remained together
for eighteen years. What got into them when they called their
daughter Charlene, no-one knows. She has had to live down the name
“Charlie Brown” all her life. Maybe it is the motivation for her
bubbly nature.