REGINALD HILL
A CURE FOR ALL DISEASES

A Dalziel and Pascoe novel

in six volumes

Copyright

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

Copyright © Reginald Hill 2008

Reginald Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007252695

Ebook edition © JULY 2015 ISBN: 9780007292738

Version: 2018-06-27

Dedication

To Janeites everywhere

Epigraph

and in particular to those who ten years ago in San Francisco made me so very welcome at the Jane Austen Society of North America’s AGM, of which the theme was Sanditon – a new direction?, and during which the seeds of this present novel were sown. I hope that my fellow Janeites will approve the direction in which I have moved her unfinished story; or, if they hesitate approval, that they will perhaps recall the advice printed on a sweat shirt presented to me (with what pertinence I never quite grasped) after my talk to the AGM

– run mad as often as you chuse, but do not faint –

and at least agree that though in places I may have run a little mad, so far I have not fainted!

The Sea air & Sea Bathing together were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a match for every Disorder, of the Stomach, the Lungs or the Blood; They were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti-sceptic, anti-bilious & anti-rheumatic. Nobody could catch cold by the Sea, Nobody wanted appetite by the Sea, Nobody wanted Spirits, Nobody wanted strength. – They were healing, softening, relaxing – fortifying & bracing – seemingly just as was wanted – sometimes one, sometimes the other.

Jane Austen, Sanditon

Then Sir Bedivere cried: Ah my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies? Comfort thyself, said the king, and do as well as thou mayst, for in me is no trust to trust in; for I will into the vale of Avilion to heal me of my grievous wound: and if thou hear never more of me, pray for my soul.

Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur

We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.

Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Volume the First

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Volume the Second

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Volume the Third

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Volume the Fourth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Volume the Fifth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Volume the Sixth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Volume the First

Every Neighbourhood should have a great Lady.

1

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | cracked jugs – daft buggers – & tank traps

Hi Cass!

How’s things in darkest Africa? Wierd & wonderful – I bet – but not so w&w as what weve got here at Willingden Farm. Go on – guess! OK – give up?

House-guests!

& I dont mean awful Uncle Ernie on one of his famous surprise visits. These are strangers!

What happened – at last after our awful wet summer Augusts turned hot – not African hot but pretty steamy by Yorkshire standards. Dad & George were working up in Mill Meadow. Mum asked if Id take them a jug of lemon barley – said it would please dad if I showed willing. Weve been in armed truce since I made it clear my plans hadnt changed – ie do a postgrad thesis instead of getting a paid job – or better still – a wellpaid husband – & settling down! But no reason not to show willing – plus it gave me an excuse to drive the quad – so off I went.

Forgot the mugs – but dad didnt say anything – just drank straight out of the jug like he preferred it – so maybe mum was right & he was pleased. In fact we were having a pleasant chat when suddenly old Fang let out a growl. Lost half his teeth & cant keep up with the sheep any more – but still manages a grand growl. Dad looked round to see what had woken him – & his face went into Headbanger configuration.

– whats yon daft bugger playing at? – he demanded.

Youll recall that in dads demography anyone living outside Willingden parish is a daft bugger till proved innocent. In this case I half agreed with him.

The DB in question was driving his car fast up the lane alongside Mill Meadow. How he got through the gate I dont know. The HB had to take his chain & lock off after the Ramblers took him to court last year – but hes fixed a catch like one of them old metal puzzles we used to play with as kids. Maybe the DB just got lucky – he thought!

He was driving one of these new hybrid 4×4s – you know – conscience without inconvenience! – & when he saw how good the surface was – (tractor tyres dont grow on trees! – remember?) – he mustve thought – great! – now for a bit of safe off-roading.

What he didnt reckon on was what George calls dads tank trap – the drainage ditch where the lane bends beyond the top gate & steepens up to the mill ruin.

New tourist map came out last year – with water mill marked – no mention of ruin. Result – a lot of DBs decided this meant Heritage Centre – guided tours & cream teas! After losing out to the Ramblers – dad was forced to accept ‘bearded wierdies’ trekking across his empire – but the sight of cars crawling up his lane drove him crazy. So one day he got to work with the digger – & when hed finished – the drainage ditch extended across the lane – a muddy hollow a hippo could wallow in – the tank trap!

Most drivers flee at the sight of it – but this DB obviously thought his hybrid could ford rivers & climb Alps – & just kept going.

Bad decision.

For 30 secs the wheels sent out glutinous brown jets – like a cow with colic – then the car slipped slowly sideways – finishing at 45 degrees – driver side down.

– now hell expect us to pull him out – said the HB with some satisfaction.

Moment later the passenger door was flung back. First thing out was a floppy brimmed sun hat – sort posh lady gardeners wear in the old Miss Marple movies. Beneath it was a woman who started to drag herself out – followed by a scream from below – suggesting shed stood on some bit of the driver not meant to be stood on.

She looked around in search of help – & there we were – me – dad – George – & Fang – staring back at her from 50 yds.

– help! – she called – please – can you help me? –

George & me looked at the HB – G because he knows his place – me because I was curious what hed do.

If it had been a man I doubt hed have moved – not without serious negotiation. But this was a woman doing what women ought to do – calling for male assistance.

– reckon wed best take a look – he said – we meaning him & George – of course.

He drained the lemon barley – thrust the jug into my hands like I was a docile milkmaid – & set off towards the accident – G close behind – even old Fang got to go.

I dropped the jug on to the grass. Sods Law – hit a stone & cracked. – O shit! – I said. It was that old earthenware one thats been around forever. I knew the HB would reckon bringing out the lemon barley in anything else would be like serving communion wine from a jam jar. O well – from now on hell have to make do with a plastic bottle!

I set off after them. This was the first mildly interesting thing to happen since I came home – & I wasnt going to miss it.

Woman was thin & wispy – bonnet askew – big straw shoulder bag round her neck like a horses feed sack. She looked so worried I thought the driver must be seriously injured – but now I know its just a couple of notches up from her normal expression of unfocused anxiety. Another thing I noticed – words sprayed on the car door – pro job – elegant cursive script –

Sandytown – Home of the Healthy Holiday.

She was saying – please can you get my husband out? I think hes hurt himself –

– no – Im fine – came a mans voice – really – just a sprain – nothing in the world to worry about dear – aargh! –

As he spoke his head had appeared at his wifes waist level. Gingery hair – soft brown eyes in a narrow mobile face – not bad looking even with a bloodied nose & a footprint across his left cheek – mid to late 30s. He was trying a social smile – till presumably he put more weight on his ankle than it could take.

George jumped up on the side of the vehicle – hooked his hands under the womans armpits – & swung her clear of the muddy sump into dads arms. At 18 – G makes Arnie Schwarzenegger look like a hobbit! On our skiing trip last December – (yeah that one – when I hooked up with lousy Liam) – I could have rented G out to my mates by the hour. In fact – if you count free rounds of gluhwein as rental – thats exactly what I did!

The injured man came next & the HB passed the woman on to me – looking relieved to be rid of her. Thought of making some crack about him preferring men – he still thinks gays should be treated surgically – but decided not time or place.

– youre so kind – many thanks – Ill be fine in a minute – Mary my dear are you all right? – burbled the man.

She said – Oh yes. But your nose dear – its bleeding –

– its nothing – must have banged the wheel when we stopped – he said – rubbing at a mark across his bridge.

Looked very like a footprint to me. I gave him a plus for diplomacy. Made a change from dads Old Testament determination to track all bad shit back to females.

The DB now decided to introduce himself. Unfortunately this involved twisting out of the HBs grip to offer his hand with the inevitable result to his ankle.

– Tom Parker – he said – my wife Mary – aargh! – Another plus – in dads eyes anyway. Had to be English – first thing they taught us in psych school was only the English risk pain for the sake of politeness.

– let me have a look – I said – set him down there dad –

Dad obeyed. Must be a first!

– my daughters had St John Ambulance training – he said proudly. Touched me for a moment to hear him bragging about me – then he spoilt it by dragging you into it!

– when she wanted to go to college – he went on – I told her she ought to sign up for training as a nurse like her sister Cassie – but of course it was like banging my head against a brick wall –

1st time the famous phrase had cropped up in a week. Found Id been missing it!

I said – ignore my father. When he dies were going to build him a headstone out of cracked bricks. Now lets get that shoe off while we can –

The DB winced as I removed his shoe & sock – then regarded his enlarged ankle with a kind of complacent pride. I was about to offer my not very expert opinion when he forestalled me – addressing his wife – something like this.

– look Mary – some typical subcutaneous swelling – the beginnings of what will doubtless be an extensive ecchymosis – tarsal movement restricted but still possible with moderate to acute pain – a strain I would say – certainly no worse than a sprain. Thank heaven I have always mended quickly. What a laugh they will have at home when they ask how I hurt myself – & we tell them I did it looking for a healer! –

This odd bit of self-diagnosis – with its odder conclusion – confirmed dads suspicion he was dealing with a particularly daft DB – & he burst out – what the hell were you playing at? This is a country lane not a public race track! –

Parker replied – youre right of course. But I didnt anticipate even someone as unworldly as a healer would let his driveway fall into such bad repair –

– its worse than bad – its dangerous! – chimed in his wife – The man should be taken to court for letting it get into that condition. How does he expect people to get anywhere near his house? –

& George put his large foot in it by saying with a grin – aye – theres not many get past dads tank trap –

The woman looked at him suspiciously – while dad gave him one of his shut-your-gob glares – then changed the subject by demanding – house? – What house? –

– Mr Godleys house. There – said Parker.

He pointed up the hillside towards the ruins. From below – the alders in full leaf – that one bit of wall still standing does look like there might be a whole building behind.

– you mean the old mill? Well you could have saved yourself the bother – declared dad – Nowt to be seen up there – all the machinery were taken out twenty years ago – you can see some of it along at the Dales Museum – if youve got time to waste. As for the building – roofs fallen in & most of the walls. Id have knocked the rest down years back only some daft bugger got a conservation order put on it –

– but that cant be right – protested the man – darling pass me the magazine –

The woman dived into her bag & produced a copy of Mid-Yorkshire Life. It was folded open at a short piece entitled ‘Healing Hands’ – with a pic of a slightly embarrassed bearded guy holding up what were presumably the hands in question. His name – thisll make you laugh – was Gordon Godley!

– look – said Mr Parker triumphantly – its got the address quite clearly here. The Old Mill – Willingdene. Seeing the village signposted as we drove back from Harrogate – a sadly unproductive visit – once it may have been a serious spa town but now it has given itself over almost completely to commerce & frivolity – I naturally diverted & enquired of a young lad the way to the Old Mill. He gave me most precise directions which brought me here. Are you now telling me that is not the Old Mill? –

Im giving you Tom Parker verbatim – else youd miss the flavour. Its like listening to an old fashioned book come to life!

Dad smiled. You know how much he enjoys putting daft buggers right.

– it were once a mill right enough – & its certainly old. But theres not been anybody living there for half a century or more & Ill tell you why. This here is Willingden – just the one e. Willingdene is way up at the northern end of the dale –

If hed been a footie player – hed have set off running round the meadow – whirling his shirt over his head! He just loves winning – no matter who gets beaten. Remember those games of snap we used to play?

Mr Parker seemed more cast down by this news than by his sprained ankle.

– Im sorry my dear – he said to his wife – I should have taken more notice –

Taking all the blame on himself again – even though she was the one with the mag article. Nice – I thought. His reward was her continued terrier like support.

– it makes no difference – she said – this is marked on the map as a public right of way & someone ought to keep it in a proper condition –

– Charley – said dad quickly – whats the verdict on that ankle? –

I couldnt see any point in disagreeing with the patient.

– I think Mr Parkers right & its just a sprain – I said – a cold compress will help & he certainly shouldnt put any weight on it –

How was that Nurse Heywood?

– right – said dad – Charley bring the quad – lets get Mr & Mrs Parker down to the house – make them a bit more comfortable. George – you stop here & get the car pulled out of that mud. Clean it up & check for damage. Ill get on my mobile – tell your mother to put the kettle on – Im sure these good people are ready for a nice cup of tea –

I caught his eye & let my jaw drop in mock astonishment at this transformation from dedicated xenophobe to Good Samaritan.

He actually blushed! Then he gave me a sheepish grin that invited my complicity.

I grinned back & headed off towards the quad.

Hes not such a bad old sod really – is he? As long as he gets his own way. Bit like you! All right – & like me too. The fruit doesnt fall far from the tree. But you led the way. If you hadnt stood up to him & gone off to nurse – I doubt Id have had the nerve to hold out to go to uni & do psychology – & now after 3 years – whenever he gets close to driving me mad – I try to think of him as a case study!

But Ive still not told you how the Parkers came to be house-guests.

Thing was – when G pulled their car out of the tank trap – he found it wouldnt steer properly. Winstons garage said they could fix it – but theyd have to send away for a part. Tomorrow – they said – but knowing Winstons Im not holding my breath.

When Parker heard this he said – thats fine. No problem whatsoever. Perhaps – Mr Heywood – you could give me the number of the inn I saw in the village? – It looked a comfortable sort of place for us to rest in till the cars ready –

I could see the thoughts running through dads head like hed got a display screen on his brow. Being the most litigious man in the county – in Parkers place hed have been thinking compensation soon as his car hit the tank trap. Locally his views on daft buggers are well known – & he even boasts about his various stratagems for discouraging them. But these days – with tourism rated higher than farming in the rural economy – not everyone approves of him – & the enthusiastic gossips of the Nags Head bar would leave the Parkers in no doubt who to blame for their ‘accident’!

So I wasnt too surprised when I heard him say – Nags Head? – aye – its well enough. But the floors are uneven – stairs narrow – not at all what a man in your state needs. No – youd best stay here. Ill get George to bring your bags up from the car –

The Parkers were overcome by dads generosity. So was mum – with amazement! – but she quickly recovered – & I gave dad a big wink – & got one back!

So there you are. We have house-guests – & its time to go down & have supper with them. Ill keep you posted on how the HB bears up under the strain.

Take care – dont catch anything I wouldnt catch – & if you fall in love with a big handsome black man – e me a pic of you & him – & Ill stick it in dads prayer book so hell see it for the first time at church on Sunday morning!

Lots & lots of love

Charley X

2

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | sex – Sandytown – & psychology

Omigod Cass! I must be psychic! OK – you say hes not black – but teaky bronze. Same difference – & is that all over? I mean all all over? & hes a doc too – just like in mums Mills & Boon stories! Means youll probably have trouble with some slinkily gorgeous lady medic – wholl manage to get you blamed when she accidentally offs a patient – but dont worry – itll all come right in the end!

I definitely want a pic. Cross my heart I wont stick it in dads prayer book – not till you give the word! But can I tell mum? Shes desperate for grand-kids. Adam & Kylie show no sign of producing – even if they did Oz is a hell of long way off – can you imagine getting the HB on a plane to fly twelve thousand miles? Rod spends most of his time at sea – & we know what sailors are! She was desolate when I got back early from my camping trip with Liam & Sam & Dot – & told her it was all off – irreconcilable differences – which is what us psychs say to our mums when we catch ex-partner Liam banging ex-best-mate Dot up against a pine tree. So – unless you settle down & start calving – I think she may strap me to my bed – & get to work with an AI straw!

Your news makes my stuff about the Parkers seem v dull – but you say youre interested so here goes with the next instalment.

As house-guests go – they havent! Winstons – as forecast – got let down by their suppliers – again! So 1 nights turned into 3. But its been OK. I like Mary Parker a lot. Doesnt say much around her husband – except in agreement with him – or defence of him! But – get her to herself & shes great.

Tom Parkers v different – thinks silence is for the grave & the living have a duty to resist!

His favourite topic – unless checked his only topic – is Sandytown – as advertised on the side of his car!

Remember Sandytown? I think that was the last Heywood family outing. Me 9 or 10 – you 13 – sea cold & grey – sand gritty – wind so strong it blew our windbreaks away – & Sandytown itself seemed to be shut! To cap it all – on the way back – George was sick – & that set me off – & soon we were all at it! Dad sang all the way home! After 3 years doing psychology I reckon I know why. He clearly saw the whole trip as a successful experiment in aversion therapy!

So when Tom Parker started rattling on about Sandytown at supper that first night – I didnt dare catch Georges eye.

Ill give it you verbatim again – really – this is how he talks!

– Sandytown! – he said – Beautiful Sandytown – the most lustrous pearl in the long necklace of the Yorkshire coast! You see Charlotte – (fixing his eye on me – I think hes decided Im the intellectual epicentre of the Heywood family – or maybe he just likes my boobs!) – a new age of the English holiday is dawning. Compared with it – the old age – which died with the onset of cheap Mediterranean packages – will seem but a trial run. Two practical reasons for the change – global warming & global terrorism! We travel in fear & we travel in discomfort. We have our personal belongings – & indeed our persons – searched by hard-faced – & hard-fingered – strangers. We are prodded into line by armed police. We are forced to eat with implements which – lacking the rigidity necessary to be a threat to soft human flesh – cannot begin to cope with airline food. Nor can we feel safe on arrival. Tourists are everywhere regarded as a soft terrorist target – while global warming – exacerbated by the soaring emission levels of flight – has led to a dramatic increase in the incidence of natural disasters – floods – drought – hurricanes – earthquakes – tsunamis – etc –

By now dad was regarding him with gobsmacked amazement – mum with polite interest – his wife with fond admiration – & the twins were choking back their giggles.

To me it was clear that Parker was reciting some kind of sales pitch – one made so often the record would run to its end unless interrupted.

So when he paused for breath I got in quick with – Why were you looking for a healer Tom? –

– a very perceptive question Charlotte – he replied smiling at me – to which my answer is – health! Let me explain. We live in a sick world – a world suffering from some deep-rooted wasting disease – of which terrorism & warming are but symptoms. To cure the whole we must start with the smallest part – the individual! The English seaside holiday originated in a search for recreation in the strictest sense. Pure ozone-enriched air to cleanse the lungs – surging salty water to refresh the skin & stimulate the circulation – peace & quiet to restore the troubled spirit –

Seeing he was getting back into his groove – I cut in again – Sounds to me like a healers the last thing you need! –

– A good point! – he cried with delight. (Its a great technique this – being delighted with everything anyone says!) – To understand the healer it is of course necessary to understand the history. Some 2 years ago – when Mid-Yorkshire Council began discussion of their Eastern Region Development Plan – naturally Lady Denham & myself took a keen interest in their proposals for the Sandytown area …

– whos Lady Denham? – I asked – reducing him to amazed silence – & dad – always glad to know something I dont – chipped in – This the Denhams of Denham Park?

– you know the family? – said Tom – delighted.

– know of them – grunted dad – & little good – bad landowners – worse landlords – thought theyd gone to the wall long since –

– in a sense they have – agreed Parker – but Lady Denham – now alas a widow for a second time – only bears the name through marriage. Her 2nd incidentally. Before that she was Mrs Hollis – & before that Miss Daphne Brereton – only daughter of the Breretons of Brereton Manor – Sandytowns premier family – well to do – highly respected. Money calls to money – place to place – that is my experience – though I do not suggest that love was absent when she caught the eye of Howard Hollis –

– Hollis? – Dad interrupted – Hog Hollis? – him as got et by his own pigs? –

I saw the twins perk up. Anything grisly really turns them on!

– indeed – there was a tragic accident – said Tom – You knew Mr Hollis? –

– met him a couple of times – said dad unenthusiastically – folk reckoned he kept his pigs in the sea his meat were so salty & watery! Made a fortune but he were a right miserable sod – only time he ever smiled was for yon photo on them Hollis’s Ham freezer packs you see all over the supermarkets – & that were probably wind! –

I caught mums eye & we shared a moment of speculation about when dad had last been inside a supermarket!

Tom said – he was certainly a man who – despite his great success – remained true to his roots. Perhaps it was the contrast offered by the more refined manners of Sir Henry Denham that made the widow look favourably upon his advances. Alas – fate is not sentimental – & within all too short a time Sir Henry was also brought low –

– et by the pigs too? – chimed in David hopefully. Dad gave him a glower. He can say what he wants but he expects his kids to observe the conventions.

– a riding accident – said Tom – & while Daphne Breretons first marriage certainly left her with even more wealth than she brought to it – from her second – it is general knowledge – she derived little more than the respect due to an ancient name –

Pause for applause. Instead – Mary P gave a little gasp – maybe a repressed sneeze – echoed by dads openly incredulous snort.

Parker – unperturbed – went on – She & I – as principal landowners in the area – had already been planning to put Sandytown on the map long before the MYCC proposals. She had led the way by being instrumental in bringing the Avalon Foundation to Sandytown. You have heard of Avalon – of course? –

This time me & dad both nodded. Hardly need to tell you what dad said!

– oh aye – we know all about the Avalon. When I read in the papers – a few years back – the Yanks were building a fancy clinic out on the coast – I said to our Cass – that ud be a grand place for you to work – them Yanks know how to pay nurses & you could get home in an hour – but it were like –

– banging my head against a brick wall! – chorused the twins – then collapsed in giggles.

Dad gave them a glower – & Tom Parker went rattling on.

– Lady Denham & I – in our private discussions – had pre-empted the Councils conclusion that Sandytown was perfectly placed to take advantage of the changes in recreational climate – both meteorologically & intellectually speaking – & formed a loose alliance – & put 1 or 2 projects in train. But now we approached the Councils Development Officer – who was rapidly persuaded by our projections of the increase in local employment – & of tourism – plus our plans for a measure of affordable housing – to join with us in the formation of the Sandytown Development Consortium – a true partnership between the public & private sectors – underpinned – through the good offices of my brother Sidney – by significant investment institutions in the City –

He paused – momentarily lost in the forests of his own verbosity – & his wife came in with a prompt – The Avalon dear – & the healer –

Indeed! – he resumed – the Avalon. The siting of such a famous centre of medical care & recuperation on our doorstep seemed to me a hint almost divine. At the centre of our Development Plan is the conversion of Brereton Manor – Lady Ds childhood home – into a 5 star luxury hotel & recreational health centre. All the conventional attractions – golf – tennis – horseriding – swimming – beauty treatments – saunas – gymnasia – & so on – will be on offer here – & available to all visitors to our town – not just those who can afford the Manors necessarily high prices. However – to place us firmly in the new niche market where Sandytown – I forecast – will rapidly dominate – we are offering a range of complementary therapies for those who find that conventional medicine does not answer their needs –

He paused – for breath not applause – then pressed on – alternative medicine is – you will agree – another great 21st century growth area. We already have several practitioners in residence – an acupuncturist – a reflexologist – a homeopath – a Third Thought counsellor – but spiritual healers are harder to come by. I was hoping to talk to Mr Godley – the gentleman at Willingdene – with a view to persuading him to be – as it were – a visiting consultant –

By now dad had heard enough – indeed too much!

– healers! – he snorted – Load of mumbo-jumbo. Me – Id rather be treated by my vet – even though the bugger charges a fortune –

– then perhaps you should read this article – suggested Parker who seems quite unoffendable – it claims that Mr Godley has had some astonishing results with animals –

A sharp glance from mum made dad choke back his suggestion what Tom could do with the article – but David burst out – Charley thinks its all a load of bollocks too! –

– David! – said mum sternly – Language! –

– but its true – the little gobshite defended himself – You do think its all rubbish – dont you Charley? You were telling us you were going to write a composition about it –

Parker looked at me quizzically – & I said – Ignore him. His ears are bigger than his brain. What he misheard is that Im proposing to do a thesis on the psychology of alternative therapy. The medical establishment says its mostly nonsense – the practitioners point to what they claim are well documented successes. Im not interested in joining in the debate – but in looking at a variety of these therapies – & seeing if I can find any common psychological elements in their practise & their results –

Good – eh? Should be. Parkers not the only one who has a selling line off pat!

Across the table I could see the Headbangers eyes starting to roll & Id hardly finished before he broke out – There you have it Mr Parker. My clever daughters already spent three years with her nose in a pile of musty books – learning a lot of nowt about a lot of nowt just to get some letters after her name – & now she wants to spend another God knows how long doing much the same just to get some more. She can go on till shes got the whole damn alphabet – but wheres it going to lead? thats what Id like to know. Ive tried talking sense into her but its like –

Here he glared at the twins – daring them to finish his sentence again. I think David would have – but Freddie kicked him under the table. Bet she wants to wheedle some more spending money out of him for her school trip this autumn! Since G & me went skiing – she thinks shes owed a month in a 5 star in Miami!

Tom Parker endeared himself to me by saying – But that is marvellous Charlotte – understanding the mind is the first step to restoring the body – we need more young people like you to put this sick world of ours to rights! –

See – you dont have to go shogging off to Africa to be a saint!

Later – as Mary helped Tom limp from the room – he said to mum – A delicious meal Amy – best Ive had – outside of Sandytown – & Mary added – Yes – thank you both for your kindness. Youve got a lovely family Amy –

Well you know how much dad loves to hear mum being praised – so he hardly moaned at all about our guests when theyd gone upstairs – though I thought hed explode when we heard next morning the car wouldnt be ready for at least 3 days!

I did my bit – keeping them from getting under his feet. No problem – like I say – I really got to like them – & they seemed to like me too. Tom showed real interest in my thesis proposal – & today he said – Charlotte – (they both call me Charlotte – which is nice) – you know we intend calling on Mr Godley the healer on our way home – why dont you come with us? You could talk to him about his patients – for your thesis –

I said – but youd be well on your way home by the time you got to Willingdene & you wouldnt want to turn round & come all the way back here –

& Mary said – actually we did wonder if youd like to come all the way to Sandytown & spend a few days with us at Kyoto House –

I said – Kyoto? – thinking Id misheard.

Tom said – yes – perhaps I was hasty – the Kyoto Protocol has proved pretty toothless hasnt it? If Id waited I think Al Gore House might have been more appropriate –

Mary didnt look as if she agreed – but she nodded vigorously as Tom went on – please come – you could meet our other therapists – give us the benefit of your take on our great experiment – & most importantly – wed get more of your company! –

Well its always nice to be wanted – even so Id probably have said thanks but no thanks – only dad had come into the room at some point – & suddenly he spoke in that Wiz of Oz voice he uses when hes really laying down the law.

– nay – he declared – shes not been back home 2 minutes – shell not want to be gallivanting off afore shes needed her sheets changed –

Maybe I should have been touched at his desire to keep me close. All I actually felt was the usual irritation that – even at 22 – he still wanted to treat me like a kid.

I said – no reflection on your own personal hygiene dad – but Ive changed my sheets at least twice since I came home. Now getting back to the matter in hand – thank you very much Tom & Mary for your kind invitation. Id be really delighted to accept –

So there you have it. Heres me – a rational being – with a degree certifying Ive spent 3 years studying what makes people tick – & what do I end up doing?

Going to visit a place Ive no reason to like – in the company of people I hardly know – just to prove Im not a kid anymore!

Now thats really mature – eh?

Watch this space for my next exciting adventure in darkest Mid-Yorkshire.

& I look forward to some truly madly steamy revelations from darkest Africa!

Lots of love

Charley xx

3

Ho’d on. How the fuck do I know this bloody thing’s working?

HELLO! HELLO! DALZIEL SPEAKING! LOOK ON MY WORKS, YOU MUGWUMPS, AND DESPAIR!

Now, let the dog see the rabbit … I’ll try pressing this, like the bishop said to

Christ, do I really sound like that? No wonder the buggers jump!

So it works. So what? Hears everything I say and plays it back word for fucking word. What’s so clever about that? Old Auntie Mildred could do exactly the same – plus good advice! So that’s you christened, right? Mildred!

But listen, Mildred, you start telling me to wear my woolly vest and it’s straight out of the window for you!

Yon Festerwhanger were right, but. Nice bit of kit this.

Jesus, Andy, listen to yourself! Nice bit of kit! You be careful, lad, else you’ll end up like all these kids with their p-pods, walking around with idiot grins on their faces and their heads nodding like them daffs in the poem.

Keep a record of little thoughts you might lose, Fester said, and mebbe some big questions you normally don’t have time to ask yourself.

Right, Dalziel, sod the little thoughts, let’s start with the biggest question of them all.

How the fuck did I end up here in Sandytown talking to meself like the village loony?

Let’s try and build it up bit by bit like Ed Wield ’ud build up a case file.

Back to the big bang in Mill Street that set it all rolling.

That were the Bank Holiday, end of May.

Don’t recall much of June, mebbe ’cos I spent most of it in a coma.

Good thing about a coma, they told me, was it gave my cracked bones time to start mending. Bad thing was it didn’t do much for my muscle tone.

Never knew I had muscle tone before.

Found out the hard way.

First time I tried getting out of bed by myself, I fell over.

Let a week go by, then tried again. But this time I made sure there was a nice fat nurse to fall on to.

Third time I took three steps towards the door and fell into Pete Pascoe’s arms.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘Home,’ sez I. ‘Soon as I bloody well can.’

‘How do you propose doing that?’ sez he in that prissy voice he puts on.

‘I’ll bloody well walk if I have to,’ sez I.

He let go of me and stepped back.

I fell over.

I lay there and looked up at him with pride.

When I first met him he were a detective constable, soft as shit and so wet behind the ears you could have used him to clean windows.

Now he were my DCI, and he were hard enough to let me fall and leave me lying.

He’d come a long way and ought to go a lot further.

‘OK, clever clogs,’ I sez. ‘You’ve made your point. Now get me back into bed.’

Soon it were getting on for August, and I were still the only one talking about going home. Cap made encouraging remarks, but changed the subject when we got on to dates. I thought, sod this for a lark, they can’t keep me here when I want to be off!

I said as much to Pete and the bugger sent in the heavy squad.

His missus, Ellie.

From the first time I met her, I saw she were already hard enough to let me fall and leave me lying. In fact back in them early days I reckon she’d have been happy to give me a helping push.

She said, ‘I hear you’re talking of discharging yourself, Andy. So who’s going to look after you when you get home?’

‘I’ll look after myself. Always have done,’ I said.

She sighed. Women have two kinds of sighs. Long-suffering and ooh-I’m-really-enjoying-that. Lot of men never learn the difference.

She said, Andy, you got blown up in a terrorist explosion, you suffered multiple injuries, you lay in a coma for weeks …’

‘Aye, and most of the time since I came out of it I’ve spent on this bloody bed,’ I said. ‘So where’s the difference?’

‘Don’t exaggerate,’ she said. ‘You’re on a carefully planned course of supervised physiotherapy. They say you’re doing well, but it will be ages before you can look after yourself.’

‘So I’ll get help from Social Services. That’s why I pay my bloody taxes, isn’t it?’

‘How long do you think that’ll last?’ she asked.

‘Till I get fed up wi’ them? Couple of weeks mebbe. By then I should be fine.’

‘I meant, till they get fed up of you! Who’ll look after you then?’

I said, ‘I’ve got friends.’

‘Arse-licking friends maybe,’ she said. ‘But arse-wiping ones are a bit thinner on the ground.’

Sometimes she takes my breath away! Mebbe I were taking too much credit for putting the steel into Pascoe’s backbone. Should have known that all them years the bugger were getting home tuition!

‘For you mebbe,’ I said. ‘Treat folk right and they’ll treat you right, that’s my motto. There’ll be folk queuing up to give me a hand.’

‘Takes two to make a queue,’ she said. ‘You’re talking about Cap, aren’t you?’

Of course I were talking about Cap. Cap Marvell. My girlfriend … partner … bint … tottie … none of them fits. Or all of them. Cap bloody marvellous in my book, ’cos that’s what she’s been.

‘So I mean Cap. She won’t let me down. She’ll be there when I need her.’

I let it out a bit pathetic. Could see I were getting nowhere slogging it out punch for punch, but even the really hard ones are often suckers for a bit of pathos. Vulnerability they call it. Make ’em feel you need help. Stood me in good stead many a time back in my Jack-the-ladding days.

Didn’t take long to realize it weren’t going to get me anywhere now.

‘Boo hoo,’ said Ellie. ‘You’ve been together a good few years now, you and Cap. But you never set up shop together, you’ve both kept your own places. Why’s that?’

She knew bloody well why it was. We’ve got our own lives, our own interests, our own timetables. There’s stuff in my pack I don’t want her getting touched by. And there’s definitely stuff in hers I don’t want to know about. Every time there’s an animal rights raid, I find myself checking her alibi! But the real big thing is lots of little things, like the way we feel about muddy boots, setting tables, using cutlery, eating pickles straight out of the jar, watching rugby on the telly, playing music dead loud, what kind of music we want to play dead loud, and so bloody on.

I said, ‘A n emergency’s different.’

‘So this is an emergency now? Right. Whose place will you set up the emergency centre at? Your house or Cap’s flat? And how long will you indenture Cap as your body servant before you set her free?’

‘Don’t go metaphysical on me, luv,’ I said. ‘What’s that mean?’

‘You’re not thick, Andy, so don’t pretend to be,’ she said. ‘Cap’s life has been on hold since you got blown up. You know she’s got a very full independent existence – that’s one of the reasons you’ve never shacked up together, right? She’s not one of those ground-you-walk-on worshippers that only live for their man.’

‘I know what she is a bloody sight better than thee, Ellie Pascoe!’ I declared, getting angry. ‘And I know she’d be ready and willing to put in a bit of time taking care of me if that’s what I need!’

‘Of course she would,’ said Ellie with that smug look they get when they’ve made you lose your rag. ‘Question is, Andy. Do you really want her to?’

No answer to that, at least not one I wanted to give her the satisfaction of hearing. And I didn’t say much either when she started talking about the Cedars out at Filey, the convalescent home provided by our Welfare Association for old, mad, blind and generally knackered cops. Alcatraz, we call it, ’cos the only way out is in a box.

What I did say, all grumpy, was, ‘Were it Cap that put you up to this then?’

She grabbed hold of a bedpan and said, ‘That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Andy Dalziel. And if you let out so much as a hint to Cap what I’ve been talking to you about, I’ll stick this thing so far up your behind, they’ll need a tow truck to haul it out! You just lie here and think about what I’ve said.’

‘Yes, miss,’ I said meekly. ‘Tha knows, lass, Pete Pascoe’s a very lucky man.’

‘You think so?’ she said, looking a bit embarrassed.

‘Aye,’ I said. ‘It’s not every husband’s got a big strapping wife he can send up on the roof if ever a tile comes off in a high wind.’

She laughed out loud. That’s one of the things I like about Ellie Pascoe. No girlish giggles there. She enjoys a real good laugh.

‘You old sod,’ she said. ‘I’m off now. I’ve got my own life too. Peter sends his love. Says to tell you that he’s got things running so smooth down at the Factory that he can’t understand how they ever managed with you. Take care now.’

She bent over me and kissed me. Bright, brave, and bonny. Pete Pascoe really was a lucky man.

And she’s got lovely knockers.

Any road, I did think about what she’d said and a couple of days later when I were talking to Cap, I said I were thinking of going to the Cedars.

She said, ‘But you hate that place. You once went to visit someone there and you said it was like a temperance hotel without the wild parties.’

That’s the trouble with words, they come back to haunt you.

‘Mebbe that’s what I need now,’ I lied. ‘Couple of weeks’ peace and quiet and a breath of sea air. Me mind’s made up.’

I should have known, men make up their minds like they make up their beds – if there’s a woman around she’ll pull all the bedding off and start again.

Next time she came she had a bunch of brochures.

She said, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, Andy, and I reckon you’re right about the sea air. But I don’t think the Cedars is the place for you. You’d be surrounded by other cops there with nothing to do but talk about crooks and cases and getting back on the job. No, this is the place for you. The Avalon.’

‘You mean that Yankee clinic place?’ I said, glancing at the brochures.

‘The Avalon Foundation is originally American, yes, but it’s been so successful it now has clinics worldwide. There’s one in Australia, one in Switzerland …’

‘I’m not going to Switzerland,’ I said. ‘All them cuckoo clocks, I’d never sleep.’

‘Of course you’re not. You are going to the one in Sandytown, where as well as the clinic and its attendant nursing home, there’s an old house that’s been converted into a convalescent home. My old headmistress, Kitty Bagnold, you may recall, is seeing out her days in the nursing home. I visit her from time to time, so it will be very convenient for me to have both my broken eggs in one basket.’

That were the clincher, of course, her managing to make it sound like I’d be doing her a favour by coming here. I asked who’d be paying. She said my insurance would cover most of it and in any case hadn’t I always said that if you ended up with life left over at the end of your money, the state would take care of you, but if you ended up with money left over at the end of your life, you were an idiot!

There’s them bloody haunting words again!

Any road, I blustered a bit for the show of things but soon caved in. When I told Ellie Pascoe I thought she’d have been dead chuffed, but she seemed right disappointed I weren’t going to the Cedars. Even when I assured her I wouldn’t let Cap be out of pocket here, she still didn’t seem too pleased.

Women, eh? You can fuck ’em but you can’t fathom them.

But Cap were happy and that meant I felt pretty pleased with myself when a couple of weeks later she drove me here to Sandytown.

I soon stopped being pleased, but. Cap had hardly set off back to the car park to drive home afore it was being made clear to me that the Avalon weren’t like a 5-star hotel with the guests’ wishes being law.

‘Convalescence is a carefully monitored progression from illness to complete health,’ explained the matron. (Name of Sheldon – calls herself Chief Nurse, but with tits a randy vicar could rest a bible on while he preached the gospel according to St Dick, she were a shoo-in for the role of matron in one of them Carry On movies!)

‘Oh aye,’ I said, taking the piss. ‘And visiting hours from three to quarter past every third Sunday!’

‘Ha ha,’ she said. ‘In fact no visitors at all to start with until we’ve had time to observe you and assess your needs and draw up your personal programme – diet sheet, exercise schedule, medication plan, therapy timetable – that sort of thing.’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Schedules, timetables – makes me feel like a railway train.’

She smiled – I’ve seen more convincing smiles in a massage parlour – and said, ‘Indeed. And our aim is to get you puffing out of the station as quickly as possible.’

I could see she liked her little joke. But I didn’t argue. I just wanted to sleep!

That were a couple of days ago. Spent most of the time since then sleeping ’cos every time I woke up there were some bugger ready to pinch and prod and poke things into me. Assessment they call it. More like harassment to me!

Third day, matron appeared all coy and girlish, straightened my sheets, plumped my pillows and said, ‘Big day, today, Mr Dalziel. Dr Feldenhammer himself is coming to see you.’

And that’s when I first set eyes on Lester Feldenhammer, head quack at the Avalon. I could tell he were a Yank soon as he opened his gob. Not the accent but the teeth! It were like looking down an old-fashioned bog, all vitreous china gleaming white. Bet he gargles with Harpic twice a day.

‘Mr Dalziel,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Avalon, sir. Your fame has preceded you. I’m honoured to shake the hand of a man who got injured in the front line of the great fight against terrorism.’

I thought he were taking the piss, but when I looked at him I could see he were sincere. They’re the worst kind. Never trust a man who believes his own crap.

I thought, I’ll have to watch this one.

He shook my hand like he wanted to make sure it were properly attached and he said, ‘I’m Lester Feldenhammer, Director of the Avalon, also Head of Clinical Psychology. I think we’ve just about got your programme sorted, but the greatest aid to speedy recovery must come from within. I’ve taken the liberty of putting a little self-help book I’ve written in your bedside locker. It may help you to a fuller understanding of what’s happening to you here.’

‘Gideon Bible usually does the trick,’ I said.

‘We like to think of them as complementary,’ he said. ‘I’m really looking forward to monitoring your progress, Mr Dalziel. On matters physiological you will, of course, have access to our specialized medical staff. On all other matters, I’m your man. Anything you want to know, you have only to ask.’

‘Is that right?’ I said. ‘So what’s for dinner?’

He decided this were a joke and laughed like an accordion.

‘I can see we’re going to get on famously,’ he said. ‘Now, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.’

He pulled out this little shiny metal thing.

‘I’m not swallowing that,’ I said. ‘And if tha’s thinking of getting it into me by some other route, tha’d best think again.’

This time, mebbe because it were a joke, he didn’t laugh.

‘It’s a digital recorder,’ he said. ‘State of the art, practically works itself. What I’d like you to do, Mr Dalziel, is keep a sort of audio-diary. Make a record of your feelings, your experiences, anything that comes into your mind.’

‘You mean, you want me to start talking to myself?’ I said. ‘Like the nutters do?’

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Not to yourself. Just talk as if you’re speaking to someone who knows absolutely nothing about you.’

‘Like you, for instance?’ I said.

He gave me a smile I could’ve played ‘Chopsticks’ on and said, ‘I do in fact know a little about you. And I shouldn’t like you to think you’re addressing me specifically. In fact, let me assure you, Mr Dalziel, I shall never listen to any part of it without your permission.’

‘So if you’re not going to hear it, what’s the point?’ I asked.

‘The point is you saying things, not me hearing them,’ he said. ‘You can keep a record of all those interesting little thoughts we so easily lose track of. Also you can ask yourself some of the really Big Questions. Think of it as part journal, part self-interrogation. I’m sure a man with your skills will be able to detect truth through no matter how cunningly woven a web of evasion and deceit. Will you do that for me?’

I said, ‘Mebbe. But if I don’t get some grub soon, I may just swallow it anyway.’

He went off, laughing. And that’s how I come to be lying here, talking to myself like a loony. Took another couple of days afore I dug Fester’s little toy out. Man in bed’s got to play with something. Nowt else to do. Newspapers these days aren’t fit to wrap chips in. Telly’s worse, and they don’t feed me enough grub to enjoy a good crap!

Can’t even do a runner. First, I’ve got no clothes. Spoke to Cap on the phone and she says she’ll bring me some soon as they let her visit me. Second, got to face it, my leg’s getting there, but I’m not back to running mode yet. I dumped them poncy elbow crutches they gave me at the hospital and got Cap to buy me a stout walking stick. I’m OK for short bursts, but after a couple of minutes, I’m ready for a sit-down.

Got to keep reminding myself, there’s a world out there, a real world with people in it, and pubs, and it’s likely full of scrotes pissing themselves laughing ’cos I’m stuck in here, talking to a machine.

Let them laugh.

I’ll be back.

Sure as eggs.

4

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | an exciting journey!

Hi!

Nothing from you – maybe your teaky bronzy doc is keeping you busy – nudge nudge.

Ive made it to Sandytown – just finished unpacking in Kyoto House – built on a cliff top to catch all them healthy breezes – very eco-friendly – solar panels – wind driven generator – etc etc. Lovely room – looking out over the North Sea – all blue & sparkly just now – but I hope we get a storm before I go. Funny that – only other time I was here I prayed for warm sunshine – this time I want thunder & lightning!

The journey first – we stopped off at Willingdene as planned – to meet Gordon Godley – the healer.

I quite liked him – nutty as a fruit-cake – but sort of nice with it.

Hard to say how old – 45? – 55? – not helped by a mad black beard threaded with silver – like a bramble bush on an autumn morning – but v young v gentle grey eyes – a nose like a flying buttress in a dolls cathedral & a lovely smile. I could see the unclaimed treasures of the area queuing up to have his hands laid on their aching joints.

Dont think he took to me though. Tom didnt help – introducing me with a version of my thesis proposal that made me sound like the witch-finder general – out on the rampage! Mr Godley wouldnt meet my eye – answered my questions with monosyllabic grunts – so I soon gave up.

However – he listened to Toms pitch with great courtesy – tho I got the impression – using my finely honed analytical powers – that in fact he already knew a lot more about the Sandytown project than he was letting on. In the end – to shut him up I think! – he accepted Toms invite to make a visit to see if he felt called to bring his ministry there – Toms dead keen to get him on board for what he calls the Festival of Health – scheduled for Bank Holiday weekend – Ill be long gone – thank heaven! –

Finally – at Marys request – Gord laid his healing hands on the sprained ankle.

As we left Tom claimed his injury was much improved.

– I felt a warmth – he asserted – A definite warmth as from a powerful sun-lamp –

Back in the car – out of earshot of Mr Godley – I observed that – in veiw of the nature of the injury – I would have been more impressed if hed felt a definite coldness.

He turned in his seat – hed wanted me to sit in the front – but I insisted he needed the space because of his ankle – & gave me a delighted smile & said – see Mary how good Charlotte will be for us. Scientific objectivity – thats what we want. No chance of charlatanism ruining the good name of Sandytown with her keen eye upon us! –

Im not sure what lasting effect the healers hands might have on the sprained ankle – but one thing I feel certain of – Tom Parkers optimism is incurable!

Mary drove well & very carefully. If shed been at the wheel I doubt theyd have ended in the tank trap. On the other hand I couldnt regret that they had. My acceptance of their invitation might have been made in pique – but now I found I was really looking forward to the visit. Dont know if Ill get much useful thesis fodder out of it – after my start with Godly Gordon I guess Ill need to brush up my interviewing techniques – but being cast in the role of detached scientific observer tickled my fancy.

Like a camera – I will record – & not judge.

Or maybe Ill judge just a little! I am after all Steve Heywoods daughter.

Difference being – Ill keep my judgments to myself!

& you – of course!

Short break there.

Eldest kid – Minnie (= little Mary) – burst in to say lunch would be ready in 20 mins – & see if Id got everything I needed. Gave the impression shed been sent – but I suspect it was mainly her own idea – to check out the new fish! She talked non-stop – while her eyes gobbled everything up – especially my laptop. Shes 9 going on 90 – reminds me of me at that age. Havent been bothering much with security – but now I may reactivate my password!

Got rid of her – by main force! – after a couple of minutes – so now I can get to the really exciting bit of the journey here – so pay attention!

Even at Marys steady pace it wasnt a long drive – but long enough for me to learn a little more about the Parkers. Old Yorkshire family – made their money in building – Tom trained as an architect – offices in Scarborough but siezed the opportunity offered by mod tech to work from home – 4 kids – Minnie 9 – Paul 8 – Lucy 6 – Lewis 5 – apples of his eye – Marys too – but Tom comes first. I get the impression she doesnt like letting him take off alone – not cos she dont trust him sexually – but cos she worries what scrapes his enthusiasm might get him into! Like driving into the tank trap – I suppose!

He talked – with great affection – of his financier brother Sidney – younger – & invalid sister Diana – older. Without saying much – Mary gave the impression she has a few reservations about Sid in the City – & a whole bucketful about sister Di!

More to Mary than meets the eye. When Tom started rattling on about Kyoto House – inviting her agreement that it was in every way superior to the old Parker family home theyd swapped it for – she replied dutifully – I suppose youre right dear – but the old place did have such a pleasant garden – & so sheltered –

– yes – thats it entirely – he declared – as if shed confirmed everything hed said – It was indeed sheltered – from the benefits of the sea breeze – & sheltered from the veiw too – no outlook save for fields & trees! Now – from Kyoto up on North Cliff – on a clear day you can see halfway across to Holland – & when Im working out ideas for the Development Scheme I dont need to sit at my drawing board – I just go into my garden & look down & there it all is at my feet – as it were! –

– did you design Kyoto yourself? – I asked.

– naturally! – marvellous feeling – not having anyone looking over your shoulder at the drawing board – do you follow? The opportunity afforded me by the Consortium – of getting involved in planning & building on a large scale – was not the least of its attractions. Its going to be something new – I promise you – nothing piecemeal or accidental – every step carefully thought out – every detail pertinent & planned! – & a carbon footprint no bigger than a cats! –

The quality of light ahead was now giving promise of the sea. Against the intense blue sky I could see the rather sinister silhouette of a large house – more than a house – a mansion – with enough towers & turrets to give the impression it had had youthful ambitions to grow into a castle!

– Denham Park – said Tom.

– where Lady Denham lives? – I guessed.

– oh no. She lives at Sandytown Hall – he replied – which her first husband – Hollis – acquired – along with the Lordship of the Sandytown Hundreds – an ancient traditional rank – acquired by purchase – unlike her subsequent title –

It sounded to me like shed got that by purchase too – & I think I detected a little twitch from Mary. Us psychologists are v sensitive to twitches!

– the Denham property – Tom went on – & the baronetcy of course – went to her nephew-in-law – Edward –

Here our conversation was interrupted – wed been driving with the sun-roof open – to get the full benefit of the invigorating Sandytown air I presume – & suddenly – in an instant – the car filled with the most disgusting smell imaginable.

Pig shit! – on a huge scale – it made our slurry lagoon seem like a rose-bowl!

Mary hit the button to close the sun-roof – apologizing profusely.

– the Hollis pig farm – she said – except calling it a farm is an insult to real farmers! –

– now now my dear – said Tom mildly – its a natural smell – & nothing natural is harmful to man –

– nothing natural about the way they keep those poor animals – said Mary.

– intensive farming is the price we pay for not wanting to pay the price we would have to pay without it – said Tom – & its very rare that the wind is in a quarter which wafts the aroma into Sandytown –

– indeed no! – said Mary – which is why Daphne Brereton spent most of her time at her first husbands house – even after shed married her second! –

Yes – I know – mysterious! – but all will be explained later. Meanwhile we drove for a mile or more alongside a high wired fence through which I could see rows & rows of concrete buildings with all the charm of a concentration camp. Finally we reached the main entrance to the site – with a huge double gate – & a sign reading HOLLIS’S HAM – the Taste of Yorkshire – except that someone had been at work with a spray can – & it now read – the Taste of Death.

There was a man up a ladder with a bucket & scrubbing brush. He paused in his work as we passed & gave a wave. Tom wound down the window & called – Morning Ollie! More trouble, eh? – but Mary didnt slow down enough to give the man time to reply – & Tom closed the window again but not before wed got another near fatal dose of the porky pong!

A few minutes later Mary signalled to turn seawards as we approached a sign saying Sandytown via North Cliff.

Tom said – my dear – why dont you takes us round by South Cliff – & through the town – so Charlotte can give us her reactions – first impressions are so important –

Obediently Mary switched off the signal & drove on.

I didnt correct Tom about first impressions. Diplomatically I hadnt mentioned the famous excursion. Now I began to see for myself what Tom – of course – had already told me – that Sandytown – originally just a fishing village – is situated in a broad bay between two lofty headlands – North Cliff & South Cliff.

A loop of road runs down from North Cliff – through the village – then up to the coastal road again – via South Cliff.

Got that? – or do you need a diagram! –

As we approached the South Cliff turn off – I could see the headland here was dominated by a complex of buildings. One of them looked like an old mansion house – green with ivy – with a long extension – in keeping but definitely recent. A couple of hundred yards away was a modern two storeyed building – the stonework brilliant white – broad reflective glass windows catching the drift of small white clouds across the bright blue sky. Alongside that – a long single storeyed building – in the same style.

We turned off the coast road – but before we began the descent proper – at Toms request Mary pulled in by a gilded entrance gate – set in a dense thorn boundary hedge – bit like the entrance to heaven in that Pilgrims Progress you got for a Sunday School prize – remember? – we used to tear pages out to roll our ciggies!

A large elegantly designed sign board was inscribed Welcome to THE AVALON FOUNDATION. There was a small gatehouse from which a man emerged – his face breaking into a smile when he recognized the car.

– Morning Mrs Parker – Mr Parker – he called.

– Morning Stan – replied Parker – How are things? Family well? –

– Yes thank you – all middling well. Yourself? –

– in the pink Stan – said Parker – which was either a bit of an exaggeration – or Mr Godleys healing hands really had done the business.

As they talked – I studied a site diagram beneath the welcome sign. It indicated that the main two storeyed modern block was the Avalon Clinic – the long single storey was the Avalon Nursing Home – & the old house was the Avalon Convalescent Home.

A phone attached to the gate-mans belt bleeped. He excused himself & turned away to answer it.

I said to Tom – how do the locals like having the clinic on thier doorstep? –

– some initial unease – lots of loose talk about lunatics & lepers – Tom replied – country folk are ready to believe the worst of strangers – but they also have an innate trust in authority. Round here that means Lady D & – to a lesser extent – myself. Once we showed the way – they followed – & suspicion has long been replaced by pride –

– the jobs & the extra income helped – observed Mary dryly.

The gate-man was saying into his phone – no definitely not – nobody in the last hour – yes – Ill keep an eye out – dont imagine hell go far dressed like that! –

He switched off – turned back to the car & said – sorry Mr Parker – one of our convies has gone walkabout – elderly gent – might be a bit confused – Id best bring his photo up on the computer. See you soon I hope –

– you too Stan – said Parker.

Mary set the car forward. Ahead the road began its descent to the village.

– Convies? – I said – thinking convicts!

– what? – Oh thats what the staff call those staying at the convalescent home. Patients at the clinic are clinnies – & residents of the nursing home are rezzies. What they call the staff I dont know – Mary – take care! –

Mary Parker – as I have said – drove very carefully – & shed stayed in low gear for the descent – so we werent doing much more than twenty miles an hour when she slammed the brakes on.

All the same – the sudden stop threw me forward – & I was glad for once Id obeyed the law & fastened my rear seat belt.

As they say – it all happened so quickly – but I still had time to glimpse a man rolling down the embankment rising steeply on the left to the Clinics boundary hedge.

Then he bounced into the road & vanished under our wheels.

Everything stood still. The car – time – our hearts. We were all convinced wed run him over. But surely there would have been a bump? – I told myself.

Then there was one. Or at least the car shuddered.

For a moment this felt like a delayed confirmation of our worst fears.

But that didnt make sense. You cant run over someone after youve stopped!

Even as I reached this logical conclusion – a broad-domed almost bald head began to rise like a full moon over the horizon of the bonnet – & I realized that the shudder had been caused by the man gripping the front of the car to pull himself up.

He leaned on the bonnet. Heavily. There was enough of him to suggest that – if there had been a bump – it would have been a big one!

He stared at us unblinkingly – out of the kind of face movie animators dream up for ogres.

His mouth twisted in a snarl – & he spoke.

It took a moment to register that in fact the snarl was a smile – & the words he spoke werent a threat – but a greeting.

He said – how do folks – what fettle? –

Now he moved round the side of the car. He walked slowly – like a bear that would have preferred to be on all fours – rather than upright. He gave Tom & Mary – still paralysed by the shock – a friendly nod in passing. Then he took hold of the rear door – & pulled it open – & looked in at me.

– how do lass – he said – heading for the village? –

I nodded – not trusting myself to speak.

– grand – he said – room for a little un? –

& – without waiting for an answer – he pulled himself in alongside me.

Up to this point – Id thought he was wearing a garishly striped summer shirt & a casual woollen jacket – but now I saw him clearly – & I thought – oh shit!

He was dressed in pyjamas & a dressing gown. On his left foot was a leather slipper. His right foot was bare. There were leaves clinging to him & thorns sticking into him. His face bled through a few light scratches.

But looking at him more closely – as I had no choice but to do – I realized hed suffered more physical damage than could be explained merely by pushing through a hedge – & rolling down the bank into the road.

There was a lot of him – but a kind of pallor & the looseness of the skin on that broad face suggested that there used to be a lot more. Your nurses eye would probably have done a full diagnosis in half a sec – but even I could see enough to work out hed recently been very ill.

An escaped loony – I thought! Then I recalled the gate-mans phone call. This had to be the convie whod gone missing – a bit of a relief – though not much!

He said – youll know me again luv –

I realized Id been staring.

I said – yes – sorry – hello – Im Charlotte Heywood –

Automatically I offered my hand. Good manners never hurt anyone – remember dad drumming that into us? Then hed head out across the fields – to chase some daft bugger off his land – with his shot gun!

The escaped convie took it – & held it in a surprisingly gentle grip.

– glad to meet you – he said – Andy Deal –

– Tom Parker. My wife Mary – said Tom – are you all right? –

– grand – he replied – nifty bit of driving that luv. Lot of women I know would have run me over – while they were still looking for the brake –

Somehow it came out as a genuine compliment.

Mary – reassured – gave him a smile & started the car again.

I realized the man was still holding my hand. He peered into my face & said – Heywood – thas not one of Stompy Heywoods brood out at Willingden – are you? –

– Steve Heywoods my father – I said – but Ive never heard him called Stompy –

– thats likely cos tha never got in his way at the bottom of a loose scrum. Aye – I thought I could see a likeness –

Being told I resembled dad wasnt the biggest compliment Id ever had! I dont – do I? Answer yes – & Ill publish details of your steamy affair all over the internet!

I snatched my hand free – & gave him a glower – & he grinned as if this confirmed his identification.

Ahead of us a banner stretched high across the road – & inscribed Welcome to Sandytown – Home of the Healthy Holiday – told us we were now entering the village. Except it wasnt a village – more a small town. Usually when you go back to places you recall as a kid – everything seems to have shrunk – could impress you with the physiological explanation for this phenomenon – but I wont! Sandytown was different – very much bigger than I recalled – looking prosperous too – our route took us past several shops – a small supermarket doing good business – an art & craft gallery – a working pottery – a jolly café – a Thai takeaway – & a sea food restaurant called Mobys!

The cobbled streets were clean & litter-free – the buildings freshly painted & well kept. Distantly I could see bathers sporting in the dark blue waves of the sea – & holidaymakers taking thier ease in deck chairs set on the golden sand. Posters everywhere showing an outline map of Yorkshire – with a big cross on the coast – & the legend – SANDYTOWN IS OUR TOWN – LETS PUT IT ON THE MAP! – while across the main street hung a banner reading FESTIVAL OF HEALTH – August Bank Holiday.

Maybe the Headbanger didnt bring us here at all – but found some run-down shanty town to put us off family trips forever!

Tom Parker – clearly delighted at these signs of activity – gave a running commentary on each individual attraction – & occasionally leant out of the open window to greet pedestrians – as Mary drove us slowly along.

– right luv – this ull do me – said Mr Deal suddenly.

I looked out & saw an old freshly whitewashed building displaying a sign which read The Hope & Anchor – licensee A. Hollis. One of the pig family? – I wondered. Mary pulled in. Deal leaned forward & said – Thanks for the lift luv. Sorry if I scared you back there. Lost me footing. Lost me bloody slipper too. Not to worry. I dont doubt Prince bloody Charming ull come looking for me. Tom – tha seems to be a local lad in good standing. I daresay tha gets on well with them up at the Avalon? –

– yes indeed – said Tom – I know Dr Feldenhammer very well – often visit –

Wrong answer – I thought. You cant survive as a student for 3 years without getting a nose for a touch!

– grand. Thing is – Im staying up there for a couple of nights – & I seem to have come out without me wallet. So if you could sub me a fiver – better still 10 – Ill leave it with old Fester for you to collect next time you call in – right? –

It would have taken a lot harder man than Tom Parker to refuse.

The money was passed over – 20 in the end I noticed – & Mr Deal got out.

He turned & said – thanks for the lift – missus – & for the loan – Tom –

For the first time Tom Parker got a real look at him – full length – standing by the open door – in his pyjamas – with one bare foot. It was clearly a shock – & I think that inside he was bidding a fond farewell to his 20 quid – but he still managed that beaming smile as he said – our pleasure – our very great pleasure – goodbye –

Now the man turned his gaze on me.

– bye luv – he said – remember me to your dad –

– bye Mr Deal – I said.

He moistened his lips & leaned forward. For a dreadful second I thought he was going to kiss me!

– Dee Ell – he said very distinctly – get that straight – else thall niver go to heaven. Dee Ell. Cheers –

He turned & limped into the pub.

– oh dear – said Tom – I doubt if theyll serve him – looking like that –

I said – would you refuse to serve him Tom? – He glanced round at me – then he smiled.

– you know – I dont believe I would! – he said – but the further adventures of Mr Dee Ell are no concern of ours! Mary – drive on. Lets get home & see the children! –

Which is what we did.

Minnie has just burst in again to tell me lunch is ready – knocking at doors must come late on the Parker curriculum! Better go. Watch this space for more exciting news from sunny Sandytown!

& dont forget that pic!

Love

Charley xx

5

There! What do you think of that, Mildred?

I did it!

Jumped the gun, surprised myself even, and now I’m in disgrace, quacks tut-tutting and feeding me pills, matron’s bosom heaving like Moby Dick in a hurricane, Cap on the phone, spitting blood, and calling me a stupid infantile prat, and saying the only clothes she’ll be bringing me’s a change of nappies!

But it were worth it.

I think.

Cant say its done me a lot of good, but. To tell truth, I’m feeling a lot worse now than when I arrived here!

And I can’t even take credit for putting together a cunning plan.

In fact there were no plan at all.

Today the weather were so nice, they suggested I had my lunch outside. The grub’s pretty good, all fresh local stuff nicely cooked, but they don’t exactly pile your plate up. When I asked if I could have a pint of ale to wash it down, the lass serving me said, ‘Couple of days, maybe, Mr Dalziel. You’re still on assessment. No alcohol till your diet sheet’s been finalized, that’s the rule.’

She smiled as she said it, a real smile, nowt made up about it. I smiled back. Weren’t her fault, and she was a nice lass with a lovely bum which I admired as she walked away. But it did piss me off a bit, specially as I looked around the terrace where I was sitting and saw half a dozen old farts at another table supping vino and wearing real clothes, like they were on holiday on the Costa Saga.

But sod it, I thought. No reason not being dressed for dinner should stop me taking a stroll around to explore the place. They’ve started me on physio with Tony down in this little gym. Queer as a clockwork orange, but he knows his stuff, and though I’m still a long way off Olympic qualifying, I’m feeling a lot lisher than when I came.

I checked there were no one looking, then stood up and went down the steps from the terrace with a lot of care. Didn’t fancy breaking me other leg!

Once on the lawn, I just meant to have a bit of a wander, but I’m still best in a straight line and as I’d got up a fair head of speed, I just kept going with the house at my back till I found myself ploughing through some shrubbery.

Here I stopped and checked back. The house were out of sight. That would get the buggers worrying, I thought. Bit childish, mebbe. But if they’re going to treat me like a kid, I might as well enjoy myself like one!

So on I went till finally I came up against the boundary hedge. Thick and thorny. Good for keeping intruders out. And prisoners in!

I wandered along it for a while. I were beginning to feel knackered now and I was just thinking of setting off back when I spotted this gap.

Not a gap really. Just the point where two sections of hedge met but without getting all inter-twined.

I heard a car go by on the road. The road that led into Sandytown.

The road to freedom.

I felt sudden urge to take a look at it.

And why not? I thought. I’m not a prisoner! And my dressing gown’s one of the thick old tweedy kind, none of them flimsy cotton kimonos or whatever they call them.

So I took a bit of a run, or mebbe a slow trot’s nearer the mark, and got my shoulder into the breach.

Before my spot of bother I’d have walked through here, no trouble. But it turned out to be narrower than it looked and for a moment I thought mebbe I was going to get stuck and end up shouting for help.

Didn’t fancy that, so I gave one last heave and burst through on to the roadside verge.

Except it weren’t the kind of verge I expected, nice and flat and grassy. Instead it were a steep bank that fell away to the tarmac about twenty feet below.

No way of stopping. All I could do was try to remember all I’d learnt about falling, and curl up tight and try to roll. It were sod’s law that there should be a car coming down the hill exactly at that moment. I had time to think, whatever hitting the tarmac don’t break the collision will take care of!

Then I was under the front wheels and waiting for the pain.

When it didn’t come, or at least not so much as you get shaving with a lady’s razor, I slowly got up.

No sudden agony, no broken bones. I’d lost a slipper and my stick, but I were alive and didn’t feel much worse than I’d felt thirty seconds earlier.

If we look closely we can see God’s purpose in everything, my old mate Father Joe Kerrigan once told me.

I looked closely.

Here was a road leading down to Sandytown which had to have a pub, and I was leaning up against a car.

Joe were right. Suddenly I saw God’s purpose!

They were nice folk in the car. Real friendly. I sat in the back with this lass. Could have been thirteen, could have been thirty, hard to tell these days. Turned out I knew her dad. Played rugger against him way back when I were turning out for MY Police. He were a farmer and used to play like he were ploughing a clarty field. Couldn’t see much point to having players behind the scrum. Reckoned all they were good for was wearing tutus and running up and down the touchline, screaming, Don’t touch me, you brute! We had a lot in common, me and Stompy.

They dropped me at this pub. The Hope and Anchor. I didn’t have any money with me. Likely I could have talked the landlord into giving me tick, but this guy Tom in the car volunteered to sub me twenty quid, so no need to turn on the charm. I went into the pub. The main bar were full of trippers eating sarnies and chicken tikka and such. On the other side of the entrance passage were a snug, half a dozen tables, only one of ’em occupied by a couple of old boys supping pints. I went in there, put the twenty on the bar, and said, ‘Pint of tha best, landlord.’

Don’t expect he gets many customers in their sleeping kit, but to give him his due, he never hesitated. Not for a second. Drew me a pint, set it down.

I took the glass, put it to my lips, and drank. Didn’t mean to be a hog but somehow when I set it down, it were empty.

‘You’ll need another then,’ he said with a friendly smile.

I was really warming to this man.

‘Aye, and I’ll have a scotch to keep it company,’ I said. ‘And a packet of pork scratchings.’

I nodded at the old boys who nodded back as I took my drinks over to a table in a shady corner. When a landlord treats me right, I try not to offend his customers.

I nibbled my scratchings, sipped my scotch, gulped my beer, and took in my surroundings. Nice room, lots of oak panelling, no telly or muzak, bright poster above the bar advertising some Festival of Health over the Bank Holiday. With medicine like this, I thought, it couldn’t fail! And for perhaps the first time since that bloody house in Mill Street blew up, I felt perfectly happy.

It didn’t last long. Rarely does. According to Father Joe, that’s ’cos God likes to keep us on the jump.

Certainly kept me on the jump here.

Hardly had time to savour the moment when the bar-room door opened and a man in a wheelchair came rolling through.

He halted just inside the door in the one shaft of sunlight coming through the window. His head were shaven so smooth the light bounced off it, giving him a kind of halo. His gaze ran round the room till it landed on me.

Perhaps there was summat in the Sandytown air that stopped people showing surprise. The landlord had kept a perfectly straight face when a slightly bleeding man wearing jim-jams and one slipper came into his pub.

Now the wheelchair man went one better. His face actually lit up with pleasure at the sight of me, as though I owed him money and we’d arranged to meet and settle up.

‘Mr Dalziel!’ he exclaimed, driving the wheelchair towards me. ‘Of all the gin joints in all the world, you had to walk into mine! How very nice to see you again.’

I did a double take. Couldn’t believe my eyes. Or mebbe I didn’t want to believe them.

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘It’s Franny Roote. I thought you must be dead!’

6

Had a little sleep there. Bloody pills!

Where was I?

Oh aye. Franny Roote.

First time we met were at this college Ellie Pascoe used to work at not far up the coast from here. They’d found the old principal’s body buried under a memorial statue. Roote were President of the Students Union. Bags of personality. Made a big impression on everybody. Made a specially big one on me by cracking a bottle of scotch over my head. Insult to injury, it were my own bottle.

He got banged up – not for attacking me but for being involved in the principal’s death. When he came out a few years back, he showed up again in Mid-Yorkshire, doing postgrad research at the University. Then his supervisor got murdered. So did a few other people.

Folk were always dropping dead round Roote.

Pete Pascoe were convinced he was involved, in fact he got a bit obsessed about it. But he never got close to pinning owt on him. Then Roote started writing him letters from all over the place. Funny bloody things they were, dead friendly on the surface, saying how he really admired Pete. But they really began to freak the poor lad out.

But finally, big twist, what happens is Pascoe’s lass Rosie gets taken as a hostage by a bunch of scrotes Roote had known in the nick. Roote manages to get her out, but only at the expense of getting a load of buckshot in his back. Looked a goner. But he hung on. Got transferred to some specialist spinal injury unit down south. Pascoe kept in close touch. Practically took control of his insurance and compensation claims. Felt he owed him, specially after all the nasty thoughts he’d had about him.

Me, I were real grateful too. Rosie’s a grand kid, got the best of both her mum and dad in her. But just ’cos I were grateful didn’t make me elect him St Franny!

Pete gave us bulletins. Quadriplegia seemed likely to start with, so when it finally came down to paraplegia, Pascoe acted like he’d won the lottery. Bothered me a bit. I told him, be grateful, OK, but that don’t mean feeling responsible for the sod for the rest of your life. Pascoe slammed off out after I said that and I heard no more about Roote for six months or more. That’s a long sulk in my book so finally I mentioned him myself.

Turned out the reason Pascoe said nowt was ’cos he’d nowt to say. He’d lost touch. Seems that when the medics decided they’d done all that could be done for Roote, he just vanished. Pascoe had traced him as far as Heathrow where he’d got on a plane to Switzerland. We knew he’d been there before. That’s where some of the funny letters had come from. This time no letters, not even a postcard. Best guess was, being Roote, he weren’t settling for a life viewed from belly level, he were going to spend some of that compensation dosh looking for a cure.

Would have been easy enough for us to get a fix on him. Even in our borderless Europe, a foreigner in wheelchair tends to leave a trail. But I reckon Ellie said to Pete that if Roote didn’t want to keep in touch, that was his choice.

Now here he was, large as life, back on my patch – all right, on the very fringe of it – and I didn’t know a thing about it.

I didn’t like that. OK, I’d spent a bit of time in a coma recently, but that’s no reason not to know what’s going off.

He manoeuvred his chair alongside me and said, ‘I read about your bit of trouble and I’m so pleased to see reports of your recovery haven’t been exaggerated. Though tell me, is the bare foot part of a new therapy? Or have you finally joined the Masons?’

That was Roote. Misses nowt and likes to think he’s a comic.

I said, ‘You’re looking well yourself, lad.’

In fact he was. If anything he looked a lot younger than last time I’d seen him – not counting straight after getting shot, of course. The landlord came over to our table and set a glass of something purple with bubbles in front of him. Mebbe it were the elixir of life. If any bugger found it, it would be Roote.

He said, ‘Thanks, Alan. And thank you too, Mr Dalziel. Yes, I feel extremely well. So what brings you to sunny Sandytown? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. I’d say you’re down here to convalesce at the Avalon. You must have arrived fairly recently, they are still completing their preliminary assessment, which you, growing impatient, have opted to pre-empt by making your own way to this excellent establishment.’

Told you he were a clever bastard.

I said, ‘If we’d caught you younger we might have made a detective out of you, Roote. But I’m not complaining we caught you later and made a convict out of you instead.’

‘Still as direct as ever, I see,’ he said, smiling. ‘Any minute now you’ll be asking what I myself am doing here.’

‘No need to waste my breath,’ I said.

‘Meaning of course you’re just as capable as me at working things out,’ he said.

Like a lot of folk who love playing games, Roote always reckoned other folk were playing them too. Don’t mind a game myself, long as I’m making the rules.

I said, ‘No. Meaning I’d not believe a bloody word you said! But I can work out you’ve been here long enough for our landlord to know you drink parrot piss.’

‘Cranberry juice actually,’ he said. ‘Full of vitamins, you really ought to try it.’

‘Mebbe after morris dancing and incest,’ I said. ‘As for your reasons for being here, I’m not interested. Unless they’re criminal, which wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Oh dear. Still the old mistrust.’

‘Nay, just the old realism,’ I said.

Then I went on ’cos I’d never said it direct and it needed saying, ‘Listen, lad, I’ll be forever grateful for what you did for little Rosie Pascoe. Thought you should know that. Won’t make me turn a blind eye to serious crime, mind, but any time you feel like parking your chair on a double yellow line in Mid-Yorks, be my guest.’

His eyes filled. Don’t know how he does that trick, but the bugger’s got it off pat.

‘I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mr Dalziel. And how is the girl? Must be growing up now. And dear Mr Pascoe and his lovely wife, how are they?’

‘All well. He were a bit upset losing contact with you. What happened there?’

He sipped his drink. I had to look away. If the buggers can ban smoking, I reckon at least they should put up screens for folk wanting to drink stuff that colour.

Then he said, ‘I was deeply touched by Mr Pascoe’s concern for me. He’s a man I admire greatly. I would love to be able to think of him as my friend. Perhaps it was because of this that, as I gradually improved, I began to worry in case the gratitude he felt should become a burden. It’s all too easy for gratitude to turn into resentment, isn’t it? Mr Pascoe is a man of intense feeling. Sometimes perhaps over intense. It was a hard decision, but I felt it might be best if I cooled things between us, so when I concluded that medical wisdom as it stood in the UK had done everything possible for me and decided to head abroad in search of other treatments, it seemed a good opportunity. I’m sorry if that sounds too altruistic for your view of me, Mr Dalziel, but it’s the truth.’

I found I believed him.

I said, ‘I reckon you got things right for once.’

The bar door opened and a young woman came in, laden with carrier bags. She were tall and skinny as a bow string. Slim they likely call it in the women’s mags, or slender or willowy, some such bollocks, but it’s all skinny to me. I like a lass with a bit of something to get a hold of. Mind you, beggars can’t always be choosers and I’ve known a lot of bow strings that had plenty of twang in them, but on the whole I’ve always steered clear of the lean and hungry ones. Not that this lass weren’t bad looking in a hollow cheek modelly sort of way, with wavy brown hair, a good full mouth, a determined little chin, and soft blue eyes that fastened on Roote.

She said, ‘Franny, hi.’

‘Clara,’ said Roote. ‘Hi! Come and meet my old friend, Andrew Dalziel. Mr Dalziel, this is Clara Brereton.’

She came towards us. She were a lovely mover even with the bags. Fair do’s, probably being skinny helps here, though my Cap doesn’t get many complaints on the dance floor.

She said, ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Dalziel,’ like she knew how to spell it. And she was another who didn’t blink when she spotted how I were dressed.

I said, ‘Likewise, lass.’

‘Why don’t you join us?’ said Roote giving her the full smarmy charmy treatment.

She sat down, saying, ‘Just till Auntie comes. Teddy’s taking us to lunch at Moby’s. He’s supposed to be meeting us here.’

She looked relieved to set the bags down.

I said, ‘They don’t deliver round here then?’ just to make conversation.

Roote chipped in, ‘Indeed they do, but there’s a small charge, and why pay that when you’ve got your own personal service?’

They smiled at each other. Something going on here? I wondered. With Roote, owt’s possible. A gent would likely have made an excuse and left them to get on with it, but gents don’t find themselves sitting in public bars in their dressing gowns. Any road, I wanted to see how Roote would play it. But there weren’t time to make his play.

The door opened again and another woman entered, this one a bit more to my taste. The way her gaze fixed on Clara and Roote, I guessed straight off this were the aunt. She were knocking on, sixties bumping seventy, but well preserved, and built like a buffalo, with an eye to match. If there weren’t enough meat on young Clara to make a Christmas starter, there were plenty here for a main course with something left over for Boxing Day. Not bad looking for an old ’un, but in a very different way from her niece. No smooth pallor here but weathered oak. Only thing in common were the determined chin which age had carved on her face into a bit of an ice-breaker. This was a woman used to getting her own way.

She said, ‘There you are, Clara. You’ve got the shopping? Good. No sign of Teddy? No matter, so long as he turns up in time to pay the bill. Time for a quick one here I think. Alan!’

The landlord was ahead of the game again. There was already a G and T on the bar and an orange juice. No prizes for working out whose was which.

‘Good day, Lady D,’ said Roote. ‘I hope you are keeping well.’

‘I am always well, Franny. I firmly believe most ailments are the invention of the medical profession to extort money from fools.’

She brayed a laugh like it never struck her some poor sod in a wheelchair might not find this all that funny. Roote just grinned and said, ‘If Tom Parker wants a living testimony to the health-giving properties of Sandytown, he need look no further than you.’

She preened herself and said, ‘Kind of you to say so, Franny. It’s true I have been blessed with a strong and lasting constitution. In fact I do believe I never saw the face of a doctor in all my life on my own account, but only on the two unhappy occasions when I was told of the death of a husband.’

Roote looked solemn for a moment, then said slyly, ‘But surely, Lady D, you have seen the face of Dr Feldenhammer, very much on your own account, and on occasions not so unhappy?’

She laughed archly, like a cracked hurdy-gurdy playing ‘The Rustle of Spring’, and I reckon if she’d had a fan, she’d have rapped his knuckles with it as she said, ‘You naughty boy, that tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day.’

‘Then I shall call on you for a character reference,’ said Roote. ‘Can I introduce my old friend Andrew Dalziel?’

I’d seen those buffalo eyes taking me in during all this by-play and I don’t think she much liked the look of me or mebbe it was just my outfit.

I said, ‘How do, missus?’ and in return she gave me a nod that would likely have broken my nose if she’d been close up, then turned to hoist herself on to a bar stool, showing off a pair of haunches a man would be proud to have the tattooing of. The landlord put her drink before her and she leaned forward to engage him in a low-voiced conversation.

The lass gave Roote’s hand a quick sympathetic squeeze, then went to the bar to join her aunt.

I took a drink of me ale. Didn’t taste as good as before. Nowt wrong with the beer, but. It were me. Should have stopped with the first and certainly skipped the scotch. I definitely weren’t feeling up to snuff. Mebbe that was what made me say, all surly, ‘You’ll not get anywhere there, lad. Rich aunts look after dependent nieces.’

One thing for Roote, he may play games but he doesn’t play silly games, like pretending not to understand.

‘Dependent nieces have wills of their own,’ he said giving me a stage wink.

‘Aye, and so have rich aunts, and they make bloody sure anyone gets cut out of them who doesn’t toe the line,’ I said. ‘Any road, it could be a long wait if she’s as fit as she looks.’

‘Oh yes. Dear Lady Denham is nothing if not healthy. And wealthy, of course,’ he murmured.

‘And wise?’ I said.

‘In making and keeping hold of money, very wise indeed,’ he said.

‘Why am I not surprised?’ I said. ‘And I bet you know how much she’s kept hold of, to the last decimal place.’

He grinned and said, ‘You are forgetting, I suspect, that thanks to dear Peter Pascoe’s aid and acumen, I am now a man of moderately independent means, even without the income I generate by my writing. If such a one as I could have any interest in the fair Clara, it would only be centred on her pilgrim soul.’

When an ex-con starts talking about pilgrim souls, I know he’s talking crap, but I knew Roote weren’t lying about the money. Pete had felt so grateful and guilty, he’d moved heaven and earth to make sure Roote got top compensation from Criminal Injuries, plus the leisure complex where he got shot had had a Personal Injury clause in their insurance which a smart brief persuaded a judge covered Roote’s case. Best of all, Roote had just got back from the States on the day he got shot and when Pete were sorting out his stuff, he realized his travel insurance didn’t expire till midnight. The buggers wriggled and wiggled like they always do, but in the end the same brief who’d done the leisure complex got them to cough up for total disability. When eventually it turned out Roote was going to be able to manage a wheelchair, this got considerably pared down, but it still amounted to a hefty chunk of money.

I said, ‘Independent means ain’t the same as independence.’

I were just talking about money but soon as I said it, I saw it could be taken as a crack about his legs. Me and buffalo woman had a lot in common. But I knew better than to say sorry and get the piss taken out of me, so I went on quick, ‘So what’s this writing that’s making your fortune? You’re not Lord Archer in disguise, are you?’

‘Happily not,’ he said. ‘Nor did I mention a fortune. It’s academic stuff mainly, so it pays peanuts when it pays at all. I managed to finish my PhD thesis during my convalescence. Yes, strictly speaking it’s Dr Roote now, but no need to be embarrassed – I don’t use the title. Strangers find it confusing and keep telling me about their back pain. Now I am completing Sam Johnson’s critical biography of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. You recall dear Sam, my old supervisor, who was so foully murdered before he could finish his masterwork?’

‘Aye, I remember the case,’ I said. ‘So you’re getting paid in advance for writing this Bed-loving fellow’s life?’

‘I fear not,’ he said. ‘Though my publishers in California, the Santa Apollonia University Press, have made a substantial research grant available to me. There are however profitable spin-offs in the form of articles and interviews and seminars. In addition I have a small retainer fee for my work as a consultant for Third Thought.’

Why was he so keen to impress me with his ability to earn an honest living, if you can call all this airy-fairy arty-farty stuff honest?

‘Third Thought?’ I said. ‘You mean that dotty cult thing the lentil and sandals brigade are into?’

‘How well you grasp the essence of things, Mr Dalziel! What more is necessary to say? Though the movement’s founder, Frère Jacques, has written a couple of hefty tomes to bring out the fine detail.’

Always a sarky bugger!

He rattled on about how this Jakes fellow had nearly died and realized he weren’t ready for it, so he’d started his movement to help folk get used to the idea afore it were staring them in the face, so to speak.

‘A Hospice of the Mind, he calls it,’ said Roote. ‘My own initial connection with Third Thought was, I freely confess, based purely on self-interest. Then I had my own close encounter, and as I struggled to come to terms with my lot, my mind turned more and more frequently to Frère Jacques’s teachings, and I renewed my connection, but this time with genuine fervour. Eventually Jacques invited me to become a paid acolyte.’

He glanced at me sort of assessingly then leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘It occurs to me, Mr Dalziel, that after your own recent trauma, you yourself might be seeking a new philosophy of being …’

The bugger were trying to convert me!

I said, ‘If tha’s thinking of sending me a bill for this chat, lad, I’d advise thee to have third thoughts about it.’

He laughed so loud the two women at the bar glanced our way, the old bird with a disapproving glower. Probably thought I’d just told a mucky joke.

Roote settled down after a bit, supped his parrot piss, then said, ‘So how are you getting back up to the Home?’

‘On my own two feet if I have to,’ I answered. ‘If you’re thinking of offering me a lift, I warn you, I’m not sitting on thy knee!’

He grinned and said, ‘I’ll be delighted to take you back in my car, though I suspect it may not be necessary.’

‘Why’s that?’

He glanced at his watch. It looked expensive.

‘I suspect that within a few more minutes someone from the Avalon staff is going to arrive. They’ll order a drink, glance round, look surprised to see you, have a quick chat, finish their drink, head for the door, then as an afterthought say, “Would you care for a lift, Mr Dalziel, or are you sorted?”’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because not long after you arrived, Alan will have made a call to the Avalon in case they haven’t noticed one of their convies has gone missing. And he’s probably just been reassuring Lady Denham that she needn’t worry about you frightening off the more sensitive customers all afternoon as you’ll be out of here in ten minutes tops.’

‘Why’d she be worried about that?’ I asked.

‘Because she owns the Hope and Anchor,’ he said. ‘In fact, dear Lady Denham owns a great deal of real estate in and around Sandytown. I told you she was wealthy as well as healthy. Moby’s, however, where they are going to lunch, belongs to her dear friend Mr Parker. She enjoys the food there but never goes unless someone else is paying, in this case her nephew, Teddy Denham, who can ill afford it.’

‘For someone not interested in money, you’ve got a sharp eye for how other folk spend it,’ I said.

He said, ‘Only because as a disciple of Third Thought, I have a deep interest in the human condition. Doesn’t Paul tells us that the love of money is the root of all evil?’

‘Paul?’ I said. ‘Thought that were one of Ringo’s. No, sorry, bit further back. Adam Faith, right?’

Not often you can shut Roote up, but that did it.

The women finished their drinks and slipped off their stools, the lass like a snowflake, the old lady like an avalanche.

Clara gave a shy little wave as her aunt said, ‘Alan, perhaps my scatterbrained nephew has gone straight to Moby’s. If he does turn up here, tell him that’s where we will be. And don’t forget to get payment for our drinks. A gentleman does not invite guests and expect them to pay for themselves. Talking of money, these ideas you have about modernizing the cellar, I think we really need to do an in-depth costing. I need quotations, not estimates. If I have time I’ll drop in later to take a closer look.’

The landlord bowed his head deferentially, or mebbe he were worried in case his expression showed this weren’t the best news he’d had today!

‘Of course, Lady Denham,’ he said.

Now she glanced our way and said, ‘Toodle-pip, Franny. Don’t forget you’re lunching with me this week.’

‘Engraved on my heart, Lady D,’ said Roote.

Her gaze shifted to me and she ducked her head and gave a little snort like she were wondering whether to charge but headed for the door instead.

I muttered, ‘Will that be lobster at Moby’s?’

‘Alas, no. Belly pork at Sandytown Hall, I fear,’ said Roote with a little shudder.

Afore I could ask what he meant, the door opened as the women approached and a Yankee voice gushed, ‘Daphne, Clara, how nice. How are you, dear ladies?’

Toilet tooth Festerwhanger.

Well, at least they really had sent Prince bloody Charming not some snotty-nosed orderly to round me up. Always supposing that’s why he’d come. I could see Roote thought it was. He gave me one of them little looks. Quizzical I think they call ’em. Like Pascoe sometimes. Mebbe him and Roote had more in common than I realized.

Stepping into the bar, Festerwhanger flashed the young lass a spotlight smile, then got folded into buffalo woman’s arms. It were like watching one of them Cumberland wrestlers tekking hold, except they don’t clamp their gobs on to their opponent’s face and give his tonsils a tongue massage. I saw now what Roote’s little insinuation were all about.

Eventually he broke loose, staggering a bit like a diver who’d come up too quick. But to give him his due, he made a quick recovery, and soon him and Lady D were chatting away – him all Yankee charm and her sort of girlishly flirtatious – like an elephant dancing in that old Disney cartoon. I almost felt sorry for old Fester. Got the feeling she could chew him up and spit him out all over his consulting room couch. Finally she gave him a farewell kiss which made the first one seem like a rehearsal and set off again but stopped dead in her tracks as the door opened to admit another man.

Different this time, but. No gush and hugs. In fact if I can read a face, there’s neither of them would have lost sleep if t’other had dropped dead on the spot!

The new guy had halted right in the doorway so she couldn’t get by.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, haughty as a duchess talking to a gamekeeper she don’t fancy shagging.

He didn’t move. He looked about ninety and I’ve seen healthier looking faces at an exhumation. His eyes were deep sunk, his few bits of hair clung to his pate like mould on an old plum, and he had a beard like a wildlife sanctuary. Despite the heat, he were wearing a mucky old donkey jacket, an old-fashioned striped shirt without a collar and the kind of baggy pants farmworkers used to tie up with string, only no self-respecting rat would have cared to run up these.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so badly dressed.

Still he didn’t move or speak. Then the landlord said warningly, ‘Hen.’

Now he smiled. Bare gums mainly, and the few teeth you could see through the foliage were greeny yallery shading to black at the roots. I half expected Festerwhanger to faint.

Then he stepped to one side and did a piss-taking bow and said, ‘So sorry, Your Ladyship. Didn’t see you there. So sorry. Would hate to get in Your Ladyship’s way.’

‘You won’t,’ she said. And went sweeping past him, young Clara in pursuit looking a bit embarrassed.

The old boy kicked the door shut behind them. The landlord said, ‘Watch it, Hen. It’s me as is responsible for fixtures and fittings. Your usual, Dr Feldenhammer?’

The Yank who’d been watching the incident with interest nodded. His usual was a short. Dark amber, enough ice to sink the Titanic. Jack Daniel’s mebbe. At least it weren’t purple. Festerwhanger sipped it, then turned and leaned against the bar. His face split into that toothy grin as he acted like he’d just noticed us.

‘Well hello there, Franny’ he called. ‘And Mr Dalziel too. Glad to see you’re getting around, sir. You’re looking well.’

Roote gave my thigh a told-you-so jab under the table. I’d have given him a let’s-wait-and-see kick back, only with him not having any feeling in his legs, it didn’t seem worth the effort.

‘Aye, I’m not so bad,’ I lied. Truth was, I felt distinctly woozy. The ancient geezer had got himself a pint without opening his mouth or handing over money, so far as I could see. Another time I’d have been interested to find out what had just gone off here, but at the moment, I didn’t give a toss.

‘Good. And you, Franny, how are you? Coming to Tom’s meeting on Friday, I hope?’

‘Of course. Exciting times, Lester. Won’t you join us?’

Franny and Lester. Like an old music hall act. Roote had really got his useless legs under the table round here. Sounded like his social calendar were pretty full too.

‘Thanks but I mustn’t stay,’ said the Yank. ‘Just came out to drop an express packet into the post office. My niece’s birthday back home. Almost forgot, which would have been a capital offence. Felt I’d earned a quick one, but I need to be back up at the clinic pretty well straightaway.’

I weren’t so ill I didn’t notice there were too much bloody detail. Think a shrink would know summat like that. Plus, most country post offices I’d come across shut up at midday on a Saturday.

The door opened again. This were getting like a French farce. New arrival were a well set-up young fellow, one of them craggy faces that has five o’clock shadow at half past one. Looked like he reckoned the world owed him a living and the women in it owed him a shagging.

He said, ‘Alan, any sign of my aunt?’

‘Been and gone. Says she’ll see you in Moby’s.’

‘Oh dear. Bit pissed off, is she? That will mean the lobster thermidor, I fear. But then she was never going to choose the monk fish pâté, was she?’

He made a wry sort of face to show he was joking, only he wasn’t.

Now he let himself take in the others in the bar. Worzel Gummidge he ignored, me and Roote he shot a cocky grin at and said, ‘Ah Franny, nursy taking you for a stroll?’, then he did a double take as if he’d just noticed Fester and cried, ‘Is that you, Dr Feldenhammer? Didn’t recognize you in a sitting position, sir. I hope I find you well. Mustn’t keep auntie waiting.’

Then he left, whistling raucously.

I saw Festerwhanger flush the colour of old port. Either he were seriously narked or he was going to have a seizure.

He downed the rest of his drink like he needed it, ice cubes clanging against his snowy teeth hard enough to dislodge a polar bear, slid off his stool, gave the landlord a curt nod, and marched through the door.

I said to Roote, ‘Got that wrong, didn’t you, lad?’

He said, ‘I just think the game changed, but never fear, he’ll remember. That tune Teddy Denham was whistling, I’m trying to recall what it is. I’ve got it on the tip of my tongue.’

Meaning he hadn’t the faintest idea but would be glad to know what caused the Yank doctor to lose his cool. Didn’t miss much, our Franny.

‘Sorry, no idea,’ I said. Which was a lie. I’d recognized the notes of a little ditty I’ve heard belted out at the back of rugby coaches more times than I care to remember.

Don’t expect Roote spent much time in rugby coaches, and I didn’t see any reason why I should enlighten him.

Roote were giving me one of his looks which said he knew I were holding out on him. Then his expression turned to I-told-you-so! as the door opened again and Fester stuck his head back in.

‘It just occurred to me, Mr Dalziel – would you like a lift back up to the Home? Or do you have transport arranged?’

I suppose I could’ve told him I preferred to walk. Or that Roote were giving me a lift. But sod that. Only a fool turns down what he wants out of pride, and what I really wanted now were to crash out in my pit.

‘Nay,’ I said. ‘That ’ud be grand.’

I looked at my beer glass. It were half full. I realized I didn’t want it.

Only a fool sups what he don’t want out of pride.

But I could feel Roote watching me, and this time pride won.

I drained the glass, set it down, and hauled myself out of my chair.

‘Thanks, mate,’ I said to the landlord. ‘Good pint that.’

‘Thank you, sir. Hope we see you again soon,’ he said.

‘Never fret, I’ll be back.’

Roote caught my arm and said in a low voice, ‘Mr Dalziel, just one thing. About Mr Pascoe, I’ll leave it up to you.’

Whether I told him or not, he meant.

I gave him a nod and left.

I wouldn’t trust Roote as far as I could throw him, which, the way I were feeling just then, was about half a yard. But credit where due, I couldn’t fault him over how he’d dealt with Pete.

Which don’t stop me wondering now they’ve finally got me tucked up in bed and talking to myself under the sheet, if one of the reasons Franny Roote took off abroad with no forwarding address was ’cos he didn’t want Pete Pascoe feeling responsible for him, then why when he came back to England did he opt to settle here in Mid-Yorkshire? OK it’s right on the fringes of our patch, but it’s still our patch!

Can’t get that tune buffalo woman’s nephew were whistling out of my mind. How did the words go? Let’s see … summat about an Indian maid … aye, that’s it!

There once was an Indian maid, and she was sore afraid that some buckaroo would stick it up her flue as she lay in the shade.

And so on. Gets dirtier. Not the kind of thing I’d expect Fester to choose for his Desert Island Discs. And why should it bother him so much?

Questions, questions, lots and lots of sodding questions hopping madly round my mind to that jaunty little tune. But it’s always the same one leading the dance.

What the fuck is Roote really up to here in Sandytown?

Never fear, one way or another, I’ll find out afore I go!

But all I want to do now is sleep.

So it’s goodnight from you, Mildred, and it’s goodnight from

7

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | Min of Information!

Hi Cass!

Thanks for pic. He is truly gorgeous! I want one of my own. Does he have a brother? Nice smile. Whats he got to smile about – I wonder?!!

Back to dull old Sandytown! After lunch yesterday Tom excused himself – to catch up with all the stuff that had piled up in his absence – & Min – whos clearly decided to make me her own! – asked me if Id like to go swimming with her. I thought she was being kind – & meant the sea – & said yes please – but it turned out she meant the swimming pool at this 5 star hotel Tom told us about – the Brereton Manor. Seems the Parkers have membership of the Health & Leisure Club – natch – but the kids arent allowed in without a responsible adult – so Min the minx had elected me! Mary tried to rescue me – but I said – no problem – & off we went.

Minnie led me over the road – & through a gate – then across a golf course that looked to be in the final stages of construction.

– Should have been finished for Easter – Min told me proprietorially.

Serious money being spent here – I thought – confirmed when we reached Brereton Manor. Must have been a grand old house – now much modified & extended – all the eco friendly – carbon unfriendly – stuff theyve got at Kyoto – but tastefully blended in – the kind of detail that costs a fortune. Presumably the idea is youve been invited to a 1920s weekend house party – rather than asked to cough up a small fortune for b & b! Not many people around. Still bedding in. Official opening is not for a fortnight – Bank Holiday weekend – when Tom launches the Festival of Health – which I shant be around to enjoy – thank heaven!

This info again supplied Min!

She sailed in thru the front door like a grand duchess – & the receptionist greeted her with a big Hi Minnie! & gave me a smile too.

Everyone else we met en route to pool seemed to know Minnie. Swish pool – long way from Olympic – but big enough if you like that sort of thing. I did 10 or so lengths – very boring – specially as I had to stop from time to time to admire Minnies breast stroke – or back stroke – or diving. At 9 you need a lot of admiration! After – we sat in some very comfortable chairs in the café area – & had a coke – talked. Or rather – I listened! Didnt mind. I was getting interested in what made Sandytown tick – you know me – never happy till Ive got the inside of things outside! – & nothing that goes on round here seems to escape Mins sharp little eyes & ears! By the time shed done – I was thinking of her as my personal Min of Information!

The original house – as I knew – belonged to the well-heeled Breretons – the famous Lady Denhams family – but became superfluous to requirements when she married even better-heeled Hog Hollis – local lad made good – who built up his pig farm into Hollis’s Ham – the Taste of Yorkshire – & ended up master of just about everything he surveyed – Lord of the Sandytown Hundred – at Sandytown Hall.

He died – fattening the pigs who helped fatten him – (I had to practically kick Minnie onward from all the gory details – mostly imagined I guess – of the poor sods death!) – leaving his wife even richer than hed found her – & eventually she remarried – Sir Henry Denham – & Denham Park became her official address – though – probably not caring for the pig pong but reluctant to do anything that might interfere with her pig profits – she spent a great deal of her time at the Hall.

When Sir Harry in his turn died – (dont know what she does to the poor sods!) – she returned permanently to Sandytown Hall – refusing the chance to move back to her childhood home – Brereton Manor – when her ancient father finally died – because – according to Minnie – the Hall was a more prestigious address – & the Manor had certain inconveniences of access – & had fallen into such a dilapidated condition it would cost a fortune to put right.

– daddy owns nearly all the land all around – explained Minnie – where the new entrance drive is – & where theyre building the golf course. I think it was Uncle Sids idea that they should work together & turn the manor into a posh hotel. Uncle Sid knows all about money – which is why Lady D listens to him – mum says –

– thats nice – I said – so your uncle is a sort of financial adviser to the Consortium – right? –

– I think so – she said uncertainly. Then she grinned & went on – Uncle Sid says Lady Denhams tight as a ducks arse – & thats water tight – watching me closely to see how I reacted.

I just laughed – you cant be Stompy Heywoods daughter without hearing far worse expressions than that! – which emboldened her to say – me & Uncle Sid call her Lady B – not Lady D.

– B for Brereton? – I guessed.

– no – B for Big Bum – she screeched.

I was beginning to feel intrigued by this Sidney Parker – who chose to talk to his niece like she was an intelligent human being rather than a backward dwarf – which is how awful Uncle Ernie always spoke to me. Min was vague about his actual job – & even from Mary – hes in banking – was the best I could get – which reminded me of dads response when Mrs Duxberry boasted her moronic son was in banking – oh aye? – you mean – like Bonnie & Clyde? –

Trying to work out the Parker family dynamic – OK – I mean I was as nebby as usual! – I asked about the sister. According to Min – Aunt Diana is really wierd – always going on about being at deaths door – which used to scare Min when she was little – thinking she meant the attic door in their old family house – & that must be where death lived! It was her Uncle Sid set her mind at rest – by taking her up into the attic – & showing her the relics of his childhood – & also by saying – dont worry about your aunt little Min – when you yourself are finally laid to rest – aged 150 or thereabouts – it will be Auntie Di who lays flowers on your grave! –

Bit macabre comfort – I thought – but kids love macabre & in Minnies eyes Uncle Sid is perfection itself!

Not sure if Mary would go as far as that. Tom vanished after supper tonight – still catching up he said – & once the kids had all been put to bed – in Mins case by main force! – me & Mary had a large Baileys apiece – & got to talking like old mates. I reckon shes been dying for someone to confide in for years – someone outside the family – & outside Sandytown. Like I said before – shes incredibly loyal – but I got a strong impression she secretly fears this Development Scheme will end in tears.

Shed confirmed what Min had told me – that it was Sid who got things started.

Sids always been good with figures & stuff – from an early age hes handled the Parker family finances – very successfully too – Mary admits. Good investments – steady returns – spotting which Lady D got in on the act – asking his advice – free to a friend of course – & so profitable that Sid soon became her blue-eyed blue-chip boy!

Anyway – Sid came up with this idea that the combination of the Brereton property & the Parker land & Toms architectural know-how could add up to a nice little earner. At least thats the way I guess he put it to Lady D. With Tom Im sure he painted things in more visionary terms – the greater good – benefit of the community – environmental concerns – etc – the kind of stuff Tom had been dabbling in all his life.

This was how the great Sandytown Development Consortium got into its stride – & since then – I gather – Sidney has acted not only as its financial consultant – but also as an umpire when Tom & Lady D dont see eye to eye. Lady D is far from persuaded that Toms preoccupation with complementary medicine & the environment is going to be a money spinner for the hotel. Upper class recreational pursuits – facials – manicures – massage – plus maybe the latest post Pilates exercise fad to work up an appetite for the gourmet grub – & thirst for the disgustingly expensive booze – thats what she sees bringing the stinking rich punters in. But Tom wont give ground here – insisting there has to be room for a full range of alternative therapies – something in which his family have always had a deep – in some cases – Mary hints & Min confirms – an obsessive interest. Fortunately it seems Dr Feldenhammer – boss man at the Avalon – after some initial doubts – has been persuaded theres no harm in the clinic presenting a united front with Tom re the complementary stuff.

– very enlightened of him – I said – surprised – knowing most mainstream medics think its all a load of crap – me too if Im honest – which Im not – around dear Tom!

– yes – & the good thing – said Mary – is that it shuts Daphne Brereton up a bit – her feeling about poor Lester the way she does –

– eh? – I said – you dont mean …? –

– oh yes – shes got him in her sights – & wants him in her bed – said Mary grimly – disgraceful – a woman of her age –

Maybe this Sandytown air really does have something special! – I thought.

Its clear Mary has mixed feelings about the relationship between Tom & Lady D. Loyalty makes her stick up for Tom all the time – but theres part of her that sees that its Daphnes lust for profit thats going to keep the Consortium solvent – rather than Toms idealism. When Big Bum – funny how nicknames stick! – does let Tom have his way – it usually means him paying more & her paying less – so Tom looks like hes won a battle – but its cost him – & Mary is always worried he might be overstretching himself.

Not that Tom seems to have a worry in the world! He finally appeared – apologizing like mad for having neglected me.

– tomorrow morning I should have caught up with myself – he said – Ill take you on a tour of the town – on foot! Best way to see a place & meet people!

– but your ankle dear – protested Mary.

– as good as new – he insisted – thanks to the first aid I received from our lovely talented guest – (thats me in case you havent twigged!) – not forgetting the healing touch of Mr Godley –

I left them arguing – or rather discussing – Tom doesnt have arguments!

Met Minnie coming out of bathroom – yawning histrionically! Wouldnt surprise me if shed been listening on Mary & me – & had to take cover when her father came out of his study – but I cant help liking her. Shed have followed me into my room – but I shut the door very firmly in her face. I can be tough too!

Nite nite sleep tite

Love

Charley xxx

8

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | enter Big Bum!

Hi!

Decided to laze around this morning – guessing that any expedition with Tom would be energetic! Hed won the ‘argument’ about going on foot – but Mary insisted he took a stout walking stick – which seemed more likely to cause damage than prevent it – the way he flourished it as a handy pointer to interesting views as we made our way down the hill.

On our way up in the car – Tom had already pointed out to me the entrance drive to Sandytown Hall – home of Lady D. Admiring the view from Brereton Manor – Id glimpsed what had to be the tall chimneys of the Hall down towards the sea – rising above an extensive area of woodland – so her ladyships not overlooked by the hotel – or any other bit of quite a lot of modern development we passed on our way down the hill. Most of this seemed linked to the Development Scheme – executive dwellings – seeded – so Tom assured me – with affordable houses for local first-timers. I didnt need to guess which partner pushed for what!

We met quite a few people – car drivers stop to chat to Tom! – & I was introduced as if I were the Development Schemes latest & greatest acquisition! Eventually – quite near the bottom of the hill where the old village proper begins – he halted outside a funny old house – very picturesque – built out of irregular lumps of sandstone – glowing in the morning sun – with a small old fashioned cottage garden – & a first floor wider than the ground floor – because it was built into the slope.

Reminded me of the gingerbread house in the fairy tale – so I wasnt surprised when Tom said – this is called Witch Cottage – because – according to tradition – its where Sandytowns last witch used to live. Now Miss Lee – our acupuncturist – lives there. I know youll want to meet her – Charlotte – because of your study –

Hed just lifted the brass knocker – & given the door a hearty rap – when this old Jeep came rattling up the road from the village. It looked like it had just completed a trek across the Kalahari – mud stained – lots of scratches & dents – & the nearside front bumper showed signs of recent violent contact with a tree!

Oh look – its Lady D – said Tom – come & meet her –

As we went back down the little path – 2 women got out. I knew which was Lady D straight off. Central casting – tweedy – sturdy – head thrust forward like shes eyeing up the opposition – if Id been a matador Id have headed for the barreras – good looker in her day probably – in a Fergie kind of way – nice healthy complexion – well weathered – the natural look – tho I spotted a touch of eye shadow & a smear of lipstick – so not without vanity – (I recalled what M said about her pursuing Dr Feldenhammer) – likes her own way – sharp – but maybe not so sharp as she likes to think.

& Minnie was right about her bum!

All that from a single glance! Arent you impressed?

The other woman was young – my age – bit older? – lovely slim figure – God – even when I did my anorexia thing I never got to look like that! – big boned us Heywoods – family gene thing – except this other woman – Clara Brereton her name is – turns out to be a relative of Lady Ds – so how come she doesnt look like a Hereford ready for market? In fact shes gorgeous – if you like your women fashionably skinny – which most men seem to – so – bringing my psychological objectivity to bear once more – I resolved to hate her!

Tom & Lady D greeted each other fondly – genuine on both sides from the look of it – tho I noticed she calls him Tom – while he only gets close enough to familiarity to call her Lady D – unlike Mary who refers to her – disapprovingly – as Daphne Brereton!

Credit due – the old bird did ask after Toms sprained ankle. He told her the story of how he got it – made it quite funny – & she brayed a laugh.

While this chitter chatter was going on I got a close up of the jeep – & I noticed someone had added to the general air of dereliction with a bit of graffiti – scrubbed off but not so efficiently I couldnt make out the letters P O L R & M U D R – which – I guessed from the gaps – added up to POLLUTER & MURDERER. Made me think of the sign outside the pig farm. Not only Mary who doesnt care for Lady D!

She was saying shed been going to call in at Kyoto House – Tom said lets go back there now & have some tea – she said no she couldnt possibly do that – Mary would have so much to do having just returned – he said Mary & the children would never forgive him if they discovered hed missed the chance of bringing Lady D home with him – she said it was flattering but she couldnt possibly impose – & somewhere in the midst of all this Tom & me had been translated into the back seat of the jeep.

As I got in I realized someone had answered Toms knock at Witch Cottage – a stocky oriental looking woman – who was watching us – inscrutably – like an extra in a kung-fu movie. Tom – whod gone round to the other side to get in – didnt notice her – but Lady D did – & she called out – Good day to you – Miss Lee – I hope you – & your ancestors – are well – which I took to be some sort of Chinese greeting. For a moment the womans mask slipped – & she looked daggers (or maybe – in view of her profession – needles) – at her ladyship – then gave a stiff little bow – & went back into the cottage.

Im getting the feeling that – living in Sandytown – everyone is expected to know their place – which is – Lady D on top – the rest below!

Lady D was still saying she wouldnt come in – as she came in – & twenty minutes later was saying she definitely wouldnt stay for tea – as the first cup was poured. Nice technique – getting whatever you want without having to be grateful for it.

But on the whole – I was more amused than alienated by her on first meeting. Good-humoured – long as she got her own way – showed a lot of interest in dad & the farm – said shed heard that Heywood of Willingden knew a bull calf from a bale of hay – treated the kids in the old fashioned country way – gave them 50p apiece & then ignored them.

Soon her & Tom got to talking about plans & development & visitors & such. Big event next Sunday – to celebrate progress & say thanks to those concerned – is a party at Sandytown Hall – my ears pricked when I heard them refer to it as a hog-roast – remembering the nickname of Lady Ds 1st husband! – but seems it just means theyre going to barbecue a pig. I got bored – & concentrated my clinical gaze on Clara – & tried to draw her out.

It was like trying to take a bone off old Fang – except she didnt growl.

Quiet as a nun – contained – gave nothing away – maybe shes got social problems – serve her right for being so good-looking! At least when time came to go – she offered to help with washing up the tea things – but Lady D was on her feet – & would brook no waiting. Whatever auntie wants – auntie gets!

I helped Mary clear up. Tom headed off to his study to work on his computer – declaring that Lady D was like Sandytown itself – a breath of fresh air – bringing new life to old ideas. Me – noting her cool reaction to some of his less commercial concerns – Id have said more like a breath of CO2! But Toms enthusiasm is the kind that sees direct opposition as oblique encouragement!

Mary is much clearer-sighted. Over the washing up I asked about Clara – had she always lived with her aunt?

– oh no – said Mary – only for the last six months or so –

Didnt take much to get the whole story. Bit like a 19th century novel – in fact the whole place has that feel – slow paced & leisurely on the surface but all kinds of interesting plot stuff swirling around underneath!

Daphne Brereton – Lady D – wealthy by birth – & wealthier by her first marriage – is naturally the object of much interest – living – & even more – dead! The Great Philosophical Question occupying Sandytonians isnt the meaning of life – or even – can England ever win the World Cup again? – any world cup! – but – wholl inherit Lady Ds lolly?!

Mary has a nice narrative style – little overt malice – but she purses her lips when certain subjects come up – & you get the message as well as the facts!

Not much chance of the money going to charity – it seems. Lady D feels the poor of the world probably deserve it – except for poor old horses – whose reward for having their spines bent by big bums like hers during their prime should be an old age of comfort & freedom! Used to be a very keen hunter herself – kept half a dozen top class horses – her one extravagance – Mary says. Gave them up after Sir Harrys accident – only keeping one old boy – Ginger – for looking down at the peasants from as she hacks around the countryside!

So – OXFAM – eat your heart out! Daphs stated belief is – money should stay in the family – but which family? – is the question.

Hot favourites for a long time were the Denhams – specifically a nephew who inherited the title & Denham Park when Lady Ds husband – Sir Harry – died. Nothing else – because there wasnt anything else – & even the house was a poisoned chalice – entailed so he couldnt sell it – & it would cost a fortune to get back to what it once was.

Love apart – Sir Harrys plan had been to repair the family mansion – & his own fortunes – by a ‘good’ marriage – told you it was like a 19th century novel! – but hed popped his clogs before any of his brides fortune could find its way into the Denham account.

According to Mary – Lady D had been heard to say – in confidential mood – that though shed got nothing but her title from the Denham marriage – on the other hand shed given nothing for it! Some dame – eh? Perhaps it was her sense of having lost nothing – plus of course it must give her a nice power charge – that made her play along when the new baronet – Sir Edward – & his sister – Esther – started cosying up to her. Lady D loves having them dance attendance – drops them little tit-bits from time to time to keep them interested – took them on a skiing holiday last Christmas for instance. That made them think they were at the top of the inheritance list – so they must have got a nasty shock when shortly after they came back Lady D brought cousin Clara to live at the Hall! To compensate – maybe – she gave Sir Ed some kind of job in the Hollis pig empire – not his kind of thing at all – Mary implied – but hed had to take it – or risk losing his cosying-up access!

Seems first hubby – Hog Hollis – was built in the same mould – expecting relatives to put up with his bossy ways – & be grateful for whatever crumbs he dropped their way. Closest – in blood at least – was his half-brother – Harold – known as Hen – Hollis. Seems the pair never got on – & when they inherited Millstone – the family farm – rather than work together – Hog went with the pigs – & Hen with the poultry – hence their names – gerrit?!

Neck & neck at first – till Hen got hit hard by the salmonella scare way back. Needed cash badly – turned to Hog who was doing well – Hog offered a loan – but being echt Yorkshire – demanded Hens share of Millstone as security. When – despite the loan – the chicken business finally went bust – Hog gave Hen a job – in charge of quality control – in his pig business. But it was still family loyalty – Yorkshire style! Part of Hens salary came in the form of letting him continue to live at Millstone Farm – all of which now belonged to Hog!

Hog himself was now ensconced in Sandytown Hall – from which he wooed Daphne Brereton. They married – Hog continued to prosper – Hen & Lady D didnt get on – but both of them were used to not getting on with people so nothing strange there – then Hog died – & left nearly everything to his widow. His token acknowledgement of family ties was that he only left her Millstone in trust. The building & everything on the farm would revert to Hen – if he survived his sis-in-law.

Locally – says Mary – if you want to bet on Hen outliving Lady D you can get odds of 20 to 1! She enjoys vigorous good health – hes a hard drinker – & smoker – & ‘choleric’ – most of his choler being directed at his brothers relict – who is enjoying what he – & several other Hollises – thought should have come to the family.

Led by Hen – these disaffected Hollises raised objections to the will. Not all of them – some – like Alan Hollis who runs Lady Ds pub the Hope & Anchor – knew what side their bread was buttered on. The others got nowhere – Lady Ds smart London lawyer soon swatted off their flimsy legal objections. Lady D was ready to be patronizingly generous in victory – after all in their shoes shed have done exactly the same – but when she learned that Hen was trying a new tack – & circulating rumours that shed had a hand in her husbands death – she went bananas!

Daph & Hen had a violent – & public – row – which ended with Hen refusing to retract his insinuations. Maybe hed forgotten that Lady D was now his boss. If so he was quickly reminded when she fired him – & when he retaliated by saying he didnt fancy working for a fat old tart anyway – Daph really put the boot in by serving him notice to quit the Hollis farm – which she was legally entitled to do.

Happy families – eh? Makes our lot seem right cosy!

At least Hen has the satisfaction of knowing Daph has no way of stopping him getting Millstone back – if he outlives her. But the others – that is the Denhams – & cousin Clara – are going to have to sing her song for whatever supper she may leave them. Mary shows little sympathy for the bart & his sister – but she purses her lips on Claras behalf – implying her position in the household is less honoured guest than unpaid housekeeper & general factotum!

Made me feel guilty about bad-thinking her – Clara I mean – now I know shes a poor relative – probably shivering in an attic bedroom – & scrubbing floors & cleaning grates for her daily gruel – & brawn on Sundays!

– so Lady Denhams a bit tight with money? – I said – stopping short of Uncle Sidneys phrase.

– you could say that – said Mary.

– but she is throwing this big hog-roast party next Sunday – I said.

Mary did the pursed lip thing again. (I really must practice it! Might come in useful when patients ask my opinion about their amatory feelings towards their livestock!)

– the event is financed by the Consortium – she said – all Daphne Brereton is providing is the location. The Hope and Anchor – which she owns – is supplying the drink – & I gather shes even charging the Consortium for the Hollis pig – so – as usual – she will end up making a hefty profit! –

Interesting – eh?

Spent the evening playing snap with the Parker kids. Found it hard not to do a Headbanger & win all the time – so I rang home – just to remind myself what I was missing. Nice chat with mum – then dad came on. In a good mood – got the house the way he likes it again – no visitors – just him – mum – George plus the twins – & me where he likes me – at the end of a phone line – where were both at our best!

Told him about the escaped convie – Mr Deal – aka Dee Ell – who claimed to know him.

– big bugger? – he said – looks like his mam got put to stud with a prize bull? –

Got a way with words – our dad – but I had to admit he was on the ball here.

– aye – I remember him – Andy Dalziel – (He spelt it out) – hes a copper – dont know what he does to crooks – but he used to kick the shit out of us on rugby field –

– he remembered you fondly too – I said – called you Stompy –

– remembered that – did he? – said dad – sounding like he was touched – Not a bad sort – Dalziel – long as you dont cross him. Hard man to knock down – bet he dented Parkers car! – It were him that got blown up by them mad buggers earlier this year – you probably read about it – if you had time to look at a paper – between disco-dancing & getting drunk –

Interesting view of higher education – our dad!

– thats probably why hes at the convalescent home – I said.

– theyll have their hands full – he said – give him my best if you see him again –

I said I would – but not much chance – I think. Probably got him in a padded cell after his escape trick the other day!

So now to my lonely bed – thinking of you all tangled up with the bronze bonking machine! Just cos Ive given up men forever doesnt mean I cant enjoy them vicariously – so – give him one for me!

Lots of love

Charley XX

9

Morning, Mildred!

They’ve still got me banged up in bed, so I might as well talk to myself. At least I’ll hear some sense!

No. Be fair. Like me old mam used to say, there’s some folk you needn’t be kind to, but you should always try to be fair with everyone.

I thought I’d wake up with the dawn the morning after the great escape and feel right as rain. Instead it were nigh on midday and I were busting for a piss, but when I slid out of bed, I almost fell over. Felt worse than I’d done in the Central.

Matron appeared like a flash – mebbe she’s got me bugged!

‘Mr Dalziel,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be up!’

‘Shouldn’t I?’ I said. ‘It’s either that or I’ll be floating out of here on my mattress.’

She had the sense not to suggest I use one of them bottles, but slung my arm over her shoulders, grabbed me round the waist and together we staggered into the bathroom.

‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ll just tidy up your bed, then I’ll be back for you.’

‘Take your time,’ I said. ‘I’m going to.’

I left flushing the bog till after I’d got washed up so’s she’d not have any advance warning and come rushing to help. Two quick steps from the bog to the doorway and I had to stop for a rest.

Matron were standing by my newly made bed, holding my recorder.

‘Found this in your bed, Mr Dalziel,’ she said.

‘Oh aye. It’s a sex aid,’ I said.

‘Really?’ she said, holding it to her ear. ‘What’s it play? Beginner’s instructions?’

Cheeky cow! But I had to laugh. And she grinned too, like she knew that my only interest in bed that moment was getting into it and going back to sleep.

I went forward at a stagger, grabbed the recorder off her and fell across the mattress. She tutted and pulled the duvet over me.

‘I see you’ve got a visit scheduled tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Hope you can get down to your physio session in the morning or we may have to cancel it.’

But she was grinning as she said it.

Bit more to her than I reckoned. Could make summat of her yet! But need to be careful now she’s set her sharp little eyes on this thing. Think I’ll tuck it between my legs before I go to sleep. If anyone can get it out of there without me noticing, then I’m really knackered! But I’ll need to find a better place to hide it permanent if I don’t want them having a right giggle in the nurses’ room. Old trick, wrap it in a plastic bag and stick it in the lav cistern. First place a cop ’ud look, but cops are one thing I don’t need to worry about just now!

So, head down, and hope I can skip them funny dreams I keep on getting and work on a nice little fantasy about Cap instead. Roll on tomorrow. Couple of hours with Cap’s all the physiotherapy I need!

10

OK, Mildred, I should have listened to you and put my woolly vest on!

Bad night. Didn’t get my hoped-for fantasy about Cap but another bunch of them daft dreams about floating around and talking to God!

But my physio went well. Tony tutted a bit when he looked me over. But by the time he’d finished, I were feeling lish enough to reckon I could give Cap the welcome she deserved!

First, though, I had to put up with her giving me the bollocking she thought I deserved! Blabbermouth Festerwhanger must have really laid it on thick about how much damage I could have done to myself going over the wire.

I tried playing it down, doing the big bull thing, saying, ‘Come here and I’ll soon show thee how poorly I am!’ Well, she came, and I showed her, and that’s when I found out like mam used to say that my eyes were hungrier than my belly.

When I finally gave up, she said, ‘That does it, Andy. From now on in, if they tell you to start the day with an ice bath, you bloody well take it! If I wanted a eunuch, I’d have looked in the Istanbul small ads.’

She’s got a real lip on her, Cap.

She’d brought my civvies as promised and it were only by promising to be a good little patient and do what matron tells me that I stopped her from taking them back.

When I asked if she had any news from the Factory, she said nothing, except that Pete had told her everything was going fine and nobody was missing me. He’d asked her about visiting me. I told her no way, not till I were properly up and about. He’d seen me at the Central while I were still good for nowt. Next time he saw me, I wanted to be back to something like full steam, else he might start feeling sorry for me. I don’t doubt the vultures are already circling over the Factory and if Pete comes back from a visit with a long face, they’ll be flapping to land!

Cap said I were daft, I needed my friends. I said I knew what I needed better than her, and she rolled her eyes and said that what I clearly needed was another week in bed. And not long after she took off. Said she wanted to walk over to the nursing home and see her old headmistress who’s on her last legs, it seems.

Her parting line was, ‘Maybe that’s where I should have put you, Andy.’

I saw her out. As I made my way back to my room, who should I see coming out of it but Franny Roote!

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I demanded.

‘Looking for you, of course, Andy,’ he said. ‘A few of your fellow convies – sorry, convalescents – are interested in Third Thought, and after I finished with them, I asked Pet where I’d find you.’

‘Pet?’ I said.

‘Nurse Sheldon. I’d have thought you’d have been on first-name terms by now, Andy’

‘Well, we’re not. And neither are you and me,’ I said grimly. ‘Now bog off!’

I wasn’t in the mood for chatting with Roote, not the way things had gone with Cap. Don’t know who it was said that pleasures are always paid for, but the bugger got it right. My pleasure had been a couple of pints of ale, one of which I didn’t really enjoy, and here I was, still paying for it.

Which reminds me. I owe yon fellow Parker twenty quid. Well, it will have to wait. I know its only tea time, but I need my beauty sleep!

11

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | titled hunks & legless wonders

Hi!

No reply yet to mine of yesterday. Too busy? Doing what? – I ask myself.

Well – Im busy too – but its not going to stop me finding time to tell you all about it – which youd better read – therell be a test!

If theres anyone left in Sandytown that I havent met yet – anyone of importance I mean – they must be living in a cave! Late breakfast this morning – Tom & Mary said I should ignore all sounds of early reveille – their kids like kids everywhere want to sleep forever during term time but are up with the lark in the hols. Minnie – I suspect – must have got a death threat warning to keep her away from my door – but it worked – & I didnt come down till half ten!

Just enjoying a coffee with Mary – Tom I guess was out even earlier than the kids! – when the doorbell rang. Mary went to answer it – & came back with this hunk – in tight black motor cycle leathers – & you know what they can do for a guys figure.

Not that this one wouldnt have looked good in pinstripes.

6′ 2″ — handsome as hell – in that old fashioned Hollywood kind of way – before the new 3 day dead look came in – athletic build – wide shoulders – narrow hips – lovely bum – not bronze exactly – his face I mean – dont know about his bum – yet! – but a very even & natural looking light tan! OK – he clearly thinks hes Gods gift – but like the man said – when you got it – baby – flaunt it!

This was Teddy Denham – Sir Edward Denham no less – Lady Ds nephew-in-law – & one of her hopeful heirs! Having heard from Lady D that Tom was back – hed come straight round to say hello – & check on the now famous ankle.

Mary introduced us – & he said Lady D had mentioned me – with a bit of a grin to suggest I might be amused by the terms of the mention – & he shook my hand – with enough warmth to make it personal.

My gaze had been so fixed on him that I hardly noticed his companion – which was OK – as she made it pretty clear she didnt really think me worth noticing either!

This was his sister – Esther – beautifully turned out – beautiful too if shed give her face a chance. Thought she looked a bit familiar at first glance – but her first – & only – glance at me when introduced made me change my mind. Reminded me of dads comment about the vicars wife – like shed bent to sniff a flower & found it were growing in a cow-pat! If anyone had looked at me like that before I think Id have remembered.

She looked like her idea was to say hello-goodbye! – but he said yes hed love a coffee – & sat down beside me – & soon we were chatting away like wed known each other for ever. After ten minutes – Tom turned up. He & Teddy greeted each other like old mates – Esther gave him a condescending cold fish nod – which he took like it was a loving hug! Then Teddy asked after Toms ankle & got the full miracle recovery story.

– of course – declared Tom – I benefitted from instant & expert first aid from our dear friend Charlotte here – (this got me a well arent you the talented one grin from Teddy the bart) – but – Tom went on – I feel I must also give credit for the incredible speed of my recovery to Mr Gordon Godley of Willingdene – (he stressed the long e & smiled at me as if to say he was glad of the error that had led to me being here in Sandytown) – the famous healer whom I hope to entice to join our caring community –

As he spoke – he did a little jig to demonstrate his recovery. Esthers face had screwed up like a pigs bum at the mention of healer – & when she saw the jig I thought she might vomit in disgust. Fortunately for the high polished floorboards her mobile rang at that moment. She looked at the caller display – & her face rearranged itself so quick it might have been computer-enhanced.

– Aunt Daphne! – she trilled – how are you? –

She rose & moved away – not with the usual sorries most of us mutter when the mobile catches us in company – but more like shed have preferred the rest of us to move out of the room & leave her sitting!

But the change of expression revived my first impression – now I was really sure Id seen her before – or her twin! Remember – last December – the skiing in Switzerland near Davos – I gave you a full account about me & louse Liam – unlike the censored stuff youre giving me! Dad did his nut – till I assured him Id be back for Xmas – & it was costing hardly anything – travel by bus – hostel accommodation – bunk beds in dorms – which made him think – wrongly! – naughties would be out of the question. But it was George asking if he could come too that persuaded dad to cough up the readies. The HB thought George would be a chaperone – I thought hed just be a bit of a drag – but we were both wrong! In the end – like I told you – turned out he was getting as much action as I was!

Anyway – our après-ski consisted of a beer-swilling disco in the Bengel-bar – cross between Willingden Village Hall & the Black Hole of Calcutta – where all the impoverished young stuff went – & thats where Id seen the sour-puss look-alike – but not sour-puss – laughing like a drain – as she did high energy dirty dancing with this skinny blond guy – with hair down to his shoulders – & a soup strainer moustache. His name was Emil – second name Geiger-Counter according to George – but that was just his version of something like Kunzli-Geiger. How G knew him – I think they had a pee together – thats how guys bond – its in all the textbooks! – & next day hed met him on the piste & they had a bit of a race – which G lost. G was clearly impressed that a skinny fellow like Emil should be able to beat him at skiing – & – I suspect – tho he didnt spell this out – should have such a big whang! Must ask G when I ring home. She didnt have a name – just an initial – Ess – & one of my mates – watching the way they danced – christened them Ess & Em – which I had to explain to George – who thought it was the funniest wordplay since madam Im Adam – remember? – & rewarded my mate accordingly!

But still couldnt believe dirty dancing Ess & sour-puss Esther could be the same – though I recalled Mary had mentioned Lady D took the young Denhams on a ski holiday last Christmas. Shed stepped into the hallway – but her voice stayed at that upper-class level that assumes that servants – & others of that ilk – like me & the Parkers – are – or better had be – stone deaf. So we heard her quite clearly saying – no – not in the least inconvenient – no – a social call merely – in the circumstances you might call it a sick visit – an irksome duty – but a duty nevertheless – as you of all people will understand – Aunt Daphne. Five minutes – scarcely that –

Tom meanwhile had asked Sir Teddy how work was going – & the bart pulled a face – & said – lets just say I hope Aunt Daph doesnt serve up pork for lunch – again! –

I said – do you have much actual contact with the pigs? –

– indeed – he said ruefully – from first squeak to final freeze-pack – I oversee quality control –

This was nepotism – Yorkshire style! – I thought.

Then Mary said – I wish theyd put someone in charge of odour control too –

Teddy smiled sadly – & said – you should try living out at Denham Park Mary –

From the doorway Esher said – Teddy – we have to go – Aunt Daphne has some family matter shed like to discuss with us –

Very peremptory – sweetness soured – light switched off – normal service resumed.

– whats the panic – Ess – said Teddy – glancing at his flashy Rolex – we arent due there for ninety minutes –

There! Hed called her Ess! Short for Esther – which is one of those names that really need shortening! It had to be her – tho the resemblance had faded as she was now back in sour-puss mode. But if – as I recall G saying – Emil was just a poor student – then that would explain why they were meeting in the Bengel-bar – where there was no chance of running into Lady D or her chums – who were probably drinking over at Klosters – with Big Ears & his tribe of Noddies.

– so why cant she just talk to us over lunch? – Teddy concluded.

– in front of Clara? – said Esther.

She spoke the name like it was a nasty taste.

– Claras family too – said Ted – winning a Heywood Brownie point.

– not our family – & besides the legless wonders going to be there too –

I saw Tom & Mary exchange disapproving glances – but neither spoke.

– is he? Whys that? – asked Teddy frowning.

– he seems to amuse her – & he doesnt eat much – look – Im off – you can follow whenever you find the strength to drag yourself away –

She nodded at the Parkers – didnt even glance at me – & span on her heel – very tall sharp heel it was – she knows how to dress – must run in the family – the bart looked a real dish in his leathers – & I could imagine him peeling them – James Bond-like – to reveal an … … immaculate dj! (Got you going there!)

Disappointingly – despite his protests – Teddy didnt have much trouble dragging himself away – tho he did gabble a rueful apology before heading after the Ice Queen.

As he left – Tom said to me – come on Charley – time to finish our tour –

When Tom decides something – its instant action! – & we were out of the house in time to see Esther climbing behind the wheel of a Range Rover – what else? – pretty ancient – but the landed gentry probably regard new RRs like new Barbours – as evidence of arrivisme. Ted – by contrast – was straddling a new looking Buell Lightning – in midnight black – with the words Sexy Beast scrawled across the tank in silver. Narcissism? I wondered. Or a gift from an admirer …?

As they processed at speed down the drive – I said – thought Mary said they were a bit strapped for cash – no wonder if they spend it on 7k mo-bikes! –

– as much as that? – said Tom – well – he really was lucky then – Ted didnt buy it – won it in a charity lottery – cast your bread upon waters – eh Charlotte? –

Lucky old Ted – I thought. No wonder he thinks the world owes him a living!

Walking down the hill – I wondered – dead casual – if there might not seem to be some conflict between Toms eco-enthusiasm & the bloody great carbon footprints the Denhams – young & old – seemed bent on planting all over the roads of Sandytown.

– just so! – cried Tom – as if delighted by some sharp & helpful apercu – this is how I see things too. Physician – heal thyself – then pass the cure on! To convert is better than to convict – to persuade than to prescribe. We all have our complementary roles – mine I see as a gatherer – bringing together the full spectrum of ability. It did not take long – dear Charlotte – to see how useful a talent like yours – to observe & analyse – would be to our little community –

It dawned on me then that in Toms eyes I was – like Gordon Godley – an opportunity not to be missed. The bugger was trying to recruit me!

But hes such a poppet I could only feel flattered!

As we once more approached Witch Cottage – recalling the small incident yesterday – I asked how Miss Lee – the acupuncturist – got on with Lady Denham. Tom – whos clearly into universal love – said – fine – fine – But hes also into transparent honesty – & he added – there has been a small contretemps – I believe – regarding the terms of Miss Lees tenancy – but Im confident a mutually satisfactory resolution has been reached –

I said – you mean Lady D owns Witch Cottage? –

– indeed – he said – & much more besides – the Breretons were substantial property owners in the town – & Hog Hollis – Lady Ds first – rarely missed an opportunity to invest in bricks & mortar –

Id have liked to hear more – but realized I was only going to get a sanitized version of any unpleasantness from Tom – & made a note to bring the matter up with that young mistress of unsanitized versions – Minnie!

At the cottage – after a little delay – Miss Lee answered Toms knock. I was introduced – briefly. She did a little Chinese bob thing – like Pitti-Sing in the musical. She was wearing a sort of kimono – but close up her face looked a lot less oriental – more plastic than porcelain – & Id say the almond blossom complexion comes out of a jar. Her voice was pretty neutral – very precise – with the occasional Yorkshire vowel suggesting shed been around the county for some time.

She had a patient – she explained – but would join us shortly. We were standing in a narrow passage with a steep staircase up to the first floor – & 2 doors to the right – & another at the far end – open to reveal a kitchen. Miss Lee slipped through the first door – presumably not wanting us to see some poor devil stuck with needles like a hedgehog! – & Tom led me through the next door – clearly very much at home.

I found myself wondering – this alternative medicine thing – does he try them all?

We were in a crepuscular living room – small 16th cent windows in walls a yard thick – bit of a change from bamboo & rice paper – or is that Japan? Couple of pictures on the wall – prints of Chinese art – & a framed professional certificate – in Chinese characters. No – I havent taught myself Chinese – alongside it in the same frame was what I presumed was an English version – telling the world that Yan Lee had earned her qualifications – with distinction – at the Beijing Institute of Acupuncture & Moxibustion! (You tell me – youre the familys medical expert!)

Tom settled into a dusty armchair – to read a dusty newspaper – & I wandered around – checking out the bookshelves. Us psychologists can tell a lot from bookshelves! Fiction mainly – chic-lit – historical romances – couple of classics looking like they were lifted from school. Non-fiction limited to royal reminiscences – & Delia – plus – which I almost missed – a very tatty paperback – Teach Yourself Acupuncture. Set book from the Beijing Institute maybe?

Miss Lee re-appeared as I was looking at it – so I quickly shoved it back into place – & hoped she hadnt noticed. Tom chit-chatted for a moment or two about local matters – then started talking about my thesis – making me sound like an FRS on a WHO funded research project! Miss Lee listened – then said – so you would like to talk to my patients to see if I really do them any good physically? I said – no – I would like to talk to those whose physical improvement is undeniable – with a view to understanding the mental processes involved. I have no interest in passing judgment on the status of acupuncture as medical therapy –

She gave me a little smile – like she didnt believe a word of it – & said – OK – Ill have a word with a couple of them – see what they think – & get back to you – now I must get back to work –

After that Tom whipped me round his aroma-therapist – middle aged Madonna lookalike – his reflexologist – like an undertakers receptionist – pallid complexion – black skirt & top – probably a Goth in her teens & couldnt yet afford to upgrade – his herbalist – funny little man with a young-old face – would have made a good Lord of the Rings elf. All happy to help me – after consulting patients first of course – Tom very persuasive – or – more likely – they see Toms enthusiasm for a complementary therapy centre at the Manor as their route to fame & fortune – so what he wants – he gets!

(Cynical? Moi? A lifelong beleiver its love makes the world go round? Love of self – or love of money – of course!)

Tried to see Toms homeopath but he was laid up with a bad cold.

– maybe hes treating himself for pneumonia – I said.

Tom thought this was very funny – once hed worked it out – & insisted on repeating it to everyone else we encountered – adding Wildean wit to my other talents. He was still chortling as he led me into the Hope & Anchor –the pub wed left Mr Deal heading for. Wouldnt have surprised me to find him still drinking there after what dad said about him – but no sign of him among the tourists eating bar snacks in the main bar – nor in the smaller room we turned into. No food here – just four or five men drinking pints – & one leaning on the bar – in close confab with the barman.

Tom introduced me to them. Barman was Alan Hollis – the landlord – & the other was Hollis too – Hen Hollis – the disaffected sibling – who was the 1st guy Id met clearly not a fan of Toms. Must see him as tarred beyond redemption with the Denham brush! Talking of tarred – this miserable old sod looked like hed not been near a bathtub since his 21st. If theres any family resemblance – Lady D must have been mighty releived when the pigs et hubby Number 1! Sorry. Shouldnt judge by appearances – specially in my line of work – but hes one of those long rangy guys – mean little eyes in a small narrow head – & a beard that made Mr Godleys look like it had been worked on by Errol Douglas – full of crumbs from the crisps he was stuffing between his sharp yellow teeth. Like a ferret on stilts – I thought – & he didnt like the look of me either – glowering at me like I was the whore of Babylon – I wish! – before he banged his glass on the bar – & left.

Landlord Alan is v different – mid thirties – not bad looking – easy to talk with – hard to believe hes related to horrible Hen – no physical resemblance – hes one of those steady calm-looking guys – the sort you want to see slipping into the pilots seat when the aircrew all go down with e-coli – while Hen looks like hes on friendly terms with most known bacilli! But cant choose your relations – can you? As we well know!

The seated drinkers were fine too. Tom introduced me round – but I only really registered one of them – a man in a wheelchair. Hes called Franny Roote – & Tom made a big point of him being one of his alternative therapists.

Then Tom said – but shouldnt you be up at the Hall – lunching with Lady D? –

Thats when it struck me with a shock – this was who Esther Denham meant when she said the legless wonder. What a cow!

– cant have a private life in Sandytown – said Franny – quite right Tom – but not for another ten minutes or so – & I much prefer the presence of new beauty to the prospect of old pork –

Gave me a big grin as he spoke – big attractive grin – so – telling myself Id better check if his kind of therapy fitted into my research area – I plumped myself down next to him – & we got talking – while Tom got deep into some Consortium matter with a couple of the others.

Interesting guy – this Roote – something about him thats different – & I dont just mean the wheelchair – something about the way he looks at you – & the way he talks. I found myself telling him all about me & my plans – not just me either – but you & George & Adam & Rod & the twins & mum & dad & the farm – OK – might be a line – but made me feel he was really interested – gives off a real sense of power – like theres nothing he cant do – sexy too – though maybe being paralysed from the waist down means there is something he cant do? – need a bit of professional guidance here sis!

Youll be thinking I must be really frustrated – going on about Teddy the hunky bart – & now Fran the dishy paraplegic! Could be Toms right – & theres something in the Sandytown sea breezes that gets the red corpuscles bubbling – but I know that really my interest is purely professional – Ive given men up – remember!

Finally I got him talking about himself – fascinating – though as far as my research is concerned I soon realized Franny doesnt fit in at all. His thing is 3rd Thought – have you heard of it? I recall in my 1st year at uni going to a talk given by a guy called Frere Jacques – in dads terms very much a daft bugger! – who founded the movement. Lots in it about modern living making us lose touch with death – the need to establish a hospice of the mind – & a lot of similar gobbledygook which us smart 1st year psych students all rubbished like mad – but the guy himself was gorgeous – had an aura – & a lovely ass. Frannys the same – except his aura aint pure white like Frere Js – more shot silk – changing & mysterious – & I didnt get the chance to check out his ass! Anyway – thing is – with 3rd Thought theres no physical therapy involved – no taking up your bed & walking – not surprising really – guy in a wheelchair isnt likely to get far promising miracle cures. So – nothing here for me – except – I really enjoyed talking to him – & including him in my research gives me a good excuse for doing it again! So we ended by exchanging mobile nos & email addresses before he went off to Big Bums.

Anyway thats it for now. Spent the afternoon – after a sandwich in the pub – meeting the rest of the inhabitants of Sandytown – every single one of them it felt like! – then back here to Kyoto. Quiet night in – reading – & hammering the kids at snap! Make sure you answer this one sis. Dont see why you should get the details of my wild life in Sandytown while all I get from you is a pregnant (?) silence. So – no prevarications – I want dirt – I want dimensions!

Love

Charley xxx

12

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | camomile tea!

Hi! Still no word. Working on the Headbanger principle that the only thing that travels faster than bad news is crap through a goose – Ive not started worrying – yet!

Here excitement piles on excitement – not sure if Ill be able to bear much more!

Thats called irony by the way – just in case youve completely forgotten everything Mr big-Dickenson at the comp taught you in English – though I dont suppose you heard much of what he said – above the roar of your randy hormones!

First – Toms sister Diana turned up! None of the strong hints Id had about her oddness prepared me for the reality. Not bad looking – small & trim – full of words & fuller of energy – or so it seemed to me – though by her own – & Toms – account – she spends so much time lying at deaths door – she must be a real hindrance to his milkman!

Death must be on hold today – way she came bursting in at Kyoto like a small tornado.

– I am just arrived – she proclaimed – let me sit down – (which she did) – your raw sea air – a tonic I know for some – is too savage for my weak constitution. Where are the dear children – (jumping out of her chair) – I must see them at once – & this is Miss Heywood – I know you from Toms letters – my dear – its true Tom – a fine complexion – no trouble with your circulation – Tom – how is your ankle? – let me see – (here she knelt & pulled up her brothers trouser leg & folded down his sock) – looks fine to me – very little swelling – (not surprising as she was looking at the wrong ankle) – you say the Willingdene healer played a part? – an interesting acquisition – too late for me of course – years of misdiagnosis by incompetent MDs have put me beyond hope of healing – but I work tirelessly for others –

As I listened to Diana rattling on – I began to understand Toms preoccupation with alternative medicine. In his beloved sisters eyes – alternative was mainstream – she was into alternatives to the alternatives!

Finally Tom got a word in – asking where her luggage was – assuming she would be staying at Kyoto – causing Mary to wince before the polite smile formed – but relief was on its way.

– such was of course my intention – said Di – but as you know I have been ever industrious in singing the praises of Sandytown – Tom – & as you may have noticed – I have been instrumental in persuading a friend of mine – seeking a holiday destination for herself & her teenage neices – to choose Sandytown rather than one of the less salubrious resorts – so I thought I would drop in on her at Seaview Terrace to check that all was as perfect as I had promised –

– & was it? – asked Tom.

– alas no – she said – Unfortunately one of her neices had slipped while scrambling over some rocks on the shore – damaging her leg – not too seriously – but sufficient for her to wish to recuperate at home – & naturally her sibling went with her. I found Sandy – that is my freind – Mrs Griffiths – undecided whether to follow their example – or stay on by herself. Seeing the danger that her early return might start a rumour that Sandytown beach was unsafe – whereas the truth is – as you know Tom – we have some of the least slippery rocks on the east coast – I immediately offered my services – both as co-tenant – & as a conduit into the best circles of the district – both of which offers Mrs Griffiths – that is – Sandy – was delighted to accept. Beleive me – only my sense of responsibility for the good name of Sandytown – & by implication of yourself – Tom – would make me inflict this disappointment on you & Mary –

She looked for applause – which Tom gave her – while Mary managed to murmur something about typical kindness – & all I could think was – unaccountable officiousness!

Tom – full of brotherly concern for her frail constitution – insisted on driving her back down to the Terrace – with me invited along too – I suspect in my capacity of St J Ambulance trained physician – in case the shock of the sea air brought on a seizure!

Sandy Griffiths – even though introduced as a ‘vegan warrior’! – had no outward signs of the kind of dottiness I suspect must be a precondition of chumming up with Deaths Door Di. 40 something – strong handsome face – with a peculiarly disturbing stare – I thought she looked pretty good for someone who presumably existed on sprout fricassees & nut cutlets. She made us v welcome. Tea was produced – camomile for Diana – of course! – Typhoo for the rest of us – plus some v nice cream cakes – which Di thrust aside with shudder – declaring that one bite would be the death of her. All the more for me! I noticed that Sandy G had a nibble too – so not a total vegan! Nor – it seemed to me – a particularly close buddy of Dianas – which made me wonder how shed let herself be manoeuvred into having Di as her live-in guide. Tried some subtle probing – but Sandy G fixed me with her stare – so I backed off. Maybe being called Sandy makes her feel as proprietorial about Sandytown as Diana clearly does!

Tom clearly sees nothing but his sisters good points. He really is a sweetie. I find Im becoming as anxious as Mary that some people might be tempted to take advantage of his good-nature.

2 more excitements – then Im done. I dont want to risk over-stimulating you!

After we left the Terrace – driving back through the town – we saw Franny Roote hauling himself into his car. The ease with which he did it – reaching out to fold up his wheelchair & swing it into the back – suggested long practice – & my heart ached for him. OK – I know what youd say – all that stuff about handicapped people finding expressions of sympathy & offers of assistance patronizing – but I cant help it. Hes a young guy – & hes missing out on so much young guy stuff it breaks me up – so there!

Tom pulled alongside – & called – hello there Franny! – hows things –

– great – he said – giving me a big smile – & how are you – Charlotte?

– fine – I said – nice wheels.

Idiot thing to say – as it was a small boxy MPV – chosen – I guess – because the sliding doors made things easier.

– yes – he said – I dithered between this & the Porsche for a long time –

But he gave me a big grin – to show I hadnt really offended him.

Tom said – you wont forget the planning committee meeting at the Avalon on Friday –

– such excitements – said Fran – the committee on Friday – Lady Ds hog-roast on Sunday – then less than a week to recover before the Festival – be still my foolish heart! –

Tom – who doesnt do irony – said with concern – Fran – is there a problem? –

– no no – grinned Franny – of course Ill be there – Charlotte – will you be staying on for the Bank Holiday weekend & the great Festival of Health? –

– no – Im heading home this Saturday – I said.

Tom looked devastated – tho Id made it clear this was my plan – & Franny winked at me & said – then why not let Tom bring you along on Friday – not to the meeting – wouldnt wish that on my worst enemy – but Lester will be laying on some booze & snacks afterwards. Its the Festival action committee – so all us therapists will be there – great chance to pick their brains for your thesis – & Ill be first in the queue! –

Tom thought this was an excellent idea – & I was rather flattered by Frans keenness to see me again. (OK – I know – Im anybodys for a kind word!) Also I wouldnt mind seeing the inside of the Avalon – so I said – why not? – giving Franny my best smile.

– great – he said – look forward to seeing you then –

– me too – I said – meaning it.

Dont know whats happening to me! Maybe Sandytowns one of those magic places – like Brigadoon or Oz – that you stray into – then get taken over by.

Yes – thats it – definitely a magic place. But what colour magic Im not yet sure!

Write soon before I forget the real world out there!

Lots of love.

Charley xxxx

13

How do, Mildred!

Don’t recall when I’ve slept for so long if you don’t count being in a coma! Must have needed it ’cos when I woke up this morning I felt more like my old self than any time since I’d been here. Went for my physio session with Tony. Said he were pleased and suggested I finished with a massage. I said no thanks, thinking it were one thing doing knee bends with Tony on hand to steady me if I keeled over, quite another to be lying on my face with my bum in the air while he took a running jump at me!

Then this strapping blonde appeared, lovely smile, said her name was Stiggi and she was sure she could help me, wouldn’t I change my mind? So I did.

It were grand, nice and relaxing. Too relaxing. Suddenly lying there face down with her straddling me back, I realized I were close to embarrassing myself, so when she tried to turn me over, I let on I’d dozed off. She wandered off to do something and I scrambled into my jim jams and dressing gown. Hadn’t got dressed so fast since that time thirty odd years back when I were banging Sergeant Pocklington’s missus and I heard his size fifteens coming up the stairs! All I need now is a bit more red meat on my plate and I’ll soon be ready to make Cap eat her

Hang about. I’m coming … oh, its you.

Hi there, Mr Dalziel! How’re you doing? Hearing good things about you so I thought I’d drop by to check you out for myself…

Oh aye? Well, take a look, lad. What you see is what you get, isn’t that what them ET anoraks say?

IT I think you mean. Yes, they do, but it doesn’t really apply in my line of business any more than I expect it does in yours. We both know there’s no art to read the mind’s construction in the face, right?

If you’re trying to say you need to be a trick-cyclist to be a good cop, you’ve come to the wrong shop. I’m not saying it never comes in useful but I’ve got clever buggers working under me to do the fancy stuff. Me, its collars I’m interested in fingering not souls.

Souls? Interesting choice of word, Mr Dalziel.

Sorry. Limited vocabulary. Don’t have the Latin so I’ve got to make what I do have go a long way.

I believe it. And it’s a journey I’d like to make with you if you let me. To lay it on the line, Mr Dalziel, physically you seem to be back on stream after your little glitch. You’re looking good …

I’d look a lot better if they stopped feeding me like a prize greyhound.

I’ll have a word. But as I was saying, how fast you’re recovering from the mental trauma of your experience, only you can say. I hope pretty soon you’ll trust me enough to feel able to say it, but that’s entirely up to you. How’re you getting on with the audio-diary, by the way?

Eh? Oh that recorder thing. Sorry, went right out of my mind. Can’t even recollect where I put the bloody thing.

That’s OK. I’m sure it will turn up. So, before I go, anything I can do for you, apart from seeing you get more red meat on your plate?

One thing, there’s a guy lives locally, name of Parker. Says he comes up here sometimes.

Tom Parker? Oh yes, I know Tom well. Important man round here. He’s got big plans for Sandytown, him and his partner, Lady Denham.

Her in the pub? You’re not saying he’s shacked up with her? Nay, I met his missus, at least I assumed she were his missus…

No, sorry, I was using partner in its old pre-permissive sense. Their union has much to do with Mammon and nothing at all with Hymen.

No need to talk dirty. Any road, I owe him twenty quid. Mebbe if I gave it to you, you could pass it on?

Happily. But better still, I’m having a little get-together tomorrow lunchtime. Tom Parker has persuaded me that the Avalon ought to play a major role in this Festival of Health he’s organizing to launch the hotel. We’re meeting together, some of my staff and his alternative therapists, to make sure we all understand our roles. Afterwards there’ll be drinks and snacks and there’ll be a few other people there to help things swing along. I’d be delighted if you could join us, and if you did, then you co uld repay your own debt, couldn’t you? I’m a great believer in a man repaying his own debts; that in some ways is what my work is all about. So, won’t you come?

I’ll think about it.

Excellent. Nice to talk with you, Mr Dalziel. About one o’clock. Petula will show you the way.

Handy little gadget this. Didn’t realize I’d left it running when I shoved it in my pocket after Festerwhanger tapped at the door. Its picked up every word him and me said.

Dead sensitive, like me!

Not that hiding it fooled old weasel-eyes. I reckon he’d been listening at the door for a couple of minutes afore he knocked. Played it back to be sure and there it was, red meat on my plate. Coincidence? Mebbe. But I’ll take more care from now on. Simplest would be to toss the bloody thing into the sea. But, fair do’s, it could be the bugger’s on to something with this talking to myself thing. Admit it, Dalziel, your bollocks might be back to twitch mode, but you’re still not right in your head, not while you keep having these funny dreams about talking to God!

Mebbe it’s that post-menstrual traumatic sin thing they go on about these days. Likely there’s a lot of it about in a place like this, so no wonder if I’ve caught a dose.

Any road, if yakking about it helps, nowt wrong with yakking. But I’m definitely not going to spill my guts to yon Yankee wanker!

Jesus, there it goes again. Knock knock knock. Who’s there, in the name of Beelzebub? All right, I’m coming. There’d be less traffic living on Scotch Corner roundabout.

Oh, hello, matron.

Sorry to disturb you, Mr Dalziel, but Dr Feldenhammer said you were having some problem with your diet.

Only problem is seeing it, luv. I’m a growing lad. I need fettling.

I won’t argue with you there. Can I be frank with you, Mr Dalziel?

Long as it don’t involve dressing up in leather.

You have a large frame, and I can understand your desire to fill it again. But this might be a good time to take stock and ask yourself if you really want to put back on all the weight you lost during your recent unfortunate experience.

How do you know how much I weighed before?

We have your medical records. No one comes to the Avalon without a complete legend.

So I’m a legend, am I? I’ll tell you what, luv. You fatten me up till I reach what you think is my legendary shape, then we’ll see how we get on from there, OK?

That sounds reasonable. Now I gather I’m to escort you to Dr Feldenhammer’s lunch meeting tomorrow.

If you’re Petula, that’s right, matron.

Yes, that is my name. My title incidentally isn’t matron. I am Head of Nursing Care and usually I’m addressed as Mrs Sheldon.

But I bet you’re undressed as Pet, right? Nay, don’t look offended, not when you’ve got such a bonny smile. That’s better. Let’s start again. If we’re going out together, I’m going to call you Pet. And if you’re going to get me back to my proper shape, you can call me Adonis. But Andy will do if you’re worried about folk talking.

Andy it is. Will you be up to walking to the clinic, Andy? Or shall I bring a chair for you?

Ee, I do love a cheeky woman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I fancy a shower. Don’t suppose you’d like to come in with me? I’ve got these muscle pains when I try to scrub my back.

I’m sorry to hear that, Andy, but it would be more than my job’s worth.

Oh, I think I could guarantee that, Pet.

Who’s a big mouth then? One little twitch when the beautiful Stiggi’s straddling your bum and you’re making like Don Juan! And it were only a few days back you were thinking that lass would have made a good concentration camp warder! Funny how feeling better changes your view of folk. Reminds me of summat Pete Pascoe once said when I wanted to haul someone into the Factory for questioning. Let’s start him off at home, he said. Once you feel like a prisoner, everyone looks like a guard.

Clever clogs were right, as per usual! I don’t feel like a prisoner any more and I can see yon Pet’s not a bad-looking woman, specially now I’ve got her to crack her face.

Time for that shower. What’s that, Mildred? Better make it a cold one?

Just for that you’re going back in the cistern!

Over and out!

14

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | the hunk & his handle!

Hi!

Really pleased to hear from you – was getting worried – but not as worried as I would have been if Id known! No – nothing on the news here – small African hospital under mortar fire – no one dead – doesnt hit the headlines. Just as well maybe – for mum & dads sake I mean – saves a lot of brick walls from being banged!

Anyway – I feel real guilty – lounging around here – in what must be the safest healthiest place in the world – boring you with my rustic rollickings! But you say it helps keep you on an even keel knowing theres still places like sleepy little Sandytown in the world – so heres the next exciting episode!

Or rather the next several episodes – each centred on a man – just so you dont get the impression youve got exclusive rights!

First Teddy – the hunk with the handle – literally! – as I have seen – & you will hear!

Weather was so warm today – I thought Id head for the beach – see if it had improved since the famous trip!

Tom was too busy to join me – thank heaven – I wanted to swim not talk – or rather listen! He said this was the day hed fixed for Mr Godley – the healer – to drive over & take a look at the set-up in Sandytown – & he hoped Id be back in time to meet him – as he knew how it would help with my study – which Im finally making a bit of progress with. Remembering how Godly Gordon took against me first time we met – I dont anticipate much encouragement there – but of course I said I hoped so too.

One other thing Tom said – rather awkwardly for him was – re the meeting at the Avalon – Charlotte – as it is mainly – nay solely – concerned with the alternative therapists – we – that is Lester Feldenhammer & myself – deemed it unnecessary to invite Lady Denham – so – should you chance into her company – it might be diplomatic not to say anything about it! –

Playing with fire there – Tom – I thought. But I was rather flattered to find myself part of a Sandytown conspiracy – so I said – no bother! – & my reward was that big boyish smile.

The kids were off doing their own thing somewhere – so I didnt have to offer to take them – which was a relief. My dip in the hotel pool had whetted my appetite for a real swim – not paddling around in the shallows – keeping an eye on young Parkers.

So off I went – cozzie on under a wrap – towel over my shoulder.

Only a fifteen minute walk down into the village – might take a bit longer coming back up the hill – I thought – but sufficient is the evil – remember?

Met quite a few people who said hello – more than Im likely to meet in Willingden – being Tom Parkers guest gets you on the social register big time!

The beach was pretty crowded. School hols – lots of families – an ice cream van – a burger stall – deck chairs – all the usual stuff for screwing money out of people. I guessed the Hope & Anchor was doing pretty good business too. All in all – Sandytown looks like its booming. Good news for the Consortium – Tom delighted because the prosperity gets shared around – Lady D because she sees her investment paying out big.

Mary – in her oblique way – has made it quite clear that civic responsibility doesnt figure large in Lady Ds world view. Profits the thing. With her own family money – plus the Hollis fortune – she could lounge her life away in luxury. But a lots never enough for the rich. She wants – even more!

Sorry – boring!

But you can wake up now. Im getting close to the beach – & the hunk!

Like I say – it was crowded – so I wandered along to the furthest extreme of the bay – marked by a rocky outcrop running out into the sea from the foot of North Cliff. You could probably get round the end of this at low tide – but now – with the tide well up – tho retreating – it created a bit of a barrier – reinforced by a sign on a steel post driven into the rock which warned – NO PUBLIC ACCESS – PRIVATE BEACH.

This was just the kind of thing the HB would have erected! So naturally I went scrambling up there without a moments hesitation!

From the top of the outcrop – I found myself looking down on to another bay – much smaller than Sandytowns – but also a lot emptier. In fact there were only four people there – & I wasnt too surprised to see they were Lady Denham – Teddy & his sister – & Clara Brereton.

The younger ones were wearing swimming costumes – Clara a polka dot bikini – that showed her boobs & bum to advantage – slender she might be – but even malice couldnt call her skinny. Lovely pale skin – dont know what sunblock she uses but its worth every penny to keep that lovely pearly glow – probably bathes in asses milk every morning. Stopped feeling sorry for her – even if she does have to skivvy for Lady D!

Esther was in a black one piece – revealing she was no frump either – though while Claras charms – asses milk apart – look all natural – I guess Ests are the best money could buy.

Miaow!

Mind – I had to look at her twice – because – sitting at Lady Ds feet – looking up at the old bat – & listening to her with every sign of interest & pleasure – it was hard to recognize the sourpuss Id encountered the previous day – no – once again I was put in mind of the sweaty laughing girl Id seen at the Bengel-bar disco.

Her ladyship was – naturally – enthroned in a canvas directors chair – with the others – naturally – occupying rugs on the sand.

Teddy – yes Im getting to the meat of my tale – was sprawled alongside Clara – almost but not quite touching – looking up at her with what – even at a distance – I recognized as hot bedroom eyes. She was sitting on her haunches – holding her two yards of shapely leg close to her body – as if scared any relaxation would invite an immediate assault on her pudenda – though whether it was concern for her honour – or awareness of Lady Ds proximity – that kept her virtuous – I couldnt tell.

& Teddy the bart? Im happy to say – he isnt one of those prezzies where the wrapping promises more than the gift. Long – lean – as beautifully brown as Clara is gorgeously white – all of his contours muscle – enough hair on his chest to be interesting but well this side of apish – in short – or indeed at length – a dish.

I was going to beat a retreat – but drinking in Teddys delights – objectively! – kept me there longer than I meant – & suddenly Lady Ds beady eyes clocked me.

Theres someone there – she boomed – damn cheek!

They all looked – then Teddy rose to his feet – one movement – like a panther – except they dont stand on the hind legs – do they? – but you know what I mean! He cried out – its Charley! – hey Charley – come on down here & join us! –

Might have made an excuse & left – but I saw Sister Esthers face congeal from dimpling attentiveness to pack-ice mode – & that did it!

– Hi – I said – scrambling down – didnt mean to intrude – but the beach back there is absolutely packed –

Bit of an exaggeration – but without thinking Id pushed the right button for Lady D – to whom bodies on the beach ultimately translates into boodle in the bank – & she said – never mention it – my dear – any friend of Toms is always welcome here –

Clara smiled up at me – while Esther gave me a twitch of a nod – then – unfreezing her face – turned back to Lady D & said – now auntie – you mustnt lose your thread – not when you were telling me the fascinating story of your plans for the estate –

I was trying to work out how to sit close to Teddy – without drawing too much attention to the contrast between my kitchen table legs – & Claras works of art – when he solved the problem by saying – youve obviously come to swim – ready for a dip now? – come on! –

He grabbed my hand & started leading me down the beach.

I said – what about Clara? – & he said – oh shes all right – needs to stick close in case auntie needs her back scratched – or something fetched from the Hall –

I glanced back – & up. The cliff rose steep & bare for about 80 feet – with a zig-zag path marked by a guard rail – & then for the next 40 or 50 feet the incline became easier – with lots of greenery now – till presumably it flattened into the grounds of the Hall. Quite a trip to send someone to fetch the hankie youd forgotten! Dont expect that would worry Lady D though – & to give her her due – it was quite a climb – up & down – for someone her age. Must be fit as a butchers dog – as the HB likes to say!

I said – must be nice to have your own private beach –

He said – strictly speaking its not aunties at all. Anything between the high tide & low tide marks belongs to the Crown – & the spring tides here reach several feet up the cliff – but it would take a bold trespasser to argue the point! –

I couldnt argue with this. We soon reached the edge of the water – where he paused – staring out to sea – & said something I didnt catch.

– sorry? – I said.

He spoke again – more clearly – but I still couldnt make any sense of it.

Seeing this he smiled – rather patronizingly I thought – & repeated the sounds.

– thalatta thalatta – he declaimed – (thats how its spelt – I checked it out on the Net) – the sea – the sea –

– no argument there – I said – its the sea – sure enough –

– its Greek – he said – tho I hadnt asked – its what the Greek army – in retreat from Marathon – all shouted in releif – when they breasted a hill – & saw the Aegean – which meant they were home – I know how they felt – my own heart always swells when I glimpse our own dear North Sea –

I suppose he was trying to impress me with his classical learning – & his poetic sensibility – but I just felt he was trying a bit too hard – plus when I checked the word on the Internet – I also got the history – & the plonker didnt even have his facts right! Not Marathon – but some place called Cunaxa – & not the Aegean – but the Black Sea!

I said – OK – now weve established what it is – are we going to swim in it? –

He said – of course – & then – youre not going to believe this – he pushed his trunks down – & stepped out of them – so there I was – standing alongside this guy wearing nothing but his big nobbly Rolex – thats his watch I mean! – with his trio of womenfolk not thirty yards away.

I said – for Godsake! –

He said – dont be shocked – I always skinny-dip –

I said – Ive got 4 bros – plus I grew up on a farm – Im not shocked – but what about Lady D – & the others?

He laughed & said – oh theyre used to it – auntie pretends to look the other way – but like many old country ladies she likes her meat well hung – & Ive often caught her taking a peek –

– through powerful binoculars you mean? – I said – sneering – quite unjustly! – hed have made a donkey envious! – then waded out till the water was deep enough to dive into.

He took his watch off – dropped it on his trunks – followed me in – came up alongside me – & stayed there – doing a pretty fair crawl – smiling at me from time to time – as if to say – dont worry – I wont sprint away & leave you – so youre quite safe –

Well – you know me – not the fastest thing on fins – but can keep going forever.

There was a buoy – about 1/4 mile offshore – I fixed my eyes on it – & got into my rhythm. He stuck with me for a while – then dropped behind – & when I reached the buoy it was 3 or 4 minutes before he joined me. He tried a smile – but I could see he was knackered – & I started to feel guilty. Just cos he had a lousy chat-up line didnt mean he deserved to drown! & dragging that thing along beneath him must have been like a plane trying to take off with its flaps down!

We clung on to the buoy for a few minutes – then I said – ready for home?

He nodded – & I set off back – breast stroke this time – a lot slower – & it gave me room to keep an eye on him.

By the time we reached the shallows – he was so whacked – a little wave knocked him over when he tried to stand up.

Big test time now – would he turn nasty – or could he take it?

He collapsed on the sand. Wed come ashore about 30 feet from where wed left our gear.

He gasped – do me a favour – Charley – fetch my trunks will you? – Id like to be buried decent – but not at sea – please! –

So that was OK. Dont mind a prat – so long as he can laugh at himself.

I fetched his watch & his trunks – he made himself decent – then we sat on the sand together – warming ourselves in the sun – till he got his breath back.

I said – do you ski as well as you swim? –

He said – better – youll be glad to hear – but I usually keep my clothes on. Why? –

I said – I was out in Switzerland before Christmas – near Davos – bunch of my mates from uni – thought I saw your sister there – at a dance – but could be wrong. Kind of place us poor students party at – not really her thing – I shouldnt think –

He pulled a face & said – might well have been – Aunt Daph had a rush of blood to the head – took me & Ess on a skiing holiday last Christmas – near Davos –

That was generous of her – I said – where were you staying? – Morasinis? – The Fluela? –

– O no – he laughed – dear aunties not that generous! – we had a chalet – but in fairness it was very comfortably appointed –

– so why would Esther be moving & grooving with the plebs? – I pressed.

– why not? – he said in the casual tone the upper classes use to disguise an evasion. – Could be there was a ski instructor she fancied – holiday romance – no strings – no harm – but wouldnt do for auntie –

I almost asked – whats it to do with her? – but I didnt need to – being such a clever observer of human behaviour! She who pays the piper calls the tune – right? Lady D definitely would not care for the prospect of any of her money – now or later – finding its way into the pocket of a penniless foreigner. So if her beloved neice wanted to stay in her good books & her will – shed better pick her young men v carefully. The HB feels much the same – so the way youre going – Ill probably be getting your share!

I was also recalling that – according to George – Emil was a student – not a ski instructor. Teddy – I thought – either youre lying – or Ess lied to you –

I said – so Esther went slumming with us plebs – & Lady D never found out –

He said – happily auntie had her own affairs to divert her –

The way he stressed affairs got me curious – but our interesting chat must have been observed – for now it was interrupted by a sergeant major bellow – Teddy! – what are you doing down there? – Time for lunch! –

The bart flinched – & made a face – but he still started to get to his feet.

Shes really got him at the end of a leash – I thought as we headed back to the group. Must be hard for both of them – having to be careful who they got the hots for – in case Lady D disapproved. Wonder how shed feel about me?

I was soon to find out!

The women were all on their feet. Clara was gathering up their stuff – bags – towels – Lady Ds folding chair – while Esther gazed out to sea like she was trying to freeze it over. Lady D greeted me with a stern look – then she said – Miss Heywood – if you could lend me your arm – too much sitting makes me stiff –

Not much sign of stiffness – the speed with which she walked me away from the others – but it quickly became clear what she wanted was a private chat.

– a word to the wise – she said – Teddy is a fine young man –

– yes – I noticed – I said.

That got me a sharp glance – then she went on – but alas – he may flatter to decieve –

– you mean hes not to be trusted with a girls affections! – I exclaimed – all shock horror.

– of course I dont mean that! – I am talking of his circumstances – she declared – He may look like a good catch – big mansion – expensive watch – but Denham Park is entailed – cannot be sold – & needs more spent on it in repairs than it would probably fetch anyway. As for the watch …

– yes – I noticed the Rolex – I said – all bright eyed – thinking no harm in letting the old cow peg me as a predatory fortune hunter – could lull her into a false sense of security if I decide to have me wicked way with the bart! – That must be worth 5 thou of anyones money! –

– yes indeed – she said triumphantly – mine! – it was Sir Harrys – my late husbands – Teddys uncle. I gave it to Teddy as a memento – there was nothing in the will – you understand – but I beleive Sir Harry would have wanted it – family meant much to him – & as Teddys circumstances have meant he has had to part with many Denham heirlooms – it is good he should retain at least one item – to remind him of dear Harry – & better days –

Meaning – I interpreted – that Teddy wouldnt dare flog it – cos shed be asking him the time whenever they met!

Well – I had news for her – Id wondered why the bart took off his Rolex before entering the water – those things are supposed to be still working when theyre dredged up from a ten year old shipwreck. So when I collected the guys trunks – I checked it out – & its definitely a Hong Kong job – 20 quid off a sampan – you could bend the expanding ‘gold’ bracelet with two fingers if you took a fancy to! I reckon Ted-on-the-rocks has flogged the original – & invested in a fake – to fool auntie. Could explain how come he could afford a Buell. That won-it-in-a-lottery story had sounded pretty feeble!

Good for him! – I thought – & I said to her – yes – I understand – & Im sure someone as attractive – & talented – as Teddy will have little difficulty in finding someone his equal in name – & his superior in income –

Nicely put – eh?

She nodded – & smiled – & said – Im so pleased we understand each other – my dear – now I must toil up this path to lunch –

She let go of my arm – & Ess – whod been veiwing our tete-a-tete with great suspicion – went into ministering angel mode – leaping forward – presumably to ensure Lady Ds foot did not dash against a stone.

Her ladyship did not look at her – but gazed on me assessingly. I guessed she wanted to reward me for being a sensible peasant – possibly with an invite to lunch – which I wasnt crazy about – but might just accept – to put Esthers nose out of joint!

Then she said – in a very measured extremely condescending tone – Miss Heywood do tell Tom Parker to bring you to my hog-roast this Sunday –

Her hog-roast – which – according to Mary – the Consortium was paying for!

I resisted the temptation to do a curtsey – & said – that would be lovely – but Im probably going home on Saturday –

I expected her to react sort of amazed anyone could turn down a royal invite – instead she said – yes – of course – your family must miss you – family loyalties are so important. Come if you change your mind – meanwhile – do feel free to stay here as long as you like – & dont be afraid to come again – whenever the public beach is full –

There! In my place – or what?

I felt like kicking sand in her face.

Instead I said – very dignified – thank you – so kind – but I really ought to get back to my freinds – & off I stalked!

Id gone about a dozen yards when Teddy caught up with me.

– dont take any notice of the old bat – he said – she cant help it – still thinks were living in the dark ages! –

Which might have impressed me with his independence – if he hadnt still been whispering – for fear of being overheard!

I said – better get back – else you might be sent to bed – without any lunch –

He grinned – hes got a great grin – & said – who cares about lunch – so long as the company in beds good? Look – Id like to see you again – soon –

I said – pushing it – is that an invitation to Denham Park then? – or do you need permission to invite someone to your own home? –

He winced – then said – of course not – though I warn you – the plumbings terrible! What Id really like is to give you a ride – on the Beast I mean. You could borrow Ests leathers. The trick is – to get the full experience – not to wear anything at all underneath! –

Who writes this guys scripts?!!

But – like a good thriller – it may be a load of crap – but you cant stop reading it!

I said – Ill think about it – & scrambled over the rocks – back to the main beach – even more crowded now than before. Suddenly the peace & friendliness of Kyoto House seemed very attractive.

So off I set to trudge back up the hill.

But my exciting adventures werent over yet!

However – youll have to wait for the next exciting episode – as I have to go & interview a woman who says that an infusion of whortleberries & a nettle oil massage have taken 20 years off her age.

You see – Im a working girl too!

Much love

Charley xxx

15

FROM: | charley@whiffle.com
TO: | cassie@natterjack.com
SUBJECT: | sex on wheels!

Hi again!

Well that was fun! If the berries & nettles have made her 20 years younger – she must have been nigh on 100 before. Fits under my grasping at straws category. Ready to beleive anything except that youre going to die.

Back to the land of the living. Now where was I …? Oh yes. The foot of the hill.

The road up North Cliff seemed a lot steeper than when Id come down – & showing off to the bart had taken more out of me than I thought. By the time I reached Witch Cottage I was ready for a rest – so I sat on the little garden wall. There was an ancient motorbike plus sidecar parked outside. Some poor sod hoping to alleviate his saddle soreness by having needles stuck in his bum – I theorized.

I heard the door open behind me – & glanced round to see Yan Lee ushering a man out. He was wearing motorbike leathers – & putting on a helmet – but the brambly beard was a dead giveaway. It was Gordon Godley – the healer from Willingdene. I remembered Tom saying hed agreed to come over – to check the set-up here in Sandytown. Remembered too my sense he knew a lot more about the set-up here than hed let on.

& when I saw them exchange a hug & a kiss – not a one cheek peck either – but a full lip job – & I thought hello! – not so unworldly after all – bit of pillow talk going on here Id guess – wonder if theres a book on faith-healing in that Teach Yourself series!

When he clocked me sitting on the wall – he stopped dead in his tracks – like hed seen a rabid Doberman. Behind him Miss Lee gave me her little Oriental bob – went back inside – & closed the door – leaving him & me standing – facing each other – both stock still – like a pair of gunfighters in a spaghetti western – each waiting for the other to make a move. While his biking leathers didnt do for him what they did for the bart – they did have a juvenating effect – & I adjusted my estimate of his age down a few notches – more 45 than 55 –

He cracked first & finally started towards me like a man on his way to the gallows!

Funny – not nice having a really off-putting effect on somebody – not even somebody you dont care a toss about! Id have moved off without passing the time of day – but I felt I owed it to Tom to make it clear – in case Mr G hadnt grasped it on our previous meeting – that I wasnt a permanent blot on the village landscape. Wouldnt want it on my conscience that I was responsible for putting the Sandytonians out of reach of godly Gordons healing hands!

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