Linger Awhile (12 page)

At the police station we went round to the trade entrance and were driven through barred gates to the custody suite. We were taken through a heavy steel gate to the reception area where the custody sergeant sat behind a long counter. It was still early in the evening but the place had an all-night feel and the voices and footsteps were the sound of what is always waiting behind the paper-thin façade of everyday.

PS Locke told the custody sergeant why we’d been
arrested, we were booked in, searched, and the contents of our pockets put in evidence bags. Our shoelaces and belts were also taken from us. Grace and I both told the custody sergeant that we couldn’t tell them anything they’d believe and that was duly noted. Our rights and entitlements were read to us and I used my phone call to ring up Artie. ‘Uncle Irv!’ he said, ‘Are you OK?’

‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I just wanted you to know where we are.’ Grace didn’t phone anyone. We were questioned about our health and although my chest was feeling pretty dodgy I didn’t ask to be seen by a doctor; I refused to give them the satisfaction.

After being fingerprinted and photographed we were taken to adjoining cells. Mine had a stale smell as if the air hadn’t been changed for a long time. The door was a solid metal thing with a pass-through slot called a wicket. Next to it was a spyhole. The walls were tiled, the bed was a bench with a thin blue-covered mattress, blue blankets and pillow, and there was a toilet. We were given a cup of tea and something out of a microwave. It tasted brown but I don’t know what it was. When I lay down on the bed I saw, high above me, a printed message on the ceiling:

CRIMESTOPPERS 0800 555 111
Anonymous information about
crime could earn a cash reward

‘Look, Ma,’ I said. ‘Top of the world.’

I tapped on the wall but got no response so I guessed
it was too thick. I went to the door, put my mouth close to the wicket, and said, ‘Grace?’ No answer.

‘Grace,’ I shouted, ‘can you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ she shouted back, ‘I can hear you.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘one thing leads to another, doesn’t it. You start reconstituting dead movie stars and this is where you end up.’

‘I still can’t believe that I caused Istvan’s death,’ she said. ‘That’ll always be with me, it’ll never go away.’

‘Everything goes away after a while,’ I said. ‘This whole thing started with me. Don’t ask me to explain how I got fixated on Justine Trimble because I can’t. It must have been some kind of senile dementia.’

‘Three more or less intelligent men,’ said Grace, ‘all with the hots for a woman who died forty-seven years ago.’

‘Weird shit happens,’ I said.

‘You think you’re over that by now?’

‘I’ve told you, Grace, that particular folly’s behind me.’

‘Not beside you? Not
in
side you?’

‘Nope. All gone.’

‘I’m pretty tired,’ said Grace.

‘I think I’ll try to get some sleep.’

‘Me too. Goodnight, Grace.’

‘Night, Irv. See you later.’

I kept my clothes on and covered myself with both blankets but I still couldn’t get warm. I thought of old King David, how he gat no heat even when they put Abishag the Shunammite in his bed. Grace would have made me warm. Eventually I fell asleep but I kept
dreaming and half waking and falling back into the same dream.

In this dream I was Captain Bligh at the tiller of the
Bounty
’s launch, watching the ship sail away with the mutineers as they threw video cassettes overboard. No, not the
Bounty
: the name I read on the stern was
Body
. ‘Wait a minute,’ I said in the dream, ‘I’m not Captain Bligh. What’s this mutiny all about? The crew were always perfectly willing to take my orders. Where am I supposed to go with this boat?’

‘They’ve given you a sextant and a compass,’ said Fallok, ‘and there’s no better navigator than you, Captain.’ How can I suspend my disbelief? I thought. He has such confidence in me as HMS
Body
sails away and leaves me in command of this overloaded vessel that must face seas too big for it. Smaller and smaller in the distance grows the ship that is no longer mine. And down, down, down goes Justine in the fathomless deep, flickering on the screen of the ocean mind, riding, riding, riding to the blackness and the stillness below the flickering.

I came all the way awake and went to where I’d stood to talk to Grace. ‘Irv?’ she shouted.

‘I’m here,’ I shouted back.

‘I woke up,’ she said.

‘Yes, Grace?’

‘I’m an alone kind of person, really …’ she said.

‘Me too,’ I said.

‘I was wondering …’ she said.

‘Wondering what?’

‘Nothing, really.’

‘Tell me, Grace, go on.’

‘You tell me what you think I was wondering, OK?’

‘OK. You were wondering about me?’

‘Yes. Don’t stop.’

‘Wondering how I feel about you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Grace, when I think about you and me I remind myself that I’m eighty-three years old and I haven’t got a whole lot of future in front of me.’

‘Maybe whatever there is is enough, Irv, if …’

‘If there’s love?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you waiting for me to say something?’

‘I think so.’

‘Fnerg,’ said Inner Irv.

‘I didn’t catch that,’ said Grace.

‘Come on, Grace – I’m too old for this kind of thing.’

‘The question you have to ask yourself,’ she said, ‘is, “Do I feel dead?”’

‘Well, no.’

‘Prove it.’

‘Grace,’ I shouted, ‘I love you, OK?’

‘I love you too, Irv. Well, goodnight then.’

‘Goodnight, Grace.’ We both (she told me later) kissed the air in front of us and went back to sleep.

2 February 2004. I knew I’d have to start catching up with my business and I thought I might as well begin on this quiet Monday. I made myself a sandwich lunch, then on my way out I went into the restaurant where Justine was eating latkes Liu Hai.

‘Enjoying your lunch?’ I said.

For a moment she seemed not to recognise me. ‘Sure,’ she said.‘I’m home on the Jewish-Chinese range.’

‘I’m off to my place to see what needs doing,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘See you,’ she said.

As I was leaving I saw Charles, the black man who works at the restaurant. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘there’ve been a lot of dead rats lately.’

‘Why tell me about it?’ I said.

‘Just sharing the local news,’ he said. ‘They’ve all had their heads bitten off. And no blood in them.’

‘Thanks for sharing,’ I said. ‘Mind how you go.’

‘You too,’ he said.

It’s a long slow trip from Golders Green back to
town. Some of the people on the train seemed to be staring at me and I tried not to notice but found myself wondering if I’d become someone to be stared at; I knew that I was no longer the Chauncey I used to be before I took up with Justine. My disgust had become depression and my thoughts were dreary. Some things that can be done are better left undone, and Justine was one of them.

I got off at Tottenham Court Road and walked to D’Arblay Street. There were not many people about in that part of Soho and the streets were full of emptiness. When I got to Chauncey Lim, Photographic Novelties, the place seemed small and from another time, as if I’d come back to the house of my childhood. There were a couple of notes stuck to the door and inside there were some letters on the floor. From Everything for the Office in Bangkok there was an invoice for a gross of Whoopee Spinners, and from Educational Products in Akron, Ohio, a cheque for a gross of After-School Pencil Peepshows. The others were from people who wanted to know what had happened to their orders. The place smelled stale, my photographic novelties were rubbish, and the acupuncture chart and Aunt Zophrania’s calendar on the wall looked stupid.

I wrote a cheque for Everything for the Office, locked up, posted the cheque to Bangkok, and went on to Berwick Street and All That Glisters. Grace was alone, drinking vodka and looking terrible. ‘What’s the matter?’ I said.

‘Haven’t you heard about Istvan?’ she said.

‘No. What happened?’

‘He’s dead.’

It wasn’t as if we’d ever been that close, but Fallok’s death knocked me sideways. I sat down suddenly and Grace gave me all the details while I listened and shook my head in disbelief. ‘It was J Two that finished him,’ she said. ‘I told Inspector Hunter but he wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Two Justines!’ I said. ‘Whose idea was that?’

‘Mine,’ she said. ‘Irv and I did it together with Irv’s nephew Artie. Artie did most of the work, actually.’

‘Where’s J Two now?’

‘Nobody knows.’

‘And Irv?’

‘He’s in hospital.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He came down with double bronchial pneumonia after we spent a night in the nick.’

‘You were locked up?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What for?’

‘As I said, Hunter wouldn’t believe us when we told him about J Two and he got pissed off so he nicked us.’

‘Of course he wouldn’t believe it, Grace. I shouldn’t have gone up to Golders Green. What you needed around here was a voice of reason.’

‘Whatever. I can’t get over it that Istvan’s dead because of me.’

‘“If you can’t get over it you must get over it anyway.” Wise words from a famous teacher, Grace.’

‘Confucius?’

‘No, Rabbi Yisakhar Baer of Radoshitz.’

‘Those famous rabbis could sit around being wise because their wives did all the work. Wisdom is foolishness and foolishness is wisdom in my book. What are your plans now?’

‘I’m waiting for word from Elijah.’

‘The prophet Elijah?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘How’s he going to contact you?’

‘In a dream, I expect. That’s how he did it last time.’

‘Lucky you. When you see him, maybe you could tell him I’d be grateful for advice if he’s in the neighbourhood.’

‘OK. What’re you going to do now?’

‘Finish this bottle. Would you like to help me?’

‘Yes, thanks. That’s the best offer I’ve had today.’ So we sat there drinking and shaking our heads. Grace put on some music to help us along: Johnny Cash,
The Man in Black
. She started the CD on ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’. We were well into Monday afternoon but that was the right song for the occasion.

By now I was feeling that wherever I was, I should be somewhere else. Trouble seemed to be waiting for me round every corner but if I didn’t go back to Golders Green I was afraid Golders Green would come looking for me. So I went. While I was standing on the platform at Tottenham Court Road I saw a rat down among the cables by the tracks. It was looking up at the platform, and when it saw me it seemed to take fright and scurried back the way it had come.

The train was half empty; stations came and went as it plodded northward and it emerged aboveground as the sun was setting in the full dreariness of Monday evening. When I got to Elijah’s Lucky Dragon I went right up to the flat. Justine was nowhere to be seen. Elijah greeted me with ‘How’re they hangin’, Chaunce?’

‘Don’t be familiar,’ I said.

‘Just a closer walk with thee,’ said Elijah. ‘Put on your red dress, baby, cause we’re goin’ out tonight.’ He’s acquired an odd repertoire of gospel and blues from Charles and he was starting the next verse when the doorbell rang.

‘Who is it?’ I said.

‘Detective Inspector Hunter,’ said the intercom. ‘May I come up?’

‘Come ahead,’ I said, and buzzed him in. When I opened the door there were DI Hunter and a sharp-looking black woman. I’d seen her in the Underground but hadn’t realised she was following me.

‘This is Detective Patterson,’ said Hunter.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why not?’

‘Where’s Justine Trimble?’ said Hunter.

‘No idea,’ I said.

‘There is a balm in Gilead,’ said Elijah.

‘That’s a hymn,’ said Hunter.

‘That’s a her too,’ said Elijah.

‘Where?’ said Hunter.

‘Rice and beans, flour and potatoes,’ said Elijah.

‘In the storeroom?’ said Hunter.

‘Heal a sin-sick soul,’ said Elijah.

‘Where does this parrot get his material?’ said Hunter.

‘He hangs out with Charles,’ I said.

‘Who’s Charles?’

‘Black man who works here.’

‘In the storeroom?’

‘Wherever he’s needed,’ I said.

‘Like Mars bars,’ said Elijah.

‘What’s he talking about?’ said Hunter to me.

‘No idea,’ I lied.

Hunter fixed me with a very beady eye. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s visit the storeroom.’

We had to go through the restaurant and there we encountered Rosalie Chun. ‘So,’ she said, looking at Hunter and Detective Patterson, ‘who are you and what do you want?’

Hunter and Patterson identified themselves and showed their warrant cards. ‘We’re just having a look around,’ said Hunter.

‘What are you looking for?’ said Rosalie.

‘We’ll know it when we find it,’ said Hunter. ‘We’ll try the storeroom first.’

‘No violations here,’ said Rosalie. ‘I run a clean restaurant.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Hunter. ‘Would you like to lead the way?’

We all went down to the storeroom and there was Justine with blood all around her mouth and a headless rat in her right hand like a Mars bar. Before you could say Jackie Chan she threw the rat straight at DI Hunter. He ducked and it hit Detective Patterson in
the face. While Patterson screamed and flailed about Justine scooped up a double handful of rice from a sack and flung it in our eyes. In the moment this gave her she went through us as if she’d been shot from a cannon and was up the stairs and gone.

‘
Gevalt
!’ said Rosalie. ‘After all the wonderful meals I’ve made for her!’

‘You can’t expect gratitude from her kind,’ said Hunter.

‘Is that a racist remark?’ I said. I couldn’t help it.

‘Don’t you cheek me, sunshine,’ said Hunter. ‘You’re nicked for perverting the course of justice and hindering a police investigation. Read him his rights, Detective Patterson.’

Still wiping blood from her face, Patterson said to me, ‘You have the rat to remain silent, right. But anything you do say will be bitten off in evidence and taken down against you.’ With that we all left Elijah’s Lucky Dragon and that was it for Monday.