Sing Like You Know the Words (31 page)

On Thursday night, Sue’s mother
had the kids over for the night and Mitchell managed to talk
himself into her into bed after they left the pub. At least that
was the way he described it to himself. In reality, it felt more
like Sue had decided that they may as well have sex as she was not
doing anything else that evening.

Afterwards, Mitchell worried
more about his wife finding out than he would have expected. He
felt there must be some telltale sign about his body that was
invisible to himself but that a woman would spot instantly. If
there was such a thing, his wife was not interested enough to
notice it.

The truth was that he had found
the experience pleasant enough, but unsatisfying. There had been no
pursuit, no difficulties to overcome. And nothing had changed, not
even Sue. On Friday, she spoke to him with exactly the same
preoccupied voice that she always had; still went about her work
looking bored by it all. They had agreed loosely that they would
meet again in the following week but he was not sure it would
happen.

I’m just as invisible to her as
I am to everyone else, he thought.

Late Friday morning, he gathered
all the books together, determined to produce a consolidated
analysis of the business that even Derek would understand. After an
hour and a half he gave it up and retreated to the Old Fox, alone.
I’m turning into Derek, he decided.

***

But it turned out that Derek was
not so completely useless as he had supposed. On Sunday morning he
phoned Mitchell at home, sounding genuinely excited and claiming
that he had finally tracked down Ray Hawkins. The account was
delinquent in a big way. Hawkins owed the bank the thick end of a
hundred and twenty thousand. Took the loan as cash and vanished.
It´s a diamond trace, Derek crowed.

The catch was that the address
was a hotel where Hawkins would be staying in London; but no-one
knew how long he would be there. All they had to do to get paid was
verify it really was him and report back. No need to speak to him
at all, only it had to be done quickly. And he was certain to be
there Monday evening. Derek would go himself, was desperate to go,
but absolutely could not on that night, for reasons he could not go
into.

Mitchell didn’t press him. He
was so bored he would have volunteered to take Derek’s place.
Something happening at last.

Mitchell spent most of Sunday in
his study. Actually it was only a spare room that was just big
enough for a desk where he could shut the door on the family and
claim to be working. Mitchell didn’t read much: reading was one of
the many things he had given up on. In his study, he preferred to
look at old maps and travel guides, planning journeys he knew that
he would never make: journeys he´d never known he wanted to make in
the years when there would have been nothing to stop him going.

He couldn´t remember when he´d
started to experience a longing for travel. He supposed it
coincided with an awareness that he´d wasted half his life through
lack of courage, or appetite, or maybe just desire. Over time the
imaginary journeys became more vivid and detailed. The roots of
fantasy took hold. The nature of his daydreams also changed. Now he
was beyond the idea of a holiday trip to an exotic destination;
nothing less that the idea of a new life stirred him, in a new
place where no-one knew his name; where he could start again as a
different person; someone better. The fantasy had become not so
much about the places he would go to, as the person he would
become.

***

The reality of a trip is always
different to the anticipation.

Ray Hawkins had been dining and
drinking alone when he introduced himself to Mitchell. He was a big
man, not tall but solid, with big rough hands that he waved about a
lot. He rose from his own table and covered the space between the
two of them with a speed that was startling, even though he looked
perfectly at ease. He filled the space in front of Mitchell,
beaming an easy grin that had something sharklike in it.

Ray invited himself to sit at
Mitchell´s table, tapping his empty pint glass for the waiter to
see and commanding beer for both of them

-I might have to drive later,
Mitchell protested.

-No one but a resident eats in a
hotel restaurant like this. You must be staying here. Drink up.

Ray questioned him about his
business, noticed that he was from out of town (from up north, like
me) and suggested that the two of them ought to stick together in
the big, dangerous city.

-It is a coincidence that you
should choose to eat here, because when I saw you sliding into this
little corner table here, it occurred to me that I’d spotted you
earlier on today, on the street, twice in fact. Almost as if you
were following me around.

He smiled pleasantly as the
waiter arrived.

-Very good. Beer for both of us.
Better than this fizzy water you´ve been sipping for half an hour.
Charge them to my room please.

-Thanks

-Now then, tell me. Who sent you
after me?

Mitchell considered his options:
looking at Ray, it did not seem a good idea to insist that his
presence was only a coincidence.

-The bank, he admitted
weakly.

Ray’s smile became broader.

-What I thought. That’s a relief
then, nothing serious.

-You don’t call a hundred and
twenty thousand serious?

-A hundred and twenty? It was
only ninety when they gave it me. The rest is interest and charges
piled on I suppose. Robbing bastards aren’t they?

-Can you pay?

-You should be asking me, will I
pay.

The hotel restaurant had big,
plate glass windows. Outside the streets were filling up; mostly
young people out to enjoy themselves; on their way to theatres and
bars. Inside, the room was too brightly lit; in fact everything
about the place was too bright. The buzz of adventure that had been
with Mitchell for most of that day, vanished in the second that he
saw Ray get up and move towards him: instead he felt sickness in
his stomach. The man looked more cheerful than his photograph, but
somehow the cheerfulness was more threatening than a serious
expression.

Inwardly Mitchell was cursing
Derek; his excuses, his evasiveness, his laziness, maybe his
cowardice. But still Ray was smiling at him, insisting they share
another drink.

-We’ve got some time to kill, he
said. Let me tell you a little story.

The story had to do with Ray, in
the days when he was a soldier of some kind in Northern Ireland,
being followed by one of the “Micks” for reasons that he didn’t go
into. The way Ray told the story; it had been a charming diversion
for all concerned. From his tone, you´d think maybe the tale was
going to end with a shaking of heads and a friendly handshake.
Mitchell guessed that, in fact, it would not end like that at
all.

-And mind you, Ray continued,
you ended up respecting the Micks. They were soldiers, they had a
purpose. We had to shoot one or two of them in the head, after our
little chats, but they didn’t whine even when they knew it was
coming. They knew the score. And it got me to wondering why we were
up against them, and what good were our lads doing there.

-They planted bombs and blew up
innocent people didn’t they?

-They did that, but they were at
war. And hasn’t every army in every war in this century busied
itself with blowing up innocent civilians on one side or another?
But I see your point, yes. One thing to kill civilians by dropping
bombs from the sky, but poor form to deliver them personally. In a
perfect world bombs should only be dropped from aeroplanes. Keeps
that random element that makes it easier on the conscience. If you
can’t afford aeroplanes you shouldn’t be allowed to fight wars.

Ray took a long pull on the
beer.

-Where was I? Oh yes, the story.
But I should say, as an aside, that after I’d been to Ireland a
second time, I was more interested in why the British Empire was
there at all. I mean there’s never been any oil anything precious
in the ground in Ireland; no emeralds in the Emerald Isle. That’s a
bad one, I admit. So far as I could find out, we Brits were only
there in the first place because some of our rulers had stolen land
from the locals to set up farms for themselves that they liked so
much they weren´t prepared to let go. Of course it got more
complicated later on, when the religion came into it. But the more
I found out about it, the more I thought that if I’d been Irish
myself… well you know.

-But anyway, to continue this
tale; there I was, and there he was, and it seemed clear that he
understood that I knew that he was following me. These situations
get complicated, is my point. Ah, but here is our guest now, clever
of you to choose a nice confidential table for our chat.

Ray stood up to greet a
newcomer. Mitchell’s back was to the door, and he felt he should
not turn without permission.

-Don’t think of walking away
just now, Ray whispered to him, one big hand on his shoulder as the
other was extended in greeting to the stranger.

The newcomer, who Ray greeted
effusively, was a short, slightly built man, with an unusual
appearance. He had very black, neatly combed hair, a long face with
a small chin and sharp nose. His brown eyes seemed to glare at them
both without blinking. His clothes were very neat, and not quite
English, and Mitchell guessed that he was older than he looked.
Although he was so much smaller than Ray, he did not seem at all
intimidated by him. Ex military, Mitchell thought, like Ray, but
officer class.

Ray ordered wine and they sat
down. Mitchell said nothing. He was astonished when Ray began to
speak to the stranger in a foreign language, in which he appeared
to be quite fluent. Mitchell guessed that the language was Spanish,
but the exchanges were too rapid for him to make any sense of what
was said, other than a few isolated words that sounded familiar. He
gave up trying to make any sense of the conversation and made
himself concentrate on watching the pair of them, only as a way to
contain his rising sense of panic. Both of them had faces you would
remember. At one point it became clear that he was being referred
to in the conversation, but no comment seemed to be expected of
him.

Then the voices sounded quite
heated and Mitchell strained to understand whether the men really
were angry, or was it only the way that conversations sounded in
this language. The stranger began to bang on the table to make his
point, so it must have been anger, but even then they spoke in low
voices. They seemed to calm down quickly enough, though it was
plain from the body language that Ray was trying to placate his
guest and that the man remained more than ready to take
offence.

-Suddenly the stranger began to
speak in English, addressing both of them.

-I want to tell you something
about myself, he said. You remember, perhaps, in my country el
teniente coronel Tejero, of the guardia civil?

Ray screwed up his small eyes in
thought.

-I remember something about that
name.

-He was the man in eighty one,
who had the courage to storm the Cortes, and hold the deputies
hostage.

-Ah, yes. He went into the
parliament with his troops, and held the ministers at gunpoint. I
remember seeing pictures of it. An excited man with bulging eyes
and a silly hat. He was calling on the king to get rid of the
politicians. But the king didn’t want to know and it all fizzled
out.

-He was trying to save the
nation, the stranger insisted. From the communists and maricons.
But the king … well one cannot blame the king. He was inexperienced
and he had his advisers. He was…

-For the people, Ray
suggested.

-In any case he was not for the
communists and queers, but now they are in charge anyway.

He became more composed.

-I tell you this is because my
uncle was there with the coronel. And maybe he was there at another
time before, when the need of the country was great and he did not
refuse to make the sacrifice that was called for. My uncle was a
man who did not shirk his duty and nor do I.

He paused for a moment.

-It is important for you to
understand that we are serious men: men of honour who will do what
needs to be done. England is an old tired country and here you
believe in nothing, and that nothing will change. You imagine that
things will go on in the same way forever. But Spain is an even
older country, much older in many ways, and we know that this is
not so. And because of this, my friend, you should not think of me
as some deluded Quixote for whom you do not need to have a serious
regard. I do not stand alone.

-I understand.

-Then we understand each other.
Bueno.

The whole thing lasted about an
hour. Nobody touched the wine. When the newcomer stood to leave
everything seemed cordial. They shook hands again and Ray squeezed
his shoulder with his free hand

-So, he said, nos entendemos, we
will try again, and do our best, but we cannot promise anything,
claro?

-Si, understood. Hasta luego,
and with a short bow to each of them he was gone.

Curiosity got the better of
Mitchell. Noting that he had been referred to in the conversation
he supposed that he might have a right to know something of what it
was about. Ray explained to him that this was not the case; and
that in any event, the less he knew, the better it would be for
him. Ray seemed to be in a good mood for some reason.

-Now you and I will have a few
more drinks to be sure Pedro has gone, he smiled.

-Is Pedro his real name?

-What do you think?

Neither of them spoke for a
minute as Ray drained his glass and poured more wine for them
both.