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He nodded weakly. ‘I know. So, look, I’ll keep going. But don’t worry.’ He stepped forward, lowered his arm and touched my wrist with his hand. ‘Hopefully, we’ll see each other at York or the one after. I’ll not rush, just plodding my way forward, like I have up to now, okay?’ He faked a reasonably good smile before leaning forward to peck my cheek.
I smiled warily, equalling his lack of commitment. We were two peas in the same pod, afraid to commit to what might come next. Where would we end up - London, Coalville? How would we maintain a long distance romance so far apart? What would we do about my so-called condition and his ugly past? We had been dealt an awkward hand of possible outcomes, and I suspected Medici had shuffled the pack. Was my anonymous benefactor conniving with the devil or playing at God?
‘We had a good time,’ I repeated, slowly.
Joseph, pale-faced and suddenly gaunt, nodded again.
The sentiment of doubt left me cold and afraid to ask what he meant by the phrase we had both used. I knew that it wasn’t enough for me.
PART FOUR
‘Too much knowing is misery.’
Lorenzo de' Medici
Thirty-One
Coalville
‘Tell me about him,’ Yvette said.
I had crashed on her stylish sofa just after midnight, having left Mum asleep on our settee at home. She had cried herself into that state of fatigue. I had arrived home too late; Beryl passed away while I drove along the motorway.
Dad had rung the undertaker, sorted out the death certificate, and contacted Richard. He was immersed, as I suspected, in practical things, which meant I had to navigate Mum away from Beryl’s bedside and keep her supplied with tissues. I had cried too. Death had left such a pale pallor on a well-remembered face, so much so, I hardly recognised my poor aunt with her chiselled cheeks and hollowed eye sockets.
Mum had insisted on going to Beryl’s poky flat. There, sniffing loudly, she touched things, tidied the ironing away, and talked about her childhood as if it was yesterday. Beryl was woefully disorganised and what Mum wanted was bank accounts and her pension book. I had told her it could wait. But had Mum latched on to the need to search and wouldn’t let go. I let her because it stopped her crying and gave her something to do. It was in the back of a drawer that she had found a bundle of tatty airmail envelopes covered in faded ink. The stamps were missing the queen’s head. I had managed to wring the letters out of Mum’s hands and told her that was enough; we would look at them tomorrow. I had dropped her off home before escaping to Yvette’s house. I needed to air my grief away from Mum.
Yvette was sharp though. She deduced my sadness wasn’t simply due to the predicted death of a great-aunt. We hadn’t chatted since Middleham, which was only four days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. I had revealed that Joseph was my mysterious stalker but little else. However, she had pieced enough together to know that we had progressed considerably since our last exchange of texts.
I clutched a suede cushion to my chest and rested my chin on it. ‘I don’t know if I’ll see him again.’
‘You can contact him, give him a call.’ She read my face perfectly. ‘Oh.’
I stared at my friend gloomily, feeling embarrassed by my failings. ‘All I know is he’s a teacher. Christ, why didn’t I find out his surname or telephone number? What was I thinking?’ The argument outside the bed and breakfast was so unfortunate, and pointless.
‘Go on, what else?’
‘Oh, he told me his mum had left when he was a little boy. He’s not seen her in years.’
‘That’s tragic.’
‘You would think so, but it gets worse.’ I shuffled myself upright. I should feel exhausted after the drive, finding Mum distraught, Dad running on automatic mode, and myself, swamped with conflicting emotions, but I was beyond sleep and tanked up on frustrated energy.
‘Worse?’ Yvette frowned. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’
I blew out a stream of air through my pursed lips. ‘He has issues. I noticed he’s scared of heights. Turns out he gets flashbacks.’
‘Flashbacks of what?’ Yvette fetched her laptop.
‘His brothers, Jake and Ben. Twins.’
I told her about the incident as Joseph called it; it certainly wasn’t an accident, at least the killing part wasn’t. There again, I only had the information Joseph had told me. Two young boys, their lives ruined by an act of stupidity born out of boredom. Joseph was firmly opposed to boredom. He kept himself occupied by juggling two, sometimes three jobs at the same time. I saw his motivations far more clearly curled up on Yvette’s immaculate sofa than I had lying in his tent.
Yvette’s face was perfectly still. ‘Robyn, darling, you don’t remember any of this?’
‘What?’
‘The reports in the national papers. On the news? Everything you told me fits with what I remember.’ She opened the laptop and began typing.
