anything.’
‘Well I know it too. They’re just doing their jobs. Give them time. They’ll work it out. Domestic violence is always going to be somewhere they look first.’
She still didn’t ask me to leave, which I took as a vote of confidence. Or it could have been that she didn’t trust a wounded animal like Pike not to be loitering around outside for some quick payback.
I ate in the back restaurant, had another pint and went for a late night walk up on the sea wall. The tide was almost at its highest and there was a good breeze coming off the water. It was bracing.
I walked east for a change towards the Martello tower that had been converted into living accommodation. That was before English Heritage got all sniffy about that sort of thing and decided it would rather stand idly by as historic buildings simply collapsed in on themselves with neglect rather than let someone with a bit of imagination and money make something of them and rescue them into the bargain.
It was a clear night. The moon laid out a glistening silver carpet of reflected sunlight on the top of the English Channel, which, like the false hope of a rainbow or my thoughts regarding my aunt and uncle’s deaths, led to nowhere.
***
17
My Sunday was not a day of rest. There was an email from my wife. It was short and pretty much what I would have expected. She understood. She politely offered her condolences. She wished me well. She didn’t ask when I’d be returning.
The school had not replied but it was the weekend in Istanbul too, so that was no surprise.
The American had responded. He managed to express eloquently his great sorrow at my loss without coming across as too American for it. He said he would, naturally, understand if I felt that his order could not now be completed for personal or legal reasons but that should I wish and be in a position to continue with the transaction he was prepared to be patient. That’s about all I could ask of him. I emailed him back letting him know I intended to fulfil the order and assuring him of my ability and qualifications to do so. This was no idle promise. The books had to go and with a buyer already lined up and a handsome deal agreed I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation. Besides, I’d come home to do just that and I felt I owed it to my dead relatives to see the order through.
I spent most of the day in the shop scouring the shelves, fussing over the books, selecting, cross-referencing, matching, ordering and wrapping protectively titles and editions. It didn’t seem to matter how many boxes I filled, how many of the books on the list I ticked off, the stock seemed not to get any smaller. In the morning I left the building only for take-away food and milk.
I kept an ear out for trouble. I didn’t really expect Pike to make a house call looking for retribution but I wouldn’t have put it past him. He was that sort. Better to be prepared. It’s why I moved my old cricket bat into the shop to keep me company.
I turned the stereo on and played some Chopin waltzes and Beethoven sonatas. They helped.
By late afternoon I’d had enough and needed some fresh air. I felt like a run and I had an ulterior motive. In all the excitement of my last outing to St Mary’s Bay I had neglected to take a look at the railings around the outfall, the place my aunt’s floating dead body had apparently become caught up. It was a factor that still bothered me keenly about the circumstances of her death.
*
Thirty minutes later I was standing on top of the outfall, panting, sucking in the clean fresh air off the sea. It was another glorious afternoon on Romney Marsh and I felt a twinge of regret at having kept myself inside most of the day.
The high tide of the early afternoon was receding. Gulls were swooping and shrieking around something that interested them in the swell. It was warm still and there was no breeze to speak of. The sky was a rich cobalt blue
‘Well I know it too. They’re just doing their jobs. Give them time. They’ll work it out. Domestic violence is always going to be somewhere they look first.’
She still didn’t ask me to leave, which I took as a vote of confidence. Or it could have been that she didn’t trust a wounded animal like Pike not to be loitering around outside for some quick payback.
I ate in the back restaurant, had another pint and went for a late night walk up on the sea wall. The tide was almost at its highest and there was a good breeze coming off the water. It was bracing.
I walked east for a change towards the Martello tower that had been converted into living accommodation. That was before English Heritage got all sniffy about that sort of thing and decided it would rather stand idly by as historic buildings simply collapsed in on themselves with neglect rather than let someone with a bit of imagination and money make something of them and rescue them into the bargain.
It was a clear night. The moon laid out a glistening silver carpet of reflected sunlight on the top of the English Channel, which, like the false hope of a rainbow or my thoughts regarding my aunt and uncle’s deaths, led to nowhere.
***
17
My Sunday was not a day of rest. There was an email from my wife. It was short and pretty much what I would have expected. She understood. She politely offered her condolences. She wished me well. She didn’t ask when I’d be returning.
The school had not replied but it was the weekend in Istanbul too, so that was no surprise.
The American had responded. He managed to express eloquently his great sorrow at my loss without coming across as too American for it. He said he would, naturally, understand if I felt that his order could not now be completed for personal or legal reasons but that should I wish and be in a position to continue with the transaction he was prepared to be patient. That’s about all I could ask of him. I emailed him back letting him know I intended to fulfil the order and assuring him of my ability and qualifications to do so. This was no idle promise. The books had to go and with a buyer already lined up and a handsome deal agreed I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation. Besides, I’d come home to do just that and I felt I owed it to my dead relatives to see the order through.
I spent most of the day in the shop scouring the shelves, fussing over the books, selecting, cross-referencing, matching, ordering and wrapping protectively titles and editions. It didn’t seem to matter how many boxes I filled, how many of the books on the list I ticked off, the stock seemed not to get any smaller. In the morning I left the building only for take-away food and milk.
I kept an ear out for trouble. I didn’t really expect Pike to make a house call looking for retribution but I wouldn’t have put it past him. He was that sort. Better to be prepared. It’s why I moved my old cricket bat into the shop to keep me company.
I turned the stereo on and played some Chopin waltzes and Beethoven sonatas. They helped.
By late afternoon I’d had enough and needed some fresh air. I felt like a run and I had an ulterior motive. In all the excitement of my last outing to St Mary’s Bay I had neglected to take a look at the railings around the outfall, the place my aunt’s floating dead body had apparently become caught up. It was a factor that still bothered me keenly about the circumstances of her death.
*
Thirty minutes later I was standing on top of the outfall, panting, sucking in the clean fresh air off the sea. It was another glorious afternoon on Romney Marsh and I felt a twinge of regret at having kept myself inside most of the day.
The high tide of the early afternoon was receding. Gulls were swooping and shrieking around something that interested them in the swell. It was warm still and there was no breeze to speak of. The sky was a rich cobalt blue
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