passed a hand over his face and shook his head. But whatever objections he had he kept to himself. Til come with you,' he said.
Chapter Seven
It took almost as long to get out of London as it did to get to the town itself. There was another Tube strike, and the roads were clotted with slow-moving snakes of traffic. The air was unbreathable. It was a dose, muggy morning but they kept the window up, preferring the heat to the atmosphere of exhaust fumes.
They had taken Ben's Golf. Colin had objected to travel ing in what he cal ed 'a biscuit tin', but couldn't deny that his black BMW would look conspicuous in a scrapyard. Ben guessed it was the thought of what might happen to it there that final y convinced him.
Once on the Mi Ben made good time to the turn-off.
The main suburban sprawl was quickly left behind, but the countryside was stil marred with blotches of industry, man-made cankers of brick and metal amongst the green.
Some of the fields they passed stil had yel ow snatches of rape clinging to them, and then suddenly there was a brown patch of houses and they were in Tunford.
It was a new town, or at least had been in the 1950s. The brave new face of postwar housing development now looked ramshackle and depressed. They went along the high street, a short stretch of squat, dun-coloured shops, until they left the town again on the other side. Ben turned the car round in 1 a lay-by littered with plastic bottles and tin cans and headed back for the town centre.
What's the address?' Colin opened the folder the detective had given Ben.
Torty-one Primrose Lane.' The shops came into view again. Prefabricated semidetached houses ran off to either side. 'Do you think there'l stil be primroses there?' Ben asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.
'If there are they'l be under the tarmac Shal we try the next turning?' Since they didn't know where Primrose Lane was, one street was as good as another. They had no map of the town, and didn't want to draw attention to themselves by asking for directions. Not that there were many people about to ask. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the empty streets at random. On one they passed a mongrel dog shitting on the pavement.
'Welcome to Tunford,' Colin said.
Primrose Lane was at the edge of the town, running paral el with the fields beyond. They drove down it slowly, counting house numbers. Colin pointed. 'There.' The house was set behind a four-foot-high wire mesh and concrete post fence. The neighbouring properties were run down, with shaggy lawns and unkempt flower-beds, and the garden in front of 41 was heaped with rusting piles of metal. Car wings, doors and bumpers, engine parts and motors were stacked haphazardly, grown through with uncut grass and weeds.
'Obviously a man who takes his work home with him.' Ben didn't respond to the joke. He drove past slowly, taking in the peeling paint on the doors and window frames.
A woman appeared in an upstairs window. He had a glimpse of yel ow hair and plucked eyebrows, and then the house was behind them.
Colin craned his head to see. 'Was that the wife?'
'I suppose so.' They were quiet as they went back to the main street. 'It might not be as bad as it looks,' Colin said, after a while.
'Just because they won't get in House and Home doesn't mean they might not be nice people.'
'No.'
"You can never tel from appearances.'
'Just leave it, Colin, wil you?' He headed out the way they had original y gone, before they had turned back According to the detective's report the scrap metal yard where Kale worked was on die outskirts of die next town along, about three miles away. For a while they were back in open countryside, but die taint of civilisation was in die litter-strewn hedgerows. They passed an untidy farm, dien a garage. The scrapyard was die next building after that.
Ben pul ed into die edge of the road before he reached it.
The yard was surrounded by a high brick wal , topped widi barbed wire and shards of
Chapter Seven
It took almost as long to get out of London as it did to get to the town itself. There was another Tube strike, and the roads were clotted with slow-moving snakes of traffic. The air was unbreathable. It was a dose, muggy morning but they kept the window up, preferring the heat to the atmosphere of exhaust fumes.
They had taken Ben's Golf. Colin had objected to travel ing in what he cal ed 'a biscuit tin', but couldn't deny that his black BMW would look conspicuous in a scrapyard. Ben guessed it was the thought of what might happen to it there that final y convinced him.
Once on the Mi Ben made good time to the turn-off.
The main suburban sprawl was quickly left behind, but the countryside was stil marred with blotches of industry, man-made cankers of brick and metal amongst the green.
Some of the fields they passed stil had yel ow snatches of rape clinging to them, and then suddenly there was a brown patch of houses and they were in Tunford.
It was a new town, or at least had been in the 1950s. The brave new face of postwar housing development now looked ramshackle and depressed. They went along the high street, a short stretch of squat, dun-coloured shops, until they left the town again on the other side. Ben turned the car round in 1 a lay-by littered with plastic bottles and tin cans and headed back for the town centre.
What's the address?' Colin opened the folder the detective had given Ben.
Torty-one Primrose Lane.' The shops came into view again. Prefabricated semidetached houses ran off to either side. 'Do you think there'l stil be primroses there?' Ben asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.
'If there are they'l be under the tarmac Shal we try the next turning?' Since they didn't know where Primrose Lane was, one street was as good as another. They had no map of the town, and didn't want to draw attention to themselves by asking for directions. Not that there were many people about to ask. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the empty streets at random. On one they passed a mongrel dog shitting on the pavement.
'Welcome to Tunford,' Colin said.
Primrose Lane was at the edge of the town, running paral el with the fields beyond. They drove down it slowly, counting house numbers. Colin pointed. 'There.' The house was set behind a four-foot-high wire mesh and concrete post fence. The neighbouring properties were run down, with shaggy lawns and unkempt flower-beds, and the garden in front of 41 was heaped with rusting piles of metal. Car wings, doors and bumpers, engine parts and motors were stacked haphazardly, grown through with uncut grass and weeds.
'Obviously a man who takes his work home with him.' Ben didn't respond to the joke. He drove past slowly, taking in the peeling paint on the doors and window frames.
A woman appeared in an upstairs window. He had a glimpse of yel ow hair and plucked eyebrows, and then the house was behind them.
Colin craned his head to see. 'Was that the wife?'
'I suppose so.' They were quiet as they went back to the main street. 'It might not be as bad as it looks,' Colin said, after a while.
'Just because they won't get in House and Home doesn't mean they might not be nice people.'
'No.'
"You can never tel from appearances.'
'Just leave it, Colin, wil you?' He headed out the way they had original y gone, before they had turned back According to the detective's report the scrap metal yard where Kale worked was on die outskirts of die next town along, about three miles away. For a while they were back in open countryside, but die taint of civilisation was in die litter-strewn hedgerows. They passed an untidy farm, dien a garage. The scrapyard was die next building after that.
Ben pul ed into die edge of the road before he reached it.
The yard was surrounded by a high brick wal , topped widi barbed wire and shards of
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