making the headlines fit. The down table subs graduate to the back bench and if they’re good, and lucky, and brown-nose their way into the boss’s good books then they get an office of their own and a title and maybe one day a shot at the editor’s job. Maybe. But at least they’re in with a shot. The subs can get to the top, news editors either die or are pensioned off. Healy looked closer to death than to a monthly retirement cheque.
‘How did an Indian get a name like Healy?’ I asked.
‘English father – a major out here on attachment with the Gurkhas. Mother is the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in Hong Kong.’
‘They marry?’
‘I think she was quite keen but his wife and kids weren’t too happy with the idea.’
‘And she still had the baby?’ Try as I might I couldn’t picture the gangling, hyperactive Indian as a child in a pram.
Howard shrugged. ‘She loved him. Like they do. Her father was all for having him floating face down in the harbour but she stuck to her guns and insisted that she be allowed to keep the baby. Her father disowned her, threw her out of the family home and she brought John up on her own. She died a couple of years back.’
‘Sad story.’
‘It happens, laddie.’
‘I guess he’s what you’d call a major problem,’ I said and we giggled like a couple of schoolboys.
‘He’d know what Sally was working on?’ I asked. I was rapidly realizing how everybody in this town seemed to know everybody else’s business. Small town mentality, I guess.
‘Aye. I suppose you’ll be wanting an introduction?’ I drained the glass and said yes and when Howard ordered another round he called over to Healy and asked him what he wanted.
‘San Miguel,’ he answered, but the barman already had a can in his hand. He ripped off the ring pull and handed the lager to him without a glass. My gin came with a fresh tonic and another surly look. I was starting to like this bar.
‘First today,’ said Healy and drank from the can, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down furiously.
‘Same,’ I said, but I’d already lost count of the number of gins I’d had.
Howard introduced us and we shook hands. I could feel the stub of his index finger pressing into my palm and I shuddered. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was just used to it. Or maybe he did it on purpose.
‘I’m sorry about Sally,’ he said. Sorry didn’t sound right, but what else could he have said? Sorry implied pity, I’m sorry to hear that your dog was run over, sorry about the mess, sorry I broke your pencil. Sorry wasn’t a word you could use to describe a fifteen-storey plunge out of a hotel window, not when it was your sister. I didn’t feel sorry. I felt angry. I wanted to know why and I wanted to know who.
‘Can I help at all?’ he said, fingering his collar with his left hand and swirling the can with the other.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I need to know what she was working on.’
‘No problem,’ he said, and now he was adjusting his tie and his right foot had started tapping to a tune that only he could hear. He flicked his head to one side to clear the greasy hair from his eyes. ‘Come round to the office tomorrow.’
‘Cheers,’ I said, and then added I’d better go because I was still jet lagged.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said to John, who had slid into one of the bucket seats and was bouncing his knees up and down as if bumping a toddler while scratching his chin. He waved farewell with his can of lager.
Howard walked me to the door. On the way out we passed the club’s office where a young girl with shoulder length hair held back in a pony tail with a red ribbon was typing a letter. Behind her on the wall was a display of FCC souvenirs.
‘I want to have a tie,’ I told him.
‘You what?’
‘I want to buy a tie. An FCC tie. Or are they for members only, too?’
‘OK, I’ll buy you a tie,’ he said patiently. ‘Red or blue?’
‘Blue, it’ll go
‘How did an Indian get a name like Healy?’ I asked.
‘English father – a major out here on attachment with the Gurkhas. Mother is the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in Hong Kong.’
‘They marry?’
‘I think she was quite keen but his wife and kids weren’t too happy with the idea.’
‘And she still had the baby?’ Try as I might I couldn’t picture the gangling, hyperactive Indian as a child in a pram.
Howard shrugged. ‘She loved him. Like they do. Her father was all for having him floating face down in the harbour but she stuck to her guns and insisted that she be allowed to keep the baby. Her father disowned her, threw her out of the family home and she brought John up on her own. She died a couple of years back.’
‘Sad story.’
‘It happens, laddie.’
‘I guess he’s what you’d call a major problem,’ I said and we giggled like a couple of schoolboys.
‘He’d know what Sally was working on?’ I asked. I was rapidly realizing how everybody in this town seemed to know everybody else’s business. Small town mentality, I guess.
‘Aye. I suppose you’ll be wanting an introduction?’ I drained the glass and said yes and when Howard ordered another round he called over to Healy and asked him what he wanted.
‘San Miguel,’ he answered, but the barman already had a can in his hand. He ripped off the ring pull and handed the lager to him without a glass. My gin came with a fresh tonic and another surly look. I was starting to like this bar.
‘First today,’ said Healy and drank from the can, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down furiously.
‘Same,’ I said, but I’d already lost count of the number of gins I’d had.
Howard introduced us and we shook hands. I could feel the stub of his index finger pressing into my palm and I shuddered. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was just used to it. Or maybe he did it on purpose.
‘I’m sorry about Sally,’ he said. Sorry didn’t sound right, but what else could he have said? Sorry implied pity, I’m sorry to hear that your dog was run over, sorry about the mess, sorry I broke your pencil. Sorry wasn’t a word you could use to describe a fifteen-storey plunge out of a hotel window, not when it was your sister. I didn’t feel sorry. I felt angry. I wanted to know why and I wanted to know who.
‘Can I help at all?’ he said, fingering his collar with his left hand and swirling the can with the other.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I need to know what she was working on.’
‘No problem,’ he said, and now he was adjusting his tie and his right foot had started tapping to a tune that only he could hear. He flicked his head to one side to clear the greasy hair from his eyes. ‘Come round to the office tomorrow.’
‘Cheers,’ I said, and then added I’d better go because I was still jet lagged.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said to John, who had slid into one of the bucket seats and was bouncing his knees up and down as if bumping a toddler while scratching his chin. He waved farewell with his can of lager.
Howard walked me to the door. On the way out we passed the club’s office where a young girl with shoulder length hair held back in a pony tail with a red ribbon was typing a letter. Behind her on the wall was a display of FCC souvenirs.
‘I want to have a tie,’ I told him.
‘You what?’
‘I want to buy a tie. An FCC tie. Or are they for members only, too?’
‘OK, I’ll buy you a tie,’ he said patiently. ‘Red or blue?’
‘Blue, it’ll go
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