“So you know Solomon Bartholomew?”
“Yes, he drives me to the hospital. He’s a very nice chap, who lives just there.” I pointed. “The green car is his.”
Now it was the turn of the policewoman.
“And when was the last time that you saw Mr. Bartholomew?”
“Just before I went away. I’ve been at the coast for the past day. Well, one night and two days. In fact, I’ve only just come back. Is something the matter?”
Again the woman spoke. “And you’re returning directly from there, are you?”
“Well, no. I stopped in town at the hospital.”
“But what I mean is you’ve not been here, in the village, for the past two days?”
“I’ve just told you, I’ve only just got back.”
The policewoman looked at the man, as though giving him the cue to assume his seniority.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Bartholomew has been found dead. He was found drowned, face down in the canal.”
I don’t know what expression crossed my face, but the look obviously registered something with him for he felt compelled to go on.
“You know the canal we’re talking about?”
“What happened?” I knew that I was whispering, but I couldn’t find my breath.
“Well, there was some bruising to the head so we can’t rule out foul play. But as I’m sure you appreciate, we don’t want to jump to any conclusions for there isn’t necessarily anything suspect.”
The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“I’m sorry. We thought it best to come and tell you ourselves as people said you knew him.”
It was after the police had gone that Carla came to see me. I hardly ever have anybody come to my door, so to have two visits in rapid succession was disturbing. I got out of the chair and imagined that it was somebody else wanting to tell me about Solomon. Young Carla stared up at me with sad eyes, and so I asked her in. She wiped her feet and then sat down somewhat heavily in the armchair that I had just vacated. She did so without taking her eyes from me the whole time, which made me feel nervous. I asked Carla if she’d like some tea or coffee, but she just shook her head and then, for the first time, she spoke.
“It’s about your friend. The black guy.”
“Solomon.”
“Yeah, him.”
I looked at her and waited for her to go on, but she said nothing. She lowered her eyes and stared at the space between her trainer-clad feet. “What’s the matter, Carla?”
“I really shouldn’t be here. Paul will kill me if he knows I’m here.”
I sat now, and it was my turn to watch her closely.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Carla twisted herself around and reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a letter. As she handed it to me, she looked up.
“I found this and it’s addressed to the black guy. They’re out of order, Miss. I’m not stupid. I know what they’re like.” Carla paused. “I’m sorry, Miss.”
“You’re sorry about what?”
I looked closely at Carla, who was now leaning forward so that she was sitting on the edge of the armchair.
“They’ll kill me, Miss, if they find out I’m here.”
“Who’s ‘they,’ Carla?”
“Paul and his mates. Paul’s my boyfriend. They’re just stupid bullies.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No. Course not.”
“Have you put yourself in danger?”
“I don’t think so.” Carla looked puzzled and then she sat back in the armchair. “What do you mean?”
“Carla, where did you get this letter?”
“I nicked it out of Paul’s pocket. I told you, they’re bullies. They’ve been writing stuff like this for a while now. They think it’s a laugh, but I’ve told them it’s bang out of order.”
I looked at an agitated Carla, who was clearly ready to leave now.
“Did they harm Solomon, Carla?”
“I think they just wanted to frighten him. But I didn’t want any part of any of it, Miss. None of it.”
“Any part of what?”
Carla stood up now. She began to fumble with the zip on her jacket.
“Miss, maybe you should go to the police, but you can’t tell them anything about me.”
“Perhaps
you
should go to the police, Carla. Unless, of course, you’re simply making the whole thing up?” Carla flashed me a look that was initially disbelief. Then I saw her face change as she became angry. “Listen, Carla, if you’ve got something to say, then please say it. We shouldn’t be falling out. Not over something as serious as this.”
“We’ve not fallen out, Miss.”
I looked at her as she finished zipping up her jacket.
“I mean, I brought you the letter. What else do you want me to do?”
“I want you to tell me the truth, Carla.” For a moment Carla looked at me as though she was going to storm out, and then she sighed and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but they told me to fetch him, so I did.”
“They?”
“Paul and his mates, Dale and Gordon. I knocked on the black guy’s door and asked him to give us a hand pushing Paul’s van as it wouldn’t start. He was okay about it, but when he came out they jumped him and tied him up. That’s when I didn’t want nothing to do with it any more.”
“But did you help Solomon?”
Carla lowers her eyes. “No, Miss.” She pauses. “They drove him down to the canal, then out towards the quarry. They just wanted to have some fun, but when they opened the back of the van to let him out, he went nuts, Miss. He’d undone the ropes and he started to attack them like a madman. It was scary, and he was shouting and carrying on, and then he had a go at Paul. The others grabbed him and then Paul bricked him.”
“He did what, Carla?”
“They were by the quarry, Miss. Paul picked up a stone and smacked him on the head and he went down. Then they all started to brick him, but it didn’t take long before he wasn’t moving no more. Miss, I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, but Paul said it was self-defence and they’d be okay. But the others didn’t want to know, so they decided to push him in to make it look like an accident.” Carla looked up at me. “Miss, he was terrifying. I thought he was gonna kill them, honest. They’ll never say anything, but I could see that they were scared stiff. He kind of went mad, Miss, talking about how he was a bird that could fly, and he kept mentioning you.”
“But Carla, they murdered him, and you helped.”
“I know, Miss.” Her voice broke and tears began to roll down her face. “I’d best go now.”
“What’ll you do, Carla?”
“I ain’t got much choice now, have I, Miss?” She paused. “Paul and his mates are off on holiday on Monday, so I’ll have to tell the police before then.”
“And you will tell them? Everything you’ve told me?”
“I will, Miss. I told you, I promise.”
I watched as Carla left the room, and I decided to leave her alone. There was no need to see her out. I waited for the door to slam shut, and then I looked at the grubby envelope with Solomon’s name and address painstakingly scrawled in capital letters.
When I wake up it’s dusk. I’ve fallen asleep in the chair by the fireplace and slept the afternoon away. Obviously the half-pint of Guinness took hold of me. I look out of the window and see the green car standing alone. Without Solomon, Weston suddenly seems like a strange and empty village, and it feels as though a whole lifetime has passed since the day that Solomon came calling. I have a doorbell, so it was unusual to hear somebody knocking at the door. In fact, it seemed a bit rude, so I opened the door somewhat gruffly. I saw Solomon standing there in his Sunday best, his hands clasped in front of him as though he were about to pray. I’d seen him cleaning his car, of course, and I’d noticed him walking about, especially in the evenings, but I couldn’t for the life of me work out what he thought he was playing at, knocking at my door like this.
“I saw you at the bus stop yesterday. And before this, in the rain.” I looked him up and down and waited for him to go on. However, I realised that he wasn’t going to say anything further until I said something to him.
“Yes,” I said. “I was going into town. I go once or twice a week.”
“Yes, I know. I have seen you as I have driven past. But I am not really sure if I should stop.”
“Stop where?” I wrinkled my forehead.
“Stop to ask you if you would like me to drive you into the town. After all, we are neighbours. I am the night-watchman for the Stoneleigh estate.” He gestured all around him. “This is my job.”
I nodded. I knew who he was, but he was being a bit strange, so it seemed best to say nothing more. I thought about just closing the door, but then he spoke again.
“Please, when are you going to town again?” Suddenly I felt sorry for him, for I could see now that he was harmless. Obviously he didn’t have any friends, and it seemed stupid to have him standing on the doorstep like he was some kind of Jehovah’s Witness.
“Would you like to come in?” He stared at me, but he did not reply. Didn’t he want to come in? I looked over his shoulder to see if there was anybody else in the cul-de-sac watching, but I couldn’t see anybody.
“You have not answered my question,” he said. “If you need some time to consider my offer, then I will understand.”
Very generous, I thought, but at least he seems more peculiar than he does dangerous.
“I’ll be going in tomorrow. I’ve got to see the doctor regularly these days.”
“I am sorry. Is everything all right?”
“Well, hardly.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth I felt terrible. I knew there was no need to speak to him in this way. He was only trying to be helpful, and the truth was he had done nothing to deserve this kind of reply.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I’ve just had a bad few days.”
“Well, standing at the bus stop does not help one’s spirit.”
“No, you’re right,” I said. “It doesn’t help at all.” I paused for a moment, and then I realised that this was the first real conversation I’d had in weeks.
“What time is your appointment?”
“Noon. What I mean is I have to be there by noon.”
“Then I shall collect you at eleven-thirty precisely.”
“Eleven-thirty,” I said. I watched as he bowed slightly, and only then did he turn and move to go away. It seemed to me a strange way to leave somebody, and so I didn’t shut the door. Instead, I watched as he practically marched the short distance back to his bungalow. As he put the key into his door he didn’t turn around. Perhaps he could feel my eyes upon him? Perhaps he was already lost in some thoughts of his own? Whatever it was, I sensed that this man was lonely and in need of conversation.
The next morning, instead of walking over, and then the two of us walking back to where his car was, he drove the short distance, kept the engine running, and then came and knocked on my door. I wanted to laugh when I saw what he’d done, but I didn’t know if this would cause offence. For the first few minutes he was silent, and then he began to talk. He wanted to know if it was serious, whatever it was that I was going to the hospital for, but I didn’t answer him.
“I do not mean to pry. I just thought that it might please you to have somebody to talk with.”
I found the gloves the most unusual part of his costume. It was hot, yet he was wearing gloves and a collar and tie, but I appreciated the formality.
“The doctor says I’m suffering from stress, whatever that means.”
He didn’t say anything, but he did give a slight nod as though to let me know that he had heard.
“But apparently it’s difficult to get to the bottom of it. It’s always difficult to know what to do.”
“I am sorry to hear this unfortunate news.” He looked across at me now. “But you look well. You look very well.”
“Thank you.” I paused. “I’m doing all right, I suppose.”
“Do you have anybody to help?”
“Help?” I asked. “I’m not sure what you mean by help.”
We looked at each other now.
“I mean somebody to talk to. Somebody to assist you with this difficult situation.”
“Do I look like I need help?”
“No, that is not what I meant.”
I knew that he was trying to make me feel more comfortable. I appreciated this, but I didn’t want him to do anything more than just drive me. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted him to do this.
“I am sorry.” He had an apologetic tone to his voice, and the look on his face was pained. “I did not mean to interfere.”
During the bus journey back from the seaside I had thought of poor Solomon sitting alone in his bungalow, with only his memories for company, wondering where I’d gone to. Wanting me. The journey itself was dull and uneventful. I sat near the front and looked over the driver’s shoulder at the road ahead. I could see everything from his point of view, but there was nothing inviting about the coarse, bracken-strewn landscape that swam out flat to either side of the road and so I closed my eyes. When I opened them again the sky had already begun to turn dark, and I was being blinded by lights either flashing past us red, or barrelling towards us white. When the bus reached the town I stood up and remained hopeful that Dr. Williams might still be seeing patients, for the splitting headache that had plagued me during the previous night had returned. “Have a good evening, love,” said the driver, but I didn’t reply. I was clutching my suitcase with one hand and gripping the hand rail with the other, and trying hard to concentrate so that I didn’t fall down the three stairs.
The half of Guinness has really done for me. I’m still tired. Not surprising though, for I didn’t sleep much last night. In fact, yesterday was difficult. First, I’d had to endure a day of sitting alone on a windswept promenade. Then the tedious bus journey, followed by yet another encounter with Dr. Williams in which he didn’t appear to want to take me seriously. Then the police. Then Carla and the stupid letter. After Carla left I maybe got a couple of hours at most before the sound of car doors slamming woke me up. And this morning I walked by the edge of the canal in the dreary autumn haze, and I thought of my friend lying face down in the water like a dead fish. It’s hard to believe that there will be no more trips to the Somalian and Mediterranean Food Hall, or conversations with him in my house, or time spent with him in his house trying to work out who exactly the strange man is in the photograph on the mantelpiece. I worry over who will look after his car, or tell his family. I don’t even know if he has any family. The poor man may as well have been living on the dark side of the moon. It was only after I’d been to the pub and had the half of Guinness, and then walked back up the hill, that it finally dawned on me. I slumped down in this chair and realised that there’s no way that I can live among these people. I don’t think they care about anybody apart from their stupid selves, and if this is true then I too may as well be living on the dark side of the moon.