I needed to make some sense of my notes while Luke’s voice was still fresh in my mind. It was half past nine before I got a chance to sit down and work through them. Dusk was only just falling. Midsummer, 21st of June, the longest day of the year. I sat on the sofa with the curtains open and the small table-lamp on. I could see the back garden as I worked, and watch the night steal across from behind the trees at the end, the sky turning purple then navy.
It would save me a lot of time and Victor Wallace a lot of money if I could find out exactly what information Luke’s solicitor had already gathered. I made a list of people to contact the following day and put them at the top. I’d got some names and addresses from both Victor Wallace and Luke – mainly the friends who had gone with them to the club on New Year’s Eve.
‘Tea?’ Ray poked his head round the door.
‘Yes, love one.’
He returned shortly with a mug for each of us and eased himself into the armchair.
‘Work?’
‘Yes.’ I set aside my papers. ‘I needed to get it down before it became lost among all the other rubbish floating round in here.’ I tapped my head. ‘I’ve done now.’
‘Aah!’ He started. ‘Jonathan.’
‘Eh?’
‘Jonathan can come so that’s eight.’
‘Oh.’ He was talking about Tom’s birthday party – eight five-year-olds in hyper drive for two hours. ‘We can do it all outside if it’s dry.’
‘Yep, less jelly ground into the carpet.’
‘Did you order a cake?’
‘Sheila’s offered to do one.’
‘Brilliant.’ Sheila, a mature student, rented our attic flat and so helped to keep the household solvent. She had moved to Manchester after her divorce. Her family had grown up and left home. Prior to her arrival, baking cakes had been accorded the status of a quaint historic tradition, like using the mangle or embroidering pillow cases. Interesting to know about, but not the sort of thing anybody did in real life any more. Birthday cakes were small round sponges from the local bakery with pastel icing in one of three designs – football shirt, clown or teddy. Reliable, dull, uninspired. And pricey.
‘What will she do?’
‘She thought about a dinosaur.’
‘Oh, he’d love that.’
I heard the stairs creak and a small cough. ‘Maddie?’
‘I can’t sleep, there’s a thing in my room.’
‘Come here.’
She came in looking miserable. ‘And my head hurts.’
‘That’s probably because you’re very tired.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Come on, we’ll take you up, sort out this thing.’
The thing turned out to be a Blu-Tack mark which Maddie claimed looked like a witch. Not content with logical explanations, I ended up covering it with one of her paintings. I tucked her in and sang several verses of ‘There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza’.
‘I’ll come up and check on you in a few minutes.’
‘But it’s still there, Mummy, under the picture.’
‘I know, but you can’t see it, can you?’
‘I can in my thinking voice.’
‘Oh, yes.’ And short of repainting the whole flipping room there’s nothing I can do about it. It’ll be there for years so you’d better just get used to the idea. ‘Now I’m going downstairs and I’ll come up and check on you soon.’ I tried not to snap.
‘When?’
‘In a few minutes.’
‘How many?’
Count to ten. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘Fifteen minutes?’ Horrified. ‘That’s ages!’
‘OK, five.’ There was no clock in her room so she’d not catch me out. I half-expected her to reappear but she didn’t, and gradually I relaxed again as Ray and I continued to discuss the party plans. When I went up an hour later she was fast asleep on the floor beside her bed. Presumably Blu-Tack witches have less power at floor level.
