‘Aren’t we supposed to tell someone we’re going?’ I said.
‘Florence, they won’t even notice we’re missing,’ he said. ‘They’re far too distracted trying to auction off the past.’
And his idea seemed so much more interesting than putting the kettle on.
The bus smelled of crisp packets and other people’s feet, although we weren’t really on it for very long. Elsie made a big fuss of brushing the seat down with her coat sleeve, but she was still in the middle of complaining when the bus tipped us out at the top of the high street.
‘Here we are,’ said Jack. ‘The big city.’
It wasn’t a city, and it wasn’t really very big, but it was more interesting than staring out of a window all day at the tops of other people’s heads.
We started to walk down the pavement, but that was a battle in itself, because of the crowds.
‘Where do they all come from?’ I said. ‘How do all these people have somewhere to go?’
‘It’s a Saturday.’ Elsie looked straight ahead as she spoke, because she said it was far too dangerous to take your eyes from the battlefield. ‘Everyone goes shopping on a Saturday. It’s what people do.’
There’s an unspoken contract to keep up when you’re on a busy pavement and we couldn’t stick to it. There were too many pushchairs and carrier bags, and people tutting and trying to edge past. Someone attacked Jack’s legs with a pram wheel, and so we decided to go into Marks & Spencer to get our breath back.
We walked into the men’s department, and it was coat-hanger quiet. Even though there were lots of people, they were orderly and silent, and rearranged themselves around you very politely on the carpet. People always behave in M&S, don’t they? There were different-coloured paths to walk along and mannequins dotted about every so often, and they all had vacant expressions and an absence of eyebrows.
‘That one looks like Simon,’ I said, as we walked past, but no one took any notice.
Jack bought several pairs of socks and a new pullover (which he said would see him out), and then we drifted into the ladies’ department, where Elsie tried on lots of hats, none of which suited her. I kept my thoughts to myself, but I think she picked up on it, because she moved on to scarves without saying a word.
‘You don’t need a scarf,’ I said. ‘You’ve got that lovely one Gwen knitted you.’
She said she hadn’t worn that in years. She said she didn’t even know where it was. Things go missing, she said. They are left on benches and in cinemas. They fall out of coat pockets. They are lent to people who fail to return them. She plumped for a tartan check in the end. She said it was with it, and I didn’t like to shatter her illusions by passing comment.
We travelled up the escalators to the top floor. I’ve always been a big fan of escalators. I wish they had them in more places, because they don’t just get you somewhere, they give you something to look at whilst you’re doing it. I wanted to have another go, but Elsie said if we didn’t get a move on, the restaurant would fill up, and so I saved it for another time. We chose what we wanted, and took our little melamine trays to a table in the corner and drank coffee out of thick white china. We didn’t talk about Ronnie. It was strange, because he didn’t even cross my mind once, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wanted to think about something else. It was only when we’d left the department store, when we forced our way back into the crowds on the high street and turned the corner at the top of the road that he walked back into my mind. It was the church that did it. It stood at the top of the hill, staring at the town like a watchful parent.
‘Beryl’s buried in that churchyard,’ I said.
‘She’s just over there,’ Elsie said. ‘Behind that sycamore.’
We had walked towards the church gates without even agreeing to do it, and we stood by a little glass cabinet with service times and posters about toddler groups and youth clubs. St Eligius, it said, painted in gold along a damp wooden frame.
‘I remember the funeral,’ I said. ‘I remember it as though we’ve just walked out of the church.’
‘You see,’ Elsie said. ‘It was all there, it just needed to be found again.’
‘You don’t have to think about it, if you don’t want to.’ Jack tapped at the pavement with the tip of his walking stick. ‘There are some memories better left where they are.’
‘No, I want to.’ I pushed at the little gate, and it moved away all the leaves on the path for me. ‘I have to go back, because it’s the only way we’re ever going to get any answers.’
Ronnie was at Beryl’s funeral.
I remembered. He walked up the aisle and took a seat in the front row, and nobody dared stop him. The church was full, but it was full of people who were too young to be there. Elsie and I sat at the back, because I was worried Elsie might need some fresh air. She was pale and tiny, and she was shaking so much, I had to hold on to her hands to stop the hymn book from falling to the floor. I don’t remember what we sang. It’s the worst time, isn’t it, to expect a person to sing? When their throat is filled with so much grief, they can barely find a voice to speak with.
After it was all over, Ronnie walked past us on his way out. That’s when it happened. That’s when I knew I had to do something. Because he smiled at Elsie. A long, slow, deliberate smile. A smile that said, whatever else might happen in life, he would always win at it. I looked at Elsie. Tiny and frail, and broken, and I knew then that I had to do something. I had to protect her. And I realised in that moment, Beryl dying wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.
When I looked up, we were standing right by the church. I glanced back at the path, because I didn’t remember walking it, and I wasn’t even sure it was there.
Elsie put her hands on the giant wooden doors. All the fancy iron hinges and the black studding, and the way the very top curved into a point.
‘Do you want to go inside?’ said Jack.
It looked like a magical door. A door into another world.
‘No, not again,’ I said. ‘I think I’d just quite like to go home.’
The bus dropped us off at the bottom of the drive, and we walked up to Cherry Tree in silence. I didn’t look up until we’d almost reached the main buildings, and when I did, I realised most of the television vans had disappeared, but they’d been replaced by a very large police car, and Miss Ambrose standing in the middle of the courtyard with her arms folded. No one gave us a second glance.
We walked past Simon, who was leaning against a wall, chewing gum.
‘There’s been an incident,’ he said. I think he was quite put out, because we walked past without even asking what it was. ‘Quite a big one,’ he shouted.
‘Incident?’ said Jack.
Elsie looked back. ‘What kind of incident?’
‘Something’s gone missing,’ he said. ‘One of the antiques. Miss Ambrose is beside herself.’
I looked across at Miss Ambrose, and I thought it was a fair comment.
‘What is it?’ said Jack. ‘This missing antique?’
Simon did a little more chewing on his gum. ‘A watch,’ he said. ‘I think.’
It was a watch. I knew it was a watch, because when we got back to my flat it was sitting in the middle of the dining table, waiting for us.
Elsie had unwound her new scarf, which she had chosen to wear even though it wasn’t really scarf weather. Jack had hung his cap on the little peg by the front door, and said, ‘Are we going to have that kettle on, then?’ and I’d followed them both into the sitting room, where we all stood and stared at it.