The Japanese Girl (23 page)

One evening in March Morgan had it out with Peggy. ‘It won't do,' he said. ‘Honest, it's too chancey with the light nights. It wasn't dark tonight, not properly dark, till eight.'

‘I can come at nine. Trouble is you don't want me, do you?'

‘That's not it. It's the risk …'

‘Remember the risks we took to begin?'

‘Yeh, I know. It's funny, that. You
take
risks at the start of something, like you don't realize how big they are. Then the longer you take them the bigger they look.'

‘More to lose and not so much to gain, eh?'

‘No, not just
that
. But we've been at it all winter, and Walter knows you go off somewhere. It's a miracle we've kept it quiet so long.'

‘Well, it's just as you please. I'm not one to push myself where I'm not wanted.'

Morgan thoughtfully eyed Peggy's taut back. ‘I didn't say
altogether
. We'll
make
times.'

‘What times?'

‘We'll fix some. But they'll have to be special ones. And maybe not here.'

‘Then where?' she flared. ‘Crowmoor Woods?'

He grinned. ‘I don't fancy myself at that. There's too much around that's easy, to try to get it the hard way.'

‘You insulting bastard –'

‘Now, Peggy, ease off. Ease off, I say. Your think-box isn't working, so I'm trying to think for us both. You got any relations?'

‘Well, what d'you think? Think I grew on a tree?'

‘All right, all right. Well, I was wondering if maybe when the weather gets warmer you couldn't get off for a day and visit your Aunt Elsie or someone. Maybe we could join up one Sunday.'

‘You mean that, Ken?'

‘Yeh. But it would have to be well away from here. London maybe. We'll make a plan next month when the spring comes.'

‘O.K.,' she said. ‘O.K. I'll go along with that. If you really mean it.'

He was looking at himself in the mirror. ‘I think maybe
I
need a change of hair style. I was dreaming up something a bit different the other night. I think I'll call it
Pharaoh
, More off the face.'

‘Who's going to do it for you?' she said mockingly, ‘ Like me to try?'

But over this he was unsmiling. ‘ There's a pal in London. I might nip down one Sunday and persuade him to do it out of hours.'

FIVE

But his hair stayed the same. Peggy thought he was maybe too busy with his out-of-town woman. She had gradually drifted back to her evenings with Carol Martin, but Walter did not ask and she did not tell him. She made giggling excuses about the light nights to Carol and did not care whether she was believed or not. The shop prospered. Bristow bought a new Mini in place of his old Ford. Morgan bought a new Mini in place of his old Mini. Part of the bank overdraft was repaid. Morgan and Peggy made an arrangement that she should go and see her sister in Oxford during a week-end in early April, and that he should join her in London. It never came off.

On the Tuesday before, Morgan went as usual to supper at the Bristows' bungalow in Parkers Lane. Peggy wasn't much of a cook and nine-tenths of her food came out of tins, but tonight she had made a stew and then they had a trifle and cheese. Morgan had bought a bottle of wine, but his tongue was the only one it appeared to unlock. He chattered away cheerfully all through the meal, taking no heed of Bristow's silences. He thought they ought to sell more in the shop the way London hairdressers did. Of course it wasn't just razor blades and hair cream like they did at present. He meant the better after-shaves, skin-tonics, hair dyes and a few masculine scents.

‘It's only what every gent used in the 18th century,' he said. ‘It won't be long before men take to make-up either. It's all part of dress.'

Bristow looked at his partner's frilled purple shirt. ‘We're not going to be able to tell one sex from the other soon.'

‘Oh yes we will. You bet we will! But not by one sex being
duller
than the other.
That's
the mistake. It isn't true, you know, and the lads are realizing it isn't true.'

‘When I was your age,' Bristow began brooding, ‘we were still on rations after the end of the war. Too glad to get food to worry about all this –'

There was a ring at the doorbell, and Peggy got up from the table and went. She came back with a peculiar expression on her face.

‘It's the police.'

Detective Sergeant Taylor and Detective Constable Spinner were shown in.

Taylor said: ‘Afraid we're interrupting your supper.'

‘Well, sit down,' said Morgan, taking on the duties of host. ‘Get you a drink?'

‘No, thank you. We came to ask you a few more questions.'

‘Questions?' said Peggy startled. ‘What about? The shop's all right, isn't it?'

‘Yes, Mrs Bristow, the shop's all right. But we called in once before asking a few questions. Perhaps you weren't told.'

‘Told? Told what? I wasn't told anything. What's wrong?'

‘These girls that were attacked in Crowmoor Woods,' said Morgan. ‘The man that did it had a long hair style. The police were inquiring for names at our shop of customers who had the
Page Boy
style, that's all. That's all, isn't it, Sergeant? Any joy, yet?'

‘Another girl was attacked on Sunday,' said Taylor.

‘Oh?' said Morgan. ‘ Didn't know that. It wasn't in the papers, was it?'

‘No, we were able to keep it quiet.'

‘Did he get her this time or did she get away?'

‘This girl – this young woman – put up more of a struggle and was able to give us a better description. We've kept it quiet while we made inquiries. We've visited nearly everyone with this style of long hair in Crowchester.'

‘Ah,' said Morgan. ‘And now you've come to me, eh?'

‘That's right, Mr Morgan, in a manner of speaking.'

‘I was away all Sunday. Didn't get back to Crowchester until after midnight. So it can't have been me.'

‘This time we don't need to bother about alibis. This girl – they had a real fight – she says she scratched the man all down one arm, elbow to wrist, she says. So this time it's more a question of finding a man with scratch marks.'

‘I see,' said Morgan thoughtfully. ‘And who've you been to? It must have meant quite a lot of calls, all those lads with long hair.'

‘Yes, it has.'

‘And you haven't found him yet?'

‘Not yet.'

Morgan glanced at Peggy and then at the policemen. ‘So what you want –'

‘If you'd mind taking off your coat, Mr Morgan, and rolling up your sleeves.'

Morgan sighed and shrugged. ‘Oh, well, if you feel like that. But I think it's a bit thick. I mean me, trying to attack girls …'

He took off his coat, slowly took out his enormous cuff-links and as slowly rolled up the purple big-cuffed sleeves of his shirt. His arms were rather thin and pale but there were no scratches on them.

‘Satisfied?'

Taylor stepped back. ‘Yes, thank you.'

‘So now maybe we can get on with our supper, eh?'

‘Of course.'

‘I think you might have come at a better time, anyway.'

‘We're making an intensive search. I'm afraid it's not always possible to pick on times.'

‘Well, I wish you luck,' said Morgan. ‘It beats me why they do these things. I mean, it isn't as if women were
hard
to get –'

‘Oh, Mr Bristow,' said Sergeant Taylor, as Bristow was about to go back to the table.

‘Yes?'

‘While we're here, might we just look at your forearms? It's just a question of checking up.'

‘I've not got long hair.'

‘No, we know. It's just trying to see all possibilities. Just checking up.'

‘What are you
talking
about?' said Peggy. ‘
Look
at his hair – it's going thin on the top! You must be crazy!'

‘We have to try to check every possibility, Mrs Bristow. Now, sir, if you wouldn't mind …'

Bristow had gone very white and he made no move at all. Sergeant Taylor gently took his coat sleeve. Bristow pulled away but Taylor followed him. Bristow was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and the coat slid easily up. All the way down his forearm were long red scratches.

There was a gasp from Peggy. Bristow stood there swaying.

‘Well!' said Morgan. ‘Stone the crows! I thought that wig in the window looked a bit messed up on Monday!'

Bristow put his hands to his face and sat down in the nearest chair.

‘We shall have to ask you to come with us to the station,' said Taylor.

‘Why, what's he
done
?' shouted Peggy. ‘What are you
saying
he's done? What's he done?'

‘Well, Mrs Bristow, I think we have to work that out, don't we?'

‘Now, now, Peggy, take it easy,' said Morgan. ‘I reckon there's been some mistake. It'll all be cleared up in no time.'

‘I must ask you to come to the station,' said Taylor to Bristow. ‘You can make a statement then.'

‘It's ridiculous!' said Peggy. ‘Downright ridiculous. Where did you get those scratches, Walter? Where'd you
get
them?'

Bristow made no move. Then he slowly withdrew his hands from his face and stood up. Without anybody speaking he went slowly to the door and, with Sergeant Taylor beside him, went out. He did not once look back.

Constable Spinner said: ‘Would you like to come along, Mrs Bristow?'

‘I'll bring her in my car,' said Morgan. ‘You go ahead. I've got my car outside.'

Spinner went out and Peggy and Morgan stood there in silence listening to the shutting of the front door, the whirr of a self-starter and then the drone of a car pulling away.

‘Stone the crows,' said Morgan again. ‘ I'd never've believed it of him! Poor old Walter! D'you want to go down, Peggy? D'you want to go down to the station. It'll look better. I'd never've believed it of him.'

He put his hand on her shoulder but she drew sharply away. ‘Don't
touch
me!'

‘Why, what's wrong with me? I wasn't in it!'

She was glaring at him. ‘I'll go down, but not with you. Not ever again with you. I'll go in our own car! And you can clear out!'

‘What d'you mean? Don't take it out on me! What've I done?'

‘It's
our
fault! D'you know that?
Our
fault!
Our
fault!
Our
fault!
Our
fault! Get out of here and out of the shop tomorrow! Get out of this town! I never want to see you again!'

He stared at her, and realized that at least she couldn't be reasoned with tonight. He picked up his jacket and put it on, ran a hand through his hair and went to the front door, which she was holding open.

‘I suppose you realize that –'

‘Get out!' she shouted at him. ‘Get out! Get out!'

Kendrick hadn't been near his old school for upwards of fifteen years, but an appointment in the town and an hour or so to spare before the next train out gave him the chance to walk up and look around.

When he turned in at the gates he expected to see the place swarming with boys, and it took a minute or two to work out the date and to realize that the school had broken up probably yesterday or the day before. You get out of the habit of remembering. There were only two figures in sight and they were gardeners mowing the headmaster's lawn; and there was a solitary lop-eared dog chasing the pigeons around Newcome's Tower.

But it didn't matter much; perhaps it was for the best, Kendrick thought, as he walked in past the porter's lodge and the chapel. Alone like this, without today's hefty youths milling all round, it was easier to think back to what it had been like long ago.

New Field, for instance, where the First XI cricket was played; there didn't seem a blade of grass different. He remembered the one time he'd made a decent score: forty-seven against Stanmore – then that fool Smithfield had called him for a short run. The only occasion he'd ever been near fifty. The number of times he'd raced round the edge of this field, too, nearly late for locking up – there was fire and brimstone if you ran
across
it.

Up there was the window of his last study-dormitory. When it was hot in the evening you could just squeeze yourself out on that tiny balcony and be full in the sun. The setting sun struck fire from the window today; he wondered who inhabited that room now, whether the iron bed still had one leg shorter than the other three so that you had to wedge it so as not to rock in your sleep. And Sellers Quad; the dismal parades there as a new boy; the Stinks Lab on the other side.

The formative years, they were supposed to be. Well, well, he didn't know whether they'd formed him much. He'd gone along, free-wheeling most of the time, just getting by, enjoying himself on the whole; but he'd had a lot more fun since. It was piffle to talk about.

The bright shafts of sunlight were casting long shadows between the sham Gothic arches, and it looked to him as he was about to turn away that there was someone standing at the corner of Small Quad. He veered over that way and saw there was.

The odd thing was that the figure had something quite familiar about it, but he scoffed at himself for thinking so. After all these years you didn't suddenly bump into a man who'd … Well, it certainly wasn't one of the boys, anyway. A master probably. Out of the sun it was easier to see.

Rather a big chap in a long dark overcoat and a green felt hat, with a pipe in the corner of his mouth. It seemed nearly like two lifetimes since those days, and as he got closer Kendrick still told himself he was wildly mistaken. Yet why do some men grow up and broaden and go grey and still look exactly unmistakably the same as they do at eighteen? Perhaps it's not so much that they grow middle-aged as that they have been middle-aged all the time. Clamp was such a one. He …