The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (13 page)

He remembered the first time; he’d never forget it. He didn’t even have to say anything; the mother just knew. The look on the policeman’s and policewoman’s faces and the uniform and that familiar conversation

“Mrs Johnson.” “Yes.” “PC Clarke, my colleague, WPC Brown.” “What is it?” “May we come in?” “What’s wrong, where is he?” “May we come in please?” ...and then realisation, the realisation that her son wasn’t in

trouble, wasn’t in a hospital bed. The realisation at that precise moment that her son would never be back home again. Sixteen years old. Knifed in the street in broad daylight.

Why on earth had he volunteered? Sandie, the receptionist, wasn’t smiling today. Something wrong. Before he had a chance to ask her she spoke. “She’s in her office. The police are with her, she’s in a hellish state. I suppose you know?”

Ashley nodded. Without asking he walked through the main office towards the private quarters of Kate Wilkinson. His mobile rang just as he reached her doorway. John Markham. He answered it, didn’t speak.

“Ash, I’m sorry. Roddam wouldn’t have it, told me it needed to be official. He sent two policewomen round to her office within ten minutes.”

“I know, John, I’m there now.” “How’s she taking it?”

“I’ll let you know soon, John. I’m about to walk into her office. I have to go.”

“Ash, I’m sorry, mate, I did try.”

“I know, John. I know you did.”

He pressed end and slipped the phone into his pocket. He didn’t bother to knock, the door was slightly ajar. He gave it a gentle push and made a deliberate movement so that Kate would see him and speak first. A coward’s way out, he thought, but he could live with it for the time being.

The policewomen sat opposite the distraught woman. He recognised the younger, dark-haired girl to his left: Paula. He’d noticed her in the station a few times; she seemed quite friendly, a popular member of the team, attractive. The older policewoman had a look on her face that said she’d seen it all before and wanted to get back to the station.

She spoke first.

“Hi, I take it you’re Ashley Clarke?”

Ashley nodded.

“Officer Markham said you’d be on your way.”

Kate stood up. Her whole body shook. It looked as if her legs would give way as she walked towards Ashley.

“I knew this moment would come, Ashley, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

She fell into his open arms and he held her tight. Paula tugged at the sleeve of her colleague and two or three quick eye signals between the two policewomen and the ex-policeman confirmed that his ex-colleagues’ task had been completed and the grieving mother would prefer to be left in the company of a friend without a uniform.

Ashley Clarke stayed with Kate Wilkinson for the rest of the day and drove her home in her car just after six.

He’d pick his own car up in the morning; his car and, likely, a couple of parking tickets. Kate mentioned her address as they left the city centre: Darras Hall Estate, near Ponteland. Land of the rich and famous, he’d called it before he left for London all those years ago. This dating business must pay, he thought to himself.

They sat in an awkward silence for most of the journey save for an occasional sniff from Kate or a dab of the eyes with a paper tissue. Twice Ashley tried to make small talk, comfort her, but quickly gave up. He figured she was better left alone with her thoughts during the thirty-minute drive north.

The streets at Darras Hall were as impressive as he remembered as a youngster, and Kate Wilkinson’s house in a small exclusive cul-de-sac at the end of Runnymede Road was simply breathtaking. The house stood in its own grounds and the elegant electronic gates eased gently open after Kate had managed to locate the remote control.

“Park the car over there.” She pointed at the triple garage in the far corner. An elderly gardener pottered around with a wheelbarrow at the bottom of a beautifully manicured lawn, the size of a small football pitch.

“Would you like a cup of tea…” she hesitated,” or something stronger?”

He wanted something stronger… sure. But figured the time, the place and the company weren’t quite right. He cast his eye over the façade of the house.

“No, Kate, I need to get back, I’ve a few things to do.”

He made his apologies and left. He stopped off at the Blackbird public house on the edge of the estate for something stronger and called a cab.

* * *

Ashley, as arranged, turned up at the rented flat on Chillingham Road, Heaton, to assist Kate with the unenviable task of ‘breaking up’ her son’s home as she put it. Ashley stood outside Number 320 for a good fifteen minutes before Kate arrived apologising profusely, blaming the city traffic.

“So sorry, Ash, getting through Jesmond at this time of day is just impossible.”

It was eleven in the morning. Rush hour had long gone and Ashley looked over Kate’s shoulder down Chillingham Road which was almost deserted. She’d been putting the grim task off. Who could blame her, who could blame a mother for not rushing to her dead son’s house to dismantle his personal belongings.

“The funeral’s on Friday, Ash,” she said, as she handed Ashley the front door key and beckoned him with a rapid eye movement and a tilt of the head to open the door.

“We need to get it over with and then I can put it all behind me. The funeral and, er… this.”

Ashley didn’t answer. He inserted the key in the door and gave a gentle push. Two months of junk mail, advertising flyers for pizza houses, joiners and new businesses as well as normal post blocked his path. He kicked the pile to one side and eased open the door. Kate sighed as she looked at the pile of rubbish.

“To tell you the truth, Ash, I’ve done most of my mourning over the last two months. I knew he was dead, just knew a few days after he hadn’t called. It was an awful feeling… just awful and yet a feeling I can’t describe. I remember ringing the police one night at midnight begging them to take me seriously. I just knew something awful was happening to him. The feeling persisted for around four hours. I never slept a wink.”

She picked up a handful of papers, took a quick look and then cast them into the corner of the small passageway.

“And then the feeling passed…as quickly as it came…and then I knew.”

Ashley knew exactly what she meant. He’d read about these extraordinary moments many times: a sibling on the other side of the world predicting the exact time and circumstances of the death of a brother or sister. He’d experienced a similar event when at twenty-one years of age he broke a leg playing football. His twin sister had called their mother within minutes of the accident and complained of pains in her right leg. The same leg that Ashley had shattered. A compound fracture of the tibia and fibula.

The inexplicable.

He knelt down and sifted through a few papers.

“Bills mostly, Kate. Bills and bank statements and of course all the usual junk stuff.” He held up some free papers and a brown envelope with Northern Electric emblazoned across the front. “They all have to be written to, I’m afraid, and settled. A person’s debt doesn’t die with them, contrary to popular opinion.”

Kate frowned.”No?”

“I’m afraid not. The estate becomes liable.”

Kate knelt down, made eye contact with Ashley.

“That’s the least of my problems, Ashley. I’ll sort it. The dating game pays well, you know.”

Ashley thought back to the previous day and her house at Darras Hall.

“We’ve over four thousand members now, all paying between twenty-five and fifty pounds a month depending on their

activity.”

Ashley did the calculations quickly in his head.

“We cover the whole of the North of England and some of Scotland too.”

She took the Northern Electric envelope from him.

“So the likes of this isn’t a problem.”

Ashley sifted through a few more.

“Nevertheless they still have to be paid and written to.” He started separating the important-looking documentation from the junk mail and began placing the brown and white envelopes on the first stair in a neat pile.”I’ll take care of this if you want, Kate. You’ve enough to worry about organising the funeral. I’ll have it sorted by the end of the week. I’ll come over and tell you what cheques need to be written.”

She reached for his hand.”Oh, Ash, would you? That would be great.”

Ashley nodded. “No problem. I’ll see if I can find a couple of carrier bags.”

He began climbing the stairs to the upper flat. He looked back down at Kate who stared up at him like a lost puppy with big, sad, damp eyes.

“You’ll need to go through his personal things, I’m afraid, Kate. Take what you want home with you and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thanks, Ash.” She turned away, “I’ve an old suitcase in the car. I’ll go and get it.”

Within an hour Ashley had filled three bags with rubbish and had a pile of letters, four inches high, neatly stacked on the small dining room table which sat in a corner of the living room. A few minutes later Kate appeared carrying the suitcase. She looked a little guilty as she announced, “This sounds so cold right now, but I really do want to get out of here.” She patted the side of the case.”I’ve everything I want right here. The rest can go. Here’s his laptop computer, Ash. I don’t know if it’s of any use to you but you might as well have it.”

Ashley reached up and took hold of the computer case, placed it on the floor beside him.

The first tear fell.

Kate wandered over to the dining table. Ashley stood up. He had an overwhelming urge to comfort her, to take her in his arms. Why couldn’t he? What was stopping him? For a brief second they just stared at each other and then Kate took a step forward. He felt an almost gravitational pull towards her, something he couldn’t fight.

She sobbed for a full three minutes as Ashley held her close, perversely enjoying the moment. Her smell, each movement, each tiny spasm of her body. It was delicious. He didn’t want to let her go.

And then she composed herself, her grip on him slackened and she pulled away. She stood at arm’s length looking up at him. Her mascara had run down both cheeks and she made a vain attempt to tidy herself up with an already damp tissue.

“Thanks, Ashley, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She leant forward to give him a token kiss, a sign of her appreciation. Ashley leaned forward, their eyes fixed. Those eyes, those gorgeous, deep, emerald pools. And her breath, the heady, sweet smell of her breath as her mouth opened to meet him. He inched closer, as if in slow motion, a puzzled look in her eyes now, those eyes. But no resistance as their lips met. It lasted a split second, half a second at the most; he wanted to stay there longer, he wanted to open his mouth, move his lips the way lovers do, probe gently with his tongue, but by magical mutual consent and exact timing they parted. Half a second, that’s all. Half a second of bliss. She bent down, reached for the suitcase and made her excuses to go. And he noticed that the tears had subsided and a gentle smile had returned to her lips and a sparkle had returned to
those
eyes.

* * *

No time like the present, he thought, ignoring his lifelong motto

of ‘always putting off till tomorrow what can be achieved today’.

He picked up the first letter from his kitchen table: a Vodaphone mobile phone bill £37.61. He checked the last few entries. Nearly all mobile numbers, a few 0191 Newcastle numbers and one or two London numbers too. Conspicuous by its absence was the 01289 code of Holy Island. Perhaps Markham had been right all along. After all, if he’d booked in at the island, he’d need to call wherever it was he was staying.

He jotted the amount and the recipient together with the address of Vodaphone on an A4 piece of paper he would present to Kate when his task was complete. After he’d typed out a five-line letter to the company on his laptop, he walked through to the combined fax and photocopier in the lounge and photocopied the bill. He returned and sat back down at the table. He sighed… only another twenty-nine to go.

Three hours later he picked up the final document. A bank statement: Barclays Haymarket Branch. He copied and pasted the now familiar reply and placed the name
Mrs K Wilkinson
at the bottom of the page. He picked up the statement, walked through to the photocopier again. He checked the balance: £2,701 in credit. No other bank account, no building society book or any other form of savings. Not much to show for twenty years, Ashley thought to himself. He smiled. That was Tom though.
The sun will still shine tomorrow.

He lived life in easy street. He’d pull a few quid together, pack a bag and set off on his travels. England, Scotland, Europe, the Far East, New Zealand, it didn’t really matter. Tom had seen more of the world in his all too short existence than the next man if he lived to be a hundred. Bizarrely Ash was jealous. Fifteen years in London, a couple of trips to Ibiza and a few European games with Newcastle United. Jealous of a dead man.

He opened the cover and placed the statement face down, pressed
copy
. The machine whirred into action and when it stopped he lifted the cover to remove the document. His task was complete. He checked the entries on the statement as he wandered back through to the kitchen.