Part 9 (2/2)

I recalled one Friday afternoon. I was in school back in Recovery, Missouri. A couple dozen other kids and I were kind of listening to our teacher. I say kind of listening, because we were absorbing rather than attending hypnotised, I guess you'd call it, literally spellbound while Miss Ellie read: Many things Nokomis taught him Of the stars that s.h.i.+ne in heaven; Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs ...

Bada bada, bada bada as I said the words out loud, I tingled with a toxic mix of good and bad emotions, of shameful memories. I was taunted by my failure to protect the person I most loved. But The Song of Hiawatha and the other poetry I learned by heart while I was still in elementary school sure did me a lot of good because it helped me to escape, to block the b.a.s.t.a.r.d out. Now I wanted someone who could say those comforting, familiar words with me.

So did I want Ben?

No. Ben hated Hiawatha, called it sentimental, racist, pseudo-liberal trash. He said it was a punishment to read it and such garbage should be banned. If Longfellow had been alive today, said Ben, he would have been an adman, writing jingles for suppositories.

Lexie?

No. I didn't want my wife. If I'd started quoting any poetry at Lex, she would have told me to shut up. I wanted Rosie Denham to be here, looking at these bright white stars with me. I wanted Rosie, period. So, eureka in plain English- 'You okay there, bud?'

A police cruiser stopped behind me and two cops got out. One was short and fat, one tall and thin. They loped toward me looking hard and mean, a practised double act, the one they must have learned in cop school or from Miami Vice.

'What's up?' asked the fat one.

'I had a flat,' I said.

'So you fixed it now?' demanded thin cop.

'Yeah, all fixed.'

'You was gazing up into the sky and kind of rockin', like you was in a trance.'

'You was talkin' to yourself.'

'Or castin' spells.'

'Or communicatin' with an alien civilisation.'

'You some kind of voodoo-hoodoo freak, and we don't mean the brand of bike?'

'We mean like in voodoo-hoodoo-juju, all that stuff?'

'I was just taking five,' I said.

'Okay, so now you took 'em, why don't you head on home?' Fat cop had his right hand on his gun. 'You're not in a meditation centre now ain't no ashrams on the public highway.'

'So you got no call to be here, bayin' at the moon,' said thin cop, fondling his piece.

I remembered Rosie telling me the cops aren't armed in the UK, or they're not routinely, anyway. Rosie would be going back to Britain soon. Rosie should be here with me now.

ROSIE.

'I thought you said your foot was better?' Tess said crossly.

'It still hurts a bit.'

'I think you should go to hospital and get an X-ray. It won't cost you anything, not if you have medical insurance. You do have insurance, don't you?'

'Tess, I can't come out with you today.'

'Why not?'

'I need to do some work.'

'I thought you were on holiday?'

'I am, but I still ought to think about what I'll be doing when I get back to London.'

'Rosie, honeybun, are you okay?' Tess crouched down beside me and laid her cool hand upon my forehead. 'Do you have a temperature?'

'I don't think so,' I replied and turned my laptop screen away so Tess couldn't see what I'd been googling. My goodness, who'd have guessed there'd be so many photographs of Patrick Riley on the web? Brad Pitt, Aidan Turner, eat your livers. At conferences, giving lectures, looking formal in a business suit, looking casual but stylish, I was pleased to note yes, I know I'm shallower than a children's paddling pool in dark jeans and a blue weekend s.h.i.+rt on a reservation near Duluth with a group of smiling, black-haired teenagers what was that about?

'I'm fine,' I added, when she didn't get up.

'Come out with me, then?' she wheedled. Tess was truly brilliant at doing pleading Labrador impressions. It was her superpower. 'I'll take you to this really ace new restaurant for lunch and put it on Ben's card. You must be sick of chicken soup,' she added, with a little twinkle in her eyes.

'Yes, I am a bit.'

'Me too,' she said ruefully. 'It's pretty rubbish, isn't it? Cooking-wise, I take after my mother. Dad calls her Lucrezia Borgia, says it's just as well we've got a chip shop on the corner of our road. Me and all my brothers, we grew up on chips and pies. Let's go out and have a decent lunch that's made by someone who can cook?'

'All right, you've talked me into it.' No more chicken bones and gristle soup for me, hurrah! 'What are we doing this weekend?' I asked.

'Oh, I thought we might invite Professor Riley round. All have dinner Friday evening somewhere nice downtown? Go out Sat.u.r.day or Sunday in a foursome? Bowling, cinema, a concert do you have a preference?'

'Any or all of that's okay with me. I don't know if I could manage bowling, but I don't mind watching you lot.' I shrugged or tried to shrug indifferently.

But it's hard to shrug indifferently when all you want to do is jump up grinning like a loon and punch the air.

A whole weekend!

PATRICK.

'Pat, you made such a song and dance about losing your kids: how you were going to fight me, stop me taking them out of the state and set the FBI on me a whole bunch of crazy stuff like that. But now-'

'What do you mean, I made a song and dance?'

'It's something Stephen says. It means you're moaning, kvetching, just because I've asked you to take care of Joe and Polly for a couple days. My attorney says if you don't want to see your children-'

'Okay, okay, I'll have them.'

'You mean for the whole weekend?'

'Yeah, for the entire, complete weekend. Friday afternoon through Sunday evening, is that what you want? What will you be doing, that's if I'm allowed to ask?'

'We're going to San Francisco. One of Stephen's friends is getting married and partners are invited. It's going to be very smart. Stephen said to go look for a special outfit, has to be designer, and before you say it, he's picking up the tab.'

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