Part 26 (2/2)

She goes back into the room for her slippers by the bed.

I go after her and grab hold of her arm, probably too hard.

She looks afraid of me.

'There isn't time,' I say. 'You have to see to him before it's too late.'

He might not be dead.

'You have to go now.'

She goes fast up the stairs and I watch her till she's out of sight then take my key from the hook and leave.

The air's cool, the first frosty morning for a long time. Summer's ended.

When I reach the water's edge, I look out at the horizon and walk in the sand towards the pier. There are two orange lights from fis.h.i.+ng boats out at sea and I don't want to be seen by the fishermen if they come in.

I go back to the promenade wall and get a bit warmer under the light from the street lamps, but I've got that thirst again.

I'll go now to the train station.

There's a phone booth by the main entrance and I step inside. I think I'm only going in for some warmth. It's cold with only a s.h.i.+rt on but, once I'm inside, I put the coin in and call.

The phone rings a long time. At last, an answer.

It's my father.

'h.e.l.lo,' I say. 'It's Patrick.'

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Dad, I think I've done something stupid.'

'h.e.l.lo? I can't hear you.'

'Dad, it's Patrick.'

'h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo?'

'I can hear you,' I say. 'Can you hear me now? Is Mum there? Can you please put her on?' He's hung up. I try again. My mother answers.

'It's five o'clock in the morning,' she says. 'Who is this?'

'h.e.l.lo, Mum. It's me. It's Patrick.'

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Mum?' I shout now. 'It's me. I need to talk to you.' She hangs up.

I don't know if she's heard or not and I've no more coins to put in the phone.

The buffet's closed and the waiting room's open but there's n.o.body here to help me and the drink machine's out of order. There's a handwritten sign on the front and the word THIS has been crossed out and someone's replaced it with the word TIME. It says: TIME MACHINE IS OUT OF ORDER and I stare at it for a while before I know what it means and I've got a sickness in my gut. I leave the station, go down the main street.

There's n.o.body out, only the newspaper man in his white van and a street sweeper. All the shops are closed.

I go past the cafe and look in and see the empty tables and say Georgia's name and I'd give anything for her to come now, to see her standing inside.

I want life to go back where I had it before.

Night's become day and my feet and hands are cold. I've not thought what I'll do. I've got no plan.

I check my wallet and all my pockets for money. I've not got much, twenty-eight quid, enough for a train journey, a night somewhere, maybe enough to clear a hundred miles. I could do a runner, find work in a garage in a far away city or on the continent. I should've packed a bag, should've got my toolkit.

I go fast in the direction of the station and see there's a motel across the road. It's called The Comfort Inn, and there's a yellow sign with plain black letters that say: Budget-TV-Weekly Rates-Daily.

That's where I need to go, just for a day to get my head in order, but I've not even got as far as crossing the road when there's a car pulled up beside me. I didn't even hear its engine, didn't see it coming.

It's the police.

The cop driving is in uniform and the cop on the pa.s.senger's side is in plain clothes and he winds his window down. I expect he'll get out to talk to me, but he just brings the window down and speaks to me through the gap.

'Are you Patrick?'

'Yeah.'

There'll be no going back.

Welkin's dead.

'Get in.'

I get in.

The uniform cop starts driving and the plain-clothes copper turns to me.

'I'm Sergeant Middleton,' he says, 'and this is PC Davies.'

Middleton's in his fifties. The copper, Davies, is about the same age as me.

'What's happened?' I ask.

'Were you in the bedroom of Mr Ian Welkin this morning?'

'Yeah,' I say. 'What's happened?'

'He's dead,' says PC Davies.

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