Part 29 (1/2)

'I must tell you something,' said Cooper. 'Maurice told me he feels he's failed the children.'

'Failed? Tell me about it. As a mother, you feel as though you've failed your children every single day.'

Cooper asked about the incident with the Pearsons at the Light House, but Nancy Wharton shook her head firmly.

'It was all sorted out. Just heat-of-the-moment stuff, you know. Once everyone had sobered up, they would have forgotten all about it. No hard feelings.'

'You were closed over Christmas, weren't you?'

'Oh, we always were, every year. It was something Maurice insisted on. He's been a good dad to Kirsten and Eliot. His family is important to him.' She gave a short laugh. 'People were always trying to reserve a table for Christmas dinner, or book a room for a couple of nights. They started phoning and emailing from about Easter onwards. Maurice took a lot of satisfaction in telling them to b.u.g.g.e.r off. He often said that if they were the sort of people who didn't want the company of their own family and friends at Christmas, he was d.a.m.ned if he was going to have them cluttering up the Light House.'

Eliot Wharton followed Cooper out of the hospice. Cooper stopped by the fish pond and waited for him to catch up, wondering whether the young man was upset and was going to accuse him of trying to hara.s.s his father. He remembered Josh Lane telling him how devoted Eliot was to his dad.

When Eliot stood close, Cooper was struck by his size. He must be as tall as Matt, not as broad, but getting that way. He was only seventeen, after all.

'You understand why we want to protect Dad, don't you?' said Eliot quietly.

It was almost an appeal, and it took Cooper by surprise. He experienced one of those moments when he was flung back into the past, to the shocking moment when he heard his own father had died. Those terrible memories still surfaced now and then, surging unexpectedly from the depths, vivid and painful.

'Yes, I understand,' he said.

Eliot nodded, turned and walked back inside. Cooper had to wait for a moment after he'd gone, letting the memory fade, for the pain to sink back into the depths it had come from. For that moment, he'd known exactly what it was like to be Eliot Wharton.

Cooper was bothered by the memories now. Talking to Josh Lane had brought some of it back: the vague awareness of an altercation, Mad Maurice stepping in and sorting it out a an angry mountain one second, a big jolly Santa the next as he placated the Pearsons. People around them laughing in amazement and slapping them on the back as if they'd been awarded a rare honour.

He shook his head as the scene disappeared. He remembered those shadows he'd seen in the smoke. They too had been like figures from the past, flickering through the present in desperate pursuit of some unfinished business. Or perhaps they were seeking something they'd long since lost. Life, love, innocence? Who could say?

But something, somewhere was evading him. He just couldn't see it for the smoke.

23.

Cooper couldn't mistake Gavin Murfin's chestnut-brown Renault Megane hatchback as it arrived in Welbeck Street. Gavin never quite seemed to fit in his car properly, as if he had the driver's seat pushed too far forward towards the steering wheel. As a result, he drove with his fists moving up and down close to his chest, as if he was struggling with the b.u.t.tons of a loosely fitting overcoat.

At that moment, Cooper was on the phone to Liz, trying to placate her.

'No, it's something I have to do. I've know Gavin for years. And he's leaving soon, retiring. You must understand that. It will only be one last time, honest.'

'Well I hope so,' she said. 'We have so much to do, Ben. So much to plan.'

'You can manage without me just this once, can't you?'

'I suppose so.'

'Thanks, love you.'

'Love you too.'

He could tell she wasn't pleased. There was an edge to her voice that he hated to be the cause of.

As he ended the call, he watched Murfin park at the kerb and struggle out of the car, waving cheerily at the window of the house next door. That would be Mrs Sh.e.l.ley, peering from behind her curtain to see who was visiting her tenant.

Cooper remembered Murfin's wife Jean making Gavin go on a diet once. He couldn't imagine how long it had taken her to get him to that stage. There must have been a phenomenal amount of nagging, nudging, hinting and downright bullying going on in the Murfin household. But the result had been a morose and dejected Gavin, who felt life had become pointless, and who could hardly bother coming into work.

'And how do you feel?' Cooper had asked him when he'd heard about the diet.

'I've got no energy. Nothing seems to matter any more. I really don't want to go into the office on a Monday.'

'I suppose you could phone in sick, Gavin.'

'I've used up all my sick days. I'd have to phone in dead.'

Now, Cooper sensed the same degree of dejection under Murfin's increasingly flippant exterior. He knew it was all a facade, a performance to avoid having to be reminded of the fact that his career was rapidly coming to an end.

'I thought we'd go for something to eat,' he said, when Murfin was in the hallway of his flat, making little kissing noises at the cat. 'Unless Jean is expecting you back?'

Murfin straightened up with an almost audible creak.

'No, I was hoping you'd say that. Jean's out at one of her meetings, so I'm left to my own devices, like.'

'The Gate is the nearest place. Is that okay?'

'Suits me. All this business with the Light House has made me hanker after a bit of pub grub. I don't mind what it is, as long as it comes with chips.'

'Let's go, then,' said Cooper.

'But are you sure you're off the leash?' asked Murfin with a sly glance. 'You're the one whose time is spoken for these days. Has Liz not got you booked for something tonight?'

'Don't,' said Cooper.

'You'll have to get used to it, young man. That's what marriage is all about, getting used to the ball and chain.'

'We love each other,' said Cooper. 'And we want to live together and do all those things together that other people do. That's why we're getting married.'

Murfin laughed. 'Of course it is.'

'This is it, Gavin. Being with Liz is my future, what I want for the rest of my life. And I'm very happy about it.'

''Nuff said.'

Cooper led the way out of his flat. Fortunately, his own local was still open. The Hanging Gate was just a couple of streets away across the river. This pub still had the scenic Peak District views on the walls, as well as the same old CDs of sixties and seventies pop cla.s.sics playing in the background. But it also still had Bank's Bitter and Mansfield Pedigree on draught.

The Gate was pretty much a town-centre pub, based on its location. But because it sat outside the main shopping area, it was left off the pub-crawl circuits a and it was certainly beyond the orbit of the Sat.u.r.day-night clubbers, thank G.o.d.

Some of the bars a few hundred yards away in Clappergate and the high street were totally different in style and atmosphere. They were officially known as high-volume vertical drinking establishments. Hardly any chairs or tables were provided for customers, because it was accepted that everyone stood up, crammed shoulder to shoulder, clutching their drinks or resting their gla.s.ses on narrow shelves at chest height, sweating in the heat generated by the ma.s.s of bodies and shouting to each other over the music. Only young people enjoyed drinking in those conditions. The fact that he preferred a genuine local like the Gate sometimes made Cooper wonder whether he was getting middle-aged before his time.

But then he'd be married soon. Pubbing and clubbing would become a distant memory. The future for him held an endless vista of trips to IKEA, Sat.u.r.days spent putting up shelves, Sundays was.h.i.+ng the car.