He laughed. ‘That’s a joke, really, but I do fill in a log.’ He held up a red, stiff-covered notebook which he kept in his pocket. ‘I record the date, distance and place names travelled to every day. Very brief, mind you, no description or stuff like that, otherwise I’d get to need more than one book. It’s my only companion. Every mining engineer has his Level Book. If ever you meet another, just ask him. When there’s black ice in winter, or bitter pouring rain, I go into a public library and read Shakespeare or the Bible. I never look at newspapers. I don’t care what’s going on in the world. They don’t have any news to effect me. They write for themselves, not for us, so I just sit in the library on bad days, reading and keeping warm. They’re my holidays. I never touch booze and I allus manage to stay clean. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but I don’t smell.’
He didn’t.
‘When I’ve walked a long way you might get a whiff of sweat, but that’s natural. In my rucksack I’ve got soap, toothpaste, shaving tackle, deodorant, boot brush and a tie. Not much else, except a pair of opera glasses, a bit of string, a small flashlight and a couple of pencils, a change of underwear and a clean shirt. The only luxury is a slide rule and a book of tables. Usually a bite of grub. When I want a new coat I get one for next to nothing from one of those Oxfam ragshops.’
He sounded more cheerful. ‘So you see, it’s a healthy life. Plenty of exercise, fresh air, always something interesting in the view, or in people I meet. I never pass anyone without a good-day, and I don’t care whether or not they answer. If they don’t, that’s their problem. I don’t often accept rides like this, but when I got into that layby back there I was feeling a bit weary after walking from Leamington. It’s not unusual for me to hike thirty miles a day when I’m in the mood, which isn’t bad for a bloke turned sixty. Perhaps you chaps who work for your living think I’m sponging on the social system, but I did my share of work up to the age of fifty, and in all conscience it’s not very much of the world’s resources I consume.’
I was icy at the back of the neck. We were beyond Bromsgrove, but neither of us had mentioned any need to stop there. His story put such a decision out of my mind because the fact was, I knew him well. He was the man who had sold his house at Farnsfield through me when I was working as an estate agent’s runabout in Nottingham. I had done a bit of fiddling because several buyers were after it, out of which he got an extra few hundred pounds. He generously gave me a hundred and fifty, but I was given the push from the estate agents, Pitch and Blenders, because they found out about it. However, I used the money to buy an old banger and finance my coming to London, so this tramp in my car was responsible for me being where I was and doing what I was doing — which was giving him a lift while ferrying Moggerhanger’s loot to Peppercorn Cottage. Even Blaskin wouldn’t believe me if I told him, and he’s a novelist.
His name was Arthur Clegg, and I’d spent a couple of days helping him clear up his house after the contracts had been exchanged. We’d had fry-ups when we got hungry, and played draughts while a Handel oratorio blasted out of the gramophone. The valuable half-hunter gold watch in my pocket was none other than one I had pilfered from a chest of drawers. I later gave it to that elderly dropout Almanack Jack who came to live at Upper Mayhem, so that with a little red flag and a gold braided cap, which Bridgitte put together for him, he could play at being station master. When he kicked the bucket from a heart attack I got it back, and had carried it in my waistcoat ever since.
Such a long tale had exhausted him. ‘I don’t know why I went on so long.’
We were intersecting the M5 and heading for Kidderminster at ten minutes past eleven. ‘I’m glad you did. You may find this hard to believe, but we’ve been acquainted before.’
His hand twitched on the back of the seat. ‘It seems unlikely, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘It’s true, all the same.’
A liveliness came into his voice. ‘Well, I do detect a trace of the old Nottingham in your accent. It’s barely noticeable, but I would say you hail from Beeston — or somewhere near.’
‘You’re spot on. The fact is, Mr Clegg, I was the estate agent’s assistant who sold your house at Farnsfield. We practically ran an auction on the matter. Remember?’
During the two-minute silence I could almost hear the wheels of his rusty mind working at top speed. ‘Michael Cullen?’
‘The same.’
‘If ever I lost my memory, I’d do myself in.’ Another minute went by. ‘I don’t particularly know why, but I have occasionally thought of you during the last twelve years and wondered how you’d got on.’ He came out of his sombre mood and chuckled. ‘You lit off to London, then?’
‘On the money I made out of you.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘A hundred and fifty pounds was a lot more then than it is now. I had a bit besides, so I bought a car.’
‘What are you doing in this Rolls-Royce?’
‘I’m a chauffeur.’
He tut-tutted. ‘You haven’t come very far.’
I wanted to stop and throw the old sod out. Who was he to condemn me for the balls-up I’d made of my life? Instead, I unhooked my watch — his watch — and swung it back to him. ‘That’s yours. I stole it when I was helping you to pack up your household belongings.’
I was left holding it. His face in the mirror was lantern-jawed, moustached and grey-eyed. He had wrinkled skin and a mardy mouth.
‘Take the thing, then.’
‘I don’t want to,’ he said.
‘Must be worth a hundred quid.’
‘I’m flabbergasted.’
‘So am I.’
‘It’s not surprising.’
The road was narrow and full of curves.
‘My arm’s aching. I don’t like driving with one hand.’
He switched on a light before clicking the back of the watch open. ‘You’re right. My initials are on it. I suppose I ought to thank you for keeping it safe. The other watch I had was stolen in hospital, so I’ll never see that again. I’m glad to see this one, though. It belonged to my father.’
I’d have to buy a new one. ‘I’m sorry I nicked it.’
‘So am I.’ I didn’t expect him to be grateful. ‘I suspected you at the time,’ he said, ‘but we’d been so friendly I couldn’t believe it. You’d better stop this car, and set me down.’
I shouldn’t have been, but I was annoyed at him not saying what a good chap I was for giving his watch back, and the idea of him leaving me in this frame of mind didn’t suit me at all. I hadn’t thought about the Green Toe Gang for half an hour, or worried about the priceless goods I was hijacking in the boot. I patted Dismal on the head. At least he loved me. ‘I can’t let you go like this.’
I heard his friendly and open laugh. ‘Are you trying to Shanghai me?’
‘I’m offering you a job,’ I said, without thinking.
‘That sounds like Michael Cullen of the old days. If I remember, you worked a bit for me, didn’t you? I always thought you had flair, and would go a long way.’
‘I’m a bit more than a chauffeur,’ I said. ‘I’m a courier, really, and in the boot there’s a cargo worth a lot of money. I’m moving it from one place to another and I need somebody to be with me for a few days, as a sort of driver’s mate. It’s a temporary and non-pensionable post, but I’ll pay you ten quid a day starting from this morning.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Oh bollocks.’ I was fed up with his sanctimonious presence. To our right, beyond Kidderminster, stretched the gloom of Wyre Forest.
‘I suppose swearing is the only way you know of being serious,’ he said. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, Michael. There’s a lot to be said for the stiff upper lip, by which I mean not saying anything, and especially not swearing the minute it comes into your mind. You’re a man of too much substance to let yourself be carried away so easily.’