Give them enough rope, was what we used to say, but ‘Let’s see who kills whom next,’ was how Elizabeth actually put it.
It felt to me like everyone there knew a part of the picture, but no one knew all of it, and I suppose that is what Elizabeth is banking on.
So now we wait. Let them tear each other apart, and see what secrets fall out of their pockets while they do it.
Afterwards Elizabeth told me she is going to be out of circulation for a couple of days. Uncontactable. She says she has business to attend to, and perhaps she does.
Her business is not my business, and of course we all need a bit of privacy from time to time. Especially round here. We can sometimes be in each other’s pockets a little, which I know is not everyone’s cup of tea. I like it. I like to be around people. I like to chat, and I don’t really mind about what.
But Elizabeth is different, and I have learned to respect that. To give her a bit of space, and resist the temptation to spy. That said, I saw out of my window that Anthony the hairdresser was heading into her block the other day, and, as he always makes a point of telling us, he never makes house calls, so something must be going on. I might take the scenic route when I walk to the shop later, just to see if her curtains are drawn. That will tell its own story.
Why was Anthony going into Elizabeth’s? Knowing her, she’s probably off to the Palace. Meeting the King, getting a medal. They do that for spies all the time. Not so much for nurses. I swear though, if she meets King Charles without telling me first, I will have something to say about it. A friend of Gerry was once invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. He was head of the Rotary Club or something, and they’d raised some money for a hospice. Anyway, he didn’t go, because he was playing golf. Can you imagine?
I think the Queen and I would have got on. She reminded me a lot of Elizabeth. A bit more approachable maybe.
But with Elizabeth out of reach, I find myself at a loose end, and I’m not always great with being at a loose end. I can potter around the house for a bit, watch a Bargain Hunt with Alan. But sooner or later I need something to do, and someone to do it with. With Gerry it was easy: I could help him with the crossword, or tell him what I thought about something or other. I often tell Alan what I’m thinking about something or other, and it works very nicely until you catch yourself doing it.
Perhaps I could work with the boys on their romance-fraud plan for a couple of days? I could offer them a woman’s eye. Though, according to Ron, Ibrahim is very capable of writing messages that would make ‘a docker blush’.
They’ll know that Elizabeth is out of bounds too, so they won’t be surprised to see me. I’ll bake them something.
Perhaps I should go to see Mervyn too? I wonder how he is? We’ve slightly been avoiding each other, staggering our dog walks. Sometimes Alan sees Rosie out of the window and he loses his mind. Starts rolling around and showing his belly. He really reminds me of myself sometimes.
I’m looking out of the window right now, over to where I saw Anthony’s car parked. One of the guest bays. And I do know what you’re thinking – I promise, I’m not a fool. I know why he was really there.
We buried Snowy the other day – I haven’t mentioned it, what with everything. He’s the fox with the white-tipped ears who rules the roost around here when we all go to sleep. Bogdan had dug Snowy a grave, ‘nice and deep, so no one can touch him’. Not the first grave Bogdan has dug recently, so he knows a thing or two about them. Watching Bogdan dig a grave is one of the few things that could change my mind about wanting to be cremated when I die.
Bogdan and Stephen had found Snowy last weekend. Now he’s in a biodegradable wicker basket, which people laid white flowers on.
There was a surprisingly big turn-out. I think we all thought he was our own special secret, but, once the details were put up on the noticeboard, half the village turned out to pay their respects. They all knew him by different names, ‘Lucky’, ‘Tippy’, ‘Moonlight’, all sorts of things. The name ‘Snowy’ had come from Stephen. I always used to call him ‘Mr Fox’, so perhaps I lack imagination. Joanna always says that I do.
A recently widowed woman from Ruskin Court called him ‘Harold’, and she was one of many people in tears as we sang a hymn and laid him to rest.
Anyway, to my point, among the mourners, out in public for the first time since goodness knows when, was Stephen.
He and Elizabeth walked up to the allotment, arm in arm, and Stephen said his hellos to the congregation. Everyone was ‘old chum’, ‘old friend’, ‘chief’. Ibrahim gave him a hug, and Stephen smiled with joy and called him Kuldesh.
Ron rather formally shook his hand; he finds hugs hard. Stephen took one look at Ron’s tattoos and said, ‘West Ham man, eh? Better watch out for you,’ and then Ron gave him a hug too. When he met me he said, ‘It’s Joyce. There she is.’
Anyway, it felt like Elizabeth was allowing us to say our goodbyes. Certainly when I hugged him, I didn’t want to let go.
And, of course, Stephen’s hair was immaculate.
So, yes, I am not entirely a fool. I know in my heart that Anthony was there to see Stephen. And that Elizabeth is ‘out of circulation’ for the next few days because they are off to take Stephen to a home where he might be looked after properly. She is finally going to let him go. She should have done it months ago, and she knows that, but, while you have something to cling on to, you cling on. I wonder what has made her change her mind? Are they able to discuss it?
Anthony had done a lovely job. Elizabeth just wants Stephen looking at his best. Wherever he is going, Elizabeth will want him to make a good impression, make people understand how special he is, and how loved he is.
I don’t know how they will cope apart. Stephen will enter a new world, of course, but his walls closed in long ago now. Elizabeth loves him so utterly, and is loved by him so utterly, and that is being stolen from her.
I hope she finds him somewhere nearby, where she can visit often. The two of them will have talked it through, as much as they are able. Love always finds a language. Elizabeth hasn’t come to ask me for help or advice, and I understand that completely. I know from experience that grief rides alone.
I cannot begin to imagine what Elizabeth is going through. Perhaps she feels that Stephen has already left. Perhaps that is where they are. It’s between the two of them, and all I know is that I will be there for her. That’s all I have to give.
They say that time softens the pain, but that’s a fairy tale. Who would ever love again if anyone actually told the truth? I’m afraid there are some days when I could still rip out my own heart and weep myself hollow for Gerry. Some days? Every day. That’s the journey my best friend has just begun.
So forgive me if, for just a while longer, I choose to imagine that Elizabeth is going to the Palace to see the King.
55
Ron was expecting the ring on his doorbell. Could have timed it almost to the second.
Elizabeth is away for a couple of days, so Ron knows it must be Joyce. At a loose end, certainly, and, hopefully, with cake. He leaves Ibrahim and Computer Bob to their work, and buzzes her in.
‘It will be Joyce, and she will have cake, Bob,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘Where is Elizabeth anyway?’ Ron asks them, door held open for Joyce’s arrival.
Ibrahim shrugs. ‘Shooting someone?’
Joyce appears at the top of the stairs, with a Tupperware box. Alan trots behind her, sniffing for adventure.
‘Coconut and raspberry,’ she says, lifting the box in offering. ‘Hello, boys.’
Bob stands as she walks into the flat.