– In half a mile, said Emma, bearing slightly left at the roundabout. Take first exit.
She had an answer for everything, that woman.
13
– Proceed for about two miles on the current road.
I was driving now past the old Longbridge factory. Or rather, I was driving now past the gaping hole in the landscape where the old Longbridge factory used to be. It was a weird experience: when you revisit the landscapes of your past, you expect to see maybe a few cosmetic changes, the odd new building here and there, the occasional lick of paint, but this was something else – an entire complex of factory buildings which used to dominate the whole neighbourhood, stretching over many square miles, throbbing with the noise of working machinery, alive with the figures of thousands of working men and women entering and leaving the buildings – all gone. Flattened, obliterated. And meanwhile, a big billboard erected in the midst of these swathes of urban emptiness informed us that, before too long, a phoenix would be rising from the ashes: a ‘major new development’ of ‘exclusive residential units’ and ‘retail outlets’ was on its way – a utopian community where the only things people would ever have to concern themselves with were eating, sleeping and shopping: no need to work any more, apparently, none of that tiresome stuff about clocking in at factory gates in order to do anything as vulgar as making things. Had we all lost our wits in the last few years? Had we forgotten that prosperity has to be based on something, something solid and tangible? Even to someone like me, who had done nothing more than skim the papers and the news websites over the last couple of weeks, it was pretty obvious that we were getting it badly wrong, that knocking down factories to put up shops wasn’t turning out to be such a great idea any more, that it wasn’t sensible to build an entire society on foundations of air.
– Proceed for about three-quarters of a mile on the current road.
I noticed that it was no longer necessary to drive through Northfield: they had found the money to build a new by-pass, so new in fact that even Emma didn’t seem to know about it. She became thoroughly confused as I weaved my way through its traffic lights and roundabouts, although once again, I had to admire the way that even as she gave contradictory pieces of advice and recalculated furiously, her tone remained completely unflappable. What a woman. Selly Oak provided her with no such problems, and she guided me expertly down Harborne Lane and Norfolk Road, all the way to the Hagley Road. I arrived there not long after three o’clock, and checked in to the Quality Hotel Premier Inn, where the single rooms cost little more than £40 a night, well within Alan Guest’s budget. The room wasn’t very big, and it didn’t have a very nice view, but it was comfortable. I was on the first floor, at the back. There was a kettle and a couple of sachets of Nescafé so I made myself a coffee and lay on the bed for thirty minutes or so, recovering from my drive. I felt a bit lonely and thought about phoning Lindsay, but decided to leave it until the evening.
Mr and Mrs Byrne weren’t expecting me for another hour and a half. There was just time to drive to King’s Norton and visit the churchyard there, so that’s what I did. My mum’s grave was in good shape. I bought some flowers from the local Tesco Express and leaned them up against the headstone. I didn’t have a vase or anything like that. Barbara Sim, 1939–1985 was all it said. Dad had wanted to keep the wording simple, or so he had told me at the time. Forty-six years old. I was already older than that. I had outlived my own mother. And yet it seemed to me that it would take many more years before I ever felt as grown-up as my mother had always seemed to me. She had been twenty-two when I was born. Her final twenty-four years of life had been spent bringing me up, seeing me through into adulthood, and in that time she had devoted herself to me, selflessly. She had given me unconditional love. She may not have been that clever, she may not have had a fantastic education, she may not have understood my father’s poetry (neither did I, for that matter), but emotionally she had been wise beyond her years. Perhaps circumstances had forced her to be like that, or perhaps it was just that her generation, living always in the shadow of the war, somehow managed to grow up faster than mine did. Whatever the reason, I felt humbled now (yes, that really is the word – no other will do) to think what a great mother she had been. She made my own attempts at parenthood look pathetic.
1939–1985. It wasn’t enough. We should have written something else on her headstone, something more.
What, though?
‘She was a lovely woman, your mum. Donald and I always thought so. Hardly a day goes by when we don’t talk about her.’
Mrs Byrne finished pouring milk into my tea and added a couple of spoonfuls of sugar, as requested. I noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. The onset of Parkinson’s, maybe? I picked up the tray of tea things and followed her back into the conservatory.
‘This is very intriguing,’ said Mr Byrne. He was examining the IP 009, holding it up to the failing afternoon light and scrutinizing it from every angle. ‘What’s your target? How many are you hoping to sell?’
‘She was always a delight to talk to. Made any social occasion go with a swing,’ said Mrs Byrne. She was still talking about my mother. I had noticed that it was difficult to keep a conversation going with Mr and Mrs Byrne, because they always talked about two completely different topics simultaneously.
‘Well, that’s not really the idea,’ I said (to Mr Byrne). ‘It’s not about how many I manage to sell. It doesn’t matter if I don’t sell any at all this week.’
This was true, up to a point. Guest Toothbrushes already had relationships with most of the major pharmaceutical retailers – including the supermarkets – and orders were usually taken in bulk, online or over the telephone. However, Alan had still told me that, were I to chance upon any independent outlets, I should take the opportunity to drop in and show them some of the merchandise. This was one aspect of my journey that I wasn’t looking forward to. It was a long time since I had done any cold-calling.
‘It’s a beautiful piece of design, all right,’ he said. ‘We should really get a couple of these ourselves.’
‘Oh, well, in that case,’ I said, reaching inside my jacket pocket to produce another one, ‘take these as a gift. Please. With the compliments of Guest Toothbrushes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, that’s splendid. Isn’t that splendid, Sue?’
Mrs Byrne nodded abstractedly, but her mind was on other things. First of all she handed out the cups of tea and the home-made scones, and then she said, ‘So you have to drive all the way to Aberdeen?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, you should really call in on Alison. She’d love to see you.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Sue,’ Mr Byrne said, tutting. ‘He doesn’t have time to call on Alison. Tell me, Max, is Harold renting out the flat in Lichfield now? Because we haven’t been up to check on it for a number of years, and the last time we spoke to him, that’s what he said he was intending to do.’
‘Well, I really don’t see why not,’ said Mrs Byrne. ‘Even if he just dropped in for a cup of tea, that would be something, and surely he will be going right through Edinburgh if he has to get to Aberdeen.’
‘I don’t believe Dad’s rented it out,’ I said to Mr Byrne; and then, turning to his wife: ‘I think there’s a ring road, so I won’t actually be going through the centre.’