Beneath The Skin Episode 41

Walt hated this. Mouse wasn’t really hearing him. She hadn’t even clocked his rucksack leaning against the railings. “Why don’t you come here, to the home?” she said. “They’ve left a policewoman here – she’s co-ordinating the search.”

He didn’t reply, just signed off with a mumbled goodbye and replaced the receiver. “Right, kid. I’m going to ring Mrs P and then I’m going to... go.”

William’s face crumpled. “I want to go too. I hate being a kid.”

“Yeah, it sucks, but it won’t last long.” He was already dialling Mrs Petrauska’s number.

Mrs Petrauska arrived with a Tupperware box of vanilla pastries, as if she’d been sitting waiting for the call for hours. She was the sort of person who loved a good emergency.

“I told her zis would happen.” She touched her smooth brow with the back of her hand. “A tragedy.”

“Not yet.” Walt waved her into a chair. “Help yourself to tea or whatever. I’m going.”

“I have my own chamomile.” She patted her coat pocket. “You go to search? They are lucky to have you, a soldier. So lucky!”

He swerved away from her smile. He met William’s eyes as he took a last look around the kitchen. “Be good, kid.”

He’d d um p e d the Bergen beside Shackleton, out in the hall. He grabbed it on the way past and let himself out silently into the daylight. The breeze was cool on his heated face. The rain had paused, but he could still smell it in the air.

He shouldered the pack, paused to light a cigarette, shielding the flame of his lighter from a sudden nip of cold air, eyes narrowing as the breeze whipped his own smoke back at him. He wondered where the police would search first. Probably the park, the banks of the river; all the places that would be most dangerous for an old guy in a state of confusion. He breathed out a ragged plume of smoke and set off in the opposite direction.

As he walked, his thoughts turned to William’s collection, to the black box. Not your business now. Let it go.

He thought about the strange collection of photographs. We don’t talk about Uncle Coby. Only someone was still talking about

Uncle Coby. An old man, wandering lost and alone in the big city. He arrived at Waverley as the first peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. Was there safety in numbers?

He joined the melee, and the thunder became lost in the underground rumbling of trains. He blended in, one of many guys in faded denim with rucksacks and grim expressions.

Like them, he stared at the departure screens and prayed for a sense of direction. Somewhere near the rafters, a precise, female voice announced the train departures: “The next train to depart platform 19 is the 11.24 to Dundee, stopping at Haymarket, Cupar and Leuchars.” Dundee would do.

He automatically checked his left sock. The two twenties Alys had given him a few days earlier were still there, tucked in for safekeeping. Any wages had been erratic, but welcome. He had a stash of notes folded inside his boxers, but had no idea how long he needed that to last. Finding a job and a room in Edinburgh had been pure luck, and he doubted that luck would hold out. But there were hills above Dundee; if necessary he would buy a tent and hole up. He couldn’t look beyond that.

A woman dragging a tiny suitcase on wheels banged into him, and he did that thing of apologising, even though he was the stationary one. He stepped back, realising he’d been staring at the departure screen for an unnaturally long time. His rucksack snagged on something. He apologised again, turned, and there was Galen. They both made surprised noises, and the pharmacist cleared his throat. “Oh. Are you looking for Maura’s father?” “Are you?”

“Um, well, she phoned me about it, of course, but I’m afraid I’m off to a conference today. In York.”

Walt nodded, waiting for him to notice the rucksack. The guy was wearing the same sludge-coloured suit, with a slight flare to the trouser leg. His beard looked freshly cropped, and he was wearing rimless spectacles.

Mouse had told him a funny thing about the glasses: they had a language all of their own. Perched on the end of his nose, he was waspish; on top of his head, distracted.

If he took them off and chewed the leg, he was leading up to something.

Galen took off his glasses and peered at Walt with eyes that matched his sludgecoloured appearance. Even his greying hair and beard carried a faint sandy hue.

“Are you going somewhere? Leaving in a hurry?”

The rucksack had been spotted. No hiding from Galen. Wa l t grunted something, and the guy tapped his front teeth with the tip of one spectacle leg. What did that mean?

“It’s a strange time to take off, isn’t it?” he persisted.

“I’m going to visit a friend. In the north.” “Must be important, with Maura in the fix she’s in.”

“Must be an important conference.” “It is.” He bit down on the hard plastic. “Look, it’s none of my business, um, Walter, but I wouldn’t like to see Maura taken advantage of.”

“Me neither.” Walt looked him squarely in the eye.

The tannoy clicked and whined: “The next train to arrive at platform 10 is the 11.15 to York.”

“Ah, that’s me.” Galen hesitated, replacing his spectacles and checking for his ticket in the breast pocket of his jacket. “So where are you going, in the north?”

Walt glanced up at the board above the platform barriers. “Helensburgh.” “That’s west.”

“North-west.”

Galen tipped his glasses to the end of his nose. “Well, you’d better go. That’s your train, about to depart.”

“Plenty time. You’d better hurry though. Isn’t platform ten across the other side?” “Is it?”

“Yeah, you don’t want to be late for your conference.”

“The train now arriving at platform ten is...”

“Oh, gosh.” Galen hitched up his briefcase and straightened his tie. He looked about to say something else, but instead hurried off with a mumbled goodbye. He was a man struggling with Something That Doesn’t Add Up. Walt gave a grim smile.

More tomorrow.

As he walked, his thoughts turned to William’s collection, to the black box. Not your business now. Let it go