Page 49 of The Promise of Tomorrow
‘Nothing here either, in theManchester Evening News,’ said Elena. ‘Only a mention of the police having interviewed the stall holders and the fair’s owner.’
‘But that local piece does mention the fair’s name, in small italics, under that photo of the stalls,’ said Rory. ‘Fletcher’s Fair.’
‘Fletcher must be his surname then!’ said Gayle.
Elena’s hand shook as she googled Fletcher’s Fair. A website came up! A photo of Jimmy! Oh, but it hadn’t been updated for years. ‘There is a contact email address,’ she said. ‘It’s worth a shot. Looks like a personal one. He might still use it, even if he’s closed or sold the business.’ She beamed at Gayle. ‘This is a great start. You’re a superstar. I’m one step nearer to getting answers.’
Gayle’s cheeks glowed as the three of them explored the website and spotted a couple of photos on the gallery page of Bridgwich Common. She made another coffee and insisted on putting together a plate of sandwiches. They trawled the internet once more, looking for Jimmy on social media, but didn’t come across any profiles that fitted.
Rory wiped his mouth and stood up. ‘Right. Loft ahoy! Let’s get that Christmas tree down.’
‘I’m having a birthday party next week,’ said Elena, looking at Rory. He winked. ‘I’d love it if you came, Gayle.’
She pushed herself up from the armchair and her eyes shone. ‘Fantastic! I don’t get much opportunity to wear my party dresses these days. Count me in. I’ll get my hair done. Right. Enough of the detective work, then. Let’s go find my Alf’s pal, Skinny Gingy.’
31
RORY
Rory pulled up on the drive. It was ten days to Elena’s birthday. She still hadn’t received a response to the email she’d sent Jimmy Fletcher as soon as they’d got home from Gayle’s on Monday, a couple of nights ago. Rory yawned. Last night had been a late one too. He’d gone to his apartment to check on the building work, found a few minor issues and had to list them in an email to his builder. The renovation work end date had run over by a week but was now on target to be reached by the weekend after next, very close to Christmas. Then tonight he’d just got back from an after-work, midweek kayaking trip. He’d been to the artificial whitewater centre several times in the last year and it was good catching up with the people he’d kayaked with before. But this time his heart hadn’t been in the actual sport. He didn’t understand why.
He got out of the car and spotted Tahoor at his downstairs front window. Rory waved. Tahoor nodded back. He wasn’t smiling. It was late. Perhaps he was tired. Rory went to Elena’s front door and put his key in the lock. The evening coldness smelt almost smoky. The lights were off downstairs, but then it hadgone midnight. He and the others had gone for a pizza after the kayaking. Rory went to turn his key.
Tahoor. Something wasn’t right. He left his holdall behind a bush and went to Tahoor’s. He rang the doorbell.
The door opened. ‘Evening lad. Everything all right?’ Tahoor’s eyes had deep circles under them. Looked a little red. Although his dressing gown was spotless and it looked as if his pyjamas had been ironed.
‘I’m good, just… checking in. Everything okay?’
‘Fine thanks. You been out with friends?’
‘Yes, to a whitewater centre. Boy, it was cold tonight.’
Tahoor’s face brightened. ‘Can I tempt you with a hot chocolate then? I’ve been meaning to come around to see if you want to watch the match with me Monday night. No need for us to take over Elena’s place. I’ve bought in drinks, and snacks.’ An embarrassed look crossed his face. ‘No pressure though. As tonight proves, I imagine you’ve got far more interesting things to do than stay in with an old codger like me.’
‘More interesting than extend my range of swearwords in Urdu? In fact I could do with one right now, to express my annoyance that you’ve so easily seen my true motive for coming over. A hot chocolate is exactly what I need after capsizing, in icy water, in December.’
Tahoor chuckled, and for a moment the shadows under his eyes didn’t look quite so severe. Glad for the warmth, Rory headed inside. Whilst Tahoor put on a pan of milk, Rory settled in the lounge. The room looked… tidier than last time he’d visited and the air smelt fresh and clinical, as if Tahoor had been cleaning. The rug on the floor, printed with colourful patterns, was newly vacuumed, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the collection of vibrant wall plates depicting snakes, birds and tigers. Also, as he’d walked along the hallway, Rory had passed three black dustbin bags of clothes, a colourful sari sticking out of the top of one. Tahoor came in and passed him a mug before sitting down in the mustard, studded wingback armchair opposite.
A look of ecstasy crossed Rory’s face as he sipped. ‘I need this. My kayak upturned and…’ He stared at Tahoor’s mantelpiece and his face broke into a grin. ‘Did Elena give you that red card?’
Tahoor focused on his mug.
‘You kept it?’
Tahoor set down his drink on the round, wooden coffee table between them. Underneath was a neat pile of puzzle books and football magazines. ‘I did, lad. It’s a good reminder of why Elena gave it to me. I… I got upset, in the doorway, when leaving after that Christmas dinner the Sunday before last. You see… I miss Isha so very much and I started crying, but then I felt ashamed and said I shouldn’t cry in front of anyone – especially you, another man. Elena said that comment was sexist towards men and gave me the card. She said’ – his voice wavered – ‘that it’s fine for us men to cry. I… I needed to hear that.’
Oh, mate… Poor Tahoor.
‘I’ve been holding it in. The upset. So I’ve given it a go, given myself permission to let it out. I’ve… I’ve cried a lot over the last week. The first couple of days it left me in bits. I hardly ate, hardly got out of bed. But then…’
Rory nodded for him to go on.
‘It’s difficult to explain, but the tears do make me feel better. The crying fits are less frequent now and don’t last so long. I even cried on the phone to Yalina. She did too. I told her I loved her so very much. We’re going to visit Isha’s grave when she picks me up for Christmas.’ His eyes glistened. ‘I see now that I’ve been hanging onto Isha’s death, using it as an excuse not to moveforwards with my life. I’ve stopped seeing my friends so often. I used to go bowling and walking but couldn’t face the jokey camaraderie. Secretly I was pleased this cul-de-sac’s residents are now mostly women. It’s felt easier to hide away. But then you moved in…’
The men smiled at each other.
‘This crying malarkey…’ Tahoor continued. ‘It’s helped me finally sort out Isha’s clothes.’
