Page 35 of The Midnight Bakery
William didn’t return his smile. ‘Be thankful it isn’t,’ he replied.
They were about to return to the car park when William put a hand on the steering wheel. To his surprise, the van was already leaving, and so after the requisite gap had grown between them and it, he instructed Tam to set off in pursuit once more.
This time, they drove right across town, to a large residential estate which had almost trebled in size since William’s family had once bought a property there. And new houses were still being built. After a confusing number of left and right turns had been taken, Stuart stopped outside a row of small shops in one of the oldest parts of the estate, just a couple of streets away from where William had once lived. Asking Tam to pull up a little distance away, William swivelled in his seat to get a better look.
The shops were all different from when William had been a boy and sent to buy his dad’s cigarettes, but there was still a newsagent there, albeit in a different place. The other spaces were filled by a fish and chip shop, a tanning salon, hairdressers, charity shop and, largest of all, a convenience store-cum-off-licence. There was nothing curious about any of them, but whatwascurious was that, after pulling what turned out to be a bunch of keys from his pocket, Stuart unlocked the door to the tanning salon and went inside. It was already a little after nine o’clock, so presumably the business didn’t open until later, but it seemed an odd place for Stuart to be. He had a pale, pockmarked complexion, so if he owned the place, which seemed unlikely enough, he certainly wasn’t availing himself of any free sunbed sessions.
William thought for a moment, eyes narrowing in response to where those thoughts were leading him, and then he pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket, together with a pencil, and made a quick note. Whichever way he turned it in his mind, it was clear there was only one thing he could do now. He needed to follow his thoughts to their end.
‘We can go now,’ he said to Tam, facing front again. ‘All done.’
Tam gave him another sideways glance and slowly drove away.
20
Tam
Tam had hoped that Trish would be pleased to hear his news. Admittedly it was a cock-and-bull story he’d told her, but he thought he’d been pretty convincing. A fictitious argument with an equally fictitious girlfriend had seemed just the thing to explain away his sleeping arrangements, or so he’d thought anyway. He had stressed how temporary an arrangement it had been, even squirming with embarrassment at having to tell his boss such personal information but, from behind her desk, Trish just smiled. Purely perfunctory, she barely even looked at him. And that wasn’t like her.
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘I’m glad we’ve sorted that out.’ She gave another smile, tighter than the first and Tam quailed slightly. Trish wasn’t stupid – was it really so obvious that he’d just lied?
‘So, is that all you need?’ he asked, businesslike but breezy.
She looked up at him then, properly, for the first time since he’d stepped into the office, and Tam realised the look in her eyes had nothing to do with what he’d just told her.
‘I’m sorry, Tam,’ she said, dropping her gaze. ‘But we lost Eleanor last night.’
Tam stared at her, confused.Lost…? The meaning of her words came to him as if spoken in a foreign language he struggled to understand.
‘I know how fond of her you were.’
And he realised then that Trish had been crying.
Despite all their different backgrounds and experiences, death was the one thing which connected all the residents of Chawston House. When he first started working there it had been Trish who told him that death was the only certainty in life, and she had been right. It didn’t matter whether you were rich or poor, practitioner of a faith or bereft of any, the journey on to the next adventure was only ever just around the corner – it was just that for some the road took a little longer to travel. And now Eleanor’s next adventure had already begun, and Tam hadn’t even got to wish her bon voyage. Or remind her to pack enough Jaffa Cakes for the journey.
It was something they had joked about, and he had marvelled at the way Eleanor could laugh about the details of her demise in such a matter-of-fact way. But she had simply smiled and told him that she was determined to enjoy her death just as much as she had her life. Yet he’d still always thought he’d be there for her, waving her off as she – her words – ‘skipped down the path, now my blasted hip won’t be giving me gip’. But now she had gone, and what hurt Tam the most was that no one had been there to bear witness to such a remarkable woman.
It wasn’t the first time that someone had died during Tam’s time at Chawston House, but Eleanor had been special and, as Tam walked down the corridor towards her room, he could feel her death like a shroud, cloaking the house and its light, so that the very colours appeared dulled by its presence. In Eleanor’s room, however, Tam was happy to feel the old lady’s spirit justas if she was still with them. Even her mug with the dregs of last night’s black coffee hadn’t yet been tidied away and was still on the table beside her chair. She could so easily have popped out for a moment, returning with gossip from the dining room and a pilfered packet of chocolate biscuits. At least it was a comfort knowing that death had been kind to Eleanor – she had simply gone to sleep and hadn’t woken up in the morning.
Tam sat gently on her bed, his head bowed. Up until the other night, Eleanor had been the only person who knew about his circumstances. She had winkled it out of him one evening, her astuteness surprising him, but it had forged the connection between them, and it had made Tam feel comforted. Eleanor had seen him, warts and all, and still liked what she saw. They were co-conspirators, and just the thought of her had made Tam feel less alone. And now she was gone.
The rest of Tam’s shift passed interminably slowly, and for the first time since he had begun to work at Chawston House, he longed for clocking-off time, even if that did mean another freezing night in his car. He thought about the flask and hot-water bottle nestled on the passenger seat, and about Frankie and the kindness she had done him. About William, too, and his easy acceptance of Tam, and somehow these thoughts were enough to get him through the day.
Frankie practically dragged him through the door as soon as she saw him.
‘You look terrible,’ she said, appraising Tam with an intensity that almost made him flinch. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the kettle on.’
She ignored each and every comment he made about it being time to leave and, although she was busy – heaving around sacks of flour and huge metal pans – she also made it clear she had time to listen. And provide more treats: pecan frangipane tarts this time.
‘I sat in Eleanor’s chair and thought about my mum,’ said Tam, dabbing at the crumbs on his plate. ‘Before she had her stroke, she would argue black was white, just like Eleanor did, but they’d have got on like a house on fire. She’s still pretty feisty now, mind. She has a little less movement and a little less hearing than she did before, but God forbid you let on, or she’ll have your guts for garters.’
Frankie smiled. ‘Sounds a bit like my nan,’ she said. ‘But she’s gone now too. Makes you wonder how long you’ve got them for, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m lucky,’ replied Tam. ‘It’s been three years since Mum had her stroke and she’s a fighter. She made a good recovery, but her living on her own still worries me. Not that she’d have it any other way.’
‘Is your dad not with you then?’ asked Frankie, flouring loaf tins at speed.
‘He died nearly five years ago,’ said Tam. ‘So now it’s just Mum – Rose – and our little tabby cat, Pickle, who I swear is almost as old as she is. Mum still lives in the house I grew up in as a child. It’s colder than I’d like, and the garden is too much for her to manage now, but it’s woven through with memories, every inch of it. I think, without them, she’d be so much less.’ Tam smiled wistfully. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how the older you get the more you think about the past? I can remember every crack in the ceiling of my old room, but not what I was doing last week.’
