She followed his gaze as his eyes swept the room taking in the cluttered crystal cabinets, tabletops and shelves.
‘You have an interesting collection,’ he said. ‘And a big one. You must be dedicated.’
Hazel shrugged. ‘Not really.’ She stared across the darkening room to the fading light in the grey oblong of the window. She reached over the fat arm of the couch and switched on an ornate standard lamp. The matching pairs of shapes and figures crowded toward the light like partners at a masquerade. ‘They just – accumulated.’ She smiled privately as she smoothed her dress over her knees and picked some crumbs from her lap between thumb and finger and dropped them on her plate. ‘Clarry, my husband – late husband – spent a whole fortnight’s pay to take me to a posh restaurant the night he proposed, and I – you’re not a policeman?’ She fluttered a shy, sly smile at him.
‘No,’ he said.
‘I stole the salt and pepper shakers,’ she confessed. ‘It did seem like the right thing to do at the time. It felt so, so daring. He stole my heart, I stole the shakers.’ She laughed gaily, like a girl. ‘Then it became a habit. Not the stealing, I didn’t do that anymore – well once or twice, at places where they wouldn’t sell them. I’d buy them on holidays and special occasions. They were like good-luck charms and mementos. Then people began giving them to me. I can tell you who gave me which, and when.’
‘A lot of happy memories and good fortune,’ he said.
‘Mostly. Not all.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘But they’re all important. Without some sadness how do we know we’re happy? It’s like music, isn’t it? You need high notes and low notes to make your tune.’ She sighed softly and gazed around at her collection of odd couples. She could feel his cool gaze upon her. He had eyes like Clarry: blue as a summer sky when pleased, blue as polar ice when not, and like a misty morning when pensive. ‘Mr Bovell didn’t have any salt and pepper shakers. I gave him one of my favourite sets.’
‘That was very good of you.’
She shook her head. ‘No, no. He was kind to me. He was a nice man.’ She pointed at one of the cabinets. ‘He gave me that Mickey and Minnie Mouse. He stole it.’ Clarry’s bright blue gaze locked on hers. ‘He must have done. It’s a collector’s item. Mr Bovell couldn’t afford that.’ Her eyes drifted back to the cabinet. ‘It’s one of the sad memories now. But, happy too.’ She knew he was appraising her with increasing approval. ‘I knew – well, guessed – about Mr Bovell, Clarry …’
‘David.’
‘Pardon? Yes, David, of course. I’m sorry, what did I call you? It doesn’t matter, just old age. I knew about Mr Bovell because he was a friend of a friend of Trish’s Shane. Shane was in gaol before they married. For something he didn’t do, Trish says – but well, you know.’ He smiled. He knew. ‘I guessed Mr Bovell was just out of prison and couldn’t get a job. Shane’s a nice boy and I’m sure his friends are too. But they have been naughty. Trish says Shane’s square now. “Square” – I think that’s the same thing as “going straight” in American TV shows.’ He smiled as he reached for another Tim Tam. He offered her the plate and she shook her head.
‘Are you square, David?’ she asked, a little mischief in her eyes.
‘Quadrilateral,’ he admitted after some consideration. ‘A rather irregular one.’
She tut-tutted. ‘You like Tim Tams?’
‘One of my weaknesses,’ he said with a guilty grin.
‘See the tape over there?’ She pointed to a chair near the door with a neat roll of something blue and white on it. ‘Crime scene tape. I’ve been a crime scene,’ she said proudly and giggled. ‘Or my bungalow has.’
Hazel sipped her tea and watched her visitor sip his and eat his Tim Tam. Then she said: ‘He said you’d come.’
‘Ben did?’
‘You’re Dave, aren’t you?’
‘Most likely. My name is David Edge.’ She realised she hadn’t asked his name. It was her vague recollection that he offered it, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had invited him in immediately he said he was a friend of Mr Bovell’s.
‘He left something for you. In an envelope. I didn’t look at the front. None of my business. He said “Dave’ll come, make sure he gets it”. So I suppose it’s addressed to you.’
‘It probably is. You didn’t mention it to the police?’
‘It wasn’t any of their business either. It’s a private package. I’ll fetch it when we’ve had another cuppa.’ She studied him, possum-like through her thick lenses. He didn’t protest that he was late for an appointment or had to get home to the wife, didn’t sneak a quick peek at his watch. He was relaxed, unhurried. He paid his social dues, this one. That was like Clarry too.
‘Mr Bovell’s – Ben’s – tune was rather flat, I think?’ she said.
‘Not many highs,’ he agreed.
‘He loved his children dearly. That was a high.’ She snuck a quick calculating glance at her visitor. ‘He thought highly of you.’ The blue eyes became watchful over his teacup rim. ‘He said to me once – we were sitting here like this – he said he only had two real friends. One was a woman, Karen—’
‘Sharon.’
‘—Sharon. The other was Dave. He said with friends like Sharon and Dave you didn’t need more.’ Hazel had the distinct impression that, although he smiled, her visitor wasn’t pleased to hear this. ‘They said on the news that Ben has a bullet in his spine.’
‘A fragment. Lodged between his fourth and fifth vertebrae.’
‘A fragment. Is that better?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will he be paralysed?’
‘He can’t move his arms and legs at present. So I’ve heard. If they can operate successfully, who knows, he may be good as new, one day.’ He placed his cup and saucer on the table and sank back.
Her spectacles seemed to fill like goldfish bowls. She could feel rivulets cooling on her cheeks. A pendulous droplet swelled and swung on the tip of her nose. He stretched across and took the tissue box from the small table next to the Jason Recliner: an arm’s reach supply for the soaps. Suddenly, as she dabbed at her face, she was telling him everything she knew about Ben Bovell – which wasn’t much. It was as if he interrogated her without asking a question.
‘… his favourite actor is Lee Marvin, did you know? He said he was tough, but he could be funny and dumb and kind as well – that’s why he likes him. We often sat here and watched old Lee Marvin movies. Cat Ballou – quite a lot – The Professionals I think another was called … and let me see … The Emperor of … something …’
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’ he asked when she’d exhausted her memory.
‘The night before he, he … He sat where you are now.’ Then anticipating his next question, ‘I thought someone who was going to do what he did would be sad – depressed or agitated. But he seemed happier than I’d seen him. Just kind of excited. He said things were sorted between Sharon and him – that he knew what he had to do. When he told me he wouldn’t need the bungalow anymore I assumed he was moving back with her. He said “this time tomorrow I’ll be square”.’
They sat in silence for