Until today Ian Erasmus Black would never have associated a crusty bloomer and two cream cakes with soul crushing fear. At nine-thirty am he had queued politely in the baker’s, trying to avoid discussing Mrs Arbuthnot’s daughter’s hysterectomy, when he first felt it. The origin of the feeling he had yet to determine but since that moment he had checked behind every tree, lamp-post and pillar box for Dracula, Smaug, Gruffalo and Nessie. Anybody who came close wearing black made his heart thump and race. He had yet to decide whether his fears had their base in a real life event or if he was rapidly descending into senility. Perhaps the white rabbit would appear next and lead him down a hole into another world.
Pull yourself together, you stupid old man and focus. At this rate the men in white coats will be coming to take you away aha. He shook himself to rid himself of the heebie jeebies.
The summer sunshine had brought half of Umber Bridge outdoors and what Ian hoped would be a quiet stroll with his great-grandsons had turned into a tedious meet and greet. His retirement from the police force had been four years back and whilst he had retained an exceptional recall for faces he seemed to have lost the ability to match them with the correct names. Who is the great fat porker with the even bigger ice cream coming towards me? In a vain attempt to avoid yet another discussion about something he had no interest in he leaned over Tyke’s pram to adjust sunshade.
Porker slapped Ian so hard on the back that it took effort for him not to turn round and smack the perpetrator in the chops. On the plus side it dislodged a memory and Ian swore to himself for not working harder to avoid his sons’ former headmaster. The man had aged badly since the last of Ian’s brood had left school. With his out of practice professional smile plastered on his face, Ian shook the pudgy, sticky, sweaty hand of Mr Hayes. “Bob, how wonderful to see you.”
“Ian, how are your boys doing?”
Ian rubbed his hand on his jeans in hope it would reduce the residue of ickiness that Bob Hayes had left behind. “Fine. John’s a partner up at St Dymphna’s…” After each boy’s name he extended a finger. “Pete’s paintings are selling well; Tom’s software is making him a fortune; Matt’s just had a baby girl, he’s a barrister; Tim’s a detective sergeant and Harley’s working for the county pathologist’s office.” Ian counted his digits to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anyone. There was a tug on his t-shirt and he smiled down at the little boy responsible. “This is Beanie, Harley’s son, my great-grandson.”
“My name’s George and he’s Harry.” Beanie pointed at the pram. “He’s four months old.”
“Very nice,” Bob said.
The prick could at least pretend to be interested; I spent enough time in his office between the various boys. But then he would have to acknowledge none of them are the criminals and wasters he predicted. The prick showed no sign of leaving. Ian squatted down beside the pram so he could look the fed-up Beanie straight in the eyes. “If you go and sit under that tree…” He pointed to an ancient looking beech. “I’ll buy you one of those ice-creams when I’ve finished talking to Mr Hayes.”
Beanie situated himself in the shade with his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. The expression he aimed at Bob Hayes was full of all the surly resentment that Ian himself felt. He wracked his brains for what to say and remembered a local newspaper article from a few days back. “So Bob, how’s the mayoral campaign going? You seem determined to be busy in your retirement?”
“The wife suggested it.” The ice-cream was melting down his hand.
Delia must have been having a sober moment. Mind you if I was married to Bob I think I’d have been permanently drunk. The next while was taken up making polite noises whilst he let his detective’s eye survey the park, looking for any clues as to what was freaking him out. Children in school uniform, released from their daily incarceration, littered the Victorian bandstand. A man in a black shirt and jeans walked past. For some reason black was drawing his eyes.
“Goliath, leave her alone.”
“Rosie, come back here.”
An inappropriate smile invaded Ian’s attempt to maintain an interested face as he listened to the finer points on how to run for minor political office. A Rottweiler hared past with a Chihuahua nipping and yipping at its heels; they were chased by two very out of shape owners in business suits..
“Rosie,” shouted the one carrying the heavy chain lead.
Out of the corner of his eye Ian caught Beanie’s miserable face. The bairn had gone from sulking to picking at the grass in a fed up manner. Poor kid this is the fourth really dull conversation I’ve had since I left the house just over an hour ago. Ian gritted his teeth, connected with his missing balls and gripped tighter to the pram handle. He kicked off the brake and said, “Well it was wonderful to see you again, Bob but I did promise Beanie that ice-cream before his dad comes to pick him up. Beanie, come on, lad.”
“My name’s George.” Beanie scrabbled to his feet and jogged to keep up with Ian who was striding as fast as he could away from Mr Hayes.
“You don’t mind me calling Harry, Tyke?”
“That’s because he’s just a stupid baby. He doesn’t care.” A big fat raspberry aimed in the direction of the pram indicated Beanie’s view of his brother at this exact moment in time.
A woman in a Burkha caught Ian’s eye and his gaze followed her to the bridge over the River Umber. You’re being ridiculous, old man. What are you going to do? Ask her to take it off.
“Greatpa?”
Ian jumped a little but quickly recovered and smiled at Beanie. “Yes?”
“Can I spend the night with you? Just you and me?” His face was serious and he bit his lip a little. “Please. Mum and Dad have been fighting again.” An appearance of the bottom lip indicated that tears would follow shortly and Ian knelt down on the grass next to him.
“Of course you can. Did something happen before I picked you up?” Ian located his soft, white handkerchief in his back pocket and used it to wipe Beanie’s eyes and help the kid blow his nose. A man on the grass behind Beanie, dressed entirely in black, was reading a broadsheet.
“… I wasn’t trying to wake him…”
Beanie had been talking ten to the dozen and becoming more distressed but it took all Ian’s strength to pull his eyes away from the Guardian reader to focus entirely on the miserable child.
“Mummy shouted at me. Tyke woke up. Daddy smacked me. I wasn’t trying to wake him I was putting his elephant next to him in the pram.” He looked Ian directly in the eye and straightened his shoulders. Injustice was written all over his face. “I wasn’t naughty was I?”
“No, Beanie.” Ian pulled him in for a cuddle. The child buried his head in Ian’s chest; there was no my name’s George, Greatpa or attempts to pull away because he was too big for a hug. The latter disturbed Ian more than any tears. “Babies can be hard work. Everybody is tired and grumpy.”
A gothed up kid walked past with silver chains jangling.
It took Ian a moment to shake off his sense of unease and form his face into fun Greatpa. He pushed Beanie away gently, held his hand in a scouts salute and said, “I, Greatpa promise not to shout at Beanie for a whole night.”
“It’s George.” Beanie giggled. “And you never shout.”
“That’s because you’re such a good boy I don’t have to.” Every one of Ian’s sixty-eight years screamed in complaint as he stood up. “Just you ask your great uncles if I can shout. They were all little buggers.” He let his eyes widen and grinned. “I know… you can choose tonight’s tea.”
“Anything? Really, Greatpa, I can have anything I like?” His bright blue eyes lit up.
“Well as long as we can buy it on the way home and I think we should have something proper before we just eat sweets.” Ian took hold of the pram handle and started moving over the grass towards the ornamental pond.
“Can we have Chinese?”
“That’s even better I can get it delivered. Do you like banana fritters?”
“With ice-cream.”
“Well I might have some in the freezer.” The plastic watch Ian had picked up from Nickle and Dime showed ten to four . “Which reminds me I promised you one from the van. We’d better do that if you want time at the swings as well.”
Beanie took off towards the van which was parked next to the cricket pavilion. For a moment Ian was distracted by a server from the George IV pub in their black uniform. He needed to walk fast to make up the ground.
“… I’ll have sprinkles, sauce and sherbet on your biggest cone. Greatpa said I could didn’t you, Greatpa?” He looked up at Ian who raised his eyebrow. “Umm… please.”
The kid with acne and wearing a white coat leaned out of the window and Ian nodded his assent.
“That’ll be two pounds twenty, sir.” He handed it out and Beanie reached up to grab it with excitement.
“Right, why don’t we go and sit by the pond. We can watch that lad with the remote control boat.”
Together they wandered over to a nearby by bench. Once upon a time the pond had been a haven for ducks but these days it housed a vicious swan, his missus and a pile of seagulls. The Cobb was over the other side hissing at a couple of tourists who had dared to take his picture. They had to be unfamiliar with the park because locals knew the brute's Amishlike opinions when it came to having a camera pointed at his family. Whilst he scared the crap out of most people his hooligan like behaviour had ensured he raised two large broods every year. With a large family of sons Ian identified with the nasty old bird.
Ian pushed his round tortoiseshell glasses back up his nose and located the hand sanitizer in the changing bag. It went someway to removing the lasting presence of Bob Hayes.
“Greatpa?” Beanie bit into his flake.
“Yes?” The insulated bit contained the bottle Ian had made up and he got it out.
“Did you like your brother?”
He said it? Did he really just say it? Fuck. Tyke fussed and made it clear if the bottle in Ian’s hand didn’t make it into his mouth sometime soon he was going to assault the ears of anyone who would listen.
“Greatpa, did you like your brother?”
“I don’t have a brother.” Ian picked Tyke up out of the pram and sat on the bench next to Beanie. Whenever anyone mentioned Andrew Black, Ian’s usual response was to punch or kick something but he didn’t want the boys to see that.
“Is he dead then? I didn’t believe you were ever a baby and Grammy Black showed me pictures. He looks just like you. Did you know Grammy Black was your Mummy?”
Ian laughed. “That is why I call her ma.” He put a towel over Tyke to protect him from the sun and inserted the bottle. Little sucking noises suggested the baby was content.
“Where is he? Is he pushing up daisies?”
“Where did you learn that funny expression?”
“Mr Falmouth. Grammy Black took me to the Muffin Top and they were discussing the … obitches in the paper.” His mouth hoovered in some of the creamy, gooey ice-cream.
“Obituaries.”
“Is your brother dead like my granddad?”
It was clear he wasn’t going to drop the subject and once he got the scent of something interesting Beanie had the innate ability of a barrister. Even with a glob of ice-cream on the bridge of his nose he could get to the heart of the matter.
“No he’s not dead. He’s a priest over in Ebden Dale.” Tyke had started to fuss and Ian placed the baby over his shoulder so he could rub his back.
“When did you last see him?” The ice-cream melting all over his hands did nothing to deter him.
“About six months before your greatma and I got married so … forty nine years ago.” A contented snore announced that Tyke was asleep again, so Ian returned him to the pram and found the wipes to deal with the mess.
“Who’s Greatma?”
How the hell do I explain Moira to a four-year-old? I don’t even know if he’s met her. Keep it simple, Ian. The original bitch troll she might be but he doesn’t need to know that. “My ex-wife. Your great uncles’ mummy.”
The last of the cone was rammed into Beanie’s mouth but he looked troubled. He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to talk about Grandma Moira with you. He said it would make you really mad.” He sniffed and tears were close once more. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. Here clean yourself up.” Hopefully the job will distract him. “You can talk about her I just don’t think about her very often. Now shall we get to the swings?”
His endeavours to remove the ice-cream were unsuccessful. Anything Beanie might have said were lost in his attempt to avoid his wipe wielding Greatpa.
“Think yourself lucky. When I was a little boy we didn’t have wipes and your Grammy Black used to spit on a handkerchief.” Ian screwed up his face. “Now that really was gross.”
“Yeah gross. She did it to me last week at the bus stop.” He paused and Ian could see the cogs turning in Beanie’s little brain. “How old do you need to be a priest?”
“Much older than four why?”
“Shame I thought maybe Tyke could become one.”
Ian stood up, returned everything to the changing bag and released the brake.
“Then we could lose him like you did your brother.”
Throwing his head back Ian laughed. “Oh God, Beanie, I needed that.” He removed his glasses to wipe the tears. “But seriously you’ll learn to love your brother, I promise.” He headed for the break in the trees that surrounded the playpark.
“Sir.” A policewoman on her way to work nodded at Ian.
Ian mined the depths of his memory for a name.“Pinkney.” He smiled and prayed he had got it right. He dragged himself away from her black jacket and headed for the swings.
Pull yourself together, you stupid old man and focus. At this rate the men in white coats will be coming to take you away aha. He shook himself to rid himself of the heebie jeebies.
The summer sunshine had brought half of Umber Bridge outdoors and what Ian hoped would be a quiet stroll with his great-grandsons had turned into a tedious meet and greet. His retirement from the police force had been four years back and whilst he had retained an exceptional recall for faces he seemed to have lost the ability to match them with the correct names. Who is the great fat porker with the even bigger ice cream coming towards me? In a vain attempt to avoid yet another discussion about something he had no interest in he leaned over Tyke’s pram to adjust sunshade.
Porker slapped Ian so hard on the back that it took effort for him not to turn round and smack the perpetrator in the chops. On the plus side it dislodged a memory and Ian swore to himself for not working harder to avoid his sons’ former headmaster. The man had aged badly since the last of Ian’s brood had left school. With his out of practice professional smile plastered on his face, Ian shook the pudgy, sticky, sweaty hand of Mr Hayes. “Bob, how wonderful to see you.”
“Ian, how are your boys doing?”
Ian rubbed his hand on his jeans in hope it would reduce the residue of ickiness that Bob Hayes had left behind. “Fine. John’s a partner up at St Dymphna’s…” After each boy’s name he extended a finger. “Pete’s paintings are selling well; Tom’s software is making him a fortune; Matt’s just had a baby girl, he’s a barrister; Tim’s a detective sergeant and Harley’s working for the county pathologist’s office.” Ian counted his digits to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anyone. There was a tug on his t-shirt and he smiled down at the little boy responsible. “This is Beanie, Harley’s son, my great-grandson.”
“My name’s George and he’s Harry.” Beanie pointed at the pram. “He’s four months old.”
“Very nice,” Bob said.
The prick could at least pretend to be interested; I spent enough time in his office between the various boys. But then he would have to acknowledge none of them are the criminals and wasters he predicted. The prick showed no sign of leaving. Ian squatted down beside the pram so he could look the fed-up Beanie straight in the eyes. “If you go and sit under that tree…” He pointed to an ancient looking beech. “I’ll buy you one of those ice-creams when I’ve finished talking to Mr Hayes.”
Beanie situated himself in the shade with his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. The expression he aimed at Bob Hayes was full of all the surly resentment that Ian himself felt. He wracked his brains for what to say and remembered a local newspaper article from a few days back. “So Bob, how’s the mayoral campaign going? You seem determined to be busy in your retirement?”
“The wife suggested it.” The ice-cream was melting down his hand.
Delia must have been having a sober moment. Mind you if I was married to Bob I think I’d have been permanently drunk. The next while was taken up making polite noises whilst he let his detective’s eye survey the park, looking for any clues as to what was freaking him out. Children in school uniform, released from their daily incarceration, littered the Victorian bandstand. A man in a black shirt and jeans walked past. For some reason black was drawing his eyes.
“Goliath, leave her alone.”
“Rosie, come back here.”
An inappropriate smile invaded Ian’s attempt to maintain an interested face as he listened to the finer points on how to run for minor political office. A Rottweiler hared past with a Chihuahua nipping and yipping at its heels; they were chased by two very out of shape owners in business suits..
“Rosie,” shouted the one carrying the heavy chain lead.
Out of the corner of his eye Ian caught Beanie’s miserable face. The bairn had gone from sulking to picking at the grass in a fed up manner. Poor kid this is the fourth really dull conversation I’ve had since I left the house just over an hour ago. Ian gritted his teeth, connected with his missing balls and gripped tighter to the pram handle. He kicked off the brake and said, “Well it was wonderful to see you again, Bob but I did promise Beanie that ice-cream before his dad comes to pick him up. Beanie, come on, lad.”
“My name’s George.” Beanie scrabbled to his feet and jogged to keep up with Ian who was striding as fast as he could away from Mr Hayes.
“You don’t mind me calling Harry, Tyke?”
“That’s because he’s just a stupid baby. He doesn’t care.” A big fat raspberry aimed in the direction of the pram indicated Beanie’s view of his brother at this exact moment in time.
A woman in a Burkha caught Ian’s eye and his gaze followed her to the bridge over the River Umber. You’re being ridiculous, old man. What are you going to do? Ask her to take it off.
“Greatpa?”
Ian jumped a little but quickly recovered and smiled at Beanie. “Yes?”
“Can I spend the night with you? Just you and me?” His face was serious and he bit his lip a little. “Please. Mum and Dad have been fighting again.” An appearance of the bottom lip indicated that tears would follow shortly and Ian knelt down on the grass next to him.
“Of course you can. Did something happen before I picked you up?” Ian located his soft, white handkerchief in his back pocket and used it to wipe Beanie’s eyes and help the kid blow his nose. A man on the grass behind Beanie, dressed entirely in black, was reading a broadsheet.
“… I wasn’t trying to wake him…”
Beanie had been talking ten to the dozen and becoming more distressed but it took all Ian’s strength to pull his eyes away from the Guardian reader to focus entirely on the miserable child.
“Mummy shouted at me. Tyke woke up. Daddy smacked me. I wasn’t trying to wake him I was putting his elephant next to him in the pram.” He looked Ian directly in the eye and straightened his shoulders. Injustice was written all over his face. “I wasn’t naughty was I?”
“No, Beanie.” Ian pulled him in for a cuddle. The child buried his head in Ian’s chest; there was no my name’s George, Greatpa or attempts to pull away because he was too big for a hug. The latter disturbed Ian more than any tears. “Babies can be hard work. Everybody is tired and grumpy.”
A gothed up kid walked past with silver chains jangling.
It took Ian a moment to shake off his sense of unease and form his face into fun Greatpa. He pushed Beanie away gently, held his hand in a scouts salute and said, “I, Greatpa promise not to shout at Beanie for a whole night.”
“It’s George.” Beanie giggled. “And you never shout.”
“That’s because you’re such a good boy I don’t have to.” Every one of Ian’s sixty-eight years screamed in complaint as he stood up. “Just you ask your great uncles if I can shout. They were all little buggers.” He let his eyes widen and grinned. “I know… you can choose tonight’s tea.”
“Anything? Really, Greatpa, I can have anything I like?” His bright blue eyes lit up.
“Well as long as we can buy it on the way home and I think we should have something proper before we just eat sweets.” Ian took hold of the pram handle and started moving over the grass towards the ornamental pond.
“Can we have Chinese?”
“That’s even better I can get it delivered. Do you like banana fritters?”
“With ice-cream.”
“Well I might have some in the freezer.” The plastic watch Ian had picked up from Nickle and Dime showed ten to four . “Which reminds me I promised you one from the van. We’d better do that if you want time at the swings as well.”
Beanie took off towards the van which was parked next to the cricket pavilion. For a moment Ian was distracted by a server from the George IV pub in their black uniform. He needed to walk fast to make up the ground.
“… I’ll have sprinkles, sauce and sherbet on your biggest cone. Greatpa said I could didn’t you, Greatpa?” He looked up at Ian who raised his eyebrow. “Umm… please.”
The kid with acne and wearing a white coat leaned out of the window and Ian nodded his assent.
“That’ll be two pounds twenty, sir.” He handed it out and Beanie reached up to grab it with excitement.
“Right, why don’t we go and sit by the pond. We can watch that lad with the remote control boat.”
Together they wandered over to a nearby by bench. Once upon a time the pond had been a haven for ducks but these days it housed a vicious swan, his missus and a pile of seagulls. The Cobb was over the other side hissing at a couple of tourists who had dared to take his picture. They had to be unfamiliar with the park because locals knew the brute's Amishlike opinions when it came to having a camera pointed at his family. Whilst he scared the crap out of most people his hooligan like behaviour had ensured he raised two large broods every year. With a large family of sons Ian identified with the nasty old bird.
Ian pushed his round tortoiseshell glasses back up his nose and located the hand sanitizer in the changing bag. It went someway to removing the lasting presence of Bob Hayes.
“Greatpa?” Beanie bit into his flake.
“Yes?” The insulated bit contained the bottle Ian had made up and he got it out.
“Did you like your brother?”
He said it? Did he really just say it? Fuck. Tyke fussed and made it clear if the bottle in Ian’s hand didn’t make it into his mouth sometime soon he was going to assault the ears of anyone who would listen.
“Greatpa, did you like your brother?”
“I don’t have a brother.” Ian picked Tyke up out of the pram and sat on the bench next to Beanie. Whenever anyone mentioned Andrew Black, Ian’s usual response was to punch or kick something but he didn’t want the boys to see that.
“Is he dead then? I didn’t believe you were ever a baby and Grammy Black showed me pictures. He looks just like you. Did you know Grammy Black was your Mummy?”
Ian laughed. “That is why I call her ma.” He put a towel over Tyke to protect him from the sun and inserted the bottle. Little sucking noises suggested the baby was content.
“Where is he? Is he pushing up daisies?”
“Where did you learn that funny expression?”
“Mr Falmouth. Grammy Black took me to the Muffin Top and they were discussing the … obitches in the paper.” His mouth hoovered in some of the creamy, gooey ice-cream.
“Obituaries.”
“Is your brother dead like my granddad?”
It was clear he wasn’t going to drop the subject and once he got the scent of something interesting Beanie had the innate ability of a barrister. Even with a glob of ice-cream on the bridge of his nose he could get to the heart of the matter.
“No he’s not dead. He’s a priest over in Ebden Dale.” Tyke had started to fuss and Ian placed the baby over his shoulder so he could rub his back.
“When did you last see him?” The ice-cream melting all over his hands did nothing to deter him.
“About six months before your greatma and I got married so … forty nine years ago.” A contented snore announced that Tyke was asleep again, so Ian returned him to the pram and found the wipes to deal with the mess.
“Who’s Greatma?”
How the hell do I explain Moira to a four-year-old? I don’t even know if he’s met her. Keep it simple, Ian. The original bitch troll she might be but he doesn’t need to know that. “My ex-wife. Your great uncles’ mummy.”
The last of the cone was rammed into Beanie’s mouth but he looked troubled. He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to talk about Grandma Moira with you. He said it would make you really mad.” He sniffed and tears were close once more. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. Here clean yourself up.” Hopefully the job will distract him. “You can talk about her I just don’t think about her very often. Now shall we get to the swings?”
His endeavours to remove the ice-cream were unsuccessful. Anything Beanie might have said were lost in his attempt to avoid his wipe wielding Greatpa.
“Think yourself lucky. When I was a little boy we didn’t have wipes and your Grammy Black used to spit on a handkerchief.” Ian screwed up his face. “Now that really was gross.”
“Yeah gross. She did it to me last week at the bus stop.” He paused and Ian could see the cogs turning in Beanie’s little brain. “How old do you need to be a priest?”
“Much older than four why?”
“Shame I thought maybe Tyke could become one.”
Ian stood up, returned everything to the changing bag and released the brake.
“Then we could lose him like you did your brother.”
Throwing his head back Ian laughed. “Oh God, Beanie, I needed that.” He removed his glasses to wipe the tears. “But seriously you’ll learn to love your brother, I promise.” He headed for the break in the trees that surrounded the playpark.
“Sir.” A policewoman on her way to work nodded at Ian.
Ian mined the depths of his memory for a name.“Pinkney.” He smiled and prayed he had got it right. He dragged himself away from her black jacket and headed for the swings.