I thought the flicker of a smile passed over his face. He said: “I thought I could take them to the bonfire in the park. Just dump them on the pile and leave. Let bygones be bygones.”

I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“All right. We’ll do it together.”

• • •

Looking back at it now, it seems such a quiet moment. An island of tranquility on our turbulent journey. Two old Ozzies side by side, drinking tea in the Common Room. Now it looks like a scene viewed through the lens of a camera obscura; perfect in every detail, and yet impossibly distant. Looking back at it now, it looks like a scene from another life; perhaps the life we could have lived if things had somehow been different. If I had gone straight home after School, instead of going to Eric’s house; if I’d spoken to Winter; if I’d found Harry’s box in time; if I’d seen what was under my nose, instead of chasing phantoms . . .

I’m getting old. That’s what it is. Old and none too quick off the mark. But I’ve never been what you’d call quick; always a bit of a plodder. The tortoise to old Eric’s hare—and yet we got there in the end. Stouthearted boys with sharp swords win glittering prizes. But what is the prize for Straitley? And do I really want to know?

Chapter 7

7

November 2005

Dear Mousey,

It didn’t take Johnny long to hear the sad news about Poodle. He knows all kinds of people, including the Chief Inspector and the Head of South Yorkshire Police. And he’d kept tabs on both of us, just as he had on Becky Price. Sun Tzu says: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That’s good advice, Mousey. I’ve followed it all my life.

He phoned me—finally—from the pub. I could tell from all the background noise. Besides, he wouldn’t have phoned me from home, in case his wife overheard him. Probably the Scholar, I thought. It’s pretty close to St. Oswald’s.

Johnny had been drinking; I could tell that from his voice. He pretends not to drink much, as a rule; but when he does, he gets angry.

“David, what did you do?” he said, by means of introduction. “I thought you said you wouldn’t do—those things—anymore.”

Well, that was the arrangement. We made it several years ago. I was to stay out of Liz’s way and remove myself from Survivors; they were to pay me a salary for services to the movement. That, along with my secondary regular source of income, should have been more than enough to keep me out of trouble for pretty much the rest of my life. But Poodle had threatened the status quo. My actions were purely a reaction to that.