‘Yes, poor Jones, poor Jones.’

‘I suppose,’ Mr Jones said later as he took his leave, ‘you were missing your mother.’

Hugh made no reply.

‘I was referring to your sleeping in Matilda’s bed, obliquely of course. It is Freudian.’

‘Of course.’

‘And what do you know about UFOs?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Hah! Nothing he says. They came up the creek, a little sea-plane it is, was, I should say.’

‘Where?’

‘On the river. They cut out the engine and landed on the water. So easy it was.’

‘Your idea?’

‘No, no, man, Tom. Tom’s idea, his organization, a sideline.’

‘Well, I flushed it down the loo.’

‘Couldn’t flush your mother. Had to leave her on the sofa. That was messy.’

‘Heroin’s worse.’

‘A point there. Do you mind the pot?’

‘No, I’m not averse. I think it’s harmless.’

‘So is death. The newspaper said she could not have known much. It is you that do the knowing.’

‘Oh, bugger off.’

‘All right I will, but presently we can play chess and share a joint while Matilda’s away?’

‘All right.’ Hugh felt inclined to like Matilda’s suitor. Heavily bearded, paunchy, squat, he had beautiful liquid black eyes.

Mr Jones walked crabwise along the path. ‘I will bring my chessboard. It is nicer than Tom’s. It was my Da’s. The feel of the ivory is good to the fingers, engenders thought.’

‘Goodoh.’ Hugh was amused.

‘And yesterday’s paper. You were seen in Rome at the airport changing planes, it says. It says in the Daily Mirror, look you.’

‘Jolly good, Dai Jones.’

‘My name is not David, it is also Huw, but HUW not HUGH.’ Mr Jones paused to let this sink in, then, ‘Not to worry, it is the disappearing bride from the beach they are on about. The poor husband is frantic, naked she is, wandering.’

‘Ah yes, I’d forgotten I had competition. What about the man who ate his wife’s dog?’

‘Ah that!’ Mr Jones paused, one foot slightly airborne. ‘That woman is clever, oh she is. She said the dog had rabies. The poor husband is in an isolation hospital having painful injections in his greedy stomach. He is under observation, look you, daren’t take the risk.’

‘Are you really Welsh?’

Mr Jones laughed. ‘Never been there. Born in Tooting. It’s the fashion, that’s all. Gives me class.’

‘Of course.’

‘Not like Winchester and Oxbridge but it’s cheaper to obtain.’ Mr Jones reached the gate. ‘See you for chess then.’ The gate clicked shut and he was gone.

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