Loz turned the car left, over the little bridge. My stomach lurched and a solitary golden-brown leaf landed on the windscreen. Its stem was caught by the windscreen wiper and it swished back and forth across my vision.

‘Nobody I recognized, from what I can remember. Bit older than himself he said. Bald head. Hard hands. Could be anybody.’

‘And him?’ I asked.

Loz shrugged. ‘Blue suit. Wrong kind of shoes for the weather. Canvas bag. Not a film star but not a navvy neither.’

I stayed quiet. Let my thoughts ebb and flow like a leaf carried on water.

‘Could I ask you to take me somewhere else?’ I asked, making up my mind. ‘I’d like to see a friend.’

He grinned, pleased to have helped a soaking, timid girl feel the need for company. I surprised myself by letting him enjoy the moment rather than treating his interpretation as a challenge. Perhaps I was growing up.

‘Who’d that be?’ he asked.

I found myself grinning. Found myself suddenly very eager to be in the presence of the one other person who had seen the dead man in the blue suit.

FELICITY

Transcript 0005, recorded October 30, 2010

Brian was going through his phase in ’67. Trying it on, we used to call it. Testing to see what he could get away with. James hadn’t been a bother at that age. Never been any bother any time. Brian were always that bit more trouble. He was the sort who would smash a plate just to see what sound it would make. In ’67 he’ll have been 11 – a couple of years younger than his brother and twice as bright. Had that fire in his eye that never seemed to go out. Always seemed a few steps ahead of you in an argument. Always seemed like he had an answer prepared for anything you might say. Don’t know where he came from, I swear I don’t. He could have become a lot of things, my Brian. Could have become something important if he hadn’t been so dead-set on causing mischief. Loved to wind me up, he did. Always had a lie ready on his tongue. Couldn’t answer the simplest question without needling one of us. So I didn’t believe him when he said she were getting out of a car. Thought he were having me on.

‘Lady from the big house,’ he shouted from upstairs. ‘Looks like somebody’s drowned a film star.’

I was getting tea ready. Chucking potatoes in the fryer and talking to James about school. They were studying Henry the Eighth, he said. Was doing a sketch of one of his wives. I knew better than to look. His drawings were always a bit grisly. He used up his red crayons a lot sooner than the others.

‘What did he say?’ I asked, pointing at the ceiling as if the voice had come from the lightbulb.