Page 51 of The Impossible Fortune

‘Just after she left us?’ says Joyce.

‘Just after she left you,’ confirms Jasper. ‘And just before she met the bomb. Hello, Mr Bomb. Or Mrs Bomb. Are bombs men or women, do we think?’

Joyce thinks that perhaps bombs are women. Once they’ve exploded, that’s an end to it. Men are more like guns: they’re constantly reloading.

Jasper scrawls down a number on a piece of paper and slides it across to Elizabeth.

‘How long was the call?’ Elizabeth asks, looking at the number.

‘Didn’t get connected, but she tried it,’ says Jasper. ‘Perhaps she was rudely interrupted, ha, ha, ha. No, I know she died, that’s very serious, I apologize.’ Elizabeth looks at Joyce. ‘So Holly Lewis was trying to call someone when the bomb went off.’

Elizabeth is already calling somebody.

‘I’ll work on the rest of it this week,’ says Jasper. ‘See if I can find anything else useful for you. You came to see me at a good time: it’s quite quiet.’

There is a cat calendar hanging on the dining-room wall. Jasper’s month is empty except for the wordBINSwritten in painfully neat handwriting each Wednesday.

‘A number for you,’ says Elizabeth into her phone. ‘Could you run it straight away? … Well, because I’m asking … I’m aware it’s a Saturday, Clive … I don’t even know what the Malaysian Grand Prix Qualifying is … Monday morning? For goodness’ sake, Clive, you’re not the Post Office, you’re a spy … there’s no such thing as an ex-spy … tell your wife to turn the potatoes down for aminute … Clive Baxter, I need to know who that number belongs to, which will take you a matter of moments; a young woman was killed last night, and your assistance would be greatly appreciated, as I suspect my assistance was greatly appreciated when you were being throttled half to death in Odessa in 1974 … Thank you, Clive, yes, I’ll hold.’

Elizabeth starts pacing. Joyce looks around once again at all the cats. The cats that Jasper hates. The cats that were still here on the off-chance that their absence might offend someone who had bought him one.

‘Jasper,’ says Joyce, gently, ‘how many people who bought you these over the years are still alive?’

Jasper looks around the collection, assigning a name in his mind to each one. ‘Well, Cousin John is still knocking about, I suppose, but that would be it.’

‘And where is Cousin John?’

‘New Zealand,’ says Jasper.

Joyce nods. ‘Why don’t we pack some of them up?’

‘Some of the cats?’

‘Store them away somewhere,’ says Joyce. ‘Then you could really make the place your own, couldn’t you?’

Jasper looks around as if seeing it for the first time ever. ‘A few bookshelves perhaps?’

‘Make it a proper dining room,’ says Joyce. ‘Invite people over.’

‘Who would come?’ Jasper asks.

‘We’d come,’ says Joyce, indicating Elizabeth. At that moment Elizabeth begins nodding and writing something on a pad.

‘That’s wonderful work, Clive, wonderful,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Jill Usher. Wonderful, thank you. My love to Lady Helen.’

‘Got the name,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Jasper, you’ll have to forgive us, we have to rush off.’

‘Yes, of course,’ says Jasper. ‘Of course you must.’

‘Give me one moment,’ says Joyce. ‘Please.’

Joyce walks into Jasper’s kitchen and finds what she is looking for. Empty cardboard boxes. She hears Jasper saying, ‘Not too many of the old gang left, are there? You heard Charlie died?’

As she leaves the kitchen, Joyce sees that there are three garish-looking mugs sitting on the worktop. One saysIBlack HeartFISHING; anotherSOUTHERN ELECTRICITY BOARD CONFERENCE 1998; and the final oneWORLD’S BEST GRANDSON.Each has a British Heart Foundation price sticker on it. Next to them, laid out in regimental order, are three tea bags. Joyce has to catch her breath.

Joyce walks back into the dining room with tears in her eyes and two empty cardboard boxes in her hands.

‘What on earth are you doing, Joyce?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘We have to head home.’