Page 18 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)
Joyce loves a trip to London, even under such unusual circumstances.
She likes the posh bits with the umbrella shops and the palaces, she likes the noisy bits with the Moroccan food and all the lovely fabric shops, and she likes the modern bits with the high-rise flats and the swimming pools up in mid-air. Which one would they be visiting today?
It was somewhere in the middle of this final reverie that Elizabeth had woken Joyce to let her know they were getting off the train at Purley, three stops and a million miles away from the cosmopolitan buzz of London proper.
Still, even then, who knew? Perhaps sleepy Purley had hidden depths? An underground gambling den? A warehouse run by the Yakuza? Joyce had recently watched a Netflix series on the Yakuza, and they did turn up in the most surprising places. There was one of them in Spain, for example.
But instead they walked through suburban streets until they found a quiet crescent of bungalows that Joyce could honestly have found anywhere.
Her disappointment was not any sort of value judgement on the street itself, far from it: Purley seemed delightful, and bungalows were always at a premium.
It was just she was expecting adventure, in one or other of its forms, and Birch Drive seemed unlikely to deliver.
Number 17 Birch Drive had seemed less promising still. A neatly trimmed front lawn, with orderly flowers, and the only sign of personality a large porcelain ginger cat guarding the pale beige front door.
Perhaps inside she might be shocked. That had been her final hope. The outside so ordinary, so everyday, the inside a lair, a laboratory, a gleaming hub of computers hidden away in plain sight.
Instead they had got an ‘old friend’ of Elizabeth’s called Jasper, who wore a shirt and bow tie, but also tracksuit trousers.
In his front room were no piranha tanks, no flashing monitors and no lightly smoking test tubes.
Instead there were more porcelain cats, maybe fifty or so.
There were porcelain cats playing snooker, porcelain cats riding tandems, porcelain cats singing carols, and porcelain cats in sunglasses smoking what Joyce, after prolonged exposure to Pauline, recognizes as joints of marijuana.
Joyce has yet to notice any real cats though.
But here they are, and, disappointed or not, you must always try to make the most of it.
‘Do you have any actual cats?’ Joyce asks.
‘Cats?’ asks Jasper. He looks at Elizabeth for guidance, then back at Joyce. ‘No? Why do you ask?’
Every time you met someone Elizabeth used to work with, there was something or other.
‘Sorry for the mess,’ says Jasper, taking a seat at the dining-room table. ‘My wife was always the one for visitors, I’ve never quite got the hang of it. Where are these famous photos, then?’
Elizabeth sits next to him and shows him her phone. ‘It looks real to me, but I’m not the expert, am I, Jasper?’
‘No, no,’ agrees Jasper, then looks at Joyce. ‘That’s me. I’m the expert.’
‘I wish I was an expert in something,’ says Joyce. ‘Even if it’s bombs. Do you have to keep up with all the new bombs?’
‘Keep up?’ says Jasper. ‘Umm, let me think. I do get a regular invitation to a little place on the south bank of a river; you just might have heard of it – it’s called the Thames.’
‘That’s nice,’ says Joyce. Jasper seems very jolly. ‘Yes, I have heard of it. Some lovely shops.’
‘Let’s just say that this particular shop is of the secret variety,’ says Jasper. ‘And we shall say no more on the matter. Naughty Jasper, hush my mouth.’
‘Oh, I understand,’ says Joyce. She doesn’t, but there’s no need to offend anyone.
‘He means they still let him go into MI6,’ says Elizabeth. ‘The building is on the South Bank of the Thames.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Joyce to Jasper. ‘I didn’t pick up on that.’
Jasper waves two hands to let Joyce know it simply couldn’t matter less. ‘I pop in from time to time, see what’s what. Shouldn’t really talk about it.’
‘I’m used to it from Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘You’d think no one else ever worked for a living.’
Jasper scrolls through the images.
‘What do we think?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘Oh, it’s real,’ says Jasper. ‘It’s Russian. Or Russian-made at least, not that that signifies anything. Pretty solid bit of kit, stable. It didn’t go off?’
‘Our man spotted it,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Decided to take a taxi that morning.’
‘Very wise,’ says Jasper. ‘Very wise indeed, I would say. So where’s the bomb now? May I see it? I’d love that. Have a tinker? Try not to wake the neighbours.’
‘It seems to have disappeared,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Ah,’ says Jasper. ‘A disappearing bomb. Happens, doesn’t it? Though they often make their presence known sooner or later. Ha, ha, ha. One shouldn’t joke about bombs, of course. Bombs are very serious, Joyce.’
‘Understood,’ says Joyce.
‘You’re certain it’s real?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘Who is ever certain of anything?’ Jasper asks. ‘But if it’s not real, someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it look real.’
‘And big enough to kill?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘Or just send a message?’
‘Big enough to kill,’ says Jasper. ‘And then some. Blow you straight through the roof still holding the steering wheel. Send you halfway to space. Ha, ha, ha. Again, one shouldn’t joke, one shouldn’t joke.’
‘The sort of thing a connected criminal might be able to get their hands on though?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘Oh, with ease,’ says Jasper. ‘You can pick these things up online these days.’
Elizabeth’s phone starts to ring. She walks over to a corner and answers. ‘Donna, about time. What do you have on The Compound?’
Jasper looks up at Joyce. ‘I know I shouldn’t wear these trousers with this shirt, by the way. I do know that. A part of me wants to make the effort, but the other part of me … well, perhaps you know.’
‘I do know,’ says Joyce. Elizabeth still paces, listening to Donna. It occurs to Joyce that this whole thing could have been done over the phone, but Elizabeth had decided to come in person. Why was that? Is she rediscovering the thrill of the chase maybe? Good for her if she is.
Joyce looks around again. ‘What a lot of cats you have, Jasper? Which is your favourite?’
‘Favourite?’ asks Jasper. ‘I can’t bear them.’
‘I see,’ says Joyce.
‘I got one for Christmas once from an aunt,’ says Jasper. ‘And you know how over-enthusiastic one gets when one receives a disappointing present?’
Joyce nods. ‘Joanna bought me a water purifier and the grinning almost killed me.’
‘Every Christmas and every birthday since, they’d come,’ says Jasper. ‘Oh, he’ll love this, old Jasper. This is just the thing for Jasper. My wife found the whole thing a hoot, started encouraging them. It was funny, I admit that.’
‘But why still have them all on display?’ Joyce asks.
‘You never know when people are going to come round, do you?’ says Jasper. ‘And if they don’t see their present on display, what would they think?’
Elizabeth finishes her call. ‘Come on, Joyce, work to do. Has Paul got back to us about Holly Lewis?’
Joyce looks at Jasper. He is trying to hide his disappointment that his visitors are leaving.
‘I don’t suppose you could make us a cup of tea, Jasper?’
‘No time, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any tea,’ says Jasper.
‘Not to worry,’ says Joyce.
‘Or teacups.’
‘Perhaps you should buy a couple of mugs?’ Joyce says. ‘And keep some PG Tips in the cupboard?’
Jasper nods. ‘Where would I buy mugs though?’
‘I saw a lovely charity shop on the high street,’ says Joyce. ‘Near the station. A British Heart Foundation.’
Jasper grimaces, as if this might be beyond him. Joyce hugs him, and feels his initial resistance soften as she does so.
‘We’ll see you soon, Jasper,’ says Joyce.
Jasper nods. ‘Maybe if you find the bomb, you could bring it with you? I’d really like to get my screwdriver in there and have a poke around.’
Joyce looks at Jasper’s tracksuit trousers, sagging and old. She looks at his eyes, pale and watery, glad of the company and sad to see it go.
Joyce knows then that she will be coming back to see Jasper again one day, and she will make sure Elizabeth will be coming too.
How many men like Jasper sit behind beige front doors in quiet bungalows, not knowing how to dress or what to eat or where to go? Wanting above all else not to be a nuisance? Joyce wishes she could save them all.