Joel
I’m impressed. I’ve seen less effort go into a murder crime scene back at the station but as I stand staring at the two by two metre map of Pooley village, I have an instant respect for our newest resident.
‘Did you do this?’ I ask, as Flora proudly sips a large glass of rosé wine beneath her alcove display.
‘I did… with Annie’s help, though Mick wasn’t chuffed at having to restock the bar on his tod.’
She was positively beaming, and I couldn’t blame her.
The once brick walled alcove now resembled a true investigation. Central was the coloured map, obviously photocopied and enlarged, beside which was an enlarged photocopy of the news article depicting chubby-faced Darren proudly cuddling a scrunched-up baby.
‘That’s you then?’ I say, pretending I hadn’t studied the photograph on her clipping.
‘Me… pictured on the morning of Friday, 10th October 1986.’
I step closer to read the black and white article again.
‘Find it in the library, did you?’
‘No… I’ve photocopied the clipping you returned. Don’t you remember, Darren said he has the same article framed on his lounge wall.’
‘Jesus wept… I forgot he had that on his lounge wall!’
‘You cheeky git!’
‘Sorry I didn’t mean you, of course I didn’t but that’ll certainly keep the kids away from the coal fire or keep them awake at night!’ I laugh, cringing at the very thought. ‘Darren’s face is one only a mother could love.’
Flora tries to hide her smile, but fails miserably.
‘That’s cruel.’
‘Cruel but true!’ I add.
I continue to read.
‘Had you never seen it before?’ she asks.
I shake my head pretending I hadn’t read it on Christmas morning. A white lie won’t hurt.
‘I’m not local as such… I grew up in the next village, I live between the two now… it’s not the best idea to live so near,’ I lower my voice, ‘rubbing shoulders with the natives can go against you at times.’
Her green eyes scour the pub, notably the group of youths by the fruit machine.
‘You won’t have any memories or details to write in the comments book then?’ She points to the large manuscript book complete with front cover label detailing the cause and purpose beneath the title: 10th October 1986 – where were you?
‘I believe I spent the day playing with Plasticine and stickle bricks… followed by a lunchtime nap and a bedtime story,’ I joke, trying to recall my interests, aged three.
‘What’s all this then?’ interrupts Gene, wearing his tartan shirt, as always.
I step back, making room as he moves towards the display; Flora gleefully explains her handiwork. Around the bar several regulars have one ear cocked to hear her explanation whilst their gaze lingers on their pints as they pretend not to listen.
‘If you can write down anything that you remember from that morning, then push a pin into the village map to show where you were living or even working – it’ll help to build a picture from which I can work.’
‘Ay, give me a pin and a tag then,’ says Gene.
Flora reaches beneath the table and lifts numerous boxes from around her feet, rummages and hands over the necessary equipment for insertion of the first pin.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers, as the bulky man lingers, writes his tag and locates his parent’s home of thirty years ago.
‘Of course, being twins that applies to our Mick too.’
‘Add his name if you would… I need to know as much as possible.’
I wander to the bar, order a pint and settle amongst the regulars to watch the attraction in the alcove.
This could prove interesting, if the right people co-operate, recall snippets and actively participate she’ll collect a huge amount of information, which if analysed correctly could suggest possibilities, even reveal an answer.
‘Could you add your age to the label as well?’ asks Flora, ‘It’ll give a fuller picture of the families living in the village.’
I watch as Gene eagerly complies, adding further details to his tag.
Let’s hope everyone’s as generous.
‘She’s doing OK, don’t you think?’ says Annie, serving my pint. ‘It took her all morning but she got it finished in time for opening… let’s hope the regulars play ball.’
‘She’s doing very well considering…’
‘And your black eyes are coming on a treat, did you renew the surgical tape yourself?’ laughs Annie, handing over my change. ‘Neat job.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ I utter, before returning my attention to the alcove where a crowd of five gather eagerly to follow Gene’s fine example.
Flora is handing pins and tag labels left, right and centre to all the compliant males. I look at the bar.
How many females are present? Three, including Annie and Flora.
And there lies the major hiccup in this investigation.
‘Annie!’ I call along the bar to grab her attention.
‘You empty all ready? That’s not your style.’
‘No, I’ve a question – I know it’s the lull between Christmas and the New Year rush but how quickly can you organise a ladies’ night?’
‘Joel Kennedy that’s not your style either… what are you up to?’