‘No, no,’ says the officer. ‘We’ll be back in touch with you, but you must be keen to get home.’
Keener than you know, thinks Joyce. They have an awful lot of photos to look at.
Ibrahim had wanted to speak to Elizabeth about the trip to meet Samantha Barnes, but Elizabeth’s phone was off. So he then thought that perhaps he might take Alan for a walk, but Joyce was not in. Ibrahim could hear Alan bark, so they chatted through the letter-box for a while, but, without a key, that was the limit of Ibrahim’s fun. At least Ron would be in, he’d thought, and they could watch a film. But, no, Ron was not at home either. Where on earth was he? Perhaps he and Pauline had made up?
Trudging home, thinking about Samantha Barnes, thinking about Garth, thinking about how their eyes had lit up when they spoke about the heroin, Ibrahim suddenly remembered he had a new friend, and another project. He didn’t always need the Thursday Murder Club!
And so Ibrahim and Bob Whittaker are now drinking mint tea and having fun. There is a serious point to what they’re doing, but there’s no harm in enjoying yourself while you’re at it. Ibrahim is reading through their latest exchange – as Mervyn – with Tatiana, while Bob sips at his tea and looks happy to be out of the house.
MERVYN:
My love is open, like the petals of a flower, long closed under Spring’s frost, scared of the sunlight that brings it life. My love is open, like a wound, delicate and vulnerable and trusting to be tended. My love is open, like a door, in a cottage, in a wood, waiting for your footsteps.
TATIANA:
The money still didn’t clear. Can you try one more time, my darling?
MERVYN:
What is money in all this? A single primrose in a meadow. A teardrop in a waterfall.
TATIANA:
The bank has not received the money. I need to buy plane tickets.
MERVYN:
Fly to me, Tatiana. Let the breath of love carry you into my arms. I will meet you at Gatwick, there is very good parking in the North Terminal, although the pricing structure leaves a little to be desired.
‘I agree with you there,’ says Bob. ‘Fifteen pounds fifty, and I was there for only an hour.’
TATIANA:
I love you, Mervyn. I must have money in next six hours or my heart will break.
MERVYN:
I will speak to the bank again. But it’s a Saturday, and they keep asking me what the money is for. I tell them it’s for love, and then they say they need to do further checks.
TATIANA:
Tell them is for a car. Don’t mention love.
MERVYN:
How can I not mention love, my dear? When every heartbeat sings your name?
TATIANA:
Tell them is for a car. And, please, hurry. I must be with you.
MERVYN:
I could get the money in cash?
‘And this is setting the bait?’ asks Bob.
‘It certainly is,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Donna’s idea.’
TATIANA:
Then you send cash?
MERVYN:
Send it? Not with the postal strikes we’ve been having. The Royal Mail has been systematically underfunded for many years. Is it any wonder that loyal workers are taking industrial action? What other option do they have? It is the malaise of late capitalism.
TATIANA:
I could ask a friend to collect the cash? A friend from London?
MERVYN:
A friend? What a wonderful idea. To meet a friend of yours would be a dream in itself. We will talk of you late into the night.
TATIANA:
He will not be able to talk for long. He has an important job in London. He is not to be bothered.
MERVYN:
Whatever you wish, my love. I will withdraw the cash over the next few days, and will await instructions. And then the dream begins.
TATIANA:
£2,800
MERVYN:
That still seems very expensive for a plane ticket.
TATIANA:
There are taxes.
MERVYN:
Ah, it was Franklin, I believe, who said that nothing is certain in life but death and taxes. People often misattribute it to Oscar Wilde, don’t they?
TATIANA:
Don’t speak of death, my beautiful Mervyn.
MERVYN:
That is sage advice, Tatiana.
TATIANA:
I must go to work now. My friend will be in touch, and then we will be together forever. That is my dream.
MERVYN:
Of course, something Oscar Wilde did say was that there are only two tragedies in life. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.
TATIANA:
Your friend sounds very wise. I send you many kisses.
MERVYN:
And I you, sweet Tatiana.
‘So now we wait,’ says Bob.
‘Now we wait,’ agrees Ibrahim.
Bob looks over to Ibrahim. ‘You write very beautifully.’
Ibrahim shrugs. ‘In my business you hear a thing or two about love. I find it easy to replicate. It is largely a willing abandonment of logic.’
Bob nods. ‘You see no truth in it?’
‘In love?’ Ibrahim thinks. ‘Bob, you and I are cut from the same cloth.’
‘Which cloth is that?’ asks Bob.
‘The world of systems, and patterns, of zeros and ones. The binary instructions that make sense of life. We may be able to see the advantages and disadvantages of love, but to regard it as an objective entity, that is for the poets.’
