A Cure for All Diseases

Then he stepped to one side and did a piss-taking bow and said, ‘So sorry, Your Ladyship. Didn’t see you there. So sorry. Would hate to get in Your Ladyship’s way.’

‘You won’t,’ she said. And went sweeping past him, young Clara in pursuit looking a bit embarrassed.

The old boy kicked the door shut behind them. The landlord said, ‘Watch it, Hen. It’s me as is responsible for fixtures and fittings. Your usual, Dr Feldenhammer?’

The Yank who’d been watching the incident with interest nodded. His usual was a short. Dark amber, enough ice to sink the Titanic. Jack Daniel’s mebbe. At least it weren’t purple. Festerwhanger sipped it, then turned and leaned against the bar. His face split into that toothy grin as he acted like he’d just noticed us.

‘Well hello there, Franny’ he called. ‘And Mr Dalziel too. Glad to see you’re getting around, sir. You’re looking well.’

Roote gave my thigh a told-you-so jab under the table. I’d have given him a let’s-wait-and-see kick back, only with him not having any feeling in his legs, it didn’t seem worth the effort.

‘Aye, I’m not so bad,’ I lied. Truth was, I felt distinctly woozy. The ancient geezer had got himself a pint without opening his mouth or handing over money, so far as I could see. Another time I’d have been interested to find out what had just gone off here, but at the moment, I didn’t give a toss.

‘Good. And you, Franny, how are you? Coming to Tom’s meeting on Friday, I hope?’

‘Of course. Exciting times, Lester. Won’t you join us?’

Franny and Lester. Like an old music hall act. Roote had really got his useless legs under the table round here. Sounded like his social calendar were pretty full too.

‘Thanks but I mustn’t stay,’ said the Yank. ‘Just came out to drop an express packet into the post office. My niece’s birthday back home. Almost forgot, which would have been a capital offence. Felt I’d earned a quick one, but I need to be back up at the clinic pretty well straightaway.’

I weren’t so ill I didn’t notice there were too much bloody detail. Think a shrink would know summat like that. Plus, most country post offices I’d come across shut up at midday on a Saturday.

The door opened again. This were getting like a French farce. New arrival were a well set-up young fellow, one of them craggy faces that has five o’clock shadow at half past one. Looked like he reckoned the world owed him a living and the women in it owed him a shagging.

He said, ‘Alan, any sign of my aunt?’

‘Been and gone. Says she’ll see you in Moby’s.’

‘Oh dear. Bit pissed off, is she? That will mean the lobster thermidor, I fear. But then she was never going to choose the monk fish pâté, was she?’

He made a wry sort of face to show he was joking, only he wasn’t.

Now he let himself take in the others in the bar. Worzel Gummidge he ignored, me and Roote he shot a cocky grin at and said, ‘Ah Franny, nursy taking you for a stroll?’, then he did a double take as if he’d just noticed Fester and cried, ‘Is that you, Dr Feldenhammer? Didn’t recognize you in a sitting position, sir. I hope I find you well. Mustn’t keep auntie waiting.’

Then he left, whistling raucously.

I saw Festerwhanger flush the colour of old port. Either he were seriously narked or he was going to have a seizure.

He downed the rest of his drink like he needed it, ice cubes clanging against his snowy teeth hard enough to dislodge a polar bear, slid off his stool, gave the landlord a curt nod, and marched through the door.

I said to Roote, ‘Got that wrong, didn’t you, lad?’

He said, ‘I just think the game changed, but never fear, he’ll remember. That tune Teddy Denham was whistling, I’m trying to recall what it is. I’ve got it on the tip of my tongue.’

Meaning he hadn’t the faintest idea but would be glad to know what caused the Yank doctor to lose his cool. Didn’t miss much, our Franny.

‘Sorry, no idea,’ I said. Which was a lie. I’d recognized the notes of a little ditty I’ve heard belted out at the back of rugby coaches more times than I care to remember.

Don’t expect Roote spent much time in rugby coaches, and I didn’t see any reason why I should enlighten him.

Roote were giving me one of his looks which said he knew I were holding out on him. Then his expression turned to I-told-you-so! as the door opened again and Fester stuck his head back in.

‘It just occurred to me, Mr Dalziel – would you like a lift back up to the Home? Or do you have transport arranged?’

I suppose I could’ve told him I preferred to walk. Or that Roote were giving me a lift. But sod that. Only a fool turns down what he wants out of pride, and what I really wanted now were to crash out in my pit.

‘Nay,’ I said. ‘That ’ud be grand.’

I looked at my beer glass. It were half full. I realized I didn’t want it.

Only a fool sups what he don’t want out of pride.

But I could feel Roote watching me, and this time pride won.

I drained the glass, set it down, and hauled myself out of my chair.

‘Thanks, mate,’ I said to the landlord. ‘Good pint that.’

‘Thank you, sir. Hope we see you again soon,’ he said.

‘Never fret, I’ll be back.’

Roote caught my arm and said in a low voice, ‘Mr Dalziel, just one thing. About Mr Pascoe, I’ll leave it up to you.’

Whether I told him or not, he meant.

I gave him a nod and left.

I wouldn’t trust Roote as far as I could throw him, which, the way I were feeling just then, was about half a yard. But credit where due, I couldn’t fault him over how he’d dealt with Pete.

Which don’t stop me wondering now they’ve finally got me tucked up in bed and talking to myself under the sheet, if one of the reasons Franny Roote took off abroad with no forwarding address was ’cos he didn’t want Pete Pascoe feeling responsible for him, then why when he came back to England did he opt to settle here in Mid-Yorkshire? OK it’s right on the fringes of our patch, but it’s still our patch!

Can’t get that tune buffalo woman’s nephew were whistling out of my mind. How did the words go? Let’s see … summat about an Indian maid … aye, that’s it!

There once was an Indian maid, and she was sore afraidthat some buckaroo would stick it up her flueas she lay in the shade.

And so on. Gets dirtier. Not the kind of thing I’d expect Fester to choose for his Desert Island Discs. And why should it bother him so much?

Questions, questions, lots and lots of sodding questions hopping madly round my mind to that jaunty little tune. But it’s always the same one leading the dance.

What the fuck is Roote really up to here in Sandytown?

Never fear, one way or another, I’ll find out afore I go!

But all I want to do now is sleep.

So it’s goodnight from you, Mildred, and it’s goodnight from