after the funeral.
"Looked like he thought he was some god in a museum"—that was how Dan described the face on the stone Terence took home. Luke wasn't sure what Dan had in mind, but he knows all too precisely now. High domed forehead without wrinkles, deep staring eyes with no eyebrows, long smooth hollow cheeks, blunt elongated nose, thin lips not quite keeping their amusement to themselves—if he looks behind him he will see that face. He marches a few paces and then, although he's enraged by doing so, swings around. The path and everywhere around it are deserted.
How could he have imagined a face in such detail? He feels as if he's leaving it behind rather than simply putting it out of his head. The Lexus blinks awake, and he's annoyed by a sense of taking refuge. As he starts the car he resists an impulse to glance across the waste ground. At last he does, to see no more than he already saw. The car jerks forward and he drives away, eager to outdistance the impression that made him look towards the student flats: that he was being watched from the dozens of windows—that every window would be occupied by the same pale elongated face.
GOING BACK
"Come in, Luke," Maurice shouts and flings the door wide. "Come in, son."
His lower lip droops as though it's miming openness, and Luke restrains his own from reflecting the expression. "Seeing you twice in a week now, are we? Not often enough," Maurice declares. "What are you having to drink?"
"I'd better not, thanks. I was on the way to the house."
"Your house, you mean," Maurice says more enthusiastically still. "Yours and Sophie's and somebody else's as well."
It's clear that he has been celebrating, and Luke guesses Terence's will is why. As well as leaving Luke the house in Runcorn it confirms that Maurice and Freda have been left the demolition firm. Before Luke can say any more Maurice strides along the broad timbered hall. "It's Luke, Freddy," he shouts.
Freda bustles out of the metal and marble kitchen. She's wearing an apron like an elongated humbug, which emits a plastic crackle as she hugs Luke. "Won't you stay for dinner? We're having the pasta you like."
"You'll be coming back this way, won't you?" Maurice says. "Better go before it's dark."
"Why are you telling him that, Maurice?"
"The boys were saying Terry had been letting his bills sit for months. Maybe the power's been cut off by now."
"He must have had something on his mind." Freda shakes her head as if to jettison the thought and says "I can always add to the pasta, Luke. I don't like to think of you sitting on your own at home."
"Sophie wants to keep touring as long as she can before she has to come off the road."
"I wasn't criticising her. It's who she is just like your career is you. We ought to admire her driving all the way to Devon in her state." Freda hesitates and says "You won't mind if we pray for her, will you? We did for you."
Luke assumes she means when they were trying for a child. "I'm sure we won't," he tells her and Maurice.
"We heard her single on the radio today. The presenter said they'll be queuing when it's in the shops." As if this is related Freda says "So have we managed to tempt you with dinner?"
By now they've all strayed into the lounge. Beyond the conservatory framed by floor-length windows the sky is darkening above the river. Luke imagines lifting the stale pillow on Terence's empty bed to see whether it conceals a face in the gloom. "Maybe I'll let the house rest for today," he says.
"Get it done before he changes his mind." With equal urgency Maurice tells Luke "Now you're going to have that drink with me."
'Just a glass of white, then." Luke sits by an antique table under which three members of its family crouch increasingly low and small, and the vintage sofa gives a discreet upholstered creak. "A small one," he requests despite knowing Maurice doesn't go in for those.
Maurice watches and then listens to Freda heading for the kitchen. As he steps
"Looked like he thought he was some god in a museum"—that was how Dan described the face on the stone Terence took home. Luke wasn't sure what Dan had in mind, but he knows all too precisely now. High domed forehead without wrinkles, deep staring eyes with no eyebrows, long smooth hollow cheeks, blunt elongated nose, thin lips not quite keeping their amusement to themselves—if he looks behind him he will see that face. He marches a few paces and then, although he's enraged by doing so, swings around. The path and everywhere around it are deserted.
How could he have imagined a face in such detail? He feels as if he's leaving it behind rather than simply putting it out of his head. The Lexus blinks awake, and he's annoyed by a sense of taking refuge. As he starts the car he resists an impulse to glance across the waste ground. At last he does, to see no more than he already saw. The car jerks forward and he drives away, eager to outdistance the impression that made him look towards the student flats: that he was being watched from the dozens of windows—that every window would be occupied by the same pale elongated face.
GOING BACK
"Come in, Luke," Maurice shouts and flings the door wide. "Come in, son."
His lower lip droops as though it's miming openness, and Luke restrains his own from reflecting the expression. "Seeing you twice in a week now, are we? Not often enough," Maurice declares. "What are you having to drink?"
"I'd better not, thanks. I was on the way to the house."
"Your house, you mean," Maurice says more enthusiastically still. "Yours and Sophie's and somebody else's as well."
It's clear that he has been celebrating, and Luke guesses Terence's will is why. As well as leaving Luke the house in Runcorn it confirms that Maurice and Freda have been left the demolition firm. Before Luke can say any more Maurice strides along the broad timbered hall. "It's Luke, Freddy," he shouts.
Freda bustles out of the metal and marble kitchen. She's wearing an apron like an elongated humbug, which emits a plastic crackle as she hugs Luke. "Won't you stay for dinner? We're having the pasta you like."
"You'll be coming back this way, won't you?" Maurice says. "Better go before it's dark."
"Why are you telling him that, Maurice?"
"The boys were saying Terry had been letting his bills sit for months. Maybe the power's been cut off by now."
"He must have had something on his mind." Freda shakes her head as if to jettison the thought and says "I can always add to the pasta, Luke. I don't like to think of you sitting on your own at home."
"Sophie wants to keep touring as long as she can before she has to come off the road."
"I wasn't criticising her. It's who she is just like your career is you. We ought to admire her driving all the way to Devon in her state." Freda hesitates and says "You won't mind if we pray for her, will you? We did for you."
Luke assumes she means when they were trying for a child. "I'm sure we won't," he tells her and Maurice.
"We heard her single on the radio today. The presenter said they'll be queuing when it's in the shops." As if this is related Freda says "So have we managed to tempt you with dinner?"
By now they've all strayed into the lounge. Beyond the conservatory framed by floor-length windows the sky is darkening above the river. Luke imagines lifting the stale pillow on Terence's empty bed to see whether it conceals a face in the gloom. "Maybe I'll let the house rest for today," he says.
"Get it done before he changes his mind." With equal urgency Maurice tells Luke "Now you're going to have that drink with me."
'Just a glass of white, then." Luke sits by an antique table under which three members of its family crouch increasingly low and small, and the vintage sofa gives a discreet upholstered creak. "A small one," he requests despite knowing Maurice doesn't go in for those.
Maurice watches and then listens to Freda heading for the kitchen. As he steps
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