in an attempt to make me feel better. ‘This was the Witchfinder’s room, they say. I ain’t had no problem with it. But some do. When that idea gets into your head it can make you think things I suppose.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to counter his accusation, feeling there was a vague insult attached – the notion that I might be weak minded, but I rued, this was a possibility. Instead I bit my lip and apologised.
When he left I ran the water in the sink and washed the remnants of the gel off myself. There were no lice, only the charcoal. What was it? Another sight? But why? I couldn’t understand it and went into the bedroom to put on some clothes. But the air was charged.
Something was starting to stir. I could feel it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Amelia was early; when I went downstairs she was waiting in the reception area, her light-sensitive glasses adjusting to the bright interior of the pub. She had on a deep russet coat – teamed with her long bobbed hair, she resembled a kind of female Johnny Ramone.
We ordered a drink and sat up by the bar, making small talk.
I was doing a good job of holding it together, looking competent, conversing eloquently. Inside my head there was some dizziness where a section of brain cells were busy making sense of the ‘lice shower’ and the Hopping Bridge. I let them puzzle it out while the frontal lobes continued their work of interacting with my dinner guest. When Amelia asked me what I thought of Manningtree the two areas overlapped and I let slip a wry smile.
‘It’s very stimulating,’ I told her.
She nodded. Dangly green earrings swayed to and fro. ‘I imagine it must have really got you going.’
‘It certainly has.’
‘Very atmospheric, isn’t it?’
‘That is something it doesn’t lack.’
‘So glad you’re enjoying it.’ She took a sip of her wine. I had ordered brandy. Purely medicinal you understand: I was resolved to stick on one glass and have a white wine with dinner. No more than that as, once I’d finished with Amelia, I wanted to capture some of my experiences in words and then as Felix had suggested ‘filter them into the chapter’ that he wanted by Friday.
‘I wouldn’t say “enjoying” it was the right word,’ I told her.
Amelia’s eyes rolled. ‘Hopkins getting to you?’ And she let out a little piggy snort of a laugh. She removed her coat and straightened out a more formal-looking dress than the outfit she’d worn to Uncle Roger’s party. I caught a waft of lavender and imagined a small scented wardrobe full of well-preserved clothes. I could picture her giving her lecture at the Women’s Institute.
‘I have to say,’ she said as we sat by the bar, ‘I did have a few nightmares when I was researching him. He really was a sod.’
I smiled at her profanity, guessing that was as far as someone as well-bred as Amelia would venture to go.
‘Your table’s ready,’ the waiter interrupted and gestured to a corner seat. I squeezed past a large group of diners.
Amelia had her drink in one hand and her handbag in the other, and was holding them up over her head as we navigated to our table. She narrowly missed hitting a middle-aged man with her handbag. It turned out that she knew him and stopped to exchange a greeting.
We sat down and arranged ourselves. ‘Is this your local?’ I asked.
‘No. I’m further out past Manningtree, but I recognise most of the people in here. One tends to get to know faces in such a small town.’
I watched her settle her bag onto her lap. ‘No, I’ll start with this,’ she said to herself, hands rummaging through into the depths of her carpetbag. She looked up brightly. ‘I’ve got quite a lot to talk about but I think I’ll keep the best for dessert and coffee.’ She winked. ‘We’ll need the space.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Well,’ she pulled a thin A5 notebook out and passed it over the table, ‘I found this last week and thought you might want to have a look at it. On page five is the Red Lion. In Manningtree.’ She pointed to a black and white photograph of a street decked out in a host of flags. On the left I could see the sign that denoted the old pub. The caption beneath it stated the photographer had captured the townspeople celebrating the coronation of George V.