بازگشت

Chapter ten

The return

That Saturday, I had to go to the University. My younger sister, Elisabeth, had just finished her studies, and she was getting her degree. My parents had come to watch, and we were all going out for a meal afterwards.

I put on a nice dress after work and went to the University. When I got there, we sat and watched and listened, and then everyone had tea outside on the grass. It was a funny day: all the students were wearing good clothes, instead of their normal jeans and T-shirts, and they all took their parents round to meet their friends and their friends’ parents. Everyone was standing there, talking to strangers and feeling a little embarrassed.

I was just getting myself another cup of tea when I saw him. He was standing there with a cup of tea in his hand, and a silly smile on his face - the hitch-hiker!

I stood quite still and watched him. He was standing in a group with two young men - students - and two older people. They talked and smiled for a few minutes, and then the hitch-hiker and one of the students moved away and began to talk to another family group.

‘That student is his son,’ I thought. ‘And I know him, too! He’s the young man we saw in the cemetery!’

The hitch-hiker was still very pale and he was still wearing that old-fashioned suit. I noticed another strange thing, too - none of the other parents talked to him. In fact, one man nearly walked straight into him.

But I didn’t think much about that, then. I knew that I had to talk to him - perhaps he could help me about the accident, even now.

I smiled, and walked towards him.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think that I’d see you again!’

He turned quickly, and for a moment I was sure he was afraid. Or perhaps I was the first person who had spoken to him that afternoon. But then he smiled too. ‘How nice,’ he said. ‘You’re the lady who gave me a lift into town a week ago, aren’t you?’

So he remembered me, too. That was interesting.

He looked worried. ‘But you’re a policewoman, aren’t you? So you can’t be a student, and you’re not old enough to be a parent. So why are you here? Has there been a crime?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘My sister’s getting her degree, that’s all. Is this your son?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Michael, come and meet my policewoman friend. She gave me a lift in her car the other day.’

Michael smiled and shook my hand, but I thought he looked a little nervous. ‘That- er- that was very kind of you,’ he said. ‘My father doesn’t have a car, and he’s always missing the bus. He never manages to catch the bus if I don’t take him to the bus-stop myself.’

I didn’t know what to say. ‘If he’s the young man we saw in the cemetery,’ I thought, ‘then his father’s dead! But he says this man is his father!’

The father smiled again.’ These young people,’ he said. They think they know everything. But really it’s my son who’s always getting into trouble. I have to look after him all the time, you know.’

People were beginning to go home. I remembered that the hitch-hiker didn’t have a car.

‘Can I give you another lift back into town,’ I asked.

‘Yes, please,’ he said. ‘That would be very kind. I- I’m getting old, you know. I get tired when I see too many people.’

The son smiled, and left us. We walked to the car. I didn’t speak much. I was thinking hard. What questions should I ask?

The hitch-hiker got into the car and smiled at me. ‘I hope we won’t see another accident,’ he said. ‘I hate accidents. All my life, I’ve been afraid of cars. I’m so glad that Michael isn’t going to work near cars or roads. He’s got a job in a bookshop, you know, and he’ll be able to walk to work. You can’t be farther away from cars than that.’

‘Yes,’ I said. It didn’t sound very exciting to me. ‘Is this job in Lancaster?’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ The man smiled his thin, pale smile. ‘He doesn’t want to work anywhere else. He comes to see me every day, you know.’

‘When I met you the other day, where had you been,’ I asked.

‘With Michael, of course,’ he said. ‘At the University.’

‘How did you get there?’

‘I walked. It was a nice day.’

‘Did you cross the road about ten minutes before you met me,’ I asked. ‘Did you walk in front of a car, perhaps?’

He looked surprised and unhappy. ‘No- no, of course I didn’t.’

‘Are you sure? Quite sure? Because the driver of one of the cars saw you, you know.’

‘Saw me? What do you mean?’

‘One of the drivers in that accident saw a man, just like you, who walked straight across the road in front of him. That’s why he swerved and stopped. He thought he’d killed you!’

The man’s fingers were playing nervously with the seat-belt, and his face was whiter than ever. ‘Oh, no. That isn’t true. I was very careful, and anyway, nobody can see me when-‘

‘So you did cross the road?’ We were near the centre of the town now, just outside the cemetery. I stopped the car and turned to look at the man more closely. ‘I think you’d better come back to the police station with me. I’ve got a few more questions to ask, Mr-‘

But then I remembered. I still didn’t know his name.

‘It’s- er- David. David Holland,’ he said. He was still playing nervously with the seat-belt while he spoke. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t come to the police station. Thank you for the lift. I must go now. Goodbye.’

I tried to stop him, but he was going already. Going in a way that was not normal at all. He had not opened the door, but his leg and half of his body were already halfway through it. I couldn’t speak, I was too surprised. And as I watched, the other parts of his body - that thin, pale body in the strange, old-fashioned clothes - went through the door as well.

Through the door, right through the steel car door. And then he walked quickly away, and walked straight through the closed metal gate into the cemetery.

I didn’t see where he went. I was too shocked to move. When at last I got out of the car, and walked into the cemetery, he was not there. But there were fresh flowers on the grave under the gravestone that said:

David Holland 1953-1978

‘He gave his life for his son’

I stood by the grave and thought for a long time. But I’m only an ordinary policewoman. I can’t arrest dead people, or people who aren’t there. I remembered the things poor Mr Jackson had said to me when he left my office, and I wondered what on earth I was going to do now.