Perfectly Ordinary People(72)

So I was sucking my pencil, wondering if I could find a way to save author Gail Windrush from year 2000 oblivion when the UPS guy phoned.

He made a right old fuss about having to deliver to a non-commercial address – something he was not paid to do, he insisted – but eventually agreed to meet me on the pavement outside. Quite what was so difficult about delivering it to me rather than the shop I was standing in front of, I really do not know.

Back in the flat I emptied the contents on to the worktop.

Six tiny Dictaphone cassettes fell out, along with a handwritten card that read: Ethel wanted you to have these. Best wishes. Tony.

I pushed one of the tapes around the worktop with the tip of my finger, driving it like a toy car as I tried to think about the whys and wherefores of this strange delivery.

The mini-cassettes had been labelled simply GS#1 to GS#6 and as I didn’t have (nor had ever had) a Dictaphone machine, they were destined to remain a mystery for the time being.

I re-read the note and, with a shrug, began to dial Tony’s phone number from the UPS label.

But then something about the covering note struck me. That past tense – Ethel wanted you to have these.

I made myself a cup of coffee and steeled myself before dialling the number. A man answered immediately, saying rather camply, ‘Sex addicts anonymous, how can I help you today?’

‘Oh,’ I stammered. ‘Um . . . I think I may have—’

‘I’m just pulling your leg. It’s a private joke. This is Tony. How can I help you?’

‘Oh, right. Sorry. This is Ruth Solomas.’

‘Ah! You got the tapes, then?’

‘Yes. I did. But can I ask why was it you who sent them? Why didn’t Ethel do it? She’s not ill, is she?’

‘Oh, you didn’t hear?’ he said. ‘She left us. I assumed that somehow you would have heard.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘She died, honey. I actually thought she’d told you herself.’

‘God,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know. But I don’t understand. How could she have told me?’

‘I’m not sure I . . .’

‘Unless she knew she was dying when I met her.’

‘Oh, hon,’ he said. ‘She . . .’

I heard a gasp, then, and the line went quiet for a moment before Tony’s partner picked it up.

‘Hello, this is Glen. You probably don’t remember me, but we met at Genny’s funeral.’

‘Yes, I do. Of course I do. Hello, Glen.’

‘I’m sorry about that. Tone still gets very upset. He loved her to bits. We both did. It’s just that my heart is made of steel. That’s what he says, anyway.’

‘I’m in shock here. What happened?’

‘She had a bit of a send-off and checked out,’ Glen said, his voice gravelly with emotion.

‘She checked out,’ I repeated.

‘Yeah . . . Massive heroin overdose, hon. No one knows where she got it, but apparently it’s a hell of a way to go.’

‘You’re saying this wasn’t an accident?’

‘Oh, no. It wasn’t an accident at all. Like I say, she had a goodbye party. Everybody knew. Radical right up to the end, our Ethel.’

‘Just to be clear, you’re telling me she killed herself?’

‘Yes. If your father had taken her calls, he would have known, I suppose.’

‘But why? Why would she do that?’ I asked. ‘She seemed so full of . . . life.’

‘Oh, she was in pain, hon. A lot of pain. That wears you down. She kept breaking bones and stuff. She was sick of it.’

‘But all the same.’

‘And she just felt she’d lived through enough, I suppose. She felt she was done, I think. But, mainly, she just couldn’t see the point going on without the others. She wasn’t bitter or sad or anything. But she felt that she’d had enough.’

‘When you say “the others”, you mean without Genny and Chris?’ I remembered her telling me something to the effect that life had no meaning without them back in November, but I would never have imagined that foreshadowing this.

‘Exactly. They were everything to her. I mean, it’s not that flattering for the rest of us, but sometimes you’re just a bit player, right?’

I could hear the bitterness in Glen’s voice, and I thought about how hard it must be to realise that your friendship wasn’t enough for someone to want to stick around.

I asked him to confirm that my father wasn’t aware and he told me he didn’t know. ‘There might be official channels or something,’ he said. ‘But your guess is as good as mine.’

Only as I was saying goodbye did I remember the cassettes, so I asked him what was on them, but Glen didn’t know that either.

‘When I saw her in November, she had something she wanted to give Dad,’ I told him. ‘Was this what she meant? I mean, were these the things she wanted him to have?’

‘I don’t know,’ Glen said. ‘But I assume that was the plan.’

‘So I should probably just give these to Dad?’

‘Hang on,’ Glen said. ‘This isn’t really my . . .’

There was a rustle and a crunch as he laid down the handset and went off to consult Tony.