The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(47)

Arthur walked into the kitchen. It had shiny white units and a yellow dining table. Mrs. Kempster’s kitchen had been dark and unwelcoming, with a creaky floor and an arctic-like draft that whistled through the back door. Nothing looked familiar.

He then went upstairs. Standing on the landing he peered through the door into the bedroom that was once his wife’s. The walls were painted bright red. There were bunk beds, lots of teddies and a brightly colored map on the wall. He stared at it for a moment, then his eyes widened. A memory began to creep back.

Mrs. Kempster had only allowed him upstairs once, to fix the leg on her bed. She liked to keep him and Miriam in her sights, to make sure they didn’t get up to anything untoward. Whenever Arthur needed the bathroom he had to use the one in the backyard.

He had carried up a screwdriver, screws and can of oil to carry out the repair. At the top of the stairs he hadn’t been able to resist taking a quick peek inside Miriam’s room. Her bed was covered with a patchwork quilt. There was a doll that sat on a wooden chair. On her wall was a map of the world, in a similar position to the one here now. It was smaller, faded, and the edges curled.

At the time Arthur thought that the presence of the map was strange. Miriam had never talked of traveling or wanting to explore. He remembered that there were three red-topped pins stuck in the map. He had walked into the room for a closer look. The color of the pins had stood out against the pale green of the continents. As he reached out to touch them, he assumed that his wife had an interest in geography or that the map wasn’t hers. There was a pin in the UK, one in India and one in France.

He screwed the leg of the bed firmly in place and sat on it to test it wasn’t going to collapse with Mrs. Kempster in it. When he was satisfied, he gathered up his tools and went downstairs.

He never mentioned the map to his wife, not wanting to appear as if he had been prying. It was something of insignificance that he had buried in his mind, until now.

Arthur knew Miriam had been to London and had lived in India. And now he began to wonder if she had been to France, too.

As he took a quick look into the master bedroom, he thought a voice might pop in his head, to tell him that Miriam’s mother had definitely been called Pearl. But it didn’t come. When Miriam had sorted through her mother’s belongings there had been no birth certificate and only a few family photos.

There was only one person who might be able to help him with the name. A person who knew about everyone and everything in Thornapple: Post Office Vera.

He went downstairs and thanked the lady, then walked back over to the post office.

The door was heavy. He heard Vera’s sharp intake of breath as he entered. He hadn’t stepped foot inside since he had snapped at her for asking him about Bernadette.

Walking around, he built up his nerve. He picked up a miniroll of Sellotape, then a tube of Polo mints, a pack of luggage tags and a thank-you card with a dog wearing a party hat on it for Mike, and one with a cat on for the Graystocks. He could sense Vera’s eyes boring into his back. Soon his hands were full and he couldn’t fit anything else into his grasp. He tipped the items onto the counter. Vera flipped up the glass partition. She took each of the items in turn and made a great show of finding the price and tapping her calculator.

“It’s, er, a lovely day,” Arthur said to kick-start the conversation.

Vera grunted. She gave a slow blink to show that she was not impressed.

He swallowed. “I popped into my wife’s old house. Number 48. The lady there was saying how knowledgeable you are about local people.”

Vera tapped some more.

“Yes. I didn’t recognize the place. Years have flown since Miriam was a young girl, living there.”

He could see Vera’s lips twitch, as if they wanted to join in the conversation. However, she marched off to check the price of the Sellotape on the shelf. She brought back an orange sticky label and pressed it to her desk.

“You must have seen some comings and goings over the years. It must be a privilege to own the post office and be an important part of the community. I’m afraid that I was rather snappy when I was last here. I’m still at sixes and sevens trying to get back on my feet, after Miriam, you know...” He looked at his feet. This was hopeless. Vera didn’t want to speak to him. He had blown it.

“She was a lovely woman, your wife.”

He lifted his head. Vera’s lips were still set in a straight line. “Yes, she was.”

“And her mother before her.”

“So, you knew her?”

“She was a friend of my mother’s.”

“You can probably help me, then. I’m trying to remember Mrs. Kempster’s first name. Was it Pearl?”

“Aye, it was. I remember my mother sitting me down when I was a girl and telling me that two important things had happened. One, that Marilyn Monroe had been found dead, and two, that Pearl Kempster had moved her fancy man into the house when her divorce hadn’t yet come through.”

“So, Marilyn Monroe died in 1962?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You have a good memory.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I like to keep the old gray matter busy. Pearl’s new man, though, eeh, he was a bad ’un, but she couldn’t see it. No wonder poor Miriam took off like she did.”

“You know about that?”