The Last of the Stanfields(6)

“Fine,” she conceded. “We’ll invite everyone here for dinner tomorrow. You grill the food, I’ll grill Dad and get some answers just to be sure, but I know it’s a total waste of time.”

“Perfect. We can order pizza or something and question Dad together. But we’ll have to be careful; Michel will be there.”





4

RAY

October 2016, Croydon, south of London

Ray wondered why his kids couldn’t just come to his place for dinner. As much as he loved seeing them, he was a homebody and far too old to change that now. No matter, he thought, as he took a herringbone blazer from the wardrobe. He could pick up Michel in the old Austin, which he hardly ever drove these days, ever since a Tesco Express had opened within walking distance.

Ray was under doctor’s orders to get in fifteen minutes of walking per day at the very minimum to keep his joints moving. Truth be told, he didn’t care all that much about that these days. He really didn’t know what to do with his body anymore, now that he was a widower. Nevertheless, he checked his reflection in the mirror, pulled in his stomach, and slicked back his hair.

Ray wasn’t too bothered by aging, but he did miss the thick mane of hair he’d had as a younger man. With the countless millions the government spent on pointless wars, it was a wonder they couldn’t do something useful, like discover a way to grow back hair. If he could travel back in time to his thirties, he would convince his wife to apply her scientific skills to growing back hair instead of working as a chemistry teacher. She would have found the magic formula, making a fortune so that the couple could coast through their golden years, living it up in palaces the whole world over.

Ray had a change of heart and grabbed his gabardine coat instead. On second thoughts, his wife hadn’t made it to their golden years, and globetrotting alone as a widower would be absolutely unbearable. And why travel at all if you’re a homebody?

Tonight would mark the first time Maggie had invited them over to her place. Why was that? Could it be she planned to announce her engagement? Ray immediately wondered if he could still fit into his dinner jacket. Worst-case scenario, he would go on a diet, which meant they’d have to leave him enough time to lose five or six pounds. Ten at most. He was in pretty good shape, apart from a few soft edges here and there. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. Problem was, Ray wouldn’t put it past Maggie to tie the knot the very next weekend, what with her lack of patience. What in the world would he offer them as a wedding gift? Noticing the grayish bags under his eyes, Ray pulled the skin under his right eye a bit tighter with his finger. The puffiness did disappear, but he looked ridiculous. Maybe he should just stick a couple of pieces of tape under his eyes. That would crack everybody up. Ray tested out the look and made funny faces in the mirror, laughing to himself. Feeling chirpy, he snatched up his baseball cap, jingled his car keys in the palm of his hand, and popped out of the door with a sprightly gait that belied his age.

Ray’s trusty old Austin, with its dusty aroma, was timeworn and elegant, just like a collector’s car. His neighbor claimed an A60 estate wasn’t an estate at all, but Ray knew the man was only jealous. Good luck finding such a handsome rosewood-effect dashboard these days. Even the clock on the dash was a vaunted relic. The Austin was already used when he acquired it all the way back in . . . Good lord. What year was it? Before the twins were born; had to be, of course. After all, Ray had used the Austin to pick up his future wife at the railway station when they were finally reunited. Incredible to think that this vehicle had been part of their lives all that time! How many miles had they racked up in this one car? 224,653, to be exact—make that 224,654 by the time he got to Michel’s place. Not a collector’s car? Ray chuckled. His neighbor was an idiot.

It was impossible for Ray to even glance at the passenger seat without being haunted by his wife’s ghost. He could picture her perfectly, sitting there, twisting herself into knots trying to put on her seat belt. She always had a hard time adjusting the damn thing, and would regularly accuse Ray of having shortened it as a prank, gaslighting her with the idea she had put on weight. In truth, he had pulled the prank two, maybe three times. No more than that. Okay, maybe a little more, come to think of it.

Ray had even often thought it would be nice to be buried in the Austin. But then he thought about how much room it would take up—that wouldn’t be very eco-friendly . . .

After pulling up in front of Michel’s place and honking the horn a couple of times, Ray cut the engine and gazed through the window at the faces of the passersby on the shimmering pavement outside. Complain all you want about the English rain, Ray knew of no other country as green as his homeland.

A passing older couple caught Ray’s attention, the husband clearly not big on smiling, much less laughing. If there was a god, this guy would have lost his wife, not Ray. The world certainly was one messed-up place. Good lord. Why did it take Michel so long to get out of the door? Of course, Ray knew why. Michel first had to check that everything was in its right place, verify that the gas wasn’t on (even if he hadn’t used the cooker in ages), double-check that all lights were off (except the one in his bedroom, which was kept on at all times), and make sure the fridge was closed. Speaking of the kitchen, the sink was in rough shape. Ray thought he would come over and replace it one day soon while Michel was at work; he’d be sure not to tell his son a thing until the repair had been completed.