‘Not at all. What I was going to say was that you’ve done well in your retirement. It seems like the perfect place to settle down away from people.’
Graham shrugs and takes a sip of cool liquid. Anyone else would take Mr Mallow’s words as a small dig or jibe, but Graham knows he’s merely speaking the truth.
‘Howisretirement going?’ Mr Mallow asks.
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Bored already, huh?’
‘Why do you think I decided to climb a tree yesterday and investigate a potentially missing teenager?’
Mr Mallow nods. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got yourself a part-time job. To be honest, I’ve been looking for something similar to keep me occupied.’
‘Writing articles for the newspaper not doing it for you anymore?’
‘Not exactly. It pays the bills but doesn’t keep my mind active enough. I’m lucky that I get to write whatever I want for the papers, but …’
‘Nothing quite like a creepy small town mystery.’
‘You got it.’
The two men stare into their tumblers for a moment.
‘So … are we going to address the scarecrow in the room?’ asks Mr Mallow.
Graham squeezes his lips together to force down a chuckle, impressed at Mr Mallow’s attempt at a little humour. ‘Actually, it’s still in the tree. Fancy a nighttime trek? Dinner can wait.’
‘Can’t it wait until morning? I just got here.’
‘We could, but the question is: will your curiosity last until then?’ Graham knocks back the rest of the whisky in one big gulp and places the glass on the side. Then he grabs a torch from the hook on the wall next to his umbrella. ‘Shall we? I’m afraid my own curiosity is running away with me.’
Mr Mallow sighs heavily before also draining his glass. He walks out the back door and follows Graham, the beam of the torch crisscrossing the yard.
‘The hill’s rather steep,’ says Graham. Mr Mallow doesn’t reply.
They fall into step beside each other as they climb the grassy hill. Graham pulls the collar of his jacket tighter against his neck as a strong wind whips around them.
‘How’ve you been?’ Graham asks. ‘You know, in general …’ He admits he hasn’t kept in touch like he promised he would. The fact Mr Mallow now resides in Cherry Hollow, the one place on this earth that still gives him nightmares, is probably part of the reason he’s failed to keep contact. Couldn’t the man have lived anywhere else? Why there, of all places?
Mr Mallow doesn't reply straight away. He seems to be struggling to keep up. Graham slows; not aware he’s been walking fast enough for a fitter, younger man to struggle. And there he was thinking he was unfit.
‘Good,’ comes the late response from Mr Mallow.
‘Still living in Cherry Hollow?’
‘You know I am.’
‘I can’t believe after everything that happened last year, you’re living there. You couldn’t have found some other hellhole to call home?’
‘Perhaps your idea of hell and my idea of hell are very different.’
‘Indeed.’
Another silence stretches between them. It’s not awkward, not like it used to be.
‘Have you heard from Olivia?’ asks Mr Mallow.
‘Yes, I visit her as often as I can. Usually, once a month or so.’
