‘He looks like him, don’t you think?’ Alice asks.
‘I guess.’
I drink too quickly while we wait. Alice’s leg is bouncing.
Carl makes his way over, turning the chair backwards, straddling it.
‘So, what do you want to know?’
‘Just anything you can tell us about her, anything Mike might have said. Any help you could give us would be great.’
‘Why do you want to know? I mean, Mike’s long gone.’
‘I’m…’ She knots her hands on the table. ‘I would like, with your permission, to write an article, talking about his art, the person he was.’
‘Why? What good would that do. He’s dead.’
Alice, double blinks. ‘I know… but his letters… his art…’ She trails off.
‘Look.’ He turns his head, checking the bar then back again. ‘I don’t really know what you want.’
‘Kate mentioned,’ I begin, ‘that they visited the address he had for her, left flyers… We just wondered if she ever got in touch? After…’
Carl takes out a packet of tobacco and some papers, lining up the filter.
‘Aye. She did.’ He pinches the tobacco and runs it in a straight line.
Alice presses her lips together.
‘There was a note by the phone the day he…’ He rolls the paper. ‘The day we lost him.’
We wait for him to finish. ‘I… I was young. Didn’t know what to do with it after…’ He licks the paper, sealing it.
‘Do you—’ Al swallows. ‘Do you remember anything that could help us find her?’
He puts the roll-up behind his ear.
‘It was the wrong number. The address he ’ad. It was number 16, not 76. Look, I don’t know what raking over the past will do—’ he tucks his Rizla inside the tobacco pouch, seals it and taps his fingers on it ‘—but I reckon he would have liked you to find her. Obsessed, he was. Back then.’ He stands.
‘Can you… wait here? And tell anyone who comes in I’ll be back in a tick.’
He leaves the table, strides across the pub and through a door.
We wide-eye each other, not knowing what to say. Alice snorts a laugh. ‘God, I hope no one comes in.’
After five minutes have passed, and thankfully no customers, Carl reappears holding a brown cardboard box. He drops it on the table, almost sending our drinks flying. He straddles the seat again.
‘I… There were more. Of his drawings, like. I used to… I was an annoying little shit at times, but he was my big brother. Idolised him, I did.’ He scratches the back of his head. ‘There’s a load more, drawings. Some finished, some… Anyway, I used to keep them, after he scrunched them up. Never let him know that, though.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I could make a few bob out of them, if I sold them when he made it big, you know? I always thought he would.’ He taps the box. ‘Take them. It’s about time they saw the light of day.’
‘Thank you.’ She reaches over and rests her hands on his large fists.
‘Aye, well, it’s the least I can do. The last thing I did was give him the finger.’ Even though the sentiment is blunt, there is still a touch of humour there. ‘And you checked with Kate? I mean, she’s happy with you writing about this stuff?’
Al nods.
‘Right, well. Best get back to it.’ He stands. ‘Oh, and you might want to ask her about the ring.’
‘The ring?’ she asks.
