the swans

The Swans

Of course I could tell the ticket inspector I had my wallet stolen by no good youngsters, chavs as they call them. I'm sure they have chavs in Norfolk, they seem to everywhere these days. I could tell him my car was bombed by terrorists, I expect they have insurgents in the market towns. I'm much too old to hide in the toilets as I would have done in my youth.

I can see him now, he's coming down the carriage. Lord, I feel like hiding. A very rum business. I'm sure I can give him my details but you never know with the jobsworths these train conductors tend to be.

'Tickets please,' he calls. He walks straight past.

Perhaps I'm invisible. Or maybe I died and didn't realise. I went to Hell. This year's been Hell enough for anyone. Yes, it's a certainty. I died, not Val. Val is living a perfectly good life and I'm here in what I think is a living Hell but is actually death. Well, I've solved that conundrum.

On the opposite table is The Mirror. I walk over to retrieve it. I'll do the sudokus. That'll take my mind off things. I open the paper from the back and find the puzzle. Of course being a lesser newspaper, the sudoku is easier than the ones I set my Year 7s doing, twenty odd years ago, when these things were unheard of in print. I finish in seconds. Now what shall I do for the remainder of the journey? Not the crossword. No Val to fill in the blanks for me. As I always said, mathematics is a fine subject but it doesn't aid you in learning the English language. No, no Val these days. Must carry on.

This train is one of those trundlers. Of course they wouldn't update the tracks round here. I'm confounded that the train is even running on this lonely stretch. There's only one other passenger on here. She looks like a local with her pasty face and shopping bags. She has probably been to Norwich for the day. An event no doubt. Arriving home with goods like an American GI. There were lots of American GIs round here once upon a time. Accounts for the level of intelligence I seem to have come across.

We're coming up to an interesting point here. I can see for miles. The only dot on the landscape is the remains of a windmill. A lot of land is flooded. Good for those swans swimming up and down with their adolescent cygnets. Not so good for the farmers. Of course there has been a lot of rain lately.

I study the flood. This Norfolk trip has been a complete failure. The sunken boat. All my personal belongings under murky broads. It wouldn't have happened if that wife of mine was about, that's for sure.

Now, what is that? Someone has thrown... What is that? It came from the train. If I'm not mistaken that was a body. Yes I'm right. I can see it now, surfacing by the swans. That's a woman. A dead woman by the looks of it. And she came from the train. I can't quite believe this. A murder. Now who on Earth threw her out of the train? The windows are far too small. The doors won't open until the conductor deems it necessary. Often long after the train has stopped in my experience. But no time for tirades now old boy. It seems there's a murderer on the loose. If only I'd spent my years reading crime stories. Never been much of a reader if truth be told. A mathematician though. And this is a crime that a simple calculation reveals could only have been committed by the train driver. Or the train guard. Of course that was why he was rather absent minded when he strolled down the train. Which reminds me that I haven't got my mobile phone. I shall have to make a citizen's arrest.

I shall watch that door and see if he makes a run for it. I know I'm a retired gentleman now but as Val always said, You're a rugby player and it shows. Indeed it does. I'm fit and healthy and could outrun any man. The train guard looked like he had a bit of flab on him. Yes, I shall march him down to the nearest police station for his crime.

Lord, a dead body. Must have been a crime of passion by the looks of things. Wife or mistress I'm not so sure. Skinny thing she was though, very thin.

I stand up and walk down the train. I can stand by the front carriage doors. He will need to open them and when he does, that'll be it for him. I wait by the doors. We pass the boats in the harbour, and the rusty containers holding God knows what. And we slow, and slow.

I hear a rustle from behind the locked door. Out he comes. He still does not see me.

'Excuse me, sir!'

He ignores me and opens the doors from a box on the wall.

'Sir!' I say. 'I am arresting you for murder.'

I see panic in his eyes. He moves as if to run. I stand firmly in his way. Not a rugby player for nothing. He pushes me to one side. I block him. He shan't escape.

And he's gone. The bugger's gone. Right through my legs. Seems I've lost my skill. I dread to think what Val would say. But now I'm giving him a headstart. I jump off the train and run. There he is, running through the side gate. I follow. The road is busy and he skids through the traffic. I make a run for it. The cars are moving slowly and I make it across the road, waving thanks to the careful driver of a red Renault. I can see him in his uniform crossing the harbour bridge. I run after him, a little out of breath now. He must be more so, I'm sure.

And I've lost him. A rare sunny day, and I can't spot him for all the children running through the fountain, their mothers chatting in gaudy dresses.

'Have you seen a man in uniform, running?' I ask a youth in baggy clothes.

'No,' he grunts.

The amusement arcade is straight ahead. I walk inside. The noise of tinny music, shooting games and teenage voices. He could jump out at me in here. I look behind the machine that grabs fluffy toys. He could be anywhere. A crash and I look around. Some spotty kid has won on the 2p machine. The only grown ups I can see are scruffy men in T-shirts on the fruit machines. No uniforms in here. But I can't give up. I owe it to that poor woman lying in a ditch. A giant stuffed parrot cackles. I head to the beach.

'Have you seen a man in a National Express train uniform?'

The bored girl in the ice cream kiosk shakes her head.

'Have you seen a man in a National Express train uniform?'

'Not as far as I can remember, dear' says the bronzed old lady from her deckchair.

I ask the rough looking young man with a pitbull.

'Yeah, seen loads mate.'

'It is very important,' I say to his laughter.

'There's a pub there,' he says. 'Have a drink, mate. Might cheer you up a bit.'

A pub. Perhaps the man has taken rest there. A sordid establishment called The Harbour. I suspect it is the kind of place in which sailors get stabbed.

Inside I am hit by the darkness of the place. I make out the silouettes of men. None alone. I walk to the bar.

'By any chance,' I ask the barman, 'Have you seen a man dressed in a uniform?'

'What that man that left his clothes in the Men's. Thought there was something iffy about him. Very strange. I've got them in the back. Do you want them?'

'No! I don't want his clothes. I want him. He has committed a crime. Now, do you recall what he was wearing when he left?'

'Beach gear. Yellow shorts and a T-shirt. What they sell next door. The ones what say 'Beach Boy.' I've got a good memory me. They don't let me do the quiz here no more. I win all the prizes, don't I.'

There is no time to waste. I run to the door. Out into the blinding light of the sun. He could be anywhere, but my guess is, he'll stay close to the crowds.

I walk along the promenade. I scan the beach. A windbreak hides a family with a naked child. A man in small blue trunks wades into the sea. I turn to the beach huts. A bright gold woman opens her legs so that the sun can reach her inner thighs. I rush away. I check the sand-covered people walking up the steps. I check the man with a cowboy's hat standing by the donkeys.

Ha. I stop still. There he is, sitting on the sea wall eating a sugar-ridden doughnut. I edge my way to the burger kiosk behind him.

'Excuse me?' I ask the vendor. 'May I use your phone?'

'Fuck off. I'm not a charity.'

'Shush. I am attempting to make a citizen's arrest. I need to phone the police.'

'You old busybody. Get out of here. I've got customers waiting.'

'The idea that anyone would buy burgers from your dirty little shed is quite outlandish.'

I shall have to do this alone. I look around and the murderer still sits, waggling his thick legs off the wall, like a child. Not a care in the world. Well I'll soon change that.

I walk up behind him. I grab hisarm. He drops his doughnut down into the sand. He leans forward as if to jump.

'No!' I say. 'You're coming with me.'

'I ain't done nothing.'

'What do you mean? You murdered a woman and you threw her to the birds.'

'She loved the swans.'

I am taken aback.

'You loved her!' I say.

'She were a ballerina when I met her. Taught at the ballet school till she got poorly.'

'Why did you murder her?'

'She just died, tha's all. Been ill for last the ten years she has. Getting worse and worse. Last three years she in't been out of her bed poor woman.'

I sit beside him.

'My wife died a year ago.'

'We were together since we were sixteen,' he says.

'Cancer?' I ask.

'MS,' he says.

We sit. I look at the sea, at the windless sky, and the horizon dotted with buoys and boats. The sun against my shoulders is hot. It weighs me down.