Acid Song by Bernard Beckett Page B

he now? Is he in hospital?’
    ‘No, he was at his office when I …’
    ‘You should have invited him here. Why didn’t you invite him?’
    ‘I did. He’s … he wants to be by himself.’
    ‘Of course he doesn’t want to be by himself.’
    ‘He told me he wanted to be by himself.’ Richard raised his voice in contradiction, well aware volume was not the missing ingredient.
    ‘Well of course he did.’
    ‘I took him at his word.’
    ‘You shouldn’t have. You’re very late.’
    ‘Happy birthday.’
    Richard took the small gift-wrapped parcel from his coat pocket.
    ‘Where’s the card?’ She was smiling.
    ‘I sent a stripper. Did he not arrive? Perhaps when you were out.’
    ‘Perhaps the burglar scared him off.’
    ‘Or vice versa.’
    Richard watched her small pianist’s hands work free the wrapping.The eyes, he realised, do not age. Looking at her eyes it could be twenty-five years ago. How many gifts had he bought her in that time? When did he start letting shop assistants make the decisions? Elizabeth was a small woman, always had been, her nervous energy burning everything the world could throw at it. She had let her hair turn grey, and now mostly white. He had said to her once that women who didn’t dye their hair always interested him. It was true. And perhaps she had listened. More likely she was already that type of woman. He was lucky.
    ‘It’s lovely.’
    ‘Put it on.’
    ‘It’s just what I need.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Well, mostly they stole jewellery.’
    ‘Oh. What else?’
    ‘Nothing much. They found some cash, in the drawer in our room.’
    ‘They were in our room?’
    ‘Why wouldn’t they go into our room?’
    ‘Well, it’s a bedroom,’ Richard reasoned, knowing at once he was being ridiculous. ‘It’s … I don’t know … manners isn’t it?’
    ‘They’re burglars, Richard.’
    ‘Have you called the police?’
    ‘They’ll be round in the morning, for insurance purposes. Or we can just make a list and drop it by the station.’
    ‘So what, we have to leave it all untouched?’
    Elizabeth began to laugh. It crinkled the eyes first, and then her hand shot instinctively to her mouth, to keep the sound in, but still delight gurgled from her throat. It was her favourite thing, making comedy of him.
    ‘Oh Richard.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘They don’t do DNA tests for break-ins.’
    ‘I could do one for them,’ he grumped.
    ‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate the offer.’
    ‘They didn’t break anything?’
    ‘No, I don’t think so. Why are we standing out here?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    This time they kissed. As warm and familiar as coffee. They walked through into the house. Richard didn’t know what he was expecting, something less ordinary he supposed. He cast his eyes about, looking for some sign of the intrusion.
    ‘You’ve already tidied. Why did you do that?’
    ‘I had nothing else to do.’
    Fair point. ‘Sorry. I just think, I think I would have liked to see.’
    ‘There wasn’t much to see. Just a few drawers open, cupboards, the wardrobe. I haven’t finished in our room yet, if you want to look. The policeman I talked to on the phone said it’ll be kids…’
    Elizabeth’s voice followed Richard down the hallway. The bedroom door was open. The ransacking had been quick and random. On the left the dresser drawers were pulled wide open and socks and underwear spilled onto the floor, as if caught mid-escape. The drawers on the right were apparently untouched. The wardrobe door was open and a box of old papers had been hauled out into the middle of the room, tipped on its side with its contents fanning out across the floor. The bedspread was turned up on one side, marking a place where some stranger had peered beneath their bed. Not such a transformation really, nothing that couldn’t quickly be put back in place. Yet, Richard realised, something had changed. The gap between their world and the world outside could no longer be considered