it is. Youâre very welcome. But Iâll tell you what you ought to do. Make a big picture like a poster and stand outside the tube station. Just stand there, all day. If sheâs ever been around here, sooner or later somebody will recognize her.â
âWell, thanks, youâre really kind,â said Josh.
âDonât mention it. I lost somebody once. My only son Terence. He went off to India, that was back in the Beatles days. Canât think what he was looking for. We all end up with two kids and a mortgage and a clapped-out Datsun, donât we? We donât need no maharishi to tell us that.â
She found a small lacy handkerchief in her pocket and dabbed her nose. âHe died, my Terence. Hepatitis. Such a waste. All those shirts I ironed for him, for school. All those packed lunches. And they cremated him, and scattered his ashes in the bloody Ganges.â
They found a hotel overlooking West Brompton Cemetery, a real Victorian cemetery with tilting headstones and weeping angels. In complete contrast, the hotel was a seven-story concrete block with air-conditioning and new blue carpets and crowds of bewildered Japanese around the reception area. It could have been any hotel anywhere at all, and that was what Josh wanted. As they went up in the elevator he saw himselfreflected in the stainless steel doors and he thought that he looked like a ghost. His hair was tousled and his eyes were reddened and his nose looked twice as big as normal. His first day in London had left him grimy and depressed and tired, and he was desperate for a cold beer and a shower and some mindless TV.
He showered until his skin was bright pink, and then he lay on the bed in his complimentary Sheridan Hotels bathrobe watching
The Simpsons
and drinking Harp lager out of the can. It was four oâclock now, and the sun was much lower. Nancy came out of the bathroom toweling her hair. âI donât know how you can come all the way to England and watch
The Simpsons.
Apart from that, you hate
The Simpsons.â
âI know I do. But at least I can understand what theyâre saying. Did you bring any dental floss?â
âI forgot. Weâll have to buy some.â
âTheyâve probably never heard of dental floss in England. Or they call it something totally different, like âtrousersâ, and weâll never find out what it is.â
âWhat are you panicking about? You never used to floss at all until you met me.â
âOf course I flossed before I met you. Youâre trying to make me sound like some kind of animal.â
âYou
are
a kind of animal. Youâre more like an animal than any man I ever met. Gentle, affectionate, stupid and manic-depressive.â
âI love you, too.â
Nancy went to the window and drew back the nets, and Josh climbed off the bed and joined her. Six stories below they could see rows of small backyards, some with sheds, some with pink-blossoming trees, some with rusty automobile parts, some with fish ponds. In the distance, in the late-afternoon haze, they could see thousands of chimney pots, and turrets, and spires, and more trees. Josh had never seen a city with so many trees in it.
He picked up his A-Z. âThatâs south-east weâre looking at, toward Fulham.â
âThey call it âFullumâ. I heard a woman in reception.â
âAll right, Fullum. And beyond Fullum is Walham Green, except they probably call it âWallumâ. And beyond Wallum Green is ⦠the River Thames.â He closed the book. âI donât know whether I want to see the Thames. I keep thinking about Julia floating along it. Upstream. Empty.â
They were still staring out of the window when the news came on the television:
âIn the Middle East
â¦
six Israelis were killed and two seriously injured
â¦
Police today released a new picture of the murdered woman found floating in the Thames two days