Neville asked Albert if he wanted a drink, he said no. He looked drained and close to tears after relating the events of the previous days. Neville explained he could not stay any longer as he had appointments with his clients in the afternoon, but he would meet Albert in the Inn later that day if he wished. Albert looked down at his shirt and suddenly realized he needed cleaning up.
“Yes I’d like that. I’ll go home and get changed; I’ll see you here later”.
Some of Neville's appointments overran and then he had to deliver some papers to the office, so his arrival at the Inn in the evening was later than he expected. The bar was quiet; a train must have just departed. There was no sign of Albert. He ordered a drink and stood at the bar. After a few minutes John appeared.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, “We’re upstairs; come this way, bring your drink with you.”
A door, located at the side of the bar, lead to a dark hallway and a steep staircase.
“Bert’s been telling me all about it,” John explained as they ascended the stairs, “It’s quite a tale. I just can’t understand why he’s never mentioned any of this before.”
“Here he is Bert,” he shouted up the stairs.
John directed Neville into a large sitting room, functional rather than comfortable, no hanging pictures or vases of flowers; lacking a woman's touch. It was narrow but long, probably stretching from the front to the back of the building. There was a window at either end, the larger one overlooking the street at the side of the Inn, and the smaller one gave a view of the station. There were two settees facing each other positioned along each long wall, with a low wooden coffee table between the settees. At the end of the room, next to the smaller window, was an antique dark wooden desk with a green leather inlaid top. In front of the desk was a captain’s chair with a green studded leather seat and back. Albert sat at the end of one of the settees. He was clean-shaven, hair washed and wearing smart casual clothes. The remains of a mug of tea were on the table in front of him.
“Before we go any further you’d better tell us your name and who you are,” John said looking at Neville.
He explained his name was Neville Conrad. He told them about his job; that he still lived with his parents but was about to move into a rented two bed roomed house; he was not married and had no current girlfriend. The mention of the newspaper seemed to concern John; he suspected Neville was a journalist. Neville quickly explained he was not a reporter but worked in the advertising department and followed this up with the sort of company overview and introduction he might present to a new client. John seemed convinced, for now, that he was not someone from the newspaper looking for a story. Neville mentioned that he attended a business studies course. He thought that his work selling advertising to local business had given him an insight into what makes a successful business and his aim was one day run his own business. John raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "You’ve got a lot to learn my young naive lad."
John produced a beer mat, placed it on the coffee table on the side opposite Albert.
“Sit down, you can put your drink on there Mr Conrad the businessman."
Albert started talking, he gave the impression of someone thinking aloud rather than speaking to anyone else in the room.
“I wrote to my sister. After so many years it’s a miracle it found her, but it did. She has the right name, she lived at the family address, but she says I’m not her brother. We both have the same picture of our family. It shows my mother, our mother, who visited me when I was in hospital, but she still says I’m not her brother. Something about my ear not being right, what’s that all about? Has she disowned me, is there something she thinks I’ve done that she doesn’t want to know me anymore? Is it some sort of punishment because I didn’t go home after the war?”
Albert paused and stared at the ceiling.
“What about your brother?” Neville asked, “Her husband said Ann only had one brother.”
Albert continued to look at the ceiling and just shook his head saying,
“He must be wrong, maybe Ann hasn’t told him everything about her family. Maybe he died years ago and Ann never mentioned him, I don’t know.”
John, who had been sitting at the desk, stood up and walked towards the door.
“I’m going downstairs to get myself drink, anyone want one while I’m down there?”
Neville said no as he needed to drive home later. Albert also said no, then changed his mind and asked for a large scotch.
Neville asked Albert what he intended to do. Did he plan to try and contact Ann again or just try to forget the whole thing? Trying to forget it, now he had opened Pandora’s Box, sounded ridiculous, but Neville began to feel guilty as it was his suggestion to send the birthday card that had started the chain of events.
John returned with the drinks and handed the scotch to Albert.
“Look, I’ve been thinking,” he said, “I believe the mystery could be solved if we found out more about your brother. There’s no point in trying to meet Ann again, she’ll probably send her ex-cop husband and that’s not going to get you anywhere. The problem is how can we going to track down your brother. As I said already Ann will be of no use, if she hasn’t told her husband about him she'll deny he existed. We need to find him.”
The suggestion from John made sense, but Neville was unsure who he included when he said, “We need to find him.” While he was still wondering, John continued.
“Neville, I think you might be able help us, if you’re willing. I know you said you’re not a journalist, but you work with journalists. They know how to find things, how to track down people; this is what they do all the time. You could have a chat with some of your mates at the paper and see if they can help. You don’t need to give them all the facts, just enough, names and things, that will get them started. What do you think?”
Albert hadn’t been consulted at this point and Neville glanced at him to see his reaction. He nodded giving tacit approval of the suggestion. Neville felt guilty that the reason for the problem was all his doing. He agreed to try to help. He would speak to some of the people in the office and see what he could do. There were no guarantees it would get them anywhere, but he would try.
John returned to the bar and Neville spent the next hour alone with Albert. He needed to ask him some questions about his brother if he was to help find him. The brother’s name was James and he was about 18 months younger than Albert. Neville tried to find out more about the rest of his family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, but to his surprise Albert did not know or had forgotten. Albert knew his mother’s name was Mary, but he could not exactly remember his father’s Christian name. He thought it might also be James. Albert’s lack of knowledge was not so surprising to Neville; Albert’s family had not been part of his life for so many years. He had not been present at family parties, weddings or funerals when you might meet other members of the wider family and talk about others that you might not have met. These were times when family members mentioned names of aunts and uncles, long lost relatives, family stories, and these memories became cemented in ones brain. Albert had not been part of this. Had his memories faded over time, or had the incident in France resulted in a longer lasting effect than he suggested? How much of his memory had he recovered? Were there memories of events and people from the past that remained locked or destroyed forever?
“Yes I’d like that. I’ll go home and get changed; I’ll see you here later”.
Some of Neville's appointments overran and then he had to deliver some papers to the office, so his arrival at the Inn in the evening was later than he expected. The bar was quiet; a train must have just departed. There was no sign of Albert. He ordered a drink and stood at the bar. After a few minutes John appeared.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, “We’re upstairs; come this way, bring your drink with you.”
A door, located at the side of the bar, lead to a dark hallway and a steep staircase.
“Bert’s been telling me all about it,” John explained as they ascended the stairs, “It’s quite a tale. I just can’t understand why he’s never mentioned any of this before.”
“Here he is Bert,” he shouted up the stairs.
John directed Neville into a large sitting room, functional rather than comfortable, no hanging pictures or vases of flowers; lacking a woman's touch. It was narrow but long, probably stretching from the front to the back of the building. There was a window at either end, the larger one overlooking the street at the side of the Inn, and the smaller one gave a view of the station. There were two settees facing each other positioned along each long wall, with a low wooden coffee table between the settees. At the end of the room, next to the smaller window, was an antique dark wooden desk with a green leather inlaid top. In front of the desk was a captain’s chair with a green studded leather seat and back. Albert sat at the end of one of the settees. He was clean-shaven, hair washed and wearing smart casual clothes. The remains of a mug of tea were on the table in front of him.
“Before we go any further you’d better tell us your name and who you are,” John said looking at Neville.
He explained his name was Neville Conrad. He told them about his job; that he still lived with his parents but was about to move into a rented two bed roomed house; he was not married and had no current girlfriend. The mention of the newspaper seemed to concern John; he suspected Neville was a journalist. Neville quickly explained he was not a reporter but worked in the advertising department and followed this up with the sort of company overview and introduction he might present to a new client. John seemed convinced, for now, that he was not someone from the newspaper looking for a story. Neville mentioned that he attended a business studies course. He thought that his work selling advertising to local business had given him an insight into what makes a successful business and his aim was one day run his own business. John raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "You’ve got a lot to learn my young naive lad."
John produced a beer mat, placed it on the coffee table on the side opposite Albert.
“Sit down, you can put your drink on there Mr Conrad the businessman."
Albert started talking, he gave the impression of someone thinking aloud rather than speaking to anyone else in the room.
“I wrote to my sister. After so many years it’s a miracle it found her, but it did. She has the right name, she lived at the family address, but she says I’m not her brother. We both have the same picture of our family. It shows my mother, our mother, who visited me when I was in hospital, but she still says I’m not her brother. Something about my ear not being right, what’s that all about? Has she disowned me, is there something she thinks I’ve done that she doesn’t want to know me anymore? Is it some sort of punishment because I didn’t go home after the war?”
Albert paused and stared at the ceiling.
“What about your brother?” Neville asked, “Her husband said Ann only had one brother.”
Albert continued to look at the ceiling and just shook his head saying,
“He must be wrong, maybe Ann hasn’t told him everything about her family. Maybe he died years ago and Ann never mentioned him, I don’t know.”
John, who had been sitting at the desk, stood up and walked towards the door.
“I’m going downstairs to get myself drink, anyone want one while I’m down there?”
Neville said no as he needed to drive home later. Albert also said no, then changed his mind and asked for a large scotch.
Neville asked Albert what he intended to do. Did he plan to try and contact Ann again or just try to forget the whole thing? Trying to forget it, now he had opened Pandora’s Box, sounded ridiculous, but Neville began to feel guilty as it was his suggestion to send the birthday card that had started the chain of events.
John returned with the drinks and handed the scotch to Albert.
“Look, I’ve been thinking,” he said, “I believe the mystery could be solved if we found out more about your brother. There’s no point in trying to meet Ann again, she’ll probably send her ex-cop husband and that’s not going to get you anywhere. The problem is how can we going to track down your brother. As I said already Ann will be of no use, if she hasn’t told her husband about him she'll deny he existed. We need to find him.”
The suggestion from John made sense, but Neville was unsure who he included when he said, “We need to find him.” While he was still wondering, John continued.
“Neville, I think you might be able help us, if you’re willing. I know you said you’re not a journalist, but you work with journalists. They know how to find things, how to track down people; this is what they do all the time. You could have a chat with some of your mates at the paper and see if they can help. You don’t need to give them all the facts, just enough, names and things, that will get them started. What do you think?”
Albert hadn’t been consulted at this point and Neville glanced at him to see his reaction. He nodded giving tacit approval of the suggestion. Neville felt guilty that the reason for the problem was all his doing. He agreed to try to help. He would speak to some of the people in the office and see what he could do. There were no guarantees it would get them anywhere, but he would try.
John returned to the bar and Neville spent the next hour alone with Albert. He needed to ask him some questions about his brother if he was to help find him. The brother’s name was James and he was about 18 months younger than Albert. Neville tried to find out more about the rest of his family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, but to his surprise Albert did not know or had forgotten. Albert knew his mother’s name was Mary, but he could not exactly remember his father’s Christian name. He thought it might also be James. Albert’s lack of knowledge was not so surprising to Neville; Albert’s family had not been part of his life for so many years. He had not been present at family parties, weddings or funerals when you might meet other members of the wider family and talk about others that you might not have met. These were times when family members mentioned names of aunts and uncles, long lost relatives, family stories, and these memories became cemented in ones brain. Albert had not been part of this. Had his memories faded over time, or had the incident in France resulted in a longer lasting effect than he suggested? How much of his memory had he recovered? Were there memories of events and people from the past that remained locked or destroyed forever?