Walking with Ghosts

to obliterate the second girl from the face of the earth. This was not a new experience for him, he had felt the same way before.
    William recognized the street, but he didn’t know why he was there. He looked at the clock above Marks and Spencer’s. Eleven o’clock. Morning. He must be here for a reason. This had happened twice lately. It was as if he was sleep-walking. He’d wake up, and have no idea how he’d got to wherever it was, or what he was doing there. If he stood perfectly still and waited it would come back to him.
    Worrying.
    Worrying when a part of a person wasn’t functioning properly.
    He inspected his clothes, tried to remember putting them on in his room that morning. Clean clothes, neat. Jacket, grey; with a white shirt, maroon tie. His black slip-on shoes had been polished to a high shine. The creases in his trousers were straight and sharp. He’d pressed them before he came out. He remembered that.
    It was all right to stand here and pretend to watch the television. If people passed by they wouldn’t look at him. They wouldn’t know that he wasn’t functioning properly. They’d think he was watching television.
    No one would dream that he had had blood on his hands.
    William smiled. He could fool people. When he was functioning properly he could fool people easily; but when he wasn’t functioning properly he could still do it. He had a genetic propensity.
    Some memory remained. He knew who he was. Knew he was directed.
    A bead of sweat dripped off his eyelid and sprayed salt into his eye. He wiped the eye and looked around. The people passing by went about their business. No one looked twice at William.
    The picture on the television changed, credits moved up the screen, and a series of adverts began. You could order a CD or a cassette of the world’s favourite love songs. They were only available from one address in London. Next there was a new scouring pad that moved by magic, wiped up the kitchen and the oven by itself, made everything clean and bright.
    Bright.
    Light.
    That was it, that was what William was supposed to be doing in the town. Bright. Light. He was here to buy candles.
    The band stopped playing, and the players brought out satchels and bags and flasks of coffee. That’s what happened if a person waited. You got a break. The world which seemed as though it had no purpose suddenly took on meaning.
    William turned away from the shop window. He walked past the girls playing chess, the one with breasts still disturbing him, flashing images of violence through his consciousness. He controlled himself and made his way along Daveygate to the wax shop.
    He found the candles. Ten centimetres long, cream-coloured. He took one of them to the counter, where the young female assistant was smiling at him. He didn’t return the smile. ‘I want three hundred of these,’ he said.
    The girl’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know if we have that many,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask the manageress.’
    ‘They keep them in the back,’ William told her. ‘In boxes of fifty.’
    The girl disappeared into the stock room, and a couple of minutes later she returned with four boxes of candles. The manageress followed with another two boxes.
    ‘You were right,’ the salesgirl said.
    William didn’t need a woman to tell him he was right.
    One day he had followed the maternal-looking manageress. She had collected a toddler from a childminder before going to a flat in Fishergate, where she lived with a man. The man went out drinking in the evening, stayed out late. And while he was out the manageress was alone, unprotected.
    He paid for the candles in cash and when the girl had packed the boxes into strong plastic bags, he carried them back to his flat. He lived alone now. With the ghost of his father.
    Bright. Light. It was a miracle how he had been reminded of his purpose. Like a voice. As if someone had spoken to him.
     

4
     
    Geordie was first into the office that morning. He put the water on to boil and spooned ground coffee into a blue jug which Celia had bought to replace the one he’d broken the previous week. Celia was visiting Dora, staying with her while Sam came into the office. But Marie would be in as well, so that meant three of them. He put five measures of the coffee into the jug. No point drinking it if you couldn’t taste it. That was Sam. That’s what Sam would say.
    He looked through the audio tapes while he waited for the kettle, and dug out The Very Best