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A
“It’s not that we’re against it, or anything, you understand,” said Ross Barber. “We’ve just always been a bit more inclined toward classical – Louise sings with the local operatic society – but we’re happy that Nicholas seemed to pick up a love of music at a very early age, along with the writing. He loves classical music, too, of course, but writing about rock was how he made his living.”
“He was lucky, then,” said A
“Yes,” Louise agreed, wiping away a tear with a lacy handkerchief.
“Do you have any copies of his articles? You must be proud of him. A scrapbook, perhaps?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Louise. “It never really entered our heads, did it, darling?”
Her husband agreed. “It wouldn’t mean anything to us, you see, what he was writing about. The names. The records. We would never have heard of any of them.”
A
“About eight years now,” Ross answered.
“And before that?”
“He got a BA in English at Nottingham, then he did an MA in film studies, I think, at Leicester. After that he did a bit of teaching and wrote reviews, then he got a feature accepted, and after that…”
“He never studied journalism?”
“No. I suppose you might say he got in through the back door.”
“What’s your profession, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I was a university professor,” said Ross Barber. “Classics and Ancient History. Rather dull, I’m afraid. I’m retired now, mind you.”
A
“Can you tell us anything about Nick’s life?” she asked. “We have so little to go on.”
“I can’t see how any of it would help you,” said Louise, “but we’ll do our best.”
“Did you see him often?”
“You know what it’s like when they leave home,” Louise said. “They phone and visit when they can. Our Nick was no better or worse than anyone else in that regard, I shouldn’t think.”
“So he was in touch regularly?”
“He phoned us once a week and tried to drop by whenever he could.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Her eyes filled with tears again. “Just the week before last. Friday. He was on his way up to Yorkshire, and he stopped over for the night. We always keep his old room ready for him, just in case.”
“Was there anything different about him?”
“Different? What do you mean?”
“Did he seem fearful in any way?”
“No, not at all.”
“Was he depressed about anything?”
The Barbers looked at one another, then Louise replied. “No. Maybe a little preoccupied, but certainly not depressed. He seemed quite cheerful, as a matter of fact. Nick was never the most demonstrative of children, but he was generally even-tempered. He was no different this time from any other time he called by.”
“He wasn’t anxious about anything?”
“Not as far as we could tell. If anything, he was a bit more excited than usual.”
“Excited? About what?”
“He didn’t say. I think it might have been a story he was working on.”
“What was it about?”
“He never told us details like that. Not that we weren’t interested in his work, but I think he realized it would mean nothing to us. Besides, it was probably a ‘scoop.’ He’d learned to become secretive in his business.”
“Even from you?”
“The walls have ears. He’d developed an instinct. I don’t think it really mattered to whom he was talking.”
“So he didn’t mention any names?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Did he tell you why he was going to Yorkshire?”
“He said he’d found what sounded like a quiet place to write, and I think there was someone he wanted to see who lives up there.”
“Who?”
Mrs. Barber spread her hands. “I’m sorry. But I got the impression it was to do with what he was working on.”
A
“I think so.”
“Can you add anything, Mr. Barber?”
Ross Barber shook his head. “No. As Louise said, the names of these groups and singers mean nothing to us. I think he’d learned there was no point in mentioning them. I’m afraid I glaze over in discussions like that. No doubt members of his own generation would be very impressed, but they went right over our heads.”
“I can understand that,” said A
“He had a nice flat,” said Louise. “Didn’t he, Ross? Just off the Great West Road. We stayed there not so long ago on our way to Heathrow. He slept on the sofa and let us have his bedroom. Spotless, it was.”
“He didn’t live or share with anyone?”
“No. It was all his own.”
“Did you meet a girlfriend or a close friend? Anyone?”
“No. He took us out for di
“That’s nice,” said A
“I think he worked all the hours God sent. He didn’t have time for girlfriends and relationships and that sort of thing. I’m sure he would have settled down eventually.”
In A
“Well,” said Ross, “we assumed he experimented, of course, like so many young people today, but we never saw him under the influence of anything more than a couple of pints of bitter, or perhaps a small whiskey. We’re fairly liberal about things like that. I mean, you can’t teach in a university for as long as I did and not have some knowledge of marijuana. But if he did use drugs at all, they didn’t interfere with his job or his health, and we certainly never noticed any signs, did we?”
“No,” Louise agreed.
It was a fair answer, if not entirely what A