‘He knew my name?’
Rod pointed to the identity card which hung from her neck.
‘It’s not difficult to guess,’ he said, smiling.
He had a nice smile, thought Mary. Warm, open, happy—all qualities she hadn’t seen in Mr Hanley. How could these two be connected? Did he work for Hanley?
They chatted and Mary tried to ask some questions discreetly.
They’d been friends at school, close friends. Both bright, both ambitious. Even then, Frank—Mr Hanley—had been drawn to Economics and Business Studies, while Rod had liked Maths, particularly what Mary thought of as the more mystical side of maths.
‘Do you realise that a single mathematical code operates throughout the whole universe?’ Rod told her, his eyes gleaming.
Mary didn’t and pulled him back to the main story. Rod’s schooldays had ended badly: his A-levels went wrong and just when he was considering re-taking them, his girlfriend, Rachel, was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease.
‘A nasty one,’ said Mary.
Rod nodded. ‘It doesn’t go away—but there are good days and bad days. You learn to be grateful.’
As if that wasn’t enough, Rod’s mother died at the end of that summer, from an aggressive throat cancer. She was his only parent—Rod’s father had died when he was young. She didn’t leave much, just a little holiday cottage near Brecon. In a couple of months, Rod’s life was transformed. He and Rach moved to Wales, he gave up all thoughts of university, converted the cottage into an all-year house and picked up some DIY skills along the way. When his mum’s money ran out, he found work as a painter and decorator.
He’d argued with Frank during their A-levels and when he moved to Brecon, he never expected to see him again. But then Frank relocated to Bristol.
‘That man!’ said Rod, shaking his head. ‘He had houses and flats in every town in the land.’
One day, out of the blue, Frank turned up at Rod and Rach’s cottage, bearing two bottles of wine and a bottle of scotch. Rod couldn’t turn him away. That set the pattern. Frank built up his property empire, Rod bumped along, working on other people’s houses. Frank would disappear for months, even years and never sent letters or cards. But he’d always reappear.
‘I got to understand it, after a while. You see, the people he was mixing with, they were a nasty lot. All of them out for something. Frank’d always have to watch his back. I must’ve been the only person he could trust, the only person who wasn’t trying to get one over him.’