The following morning Ashley is the first to wake. Her eyes flutter open and she is temporarily disorientated; confused about where she is.

She is in Kieran's bed. She has stayed the night.

She listens to the flat. It is quiet. The bedside clock says 8:14am. Kieran must still be asleep in the living room.

A dead weight is pushing the duvet down beside her leg. It is Gandalf. He is staring at her, purring.

'Hello cat,' she says. He half closes his eyes.

Ashley sighs and perches her head on a folded pillow. 'Y'know Gandalf, I'm a confused girly. I really am. Only a few weeks ago I was lying on the bed in the hotel room in Fuerteventura, making love to man who is now dead. The thought sends shivers through me and makes me want to cry. Even now he's not with me I can still hear him speaking.'

Gandalf's ears spin round and his eyes become alert, as though he is hearing a noise.

'Can you hear him, little cat? Do you have a level of perception that goes beyond humans? When your ears turn like that, is that you picking up his voice? If it is, tell him I love him. Oh Gandalf I wish I could talk to him myself.'

Gandalf becomes restful again, and lies his head down on his paws.

'And now Kieran has appeared in my life. Yes, your boss; the hand that feeds you. He has a quality about him that touches something in me. He doesn't pander to my grief. He just treats me normally.'

'I think I have feelings for him beyond just friends. But it's forbidden right? There are unwritten rules about love, and courting the friend of an ex-lover is just about the worst one to break.'

'Oh look at me. I'm sobbing all over his pillow. How could I expect you to understand? You're just a cat. I don't think cats have as much of a problem when it comes to loyalty. Mating is a far more predatory thing when you have four legs, right?'

She strokes his soft fur, 'I think humans can be predatory too.'

 

~

 

Kieran woke abruptly. He'd had a bad night sleeping awkwardly on the sofa, and now the lower part of his back was aching.

Gandalf was sitting on his chest with his little cat face just a few inches away from Kieran's.

The flat smelled of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee. The clock on the video said 10am.

Kieran looked at Gandalf.

'D'ya know what cat? I'm struggling to understand that girl. I'm pretty damn confused about how she fits into my life.

'Two weeks ago I didn't even know her. Now I feel like I've known her all my life. It's like we have this powerful connection. It's obviously because of the grief we share, but it seems like more than that, Gandalf. Lots more.'

Gandalf didn't move. Kieran stroked him.

'I know what you're thinking. You think I'm trying to justify my reasons for liking her, and absolve myself at the same time. Absolve myself of the guilty feelings I have because the reality is, she's the girlfriend of my oldest friend Phillip, who was put in the ground just a week ago.

'How could I expect you to understand? You're just a cat. Life for you is a simple oscillation between eating and sleeping. No complexities there, my friend. No tales of love and betrayal were ever told from a cat's point of view. And betrayal is exactly what this is. Even by thinking these thoughts I am betraying Phillip. This is no way to honourably grieve his loss. And I'm sure there's no room in Ashley’s head for anything but Phillip and the things that surrounded him. I'm sure she only pays attention to me because I was part of his life. There was a connection between Phillip and me that she wants to examine, like an electrician wiring a plug. Making the connections. I don't think there's any emotion behind it.'

Gandalf continued to not move.

'I can only conclude little friend that some roads are blocked off for a reason. Ashley Heights is one of those roads. I think it's time I told the cartographer to erase that particular street from the A to Z of my feelings.'

After a moment Gandalf stood and trotted off Kieran's chest. Kieran got up and opened the curtains. The day outside was cloudy, drab and grey. It had rained in the night and the ground outside was almost completely obscured by golden brown, soggy leaves, as well as the occasional spent firework. The early November trees were looking more skeletal and pathetic with every passing day.

Gandalf started yowling to be let out of the living room, so Kieran opened the door, and the cat bolted in the direction of the kitchen.

Ashley was in there. She was wearing one of his shirts and frying bacon and eggs for sandwiches. The cafetiere was poised with ground coffee, ready for the water. The kettle was boiling, and there lay eight buttered white slices on the worktop. She was a vision of perfection. He could have framed her right then and he would have been eternally content.

'I hope you don't mind that I let Gandalf into the living room this morning. He was miaowing to go in. I guess he can't be away from you for very long eh?'

'No that's fine. I'm sure he just wanted to gently remind me that I haven't fed him yet.'

'And I stole one of your shirts.’

‘Not a problem. You look better in it than I do.’

‘That’s a nice thing to say,’ she smiled. ‘And I borrowed your keys and nipped up to the shops to get some breakfast,' she said. 'Is that okay?'

'Of course it is. This is great. Just what I need actually. Is there anything I can do to help?' Kieran went over to the fridge and removed a half opened can of Whiskas.

'Nope, it’s all under control. Listen, I was thinking,' Ashley said. 'If you aren't busy today we could take a trip into London after breakfast, to have a look at Crown Passage.'

'I'm not busy. That sounds like a good idea.'

'Excellent. Well sit down, this is nearly ready.'

 

~

 

They stepped off the Piccadilly Line train at Green Park. In the ticket hall a young homeless man was selling copies of The Big Issue, yelling, 'Please buy it. It's absolute shite really, I just need the munnneyyy.'

The tube had been flooded with tourists, and now the street - Piccadilly itself - was jammed with lost people looking at maps and queueing for sightseeing buses. The place seemed just as busy today as it did on a weekday.

The day had brightened somewhat and there was even a patch of blue directly overhead, but the mild wind of last night now had a chill in it. It had changed direction and was now coming from an Easterly direction. Londoners were beginning to get their first taste of winter.

Following the A to Z, Kieran and Ashley walked under the overhanging frontage of the Ritz Hotel, and turned right into Arlington Street, then left into Bennet Street. Soon they were on St James's Street walking down the hill towards St James's Palace.

As they walked Ashley talked about her holiday with Phillip in Fuerteventura. Kieran was interested in what she was saying, but he was only half listening. He was also thinking about David Everett and the boxes, and the absurdity of the notion that he could have been involved in all that. Kieran wondered if he really had the power to write letters, send cheques and make phone calls without being consciously aware of it. Perhaps a visit to the doctor was in order.

He found himself paying more attention to Ashley when she mentioned that, while she and Phillip were on holiday the subject of marriage had come up.

'He didn't actually propose to me,' she was saying. 'I think he was just testing the water, gauging my reaction. We sort of discussed where we would live and how many kids we'd like to have.'

'And would you have married him? If he had asked?'

'Yes. Yes I probably would.'

They walked a little further, and soon they were standing at the northern end of Crown Passage, opposite the auctioneers and fine-art galleries on King Street. The passage itself was thin, with high buildings creating a closed-in, dark atmosphere. It ran for a couple of hundred yards joining King Street with Pall Mall. It appeared to have retained some of its historical charm, even though it was slowly giving way to modernity, as many London buildings eventually did.

They started down the passage, walking past a newspaper stand and a few small shops and restaurants, a newsagent, a barbershop and a Pret a Manger.

They emerged out of Crown Passage on Pall Mall opposite St James's Palace and Marlborough House. Ashley was looking at some signs around the passage entrance, advertising some of the shops within.

'I wish I knew what we were looking for,' she said, shielding her eyes against a burst of sunlight that had quickly emerged from behind the clouds.

Kieran lit a cigarette and looked back along Crown Passage. 'This is silly.'

Ashley was biting her lip. 'I feel a bit silly too. Shall we just go?'

Kieran waved his hand dismissively. 'No. Not yet. We came a long way to see this place. I want to have another look.'

He began to walk up the passageway again, leaving Ashley behind. He walked past 'Hair To Go', the barbers. Opposite, there was a sandwich bar full of people buying lunch. An entrance nearby with a staircase led down to an underground wine bar called Davy's. At the King Street entrance to Crown Passage he turned again, looking more closely at shop fronts and signs, weaving in and out the passers by. Ashley caught up with him.

He looked at another sign that stood on the path outside a pub door; RED LION, CROWN PASSAGE, LONDON'S OLDEST INN, FINEST ENGLISH FAYRE, OVER 30 MALT WHISKEYS.

Ashley said. 'What do you...?'

'Hang on a sec.'

Kieran noticed he was shivering. He felt a strange sensation in his chest, almost like an excited feeling; an electrical feeling. He was beginning to feel as though the place was talking to him. But it wasn't Crown Passage that was communicating with him. It was all of London.

The notion came to his mind that the collective knowledge of everyone in the world was sufficient to answer his questions about Spireclaw and Edward Gosnell.

'Ashley we go through our lives, and we look for clues about it's meaning. The answers are there. The answers often surround us but we don't know how to interpret them. And so we die more confused than we were when our lives began. London holds the answers to my questions. It's just a question of looking in all the right places.'

'Kieran are you okay?'

To Kieran, Crown Passage for a single moment ceased to exist. London was whispering.

Left pocket.

He felt as though he was tapping into the collective conscious of the city. He saw it for a moment. He glimpsed the stream of facts and truth that ran over the heads of all the people, like rivers of knowledge flowing in the sky, just out of reach. People in the passage brushed past him as they went about their business. Kieran was a rock in the middle of a babbling stream, the flow of people changing direction to go around him.

'Kieran?'

'Something about that sign,' he said, tapping his chin.

Ashley stared along the passage. 'What sign?'

Kieran pointed. 'That one. The Red Lion. I can feel it.'

Ashley read the sign. 'Well, what about it?'

'I don't know. I really don't know, I just...'

Kieran started patting his pockets, 'Where's that sheet of paper.'

He found it in his left pocket. The sheet of paper he had written the night before during the seance.

'Something about this paper.'

He unfolded it and looked at his writing.

 

ROW

KIERAN

NO

DEAD

NO

ROW

30MAL

ROWNPA

SSAG

CROWNPASSAGE

 

'Thirty malt whiskeys,' Kieran said, unable to suppress a smile. 'Thirty flipping malt whiskeys.'

Kieran handed the paper to Ashley and she read it. They looked at the Red Lion sign, and then they looked at each other.

'Do you reckon that's what it is?' said Ashley.

They were standing, static people amongst the transient crowd. They were connected to the stream. And now the direction of flow was clear.

'Definitely.' said Kieran.

'In that case I think we'd better go in,' said Ashley.

'Fancy a pint?'

 

~

 

The inside of the Red Lion was dark. It smelled of centuries of beer spilled on the ancient worn carpet, and had a red patterned cosiness that was common in old pubs. The place was empty but for an old man sitting at a table in the corner who looked like he'd been there since opening day, and the barman, who was reading a newspaper. The muted sound of footsteps outside merged with the ticking of a grandfather clock that perpetually knocked away at the lives of all who drank here.

Kieran and Ashley approached the bar and the barman looked up, smiling.

'What can I get you?' he said.

'I'd like a pint of Calders please,' said Kieran.

'I think I'll have a glass of dry white, thanks.'

The barman went about getting their drinks, and Kieran and Ashley looked at each other, sharing their bewilderment about what to do.

Ashley seemed to have more of a grasp of how to proceed than Kieran did. She came straight out with a question for the barman.

'Excuse me. I know this might sound odd but... does the name Edward Gosnell mean anything to you?'

The barman looked at Ashley, and didn't seem the least bit surprised to have been asked a question out of leftfield. Kieran guessed that as a barman he'd had to deal with stranger questions than this. He felt embarrassed nonetheless. He was glad Ashley was here. She possessed a level of courage that he only wished he had.

'Edward Gosnell,' said the barman, brushing back his thick brown hair. 'Edward Gosnell. No, I can't say it does.' He placed their drinks on the bar, 'Why do you ask? That'll be four-sixty.'

'I'll get this,' said Kieran, fishing for his wallet.

Ashley said, 'What about Spireclaw?'

The barman stopped momentarily and looked up into the sky of his imagination and memories. 'What's Spireclaw?' he said as he took the money from Kieran.

Then a raspy old voice, from the table in the corner, where the old man was sitting, said; 'Spireclaw! I'll bloody tell you what Spireclaw is.'

The three of them looked over at the old man, 'I haven't heard that word for sixty bloody years,' he said. 'But I can tell you what it is.'

Kieran felt like an ice cube was running down his spine. He looked at Ashley. She was wide eyed, and she reached out and grabbed his hand tightly.

The barman leaned over the counter and whispered, 'That's my father.' Then he put out his hand, 'I'm Terry.'

 

~

 

Ashley asked the old man if she and Kieran could join him. He said yes and they took their drinks and pulled up two available chairs. He told them his name was Ernest Clarke. With an e.

He looked at Kieran through deep-set glassy eyes. The skin on his face and hands were almost reptilian with age, and his thin white hair was greasy and unkempt. He had a habit of running his fingers over his eyebrows, as if he was trying to flatten them.

'I was born during the First World War,' he said. '19 bloody 15. I joined Number Nineteen Squadron when I was twenty-three. Youngest bloody pilot they had I was. We were the first to fly the Dolphins. The Sopwith Dolphins. That's why our squadron badge had a dolphin on it. Still got the bloody thing somewhere. In a box in the attic. Now what was our motto? Ah yes. Possunt Quia Posse Videntur; They Can Because They Think They Can. That's right. Bit odd if you ask me. But when your best pals are getting shot down you didn't complain about the bloody motto.'

'You have the badge in your attic you say. Do you live here?' said Ashley.

'Nah. I live in High Barnet. Terry brings me down here every Saturday, to get me out of the house, y'know.'

'Was Spireclaw something to do with your time as a pilot?' asked Kieran.

Ernest Clarke's eyes looked skyward, seeking a distant part of his memory, same as the barman had. Kieran saw that the mannerism ran in the family.

'There were an awful lot of plane manouevres during 1940. An awful lot I tell you.’ He flew his hand like an aeroplane above the table. ‘We used to see single enemy planes buzzing the coast, usually late in the afternoon. Then, by the time dusk fell, there'd be twenty of 'em, dropping bombs and takin' out houses and roads. Even airfields.

'By then we weren't flying the dolphins. We had Spitfire Mark One's. Lovely birds they were. Lovely. But Spireclaw wasn't much of a big deal. No. It was one of them words we used when we wanted to refer to something. Squadron Leader Appleby thought it up, on account of the shape it would take.'

'Shape what would take?' said Ashley.

Ernest looked at Ashley accusingly, as though she hadn't been listening to a word he'd said. 'The manouevre of course!'

'What was the manouevre?'

Ernest took a gulp of his beer. 'It was July. A real scorcher. Not a bloody cloud in the sky. Appleby had received orders that we were to relocate five Spitfires out of Northolt. Take them over to Duxford for minor repairs. A hundred-and-thirty mile round-trip. Appleby called it Spireclaw. That was the name of the manoeuvre.'

'Why Spireclaw?'

'Like I said. Something about the shape. Five planes flying across the sky, like a claw. And the route we took, we flew over three churches. Used them as visual guides, like waypoints.'

'Where is Duxford?'

'Duxford's in Cambridgeshire. Got a museum up there now. Lovely it is to still see those beautiful birds fly. Bloody lovely.'

‘Can you remember which churches were used? As waypoints?’

‘Yes sir. Yes I can. The first one from Northolt was St John’s Church in Buckhust Hill. Up in Borehamwood. Once you get airborne it’s easy to see it there on the horizon. Then it was on to Essendon church near Hatfield. That one was a little harder to spot. And the last one, the most beautiful church was St Mary’s in Saffron Walden. Once you saw that one you knew it was time to throw down those flaps.’

Kieran interrupted, ‘What I don’t understand is; why didn’t you just use radios, or radar as navigational aids?’

Ernest was beaming a wide smile. ‘I was wondering when you was going to ask that question.’ He rubbed his hands together mischievously and then parted them, holding them in the air above the table, seemingly to emphasise that he was about to make a very important point. ‘We’d had orders from the top. The very, very top, that our communications signals were being monitored by the enemy. There were rumours flying about that either they had long-range radios picking up everything we said, or there were spies on the ground, hiding, and listening. The orders for radio silence were rescinded just a few days later, but at the time, everyone was scared, and no one wanted to take any bloody risks. We were losing enough planes as it was.’

The men you flew with,' Ashley said. 'Were any of them called Edward Gosnell?'

Ernest shook his head. ‘No love. Not at all. Never heard of him.’

 

~

 

Kieran and Ashley chatted to Ernest awhile longer. They heard more stories from the war. Terry the barman joked aloud that no one ever got away with hearing only one story, especially if they had asked for one in the first place.

A little later they came to the conclusion that there was nothing more that Ernest could tell them that would be of any use in their investigation. So they said their goodbyes and their thanks, and swapped phone numbers in case Ernest could remember anything else.

They walked out of the Red Lion, up Crown Passage and headed home. Ashley held Kieran’s hand most of the way.

'I'm more confused now than I ever was,' said Kieran as they walked. 'Spireclaw was just a manoeuvre to get five planes from one base to another for some repairs during the war. I mean, how does that relate to all this. It's like someone's playing a damn joke on us. On me. I've reached that point again. That point where I'm beginning to wonder if I'm wasting my time with all this. Ashley, am I looking too hard for something that isn't there?'

'Kieran...'

'I could be looking in the haystack forever, only to find that the needle was never in it.'

'Kieran...'

'Yet all the time, I feel like I'm one step away from knowing something that will make all of this worthwhile.'

'Kieran! You have to continue looking. You need to find out why the word Spireclaw appeared in your cellar. You need to find out who Edward Gosnell is. You need to find out whether you really did ask David Everett to send those boxes to your work. And if you did, then why?’'

Kieran stopped on the pavement and looked at her for a moment. The smell of traffic fumes reached his nostrils and he had fight back a sneeze. ‘I've been thinking about that. I wanted to ask you. Do you have a video camera?'

'A video camera? No but they might have one at the studio.'

'Do you think they'd let you borrow it?'

'Sure, they're usually cool about that sort of thing.'

'And if they let you borrow it, would you let me borrow it?'

Ashley jumped in front of him and grinned. 'I think I know where you're going with this.'

 

~

 

'Directory Enquiries, how can I help you?'

'Yes. Good morning. I'm looking for the number for Duxford War Museum.'

Tapping keys. 'Is that Duxford in Cambridgeshire?'

'Yes.'

'I have the number. Would you like me to put you through?'

'Yes please.'

Ringing on the line.

A man's voice. 'Imperial War Museum Duxford. Chris speaking.'

'Yes, good morning. This may seem like a strange request but I'm wondering if you can help. Does the museum hold documents about the Aircraft repairs that were carried out there during 1940.'

'Well sir, every document that was ever generated by the base when it was in operation is stored in our archive. At the moment the archive itself is not open to the public. We don't have the facilities.'

'I see.'

'We are in the process of digitizing all of it, after which it will be available through our website.'

'How long will that be?'

'We don't anticipate going live with it until well into next year.'

'Oh, that's such a shame. It will be too late by then. Is there any way at all I can get access to any of the information? You see. It's my grandfather's ninetieth birthday next month and he flew Spitfires out of Northolt in 1940. He brought planes over to Duxford for repairs. I'm just trying to rustle up some memorabilia for him, as a surprise. Maybe get something framed.'

'Oh right. Listen, let me see if I can find anything for you. What's his name?'

'Ernest. Ernest Clarke. With an e.'

'Sometime in July 1940 he was ordered by Squadron Leader Appleby to relocate five planes over to Duxford. I'm trying to get access to the documents, to see if there are any references to the word Spireclaw on any of the papers.'

'Spireclaw?'

'It was the name of the manoeuvre. I don't know if it was an official name or not.'

'Okay. Ernest Clarke, Spireclaw, Appleby 1940. Do you happen to know which Squadron?

'Nineteen I think.'

'Okay. July 1940 you say.''

'Yes.'

'Can you be more specific?'

'Not really. He's a bit hazy about it himself, being so old.'

'Okay, well listen Mr err...'

'Kieran. Kieran Whyteleafe.' He spelled out his surname, on account of the fact that nobody ever got it right first time. Kieran also gave his phone number.

'Let me get back to you in a couple of days. I don't mind having a look down there in my tea break.'

'I'm most grateful Chris.'