Jade Monkey

Andy’s slightly taller than me; though let’s face it most people are, with pale ginger hair, an easy manner and a way with musical instruments that borders on the incredible. I knew him before he founded the ragtime band and became famous, back in the days when he played in small time bands at balls and dances to get by. I first met him at a student ball when I was trying to track down a wayward cheque. He had an excellent memory and talent for observation and picking up gossip and was happy to help. Thankfully even after he’d made his fortune he was still interested enough in the excitement that occasionally erupts in my life to help out. However I’ve never actually seen him not wearing evening dress which tends to make him stand out.

He looked at me blearily when he first came down and I first explained what I needed him to do. I had rather more success when I gave up and came back with one of Peter’s tea spoon eating coffees and tried again. Stiles had left to find out what had happened to Hannah and Peter had promised to look after the reporter until he’d come to and was any sort of sensible. I didn’t expect that to be soon.

It was with more than a little reluctance that I hung up my hat and coat on the clothes rails at Pete’s. The rails seem to run on forever, the air full of the smell of mothballs and old paper. Old theatre bills and film posters plaster the walls. I don’t really know why he keeps the costumes. I doubt he’s ever going to have a pressing need to dress up as Admiral or a Chimney sweep to run the bar. Still, they do on occasion prove to be rather handy.

My evening dress was on the rail next to my coat ready for later, but I needed something a little less conspicuous in the meantime. I eventually settled on the tried and trusted deliveryman’s outfit. The guy in the full length mirror at the end of the row looked rather more worried than he had done a few days earlier. I frowned at him for a moment before giving him a nod of encouragement. Ever since Ginger had mentioned it I knew that I had a visit to make, to put to rest the shades of the past if nothing else. I picked up a small cardboard box and for the first time in years, headed back to my office.

Fortunately I didn’t have far to walk. Part of the reason we’d chosen our old office in Cayley was because it was convenient. Its not a bad part of town, a little worn around the edges perhaps, but being in a central location made up for a lot. As I spent several minutes outside, checking for anyone observing the midday traffic passed by indifferently and the sun was making a spirited attempt to push past the clouds. They had to be watching this place. She had to know that I’d come back here sooner or later. It was a trap waiting to spring shut, but everything was getting complex enough that I was beginning not to care. I saw no-one.

Holding the cardboard box firmly in front of me I made my way up the front steps. My feet were on automatic as I pushed through the front door. I turned left passing the rows of mailboxes and took the stairs on the right. Three flights of stairs, then the third door on the right. It was a familiar door, dark heavyset wood with a pane of frosted glass set off by the bright brass of the lock. I laid a hand on it, feeling the scratches. I hesitated for a moment before knocking, but there was no reply. I licked my lips nervously. The lock looked unchanged and I still had my keys. The frosted pane no longer had our names picked out in gold paint; it must not have survived the blast.

I unlocked the door and swept through it in a single motion, closing it behind me and leaning on the wall. My breath caught as I surveyed the room. It wasn’t possible. The room was exactly as I remembered it from before the explosion. My cup sat next to the battered kettle, the old green filing cabinets were the same even down to the letters on the front, written in the same elegant hand. My desk sat in the middle of the room facing the window, covered with yellowing newspapers, and open files. My chair faced slightly towards the wall, the other faced the window away from me and sat in its own pool of sunlight.  I put the cardboard box to one side and sat down at my desk. It didn’t feel right. The chair was the same make and slightly battered, as I remembered. But it was the wrong height. Looking ‘round, I noticed that the cards in the filing cabinets were white crisp and new. Someone had gone to the effort of recreating the office as it was. There was only one person who could have done it, but I was at a loss to why. I was hardly surprised at all when the chair opposite me, spun ‘round slowly to face me, its familiar occupant smiling as she spoke.

‘Hello Jones.’