Mobius Dick by Andrew Crumey

Author:Andrew Crumey
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910213056
Publisher: SCB Distributors
Published: 2014-04-21T16:00:00+00:00

ENLIGHTENMENT

Ringer presented himself in Mrs Moffat’s dining room at half past eight precisely and settled himself at the table. ‘Here you are,’ his landlady declared as she came and deposited in front of him a large and steaming bowl of porridge.

Laura had as good as warned him. There were mental problems round here: premature Alzheimer’s, and a strange new condition causing false memories. Laura would be going up to Burgh House later to find out more; and Ringer could only hope she’d have a better breakfast in her stomach than the ‘full Scottish’ in front of him, which contained none of those countless varieties of sausage Mrs Moffat had kept going on about, but instead amounted to this single bowl of congealing wallpaper paste looking slightly less nutritious and appetizing than the place mat it stood on. But in the presence of a sick woman, Ringer felt the need to be tactful. He could always eat the place mat.

‘Everything all right?’ Mrs Moffat asked, her plump mass sensing the uneasiness her guest now exuded.

‘Fine,’ he told her.

‘I only put in a wee bit of salt,’ she assured him. ‘There’s sugar on the table as well, if you need any.’

Neither additive appeared likely to turn the over-heated baby food she’d presented him with into a fair substitute for the promised fry-up. So great was his disappointment, his nose was even beginning to hallucinate the smoky tang of bacon.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and get on with the rest of your breakfast.’ This comment lifted his spirits. ‘You wanted slice and links together, didn’t you? I hope you’ll have room for it all after your porridge.’

That smell of bacon was genuine; Mrs Moffat’s boiled oats could go to fill a few cracks in the brickwork where they belonged. ‘Actually,’ Ringer called out to her as she went to the kitchen, ‘I didn’t ask for porridge yesterday.’

She came back. ‘Did you not? I was sure you did. Well, why did you not say so?’ She chuckled as she lifted the bowl. ‘Really, there’s no need to be polite, you know.’

She went away, and when she returned she was carrying a pot of coffee and a mug. ‘You still want coffee, I take it?’ she asked teasingly. ‘Haven’t changed your mind about that, have you?’ She’d evidently decided it was Ringer’s memory at fault, not hers.

‘Do you know anything about Burgh House?’ he asked.

Her brow furrowed. ‘Hospital up the hill? What about it?’

‘I hear they’ve been doing a lot of work there. Looks like they’re expecting to be busy.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ she said, going back to the kitchen.

Ringer couldn’t tell if she was being evasive, or else genuinely didn’t know. He chose not to raise the matter again when she returned to the table a few minutes later bearing a heaving plate of calories greasy enough to see him through the day. Crisp lean bacon; two kinds of sausage as promised; a glistening egg that ran when he pricked its golden yolk, smothering the tasty triangle that Mrs Moffat called a ‘potato scone’.

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