His feet, Ana couldn’t help but notice, were two of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her life: brown, smooth, hairless, like they’d never sweated in a pair of ill-fitting shoes, like they’d spent their entire lives walking unshod through soft talcum sands. And his skin had the most beautiful satiny sheen. And his thighs were. … Enough! Ana tore her eyes away from his groin and focused on a particularly perfect pink rosebud on the bush behind him instead. Is this what it was like for men, she wondered, constantly assailed by the sight of bare flesh? The embarrassment, the desire, all those thoughts in your head that had no place being there. It was impossible to ignore, the satin silkiness of his tanned flesh. So hard to take your eyes off it and, like those men who big-busted women complain about for talking directly to their breasts, Ana now found herself talking to Flint’s skin and muscle tone and bigness.
‘So,’ he said, twanging the ringpull on his lager with his thumb, ‘what now?’
‘Sorry?’
‘In the Great Unsolvable Mystery of Bee Bearhorn? What do we do now?’
‘Find Zander?’
‘Find Zander. Right. OK. How?’
Ana shrugged. ‘No idea. All we know is his age and his name. And that maybe he lives in a home in Kent and …’
‘No!’ said Flint, clicking his fingers and suddenly looking uncharacteristically animated. ‘No! I’ve got it! That documentary. The one that Ed was there to film.’
‘Of course! We can find out from that.’
‘Yeah – there must be some kind of archive or information service about old TV programmes.’
‘Yes. Definitely. There’s bound to be. I can look into it tomorrow.’
‘D’you know,’ said Flint, ‘it’s got to the stage when I almost can’t imagine ever finding out what happened toBee. D’you know what I mean? Like it’s going to be a mystery for ever.’
Ana nodded. ‘Flint?’ she said after a short pause, bringing her face closer to his. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘Do you – do you think she killed herself?’
‘Nah,’ he replied instantaneously, and much to Ana’s surprise. ‘No way.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
‘Why the hell would someone like Bee kill themselves?’
‘And why the hell would someone like Bee drink so much tequila and take so many prescription drugs that she’d end up dead? And why did it take so long for anyone to find her? And why has she got so few possessions? I mean – I spent a whole day in Bee’s flat and from what I saw she didn’t have much of a life. I’ve spent the last ten years imagining Bee’s life. I imagined someone who’d put down roots, who had a relationship and a beautiful home, hundreds of friends. I imagined her going to parties and clubs and being … someone. And – well – what was it actually like, her life? What little you knew of it, anyway. Who were her friends? Where was everyone when she died? I mean – where were they?’ Ana stopped suddenly when she realized that she’d started shouting and was actually half-way off her stool. Where the hell had that come from? She sat back down and smiled apologetically at Flint. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to shout. I just – I need someone to explain how this could have happened. Explain her to me.’
Flint rubbed his hand across his stubble and regardedAna with steely eyes. ‘OK,’ he said. Where d’you want me to start.’
‘Well – what sort of a friend was she? To you?’
Flint sighed, sat back. ‘Bee was – Bee was a good friend. The sort of friend I like. Self-sufficient. She was the most independent person I’ve ever known. And she took people as she found them. No unrealistic expectations. She used to say that that was the key to happiness – not having expectations of people – that way you could never be disappointed. She didn’t seem to need anyone. She didn’t cry. She didn’t talk about herself. You might not speak to Bee for weeks but then you’d phone her and she’d just be happy to hear from you. No recriminations. She never put people on guilt trips. But on the other hand – she’d forget your birthday, forget stuff you’d told her last time you saw each other. But that never bothered me because I’m just as bad.’
‘And what exactly did she do for the last few years, after Gregor died?’
He shrugged. ‘Not much. She did quite a lot of fund-raising stuff for AIDS research for a while, organized balls and charity events, that sort of thing. And then she took guitar lessons for a while, was going to try to get back into the music industry. She had a few collaborations with producers and musicians, it almost looked like something was going to get off the ground, but nothing ever did. I think she just used to read a lot, watch videos, write songs. And obviously for the last three years she was maintaining two totally secret relationships.’ He shook his head slightly in disbelief. ‘She basically went from being a complete wild child to being a recluse.’
‘But didn’t you worry about her?’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘that was the thing about Bee. She went out of her way to make sure that nobody ever worried about her. She hated the idea of being a worry, being a burden. She was one of those people who just sort of floated along the top of life, who never really touched the ground – do you know what I mean? She just always gave off this aura of – all-is-wellness, I guess. Bee was always OK. Bee was always cool. Things didn’t get to her. She wasunemotional.’
‘And what about men? What about her love life? Was there anyone apart from Ed?’
Flint exhaled and rearranged himself on his armchair. ‘Bee was what you might call asexual, I suppose. She didn’t have sex. She didn’t have relationships.’
‘What. Never?’
‘Not after her father died, no. She just lost all interest in men. She used to say to me that she didn’t care if she never had sex again as long as she lived.’