Nice one, Banks thought. He had never expected his wife Sandra to run off with another man, either-and not because he didn't think she was attractive to men-but she had done. No sense in labouring the point, though. If anything like that had happened, the Mercers would be the last people to admit it, a.s.suming that they even knew themselves. But if Brenda had no close friends or relatives, then there was no-one else he could question who might be able to tell him more about her. All in all, it was beginning to seem like a tougher job than he had imagined.

"We'll keep you posted," he said, then he and Winsome headed back to the station.

Unfortunately, most people were far too absorbed in their Christmas plans-meals, family visits, last-minute shopping, church events, and what have you-to pay as much attention to local news stories as they did the rest of the year, and even that wasn't much. As Banks and Winsome whiled away the afternoon at Western Area Headquarters, uniformed police officers went from house to house asking questions and searched the wintry Dales landscape in an ever-widening circle, but nothing came to light.

Banks remembered, just before the shops closed, that he had things to buy, so he dashed over to the Swainsdale Centre. Of course, by closing time on Christmas Eve it was bedlam, and everyone was impatient and bad-tempered. He queued fifteen minutes to pay for his turkey dinner because he would have had nothing else to eat otherwise, but just one glance at the crowds in HMV made him decide to forgo the Christmas music for this year, relying on what he had already, and what he could catch on the radio.

By six o'clock he was back at home, and the men and women on duty at the police station had strict instructions to ring him if anything concerning Brenda Mercer came up.

But nothing did.

Banks warmed his leftover lamb curry and washed it down with a bottle of Black Sheep. After he'd finished the dishes, he made a start on Behind the Scenes at the Museum, then he opened a bottle of decent claret and took it with him into the TV room. There, he slid the shiny DVD of Scrooge into the player, poured himself a healthy gla.s.s and settled back. He always enjoyed spotting the bit where you could see the cameraman reflected in the mirror when Scrooge examines himself on Christmas morning, and he found Alastair Sims's over-the-top excitement at seeing the world anew as infectious and uplifting as ever. Even so, as he took himself up to bed around midnight, he still had a thought to spare for Brenda Mercer, and it kept him awake far longer than he would have liked.

The first possible lead came early on Christmas morning, when Banks was eating a soft-boiled egg for breakfast and listening to a King's College Choir concert on the radio. Winsome rang to tell him that someone had seen a woman resembling Mrs. Mercer in a rather dazed state wandering through the village of Swainshead shortly after dawn. The description matched, down to the coat and shoulder-bag, so Banks finished his breakfast and headed out.

The sky was still like iron, but the temperature had dropped overnight, and Banks thought he sniffed a hint of snow in the air. As he drove down the dale, he glanced at the hillsides, all in shades of grey, their peaks obscured by low-lying cloud. Here and there a silver stream meandered down the slope, glittering in the weak light. Whatever was wrong with Brenda Mercer, Banks thought, she must be freezing if she had been sleeping rough for two nights now.

Before he got to Swainshead, he received another call on his mobile, again from Winsome. This time she told him that a local train driver had seen a woman walking aimlessly along the tracks over the Swainshead Viaduct. When Banks arrived there, Winsome was already waiting on the western side along with a couple of uniformed officers in their patrol cars, engines running so they could stay warm. The huge viaduct stretched for about a quarter of a mile across the broad valley, carrying the main line up to Carlisle and beyond, into Scotland, and its twenty or more great arches framed picture-postcard views of the hills beyond.

"She's up there, sir," said Winsome, pointing as Banks got out of the car. Way above him, more than a hundred feet up, a tiny figure in brown perched on the edge of the viaduct wall.

"Jesus Christ," said Banks. "Has anyone called to stop the trains? Anything roaring by her right now could give her the fright of her life, and it's a long way down."

"It's been done," said Winsome.

"Right," said Banks. "At the risk of stating the obvious, I think we'd better get someone who knows about these things to go up there and talk to her."

"It'll be difficult to get a professional, sir, on Christmas Day."

"Well, what do you ...? No. I can read your expression, Winsome. Don't look at me like that. The answer's no. I'm not a trained psychologist or a counsellor. We need someone like Jenny Fuller."

"But she's away, and you know you're the best person for the job, sir. You're good with people. You listen to them. They trust you."

"But I wouldn't know where to begin."

"I don't think there are any set rules."

"I'm hardly the sort to convince someone that life is full of the joys of spring."

"I don't really think that's what's called for."

"But what if she jumps?"

Winsome shrugged. "She'll either jump or fall if someone doesn't go up there soon and find out what's going on."

Banks glanced up again and swallowed. He thought he felt the soft, chill touch of a snowflake melt on his eyeball. Winsome was right. He couldn't send up one of the uniformed lads-they were far too inexperienced for this sort of thing-and time was of the essence.

"Look," he said, turning to Winsome, "see if you can raise some sort of counsellor or negotiator, will you? In the meantime, I'll go up and see what I can do. Just temporary, you understand?"

"Right you are, sir." Winsome smiled. Banks got back in his car. The quickest way to reach the woman was drive up to Swainshead station, just before the viaduct, and walk along the tracks. At least that way he wouldn't have to climb any hills. The thought didn't comfort him much, though, when he looked up again and saw the woman's legs dangling over the side of the wall.

"Stop right there," she said. "Who are you?"

Banks stopped. He was about four or five yards away from her. The wind was howling more than he had expected, whistling around his ears, making it difficult to hear properly, and it seemed much colder up there, too. He wished he were wearing something warmer than his leather jacket. The hills stretched away to the west, some still streaked with November's snow. In the distance, Banks thought he could make out the huge rounded mountains of the Lake District.

"My name's Banks," he said. "I'm a policeman."

"I thought you'd find me eventually," she said. "It's too late, though."

From where Banks was standing, he could only see her in profile. The ground was a long way below. Banks had no particular fear of heights, but even so, her precarious position on the wall unnerved him. "Are you sure you don't want to come back from the edge and talk?" he said.

"I'm sure. Do you think it was easy getting here in the first place?"

"It's a long walk from Eastvale."

She cast him a sidelong glance. "I didn't mean that."

"Sorry. It just looks a bit dangerous there. You could slip and fall off."

"What makes you think that wouldn't be a blessing?"

"Whatever it is," said Banks, "it can't be worth this. Come on, Brenda, you've got a husband who loves you, a daughter who needs-"

"My husband doesn't love me, and my daughter doesn't need me. Do you think I don't know? David's been s.h.a.gging his secretary for two years. Can you imagine such a cliche? He thinks I don't know. And as for my daughter, I'm just an embarra.s.sment to her and that awful husband of hers. I'm the shop-girl who married up, and now I'm just a skivvy for the lot of them. That's all I've been for years."

"But things can change."

She stared at him with pity and shook her head. "No they can't," she said, and gazed off into the distance. "Do you know why I'm here? I mean, do you know what set me off? I've put up with it all for years, the coldness, the infidelity, just for the sake of order, not rocking the boat, not causing a scene. But do you know what it was, the straw that finally broke the camel's back?"

"No," said Banks, anxious to keep her talking. "I don't know. Tell me." He edged a little closer so he could hear her voice above the wind. She didn't tell him to stop. Snowflakes started to swirl around them.

"People say it's smell that sparks memory the most, but it wasn't, not this time. It was a Christmas ornament. I was putting a few last-minute decorations on the tree before Janet and Claude arrived, and I found myself holding these tiny, perfect ice skates I hadn't seen for years. They sent me right back to a particular day, when I was a child. It's funny because it didn't seem like just a memory. I felt as if I was really there. My father took me skating on a pond somewhere in the country. I don't remember where. But it was just getting dark and there were red and green and white Christmas lights and music playing-carols like "Silent Night" and "Away in a Manger"-and someone was roasting chestnuts on a brazier. The air was full of the smell. I'll never forget that smell. I was ... My father died last year." She paused and brushed tears and melted snowflakes from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I kept falling down. It must have been my first time on ice. But my father would just pick me up, tell me I was doing fine, and set me going again. I don't know what it was about that day, but I was so happy, the happiest I can ever remember. Everything seemed perfect and I felt I could do anything. I wished it would never end. I didn't even feel the cold. I was just all warm inside and full of love. Did you ever feel like that?"

Banks couldn't remember, but he was sure he must have. Best to agree, anyway. Stay on her wavelength. "Yes," he said. "I know just what you mean." It wasn't exactly a lie.

"And it made me feel worthless," she said. "The memory made me feel that my whole life was a sham, a complete waste of time, of any potential I once might have had. And it just seemed that there was no point in carrying on." She shifted on the wall.

"Don't!" Banks cried, moving forward.

She looked at him. He thought he could make out a faint smile. She appeared tired and drawn, but her face was a pretty one, he noticed. A slightly pointed chin and small mouth, but beautiful hazel eyes. Obviously this was something her husband didn't notice. "It's all right," she said. "I was just changing position. My b.u.m's gone numb. The wall's hard and cold. I just wanted to get more comfortable."

She was concerned about comfort. Banks took that as a good sign. He was within two yards of her now, but he still wasn't close enough to make a grab. At least she didn't tell him to move back. "Just be careful," he said. "It's dangerous. You might slip."

"You seem to be forgetting that's what I'm here for."

"The memory," said Banks. "That day at the pond. It's something to cherish, surely, to live for?"

"No. It just suddenly made me feel that my life's all wrong. Worthless. Has been for years. I don't feel like me any more. I don't feel anything. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know," said Banks. "But this isn't the answer."

"I don't know," Brenda said, shaking her head, then looking down into the swirling white of the chasm below. "I just feel so sad and so lost."

"So do I sometimes," said Banks, edging a little closer. "Every Christmas since my wife left me for someone else and the kids grew up and moved away from home. But it doesn't mean that you don't feel anything. You said before that you felt nothing, but you do, even if it is only sadness."

"So how do you cope?"

"Me? With what?"

"Being alone. Being abandoned and betrayed."

"I don't know," said Banks. He was desperate for a cigarette, but remembered that he had stopped smoking ages ago. He put his hands in his pockets. The snow was really falling now, obscuring the view. He couldn't even see the ground.

"Did you love her?" Brenda asked.

The question surprised Banks. He had been quizzing her, but all of a sudden she was asking about him. He took that as another good sign. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"I suppose I neglected her," said Banks. "My job ... the hours ... I don't know. She's a pretty independent person. I thought things were OK, but they weren't. It took me by surprise."

"I'm sure David thinks everything is fine as long as no-one ruffles the surface of his comfortable little world. And I know he doesn't think I'm attractive. Were you unfaithful?"

"No. But my wife was. I don't suppose I blame her now. I did at the time. When she had a baby with him, that really hurt. It seemed ... I don't know ... the ultimate betrayal, the final gesture."

"She had a baby with another man?"

"Yes. I mean, we were divorced and they got married and everything. My daughter's spending Christmas with them."

"And you?"

Was she starting to feel sorry for him? If she did, then perhaps it would help to make her see that she wasn't the only one suffering, that suffering was a part of life and you just had to put up with it and get on with things. "By myself," he said. "My son's abroad. He's in a rock group. The Blue Lamps. They're doing really well. You might even have heard of them."

"David doesn't like pop music."

"Well ... they're really good."

"The proud father. My daughter's a stuck-up, social-climbing b.i.t.c.h who's ashamed of her mother."

Banks remembered Janet Mainwaring's reaction to the description of her mother as missing: an embarra.s.sment. "People can be cruel," he said. "They don't always mean what they say."

"But how do you cope?"

Banks found that he had edged closer to her now, within a yard or so. It was almost grabbing range. That was a last resort, though. If he wasn't quick enough, she might flinch and fall off as he reached for her. Or she might simply slip out of his hands. "I don't know," he said. "Christmas is a difficult time for all sorts of people. On the surface, it's all peace and happiness and giving and family and love, but underneath ... You see it a lot in my job. People reach a breaking point. There's so much stress."

"But how do you cope with it alone? Surely it must all come back and make you feel terrible?"

"It does, sometimes. I suppose I seek distractions. Music. Scrooge. Love, Actually-for Bill Nighy and Keira Knightley-and David Copperfield, the one with the Harry Potter actor. I probably drink too much as well."

"Daniel Radcliffe. That's his name. The Harry Potter actor."

"Yes."

"And I'd watch Love, Actually for Colin Firth." She shook her head. "But I don't know if it would work for me."

"I suppose it's all just a pointless sort of ritual," said Banks, "but I'd still recommend it. The perfect antidote to spending Christmas alone and miserable."

"But I wouldn't be alone and miserable, would I? That's the problem. I'd be with my family and I'd still be b.l.o.o.d.y miserable."

"You don't have to be."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I told you. Things can change. You can change things." Banks leaned his hip against the wall. He was so close to her now that he could have put his arms around her and pulled her back, but he didn't think he was going to need to. "Do it for yourself," he said. "Not for them. If you think your husband doesn't love you, leave him and live for yourself."

"Leave David? But where would I go? How would I manage? David has been my life. David and Janet."

"There's always a choice," Banks went on. "There are people who can help you. People who know about these things. Counsellors, social services. Other people have been where you are now. You can get a job, a flat. A new life. I did."

"But where would I go?"

"You'd find somewhere. There are plenty of flats available in Eastvale, for a start."

"I don't know if I can do that. I'm not as strong as you." Banks noticed that she managed a tight smile. "And I think if I did, I would have to go far away."

"That's possible, too." Banks reached out his hand. "For crying out loud, you can come and have Christmas dinner with me if you want. Just let me help you." The snow was coming down heavily now, and the area had become very slippery. She looked at his hand, shaking her head and biting her lip.

"Scrooge?" she said.

"Yes. Alastair Sim."

"I always preferred James Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life."

Banks laughed. "That'll do nicely, too. I've got the DVD."

"I couldn't ... you know ... If I ... well, I'd have to go home and face the music."

"I know that. But after, there's help. There are choices."

She hesitated for a moment, then she took hold of his hand, and he felt her grip tightening as she climbed off the wall and stood up. "Be careful now," he said. "The ground's quite treacherous."

"Isn't it just," she said, and moved towards him.

NOEL, NOEL.