The Story of Us

by Barbara Elsborg

  Zed smiled. He guessed all the water warmed by the sun had gone and been replaced by cold. Caspian shook his hair like a wet dog and water arced through the air. Zed moved away from the window and unfastened his jeans. A moment later, he had his cock in his hand. A moment after that, he was coming harder than he had for a long time. Fuck, that was quick.

  He cleaned himself up, crept out of the house and went to retrieve his car. By the time he’d gathered up the shopping from the hall and made lunch, Caspian had gone. Well, fuck. Zed grabbed his phone to call him and saw he had a text.

  Sorry. Something came up. Be back early tomorrow.

  Zed was disappointed, though it did give him more time to think what to say when he next saw him. He cleaned one of the patio chairs and sat outside to eat a sandwich. If Caspian didn’t come back tomorrow, Zed would drive to Barton Hall. They needed to talk. He wasn’t leaving until they had.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Zed could no longer put off looking through his father’s paperwork, he took his plate and empty beer bottle back inside. The house wasn’t quite as oppressive as it had been, but he took a deep breath before he opened the study door. One foot inside the room, his phone rang. Jackson. Was the guy psychic?

  “Hi,” Zed said.

  “How’s it going?”

  “I checked his phone. There was no number for Tamaz, though he could have put him in under a different name.”

  “Bring the phone back with you. What about his computer?”

  Zed switched it on.

  “Password protected?” Jackson asked.

  “Probably.” The screen lit up. “Yes.”

  “Want to have a go at cracking it?”

  “You’re not worried I’m going to get a sign saying—Warning. This machine will self-destruct in ten seconds?”

  “You can be out of the house in ten seconds, can’t you?”

  Zed smiled.

  “If you can’t get into it, bring it back with you. Bring it back anyway. The forensic guys can have a look.”

  “Okay.” Zed knew that because Tamaz had disappeared overseas having had connections to a terrorist cell, any communication their father had had with him could be important.

  “Thought I’d better give you a heads-up that Caspian has been released on licence and is back home.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’d be a good idea if you stayed away from him.”

  “Right.” Zed kept his voice neutral.

  Jackson sighed. “Well, I tried.”

  Zed groaned as he put his phone on the desk. How could he give himself away with one word? Or maybe Jackson just knew him better than he thought.

  Before he started to guess passwords, he went through the contents of every drawer. Most people had so many passwords, they tended to write them down on scraps of paper, but his father’s drawers were neatly organised—pens, pencils, notepads, scissors, stapler… Along with files holding household bills, receipts, credit card statements, tax records, bank statements, medical records, house and contents insurance, life insurance, all the information about the car… Zed supposed his father’s meticulous records were something to be grateful for.

  Everything to do with the pharmacy was in a separate filing cabinet. He had a quick look through and was shocked to discover that a year ago, his father had sold the business to a national chain for four hundred thousand pounds. He’d carried on working there for six months until he’d left for health reasons. Zed hadn’t seen any trace of that money in the bank statements. So where was it?

  He checked the entire room for anything that might be hidden: behind the radiator, under the rug, inside the cushion on the chair, the bottom of the curtain—but found nothing. There were no hidden drawers, no buttons to press to reveal secrets or treasure, no oubliettes in a modern house. The only places he’d not thoroughly searched were his father’s bedroom and the attic. The garage too, come to think of it.

  Zed made his way upstairs. The bedroom window was still open and the odour much less intense. He could still see the indent of his father’s head on the pillow, a few grey hairs remaining. The sheets were thrown back as if he’d just got up. Zed felt cheated he couldn’t grieve. He should care that his father had died and he didn’t. That wasn’t right. Guilt surged in.

  The bedside table was a cityscape of medicines. He’d need to return everything to a pharmacy for disposal. There could well be some dangerous drugs. He pulled open the drawer below and found an envelope labelled—Will of Majid Zadeh. He wasn’t surprised his father had made a will though if he hadn’t, Zed would have had a claim on his estate under English law. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be mentioned in the will he was holding.

  He opened it up—In the name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful, this is the Last Will and Testament of me, Majid Zadeh.

  Zed wondered what it was like, knowing death was coming, creeping towards you like a lion or racing like a cheetah. Death was a possibility every day of your life, but faced with destruction by cancer, what had his father thought? Clearly, he’d had no desire to make things right with the son he’d mistreated. Had he sent that money from the sale of the pharmacy to Tamaz? Given it to charity?

  He scanned down the page. Shaw’s were the law firm that had produced the will. It had been witnessed by the elderly couple who’d lived next door to them in Lewisham. Zed looked at the date. The will was ten years old. Tamaz was the sole executor, tasked with paying debts, funeral expenses and handling any bequests. But there was no wasiyya, no mention of a bequest to anyone who didn’t automatically inherit under Islamic law. There didn’t appear to be any relatives Zed hadn’t known about. Everything went to Tamaz along with his father’s ring and personal Quran which had been among the possessions he’d had in hospital. Zed wasn’t mentioned. So even then, his father had hated him.

  As a gay, non-Muslim he was entitled to nothing under Sharia law. Though to everyone who’d known him at Imperial, he’d appeared to be a follower of Islam, albeit breaking the rules with his music. As for his sexuality, Zed hadn’t had a relationship since Caspian. He hadn’t kissed, hadn’t touched, hadn’t wanted anyone. He’d admired from afar. He wasn’t immune to beautiful faces, bodies, arses, but he’d turned down all approaches.

  Zed had told Tamaz he was gay, but Tamaz wasn’t in the country. So if Zed wanted to challenge the will, he was pretty sure he could and that he’d win. It wasn’t a path he wanted to take but Jackson might not be happy about Tamaz getting hold of his father’s money. Once the house had been sold and the insurance policies cashed in, Zed thought there might be as much as a million pounds. Maybe Jackson would see that as a way to lure Tamaz back to the UK.

  Where are you, brother? What are you doing?

  The other things in the envelope were certificates. His father, brother and mother’s birth certificates and one for her death, and the marriage certificate. Why wasn’t his birth certificate there? Zed still suspected he wasn’t his father’s son despite the copy of the birth certificate Jackson had given him. He continued to search his father’s room but found nothing but clothes and shoes. Not even a picture of his mother in a drawer. Islam might not support photographs being on display but it wasn’t forbidden to have ones of your family. Did his father have a girlfriend when he died? Same one as he’d had when Zed had been at home? He didn’t know and he didn’t care.

  Zed went back to the study and sat down. So, a password…

  He started with his father’s birthday, then his brother’s, then his mother’s. When he’d run out of significant dates, he brought his laptop in and linked the two machines. A rapid download of a programme he’d used before, and he was into his father’s computer. Maybe he should have just done this to start with but he’d wanted to discover his father wasn’t smart enough to use a complex password.

  Getting into the emails was a little trickier, but Zed had a friend at Imperial who was an expert hacker. Maybe friend was too strong a word. Zed would have liked to be his f
riend but Nick was unsociable, maybe autistic, though absolutely brilliant with computers. Zed had sucked up the information about illegal ways to get at what you wanted. He’d recommended him to Jackson as a possible employee, or potential threat. There was far more money to be made in illegal work, though Nick didn’t seem driven by money, more by the challenge of hacking into something no one else had managed.

  Zed worked alphabetically through his father’s emails, checked each contact, read a couple of the emails that had passed between them, starred any that might be worth rechecking before moving onto the next. It took him an hour to find Tamaz under the name radiotherapy@comcal.com. There weren’t many emails to that address and it was clear both his father and Tamaz had been careful in what they said.

  Honoured son. You do Allah’s bidding, Peace be upon Him. If you provide details, I can transfer money to you to help with your humanitarian work. Blessed are the children you help.

  Beloved father. You are the kindest of fathers. The most worthy. Allah’s blessings upon you.

  Blah blah fucking blah.

  Zed picked up his father’s phone and re-checked all the numbers that appeared to be hospital related. He found one for radiotherapy. The code was the same as the one for the hospital in Maidstone but the number looked wrong. Too many digits.

  He called Jackson.

  “Yep?”

  “I found my father’s will. Unsurprisingly made under Sharia law. Tamaz is the sole executor and beneficiary. It was signed by the couple who used to live next door to us in Lewisham.”

  “Who are now dead.”

  Of course Jackson would know that.

  “I have an email address for Tamaz. Last email from him was a month ago. It’s radiotherapy@comcal.com. I crosschecked the phone and have a number for radiotherapy at Maidstone that looks off. I think the country code has been changed so it appears to be a UK number. There’s an extra digit. I want to call Tamaz on my father’s phone, tell him our father is dead. It’ll look odd if I don’t.”

  “He thinks you have no idea where he is. How are you going to explain that?”

  “I’ll just say his number’s on our father’s phone.”

  “If they’ve been so careful to hide their correspondence, will he fall for that?”

  Jackson was right.

  “I’ll say I found it on a piece of paper with his will.”

  “That works better.”

  “The other thing is that my father sold the pharmacy to a national chain for four hundred thousand pounds just over a year ago. That money never went into his bank account. As yet, I can’t find any trace of it, but my father mentioned transferring money to Tamaz for humanitarian work.”

  Jackson sighed. “Send me the details of your father’s email. I’ll get someone to look at them as well. Call me on Skype on your laptop before you speak to your brother and I’ll listen in. I’ll guide you with a thumb’s up or down if I think you’re veering into dangerous territory.”

  “What country code should I try?”

  “We know Tamaz left Pakistan. Try Afghanistan, then Syria.”

  By the time the Skype connection was established, Zed had made a note of the country codes. Tamaz answered from Syria. Oh fuck. What are you doing there?

  “Father?”

  Zed’s heart jumped into his throat. “No, it’s me. I’m sorry, Tamaz, but father’s died.”

  Tamaz let out a long sigh. “Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.” We belong to God and to Him we shall return.

  Zed had the strange feeling that Tamaz had already known.

  “How did you get my number?”

  “It was with his will. I’ve just come to the house and found it in his bedside drawer. I’ve had to have him buried. I didn’t know how to get hold of you until now. Is there anyone I should call? Are our grandparents still alive? And where are you? What country code is this? Can you come home? Please? He’s left you everything. I don’t know what to do.” His anxiety wasn’t faked.

  “I can’t come back yet. Our grandparents died a couple of years ago. There’s no one in Iran to contact.”

  “Oh.” Zed sighed. “What about the house? Shall I sell it? The business? I need help.”

  “Father sold the pharmacy a year ago. He sent me the money to open an orphanage in Afghanistan.”

  “Oh, that is such a wonderful thing to do.” What a crock of shit. “Do you think he was trying to make up for the way he…?”

  “Treated you? I think he was.”

  Fucking liar. “What do you want me to do about the house and everything else? His clothes, the furniture, the car.”

  “Settle all debts. He has life insurance. Cash it in.”

  “They’re not going to let me have it. I’m not named on the will.”

  Tamaz muttered something Zed didn’t catch. “Sort out as much as you can. I’ll provide you with the authority to handle things on my behalf. What’s your email address?”

  Jackson put his thumb down.

  “Banks aren’t going to accept an email saying I’m acting on your behalf. I could have written it myself.”

  “Then…pretend there is no will. You’ll be able to act as executor then. Say you have no idea where I am. Later, you can find the will and I’ll let you know what to do with the money.”

  “Why the fuck should I bother?” Zed snapped. “He’s left me nothing, not that I wanted a penny, but why should I do all the work? And lie for you?”

  “Because Allah will reward your selflessness, Peace be upon Him.”

  Jackson was making a chopping motion with his hand. Presumably telling Zed to leave it.

  “Allahu alam,” Zed said. Allah knows best.

  “You’re a believer, brother?”

  “Astaghfirullah.” I ask the forgiveness of Allah. “I’ve grown up. I see things more clearly now. I’m still angry about the way Dad treated me but…”

  “Al hamdu lilah wa shukru lillah.” Praise belongs to Allah and all thanks to Allah.

  Zed doubted Tamaz believed in his return to the right path. “And the house? Do I sell it and the contents?”

  “Do what you like with the house. Sell all that you can. When everything is done, call me.” Tamaz broke the connection.

  Zed checked the call had definitely ended, then turned to his laptop. “I think he already knew.”

  “Very likely,” Jackson said. “Well done. We might be able to lure him back.”

  “You’re convinced he’s involved in something bad?” Misery churned Zed’s stomach.

  “We don’t know, but him being in Syria is not good. And why would he be so reluctant to come home after your father’s died? The last time you saw Tamaz, you didn’t part on good terms. He asked you nothing about what you’re doing, if you went to university, how things had gone. Whether you’re still gay.” Jackson gave a quiet chuckle.

  “He can’t think it’s a miraculous cure.”

  “Maybe he does. I think pretending you’ve not found a will is a good idea, though. You have the legal right to act on your father’s behalf.”

  “If anyone wants more than my birth certificate?”

  “I’m getting you a driving licence in your birth name. By the way, the guy at the funeral who mentioned Tamaz to you? Basem Nadir? He doesn’t work at the pharmacy. He’s known to us by a different name. That could be how Tamaz knew about your father. Be careful.”

  Zed nodded and terminated Skype. He neither wanted nor had he expected any money from his father but it annoyed him that he was having to sort everything out. He found a site that explained what to do when someone died intestate and read it carefully.

  Kent had a Tell us Once service that let him report the death to a number of organisations in one go, including HM Revenue and Customs, Department for Work and Pensions, Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, Passport Office and the local council. He paid for the mail to be redirected for three months to a post office box in London, then he started to make the rest of the calls to inform pe
ople his father was dead.

  It was hard not to be distracted by thoughts about Caspian. All the feelings Zed had locked up tight for the last four years had burst back to life. He’d been waiting for this moment. It was why he’d not been out with another guy. He’d thought that when Caspian was out of prison, they could try to rekindle what they’d once had. Zed smiled. When he’d watched Caspian hold the hose over his head, Zed had caught fire.

  But Caspian was nervous and Zed understood that. He was nervous too. Then again, Caspian wouldn’t have come anywhere near Larch Cottage if he didn’t want to see him. Would he? Or had he just been checking Zed was okay?

  We have to talk. If Caspian didn’t turn up first thing tomorrow, he’d drive to Barton Hall.

  Caspian made his way home across the fields wondering if he’d have stayed and spoken to Zed if his mother hadn’t called him to remind him about shopping. He’d leapt at a reason to leave. Fucking coward. He’d be even more of a coward if he didn’t go back tomorrow.

  His mother was in the hall when he opened the door. She took one look at him and gasped. “What on earth have you been doing? You’re filthy.”

  “I need to shower,” he mumbled and ran up the stairs.

  “Be quick.”

  After he’d towelled himself dry, he put on the dress trousers from the suit he’d worn at his trial. He had nothing else to wear. Betsy had already laundered the shirt, so he wore that too, though not the tie.

  His mother smiled her approval as he came back down. “Lovely. I thought we’d go to the Designer Outlet in Ashford.”

  “Okay.”

  This would be the first time he’d been alone with his mother since before the accident. He wondered if she really knew exactly what had happened, or whether she’d been given a slightly different version, but it pretty soon became clear she wanted to talk about anything but the day of the accident. Caspian was hurt, then annoyed as she prattled on about the preparations for the charity ball.

  “It’s going to be a massive event. I just pray it doesn’t rain.” She smiled at him.