A Line of Blood

by McPherson, Ben

She was right. The defiance was a front. Perhaps he needed it to be able to say what he had to say.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Max, ‘I knew that the neighbour was going to have a bath, because I could hear the water running in the pipes.

  ‘And so I got some tape, and I waited until I could hear the neighbour getting into the bath, and then I went downstairs and Dad was working and you weren’t here, and I went out into the garden and climbed over the wall.

  ‘And then I opened the neighbour’s back door with my key and went in and then I went into the sitting room and opened his fuse cupboard and I taped over the breaker switch.

  ‘Also, I already knew it was the right breaker switch because one day when the neighbour wasn’t at home I plugged in a light on the landing and the breaker turned it off. Like, I know about electricity and stuff.’

  ‘Max,’ I said, ‘did you plan this?’

  Max nodded. Of course he had planned it.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Max, ‘I had to walk really carefully and it took me quite a long time to go up the stairs so the neighbour wouldn’t hear me. And the bathroom door was open and you could see the neighbour in the bath, but he wasn’t looking at me because he was reading his book, so I went really quietly past the door, and I went to the cupboard in the landing and I got out the iron. And even though it made a little bit of noise I don’t think he heard anything.’

  You’re eleven, I thought. How is any of this even possible?

  ‘I had to do the plug before, when the neighbour wasn’t at home, so I came home early one day from school because I told Mr Sharpe I wasn’t feeling well, and he believed me because normally I don’t tell lies. Really I don’t.’

  That conviction: the child who knows right from wrong; the irony of it.

  I wanted to put my arms around him, draw him back to a time before all of this. I wanted Max to be ten once more; I wanted Millicent to be undefiled by the neighbour. A year, that’s all it would take; give us a year and a little insight and we could side-step this.

  A month even. A month back, the neighbour would still have seduced Millicent, but he wouldn’t be dead. There must be other possible outcomes. There must be something I could have done to head this off.

  ‘I wore gloves, though,’ said Max, ‘because I know about fingerprints.’

  ‘You took your mum’s gloves?’

  ‘She never wore them anyway.’

  I looked at my son. A little boy, asking for his father’s approval, wanting me to know he’d thought of everything. Why can’t you be ten again, Max?

  Max drank down the rest of the Ribena, held the glass a few centimetres above the surface of the table, and dropped it on to its end.

  ‘I think Arla’s been drinking the Ribena.’

  ‘So, fix yourself something else, honey,’ said Millicent.

  ‘Please may I have Ribena?’

  Millicent looked meaningfully at me. ‘What?’ I said. Her eyes flicked towards the door. ‘Are you seriously suggesting I go to the shop?’ I said. ‘Now?’ Millicent nodded.

  ‘Crisps too,’ said Max. ‘Please, Dad.’

  I remember nothing about walking down the street, I remember nothing about entering the shop, and I remember nothing about the walk home. But I remember my thoughts, in precise and frightening detail.

  I wondered how Max would get on as a ward of the British state, skirting the walls of some secure institution, trading phone cards with other terrified souls, trying to stay a step ahead of the big kids with their shanks and their shivs.

  How would my sensitive little son measure up? Not well, I thought, not well at all.

  The evidence must be destroyed. Truth be damned. What kind of man would willingly see his eleven-year-old son face justice?

  Another visit to the neighbour’s house, a little white spirit on a cloth, and a wipe of the breaker switch while the agent’s back was turned. That would do it. Anything else, any other prints to emerge unexpectedly, could be explained by the fact that it was Max and I who found the body. You know small boys, don’t you, June? They touch everything.

  I was calmer when I walked back into the house.

  Millicent and Max were sitting together at the kitchen table. Max looked like an eleven-year-old boy with cuts on his knees. Millicent looked like a concerned mother.

  I put the bottle of Ribena on the countertop and dropped a large packet of Monster Munch on to the table in front of Max.

  Millicent got up. She broke the seal on the bottle, poured a generous serving of Ribena, topped it up with water from the tap.

  ‘Have we got any ice?’ said Max.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, putting the glass down in front of him. ‘Go check for yourself, honey.’

  ‘No, it’s OK.’

  My son, and my wife. It all looked so normal, so very North London. I sat down at the table. Millicent sat down. Father, mother and child at our little table in our little kitchen in our little overpriced house.

  ‘It’s OK, Dad,’ said Max. ‘I didn’t tell her anything while you were out.’ I said nothing in reply. Max opened the Monster Munch and placed a stack on the table in front of himself. Then he poked his pinkie through the maw of an extruded potato monster and raised it meditatively to his lips. He can’t read us, I thought. It’s almost as if he expects us to reward him. He still thinks he did the right thing.

  ‘Dad,’ said Max.

  ‘Sorry, Max. Go on.’

  ‘So, anyway, the neighbour was in the bath and I think he heard me plugging in the iron, because he shouted, “Who’s there?” and I shouted, “Max”, and then I went into the bathroom, but I left the iron outside so he wouldn’t see it. I think he was quite surprised to see me, and maybe a bit cross, but I don’t think he was frightened. And he asked me what I was doing and how I got in but I didn’t answer that, but I took out my notebook and opened it at the first of the drawings with all the ropes and he started to read it.’

  I could think of nothing to say, so I took a handful of Monster Munch and made a small pile of them in front of me. I put one in my mouth. Horrible – both cloyingly sweet and saltily moreish, like a dilute memory of bad drugs.

  ‘Don’t take them if you don’t like them, Dad.’ Max eyed me diffidently. He threw a Monster Munch into the air, made a show of catching it in his mouth.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I think maybe the neighbour was embarrassed or something, because he covered up his penis with one hand, except he couldn’t really, because he was reading the book and he kept having to turn the page. And he was getting water on my drawings because his hand was wet, but I didn’t say anything. And I took Mum’s gloves out of my pocket and put them on, but I went out of the bathroom to do it, and then I went and got the iron and put it on the floor in the bathroom but he didn’t see because he was looking at the pictures.’

  ‘Max,’ I said, ‘where did you get the iron?’

  Max looked confused. ‘It was his iron. The neighbour’s.’

  ‘He didn’t own an iron.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Max, don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m not a liar.’

  A man of expensive tastes. ‘He had his clothes dry-cleaned, Max.’

  Millicent’s hand was on my arm. ‘Alex,’ she said, ‘he owned an iron.’

  ‘The police told me …’

  Millicent’s gaze did not waver.

  ‘Oh.’

  If indeed you owned an iron … June had not lied to me either. She had simply suggested a possibility. I was a dolt.

  ‘I’m sorry, Max.’

  ‘It’s OK. Anyway, he asked me how I knew what his bathroom looked like and I told him I had Mum’s key and I had been in his house before. And he looked quite angry, like he wanted to get out of the bath, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of the drawings or just because I was in his house.

  ‘And he asked me if it was him in the bath, and I said, “Yes, it’s you now.” And then he looked at the next picture and I think he wa
s a bit frightened but he was trying not to show me that he was, even though he was covering up his penis.’

  I thought of Bryce hiding his penis from the little boy from next door; the little boy who knew Bryce had done his mother; the little boy who was standing there proudly in his t-shirt and his mother’s brown leather gloves, the iron on the floor beside him.

  ‘And he was looking backwards and forwards between the two pictures like I wanted him to do.’ Max was speaking very softly now. ‘And then he said, “Is that also me?” and I could hear that he was trying to sound all calm and grown-up but really he wasn’t.’

  When did Bryce first see the iron? When did he know?

  ‘And I said, “Yes, it’s you, soon.” And he said, “What do you mean, soon?” and I said, “About seven seconds.” And he asked me what I meant again and he didn’t sound calm any more and he started trying to get out of the bath but he slipped. And I did feel a bit sorry then, but I thought about how he did Mum and I picked up the iron even though it was really hot and I threw it into the bath.’

  Millicent looked utterly stricken.

  ‘Then the neighbour started to kick, and his face went all red, and he dropped my book into the bath, which is how it got wet. And I think he was dead then.’

  The brokenness of Bryce’s body. The redness of those lips. The agony of the scene. An eleven-year-old boy’s idea of justice. I looked at Millicent. Millicent looked blankly back at me. What do we do?

  ‘Do you think he was dead, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t know, Max.’

  ‘But do you think he probably was? Like straight away?’ There was a pleading note in his voice now.

  ‘Max, I’m sorry, I really don’t know.’

  ‘I went out of the room for a while just in case he wasn’t, and then I counted to three hundred slowly, like one hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, three hippopotamus, and then I went downstairs and took the tape off the switch. Because they wait five minutes in America. Like if it’s an execution, or something. Although probably they’re already dead.’

  ‘Max,’ said Millicent. ‘Max, can’t you see?’

  ‘What, Mum?’

  Millicent wrapped her arms very tightly around herself. She sat rocking backwards and forwards in her chair.

  ‘But I didn’t know there would be a boner. And anyway I checked afterwards on the internet and it’s normal. Like when they kill murderers in America. Murderers get boners, even though they’re dead.’

  ‘Jesus, Max,’ said Millicent. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘You shouldn’t swear at me, Mum,’ said Max. ‘You asked me how my notebook got wet. I just told you what you asked me to tell you.’

  ‘Alex,’ said Millicent. ‘I’m going to need you to engage.’

  ‘Max killed the neighbour. He threw the iron into the bath. He clearly doesn’t understand the implications of what he did.’

  ‘Alex,’ said Millicent, ‘let him tell us himself. Don’t pre-empt.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Why, Max?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Max, I think you understand what I’m asking you.’

  ‘Can I have a cigarette, Dad?’ he said. I shook my head. Max turned to Millicent. ‘Can I, Mum?’

  ‘Honey,’ said Millicent, ‘we need for you to answer the question. Why would you do this?’

  ‘Can I have a cigarette then?’

  I shook my head again.

  Insolent fury, immediate and raw. ‘I want a cigarette.’

  ‘You don’t smoke, Max,’ I said. ‘And there aren’t any.’ My voice sounded weak, defensive.

  Max took a Marlboro ten-pack from his trouser pocket. An old one of ours. Red, black and white. He knocked it experimentally on the table, then opened it, and offered it to me. The cigarettes inside had been gently curved, the packet edges frayed, from the inside of Max’s pocket. The tobacco smelled stale.

  Max flicked the bottom of the packet with a finger. A cigarette loosed itself from the others. He held the packet closer to me, full of challenge and bravado. But the tremor in his hand told a different story: a child, knocking at the door of the adult world.

  ‘Put those down, Max,’ I said, as gently as I could.

  ‘Don’t you want to know why I killed the neighbour?’

  I swallowed the urge to shout at him. My blood was up: the cigarette in my face, the call of the old Marlboro packet, the extended arm, the floppy hair and the bright blue eye. Do not rise to this.

  ‘I did it for you, Dad,’ he said. He took a cigarette from the pack and put it in his mouth. ‘Can I have a light please, Dad?’ His body was poised, now, cocksure: had he practised this move before? I could taste the exhilaration on him, the dangerous thrill as he dared us to make him stop. But behind his eyes was something altogether less certain.

  ‘Take the cigarette out of your mouth, Max.’

  ‘I know you want one.’ Max’s eyes did not leave mine. ‘Why do you always think you have to pretend?’ But he took the cigarette from his mouth and put it behind his ear. Then he turned to Millicent.

  ‘Even though Dad’s angry and he swears a lot, he wouldn’t kill someone. He never would. But I know he wishes he’d done what I’ve done, because he hated the neighbour when he found out about how he did you and everything, and now he’s glad he’s dead.’

  ‘Max,’ I said. ‘Max, stop. That’s not true.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because you found out he was doing Mum after he was dead.’ He turned back towards Millicent. ‘But even though he hates the neighbour he would just have forgiven you, because he thinks those are the rules or something. You shouldn’t just forgive her, Dad. Please, Dad. You shouldn’t make it so easy for her.’

  Millicent’s eyes locked on to mine.

  ‘Max,’ I said, ‘listen to me. I would have wanted your mother back anyway.’

  ‘But Dad, she didn’t want to come back. Why won’t you listen to me?’ He was exasperated now. ‘Didn’t you read any of her letters?’

  ‘No, Max, I didn’t.’

  ‘She wasn’t going to come back. She always just runs away and never goes back.’

  I didn’t look at Millicent but I felt her put a hand on my forearm. I put my hand over hers. I didn’t dare look at her for fear that what Max was saying was true.

  ‘Max,’ I said, trying to slow my breathing, ‘I really, genuinely don’t know what would have happened. Maybe your mum would have left me. But this is a terrible, terrible thing. You don’t take away people’s choices because you think they’re going to make the wrong choices.’ Millicent’s hand tensed on my arm.

  Max sniffed hard. His voice was tremulous. ‘You just say what you think you have to say,’ said Max. ‘It’s like, you’re just politically correct, or something. If you could say what you really thought, you would thank me.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘I just wanted us all to be together. Like you did.’

  ‘You took a man’s life, Max.’ I had shouted these last words.

  ‘But Dad,’ said Max, his voice tiny, ‘why is killing worse than fucking?’

  ‘It just is.’ Control your voice. ‘It’s worse. You’ve taken a life, and ruined the lives of all the people who loved Bryce.’

  ‘But why is it worse? Why is what I did worse than what he did?’

  ‘People sleep with the wrong people all the time. I slept with Arla.’

  ‘You wanted to get back at Mum for what she did to you.’

  ‘No, Max,’ I said, ‘I don’t know why I did it.’

  Max hesitated, thrown off balance. He looked first at me, then at Millicent.

  ‘How can you not know why, Dad?’

  ‘Max, I genuinely don’t know why I slept with Arla.’

  ‘But you told Mum you weren’t sorry.’

  ‘How do you even know that?’ I said. Max blinked at me. ‘Anyway, Max, I don’t know why I did it. People sleep with the wrong people for all sorts of complicated reasons. Like your mum did. Like I did. And
for what it’s worth, I am sorry for sleeping with Arla. I shouldn’t have done it.’

  Millicent stared at me, appraising.

  ‘I’m truly sorry, Millicent,’ I said. ‘It’s the worst thing I have ever done, and I will be sorry for doing it for as long as I live.’ She nodded then, and turned her attention back to Max.

  ‘No,’ said Max, desperation in his voice now. ‘You’re telling lies. It was because you thought she was sexy and pretty and you wanted to get back at Mum.’ He was almost shouting, but I could feel the panic in him. The ground beneath him was leaching away.

  ‘Max,’ I said. ‘You’re eleven.’

  ‘I know about sex.’

  ‘You’re clever, but you’re a literalist.’

  That stopped him. ‘What?’

  ‘Literalist means you don’t – you can’t – understand how untidy and imprecise the adult world is. You can’t hope to, because you haven’t felt these things yourself yet.’

  ‘I did know what it meant,’ he said softly. ‘And I’ve done something you’ve never done.’

  A spike of cold rage, and I was on my feet.

  ‘You’re right, Max,’ I said. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ I looked at Millicent. Are we going to let this pass? Millicent gave the tiniest of frowns. The stricken look had left her now. There was something harder and more determined about her demeanour. She nodded. Her eyes flicked to Max, and back to me. Allies.

  ‘Your mother would never do what you’ve done either, would you, Millicent?’

  ‘No,’ said Millicent, ‘I never would.’

  ‘You’re a child, Max,’ I said. ‘You are nothing but a child. You don’t understand what you’ve taken from that man.’

  Max stood up, pushed back his chair.

  ‘Sit down, Max,’ said Millicent.

  ‘You two can’t tell me what to do any more,’ he said, his voice tremulous.

  ‘Or what?’ I said. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘No,’ he said. He straightened his tiny frame, forced himself to look me directly in the eye. ‘You know what I did.’

  Again, the certainty of his words, undercut by something that sounded very like fear.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Max?’ I said. ‘Sit down.’