by John Purcell
The black man was gesticulating as he spoke, but the window muffled his words.
Daniel lifted the window an inch. The cool night air and voices entered.
The black man said, ‘I’ll park this and walk back.’
‘No, go away. Gail was expecting you home ten minutes ago,’ Daniel heard Amy whisper.
‘She’s probably asleep. You know that. Let me come in for five minutes. One drink and I’m gone.’
Daniel saw Amy now; she’d stepped out from the basement steps and rested her hands against the front gate.
Still whispering, she said, ‘It was a great night, Liam. A great party. Go home.’
So this was Liam Smith, thought Daniel.
Liam walked around the car, leaving the driver’s door open. He was powerfully built.
Daniel had read a few Jack Cade novels long before he’d met Amy. He enjoyed them. Found them addictive. He’d always pictured Idris Elba as Mark Harden. But now he realised Mark Harden was Liam.
When Liam reached Amy, Daniel couldn’t hear what they were saying. They were so close. Whispering. But he saw Liam’s hand move a few strands of hair from Amy’s face and saw him kiss her. She kissed him back, the front gate between them.
Daniel watched as Liam lifted Amy over the gate. His hands were all over her as they continued to kiss. He lifted her dress and she pulled it back down. Then he pulled out his cock and Amy took it in hand.
Daniel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The car was idling in the street. They’d probably woken more people than him. Eyes would be watching them. He suddenly thought to grab his phone. He’d record it.
When he returned Amy was stroking Liam’s cock as they kissed, her dress was up around her waist, underwear halfway down her thigh. Liam had his hand between her legs. Daniel started filming. It was dark, but there was enough light from the streetlight a few houses down to see what was going on.
Then she knelt right there on the street and took his cock in her mouth. Daniel started to stroke his own cock as he filmed. She was so gorgeous and yet so depraved. He simply couldn’t compute it. And he had fucked her, too.
Liam lifted her from the ground and placed her on the bonnet of Daniel’s Citroën. Then he began to fuck her. Amy stared up at the camera. Did she see Daniel? He wasn’t sure. She made no sign that she had seen him. But then, would she? He couldn’t tell.
Daniel came suddenly against the windowsill.
But they weren’t done. Liam turned Amy around and fucked her from behind. But he completely obscured Daniel’s view of her. All the camera could get were Liam’s fast and furious thrusts.
Then Liam growled and came.
Never in Daniel’s life had he ever seen anything like this. He’d watched porn. But never could he imagine people got away with this stuff in real life. His sexual life had always been so careful. Until Amy, he had never really done anything out of the ordinary. He was unerringly loyal in his relationships. Without effort. And experimentation in the bedroom had never seemed necessary. Why risk losing what he had by sharing his fantasies?
Watching Amy opened his eyes. Now he understood how easy it was for his wife to stray. He could now imagine exactly how it would happen. How his wife could fuck one of her clients.
He watched Liam do up his trousers then stand back and survey his work. Amy hadn’t moved. She was lying face down across Daniel’s bonnet. She was completely exposed. Liam stepped forward and slapped her bottom then walked around Daniel’s car to his own.
‘Bye, gorgeous.’
Amy lifted her hand slightly and waved.
The car roared off and Amy stood up slowly. Pulled her underwear up and dress down. She stood in the street looking up at all the houses with a dazed expression in her eyes and a slight turn to her lips that wasn’t quite a smile. She leant back against Daniel’s car and looked up at him. She blew him a kiss, then walked back through the gate and down to the basement.
Chapter 33
Not Like Hers
Liam and Julia on the phone:
‘I’ve just read it, Liam.’
‘What do you think?’
‘You’re right, it’s good. Very good. The others all agree, too.’
‘Have you spoken to Amy?’
‘I keep putting her off. We were meant to speak last Thursday. I’m glad I dodged that one.’
‘What are you going to do, Julia?’
‘Try and publish it.’
‘How? Amy shared it with me in confidence.’
‘I’ll say we found the original manuscript. The copy Clarissa Munten and Maxine Snedden read.’
‘But aren’t you just back at square one?’
‘No, Legal have been in touch with Helen. They’re tightening the screws. She’ll give in. Anyway, I’m going to call her myself.’
‘It’s a great book. Deserves a large audience. Why wouldn’t she want to publish it? I don’t understand her.’
‘She has principles, standards.’
‘So do I.’
‘Not like hers, Liam.’
Chapter 34
We Tried Our Best
The cleaners had just left and Helen was making her way around the house inspecting their work. She wasn’t very happy with them. They were impossibly quick. In and out in under an hour. Four of them. Each racing off into different rooms. One does bathrooms, one vacuums, one dusts and wipes the tops of tables and benches, bookshelves, and the last takes on the kitchen and then mops the floors in the bathrooms and kitchen and flat.
She didn’t like strangers in the house. They touched everything. They went through her most private spaces – her bedroom and office. They moved her things, never putting them back as they were. They shuffled Malcolm’s pages, upset the piles of books. Left things in strange places. She once found her reading glasses on top of the loo. Why would they move them at all?
This was the second company of cleaners. The first was exactly the same. So she was reluctant to try a third group. She just wanted them to do what they said they’d do. It wasn’t challenging work. The objectives were clear. She’d even offered them more money to take more time. But this was rejected as unnecessary. She didn’t understand this conclusion.
They were gone now, though, and the bathroom smelt clean. She wouldn’t look in the corners.
She just didn’t have the energy to clean such a large house. The flat had been much easier to maintain. These stairs were a problem, too. She felt it now. Their bedroom was on the second floor, their offices on the first. It was a difficult climb to the top some evenings.
She imagined a day when neither of them could reach the second floor. She imagined they would use the ground-floor front room as a master bedroom. Too old to visit the upper floors of their own house. Thank goodness there was a ground-floor lavatory.
She stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. She heard noise downstairs and wondered if Malcolm had returned with Trevor. They were having Trevor to dinner to celebrate Malcolm’s shortlisting.
She went into their bedroom to change. On the bed she found a letter she’d hidden down the side of the mattress. The cleaners must have found it and thought it lost. It wasn’t. She opened it and read it again. She would lose the house. There were no two ways about it. They didn’t even seem to want the book anymore. Just the money. And the papers were saying house values were dropping. She sat down on the bed.
‘Helen?’
‘I’m in here.’
Daniel pushed open the bedroom door.
‘It’s so hot out there!’
‘Is it?’
‘Haven’t you been out?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I picked up all you asked me to get. I bought a cake, too.’
‘Thank you, Daniel.’
‘Is anything the matter? You look a bit out of sorts.’
She handed him the letter.
Daniel read it and said, ‘Can they do that?’
‘They seem to think so.’
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t understand. It says “failure to deliver”; I thought you gave them the book. That’s why you have the house. You sold out.’
‘It isn’t that simple!’ she said crossly, taking back the letter. ‘Forget it.’
‘Have you repented the decision? Is that what’s happened? Is this about your integrity?’
‘Go away, Daniel. Forget about the letter. Don’t mention it to Malcolm.’
‘He doesn’t know?!’
‘About the letter? No. He knows I’m debating whether to give them the book.’
‘He’ll join the dots.’
‘I know he will.’
‘What’s done is done. Give them the book. Why lose the house over this? You think anyone will know the difference between this book and your others? They won’t.’
‘Malcolm knows the difference. I know the difference. The difference is the whole point!’
‘Then you shouldn’t have written the book.’
‘I was tired of Brixton. Of never having enough money! I needed to do something. I was writing my best work but no one was paying any attention to it. The papers were full of debut authors getting astonishing publishing deals. Always young, always attractive. My work was irrelevant. I needed to do something.’
‘So you did sell out,’ he said, smiling. He sat down on the dressing chair by the wardrobe, his hands on his thighs.
‘Why does that make you happy?’
‘Because you’ve always been so bloody holier than thou.’
‘Daniel, you say such horrible things.’
‘I only say them. You do them.’
Helen looked at him, uncomprehending.
‘Neglect, Helen. Your work was always more important than I was. You never had time for me. You were always home and always absent.’
Under Daniel’s gaze, Helen looked at the carpet.
‘I understand what you were doing now. You were being the great writer. But it was impossible for me to understand what you were doing then. Impossible. You and Malcolm treated me like a little adult. A tiny literary gent. You never spoke about anything I could understand. Nothing was simply as it seemed. Everything was complex. Everything had meanings beyond my grasp. And you were continually disappointed that I didn’t rise to the challenge. You couldn’t hide that from me.’
‘We did our best.’
‘Perhaps. But I don’t think so. I don’t think you could stomach the ordinariness of parenting. You were above such things. You’d worked hard to crawl out of the sea of mediocrity, and the repetitive needs of a child, those stark unchanging realities of a child’s development, were dragging you back in. You were adept at talking to Kingsley Amis but couldn’t find a way to talk to the parents of my schoolfriends. You didn’t know how to speak to my teachers. You were bored by all of them and bored by me. The needs of your own child bored you stiff.’
‘That’s just not true, Daniel. We have always loved you. We delighted in all of your achievements. We were always available to attend school events, unlike other parents. Your friends were always welcome at home. We were a minding service for many of them. Their parents appreciated our help. We went to every game of football you played, every concert you were in, every play. We arranged for violin lessons when you requested them. We found the money to allow you to go on an exchange to France. We tried our best.’
‘That’s not how it felt.’
‘You’re so bitter, Daniel. I don’t know where your resentment comes from.’
‘I just told you.’
‘But none of it’s true. Your allegations don’t bear scrutiny. Your feelings must have some other source.’
‘There you go again,’ he said, rising.
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘You just pushed my experiences of life off the table,’ he said, throwing his arms across in front of him as though knocking things off a table.
‘No, I didn’t, I suggested you might want to re-examine them.’
‘Because you can’t be wrong? Your thoughts on this matter can’t be re-examined?’
‘You forget that I was an adult throughout your childhood. You were a child. Perhaps, just perhaps, your memory is muddled. I remember a happy child. A child with friends. A child who excelled at school and who rose to challenges. I remember a child who would sit on the floor listening as adults spoke. You didn’t need to do that. The television was on in the other room. There were games and puzzles. There were children’s books to read. You chose to sit by our feet and listen. And on occasion you would surprise us by adding to our conversation.’
Daniel didn’t say anything to this. He had moved to the window with his back turned to her.
‘I agree with your father when he says your problems began when you left our world and entered the real world. You set yourself unrealistic goals, do you remember? But set out to achieve them in a desultory manner. Your university career was unspectacular, and as a result of these initial setbacks you recalibrated your goals. Even then you might have become an academic with a bit of effort, remember, but you accepted that role in university administration.’
Daniel turned abruptly.
‘So I chose financial security. I didn’t want to live hand-to-mouth like you and Malcolm.’
‘We didn’t live hand-to-mouth.’
‘I remember the arguments about money.’
‘Everyone has those.’
He smiled bitterly. ‘Do you have any idea what effect money worries have on a child?’
‘So we’re to blame for you switching degrees? We were supporting you financially while you were at university. You could have gone on to do a PhD and we would have backed you all the way.’
‘Where would I be with a PhD in semiotics? Driving a taxi.’
‘Teaching?’
Daniel scoffed and said, ‘What does a teacher earn?’
‘Respect.’
Daniel’s eyes widened at this remark. Helen saw the colour drain from his face.
‘Nothing is ever good enough.’
‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I didn’t mean that. It just came out.’
‘You both had great expectations, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I had no vocation. No passion for anything. You and Malcolm have always known you were writers. I used to dream of writing a book to make you both proud of me. But that was impossible. I knew that early on.’
‘We just wanted you to be happy.’
Helen waited to see if Daniel would say anything.
‘I easily understand the detrimental effect Malcolm and I could have had on you once you were an adult. Malcolm has that effect on me. Every year he raises the bar and I must either lift my game or quit. He has such strength of character. He never wavers and never tires. He’ll continue the struggle until his last breath. And that’s exhausting. If I’m honest, I know how you must feel, because I stopped fighting, too. I feel a great deal of resentment towards Malcolm, even though I have no right to feel anything but love and pride. It’s like watching someone continue on towards the summit without you. You want them to go because you love them and you want them to stay because they should love you enough to forgo their dream.’
‘I wasn’t fit for the path you two took,’ said Daniel, his voice breaking. ‘I couldn’t keep up. I wanted you to turn around. I wanted you to give up all your dreams and stay with me.’
Helen stood up and went to her son by the window. She turned him around and kissed him, then hugged him to her, something she hadn’t felt permitted to do for many a year.
‘I’m so sorry, Daniel.’
Chapter 35
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
Usman had no difficulty carrying a very dapper-looking Trevor from the car to the front room. Malcolm watched Usman as he had always watched powerful men, with envy. On these occasions, he always recalled the brief moments when he had felt powerful. They were rare, for he’d never tested himself in sporting endeavours. He’d never fought another person. Overall his life had been largel
y devoid of any physical accomplishment.
Once, when Daniel was still a boy, a friend had offered them his cottage in Cornwall for the weekend. It had been very cold and the stove burnt through a lot of wood. Malcolm found himself being sent out by Helen to chop wood, to keep them all warm. He’d never chopped wood before and stumbled in his initial attempts, but soon found a rhythm and enjoyed the satisfaction that came with successful physical work. The axe coming down on the blocks, with the weight of his body behind it, splitting the log and sending the two pieces flying, was like nothing in his experience. He always returned inside with an armful of wood, flushed with pride.
Watching Usman carrying in the collapsed wheelchair, holding it in front of him with one outstretched arm, evidently so it wouldn’t scratch the doorframe or the walls, impressed him deeply and made him yearn for such strength. For Usman’s strength was like Amy’s beauty: it gave him a confidence he probably didn’t know he had, and had an effect on others that it wasn’t necessary for him to appreciate. He lifted Trevor from the sofa into the chair. Then straightened his bow tie and made him comfortable.
‘I will come back for Mr Melville at ten,’ said Usman as he turned to leave.
Malcolm followed him out to the front door. It had reached thirty degrees Celsius that day and was still very warm.
‘Thank you, Usman.’
‘Even though I told him it was hot, he insisted on wearing the tuxedo. It is too large for him but he wouldn’t wear anything else.’
‘It’s fine. We’re celebrating tonight. He always was one for spectacle.’
‘Congratulations, Mr Taylor. Mr Melville told me of your good fortune.’
‘Thank you, Usman, see you at ten.’
Malcolm closed the door. He stood for a moment and listened to the house. Silence. He walked past the front room into the kitchen. There was no sign of dinner being made but there were three bottles of red on the counter. They hadn’t been there before. He checked his watch. It was six.
‘Malcolm?’ shouted Trevor from the front room. ‘Are you there?’
‘Sorry, Trevor, I’m coming.’
Malcolm walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up them.