When Did You Last See Your Father?

by Jodi Taylor

  And they would. Drink driving’s stupid but recoverable from. If you’re rich enough you can employ someone to do your driving for you for the length of your ban and life carries on much the same. But not after what they’d find on his browser. And definitely not after what they’d find on that data stick. John Maxwell didn’t know it yet, but his life was circling the drain. Even these days there’s some behaviour that is still unacceptable. Poetic justice.

  He made a huge effort. ‘Offishersh, I swear. There must be some . . . mishtake. Let me explain.’

  ‘He’s beginning to slur quite badly,’ said Markham. ‘Bloody good job they stopped him when they did.’

  That had been my one fear. That he’d be zipping around the Rushford ring road under the influence of Mr Swanson’s little cocktail, fully convinced he was Fangio and leaving a trail of destruction behind him – and trust me, John Maxwell had been leaving trails of destruction behind him for far too long. Time for him to pay the price for lives ruined. And one life in particular.

  They were searching the car. ‘Are these the keys to the boot, sir?’

  ‘It’s empty. Just my toolkit and the spare wheel.’

  We watched them peer into the boot. Markham was humming his happy song.

  ‘What?’ I said, twisting to look at him. ‘Are they going to find something?’

  ‘Carpet soaked in urine.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Hard to explain pee in a car boot. Doesn’t conjure up good pictures, does it?’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I said. ‘Whose? Don’t tell me it’s Peterson’s.’

  ‘No one from St Mary’s.’

  ‘Where did you get it from, then?’

  ‘R&D. They’ve got vats of the stuff up there. A lot of it from the horses.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Well, you try explaining away horse pee in your boot.’

  ‘Good God, talk about over-egging the pudding. Is there anything we haven’t fitted him up with?’

  Back at the car, one of the officers finished talking on her radio. John Maxwell was on his feet, protesting ignorance and innocence in equal measure. Both officers, blank-faced and solid, were saying nothing. Nothing at all.

  ‘Well, Tonto,’ said Markham, as I started the car. ‘Our work here is done.’

  I indicated, waited for a gap in the traffic and pulled out. I caught one last glimpse of John Maxwell, red-faced and desperate, shouting, furious and frightened, and then he leaned over suddenly. The police officers stepped back, but too late, and he was violently sick over their boots.

  ‘Good job,’ said Markham in great satisfaction.

  I watched in the rear-view mirror as the tableau grew smaller and smaller – frozen forever in my mind – and then we took the next exit and they were gone.

  Now I just wanted to see Max.

  We pulled up outside the front doors.

  ‘Want me to park it for you?’ said Markham, cheerfully.

  ‘Thank you.’ I opened the door.

  ‘Don’t forget your gun,’ he said, staring straight ahead. ‘You know, the one under the seat.’

  I pulled it out and shoved it in my pocket. ‘Does Hunter know you’ve been out on your own?’

  ‘I had my grandad with me,’ he said, shunting over and putting the car in gear.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said sunnily, and pulled away.

  Inside, everything was pretty normal, in that the History Department was wasting a great deal of time and effort arguing about something that happened five hundred years ago. Stops them playing with matches, I suppose. Although actually, given what I’d just been up to that morning, I was hardly in a position to judge.

  I took the stairs two at a time. Peterson was on the gallery, looking through a file with Mrs Shaw.

  ‘Still in with Dr Bairstow,’ he said, without looking up.

  ‘Did you pee in John Maxwell’s car?’

  ‘No, but mine was the idea and my agent will demand I get full credit.’

  Normally, Edward lives behind his desk. It’s an arrangement with which everyone is comfortable. Everyone knows where they are. Or where he is, which is the important thing. Every now and then, however, on well-published occasions, he walks around the building, carefully adhering to the schedule. He calls in at each department, silently surveys the extraordinarily tidy rooms, watches his staff addressing each other politely – albeit through gritted teeth – and not remarking in any way on the smell of burning.

  Occasionally, however, some demon of mischief enters his brain, he expresses a desire to see how his people are spending their working day, and off he goes, zigzagging around the building with no fixed route or purpose. He moves slowly but silently, materialising at just the wrong moment and observing the suddenly frozen tableau in front of him before sighing and moving on. Thank God he doesn’t do that very often because believe me – it takes its toll on everyone. But mostly he lives safely behind his desk.

  Some years ago, following on from some sort of seminar the University of Thirsk compelled him to attend, he installed two armchairs on the other side of the room because they had told him a more informal environment would foster employee/employer relations. Tellingly, they’re about as far from his desk as possible while still remaining in his office and, as far as I know, virtually unused. I’m sure they’re very comfortable, but as an aid to sympathetic employer/employee chats – a bit of a dead loss. Max frequently extols the benefits of having the protection of several feet of polished desk between her and him. They have been referred to as The Armchairs of Doom.

  Today, she and Dr Bairstow were sitting in the armchairs. She looked up as I came through the door.

  The good news was that there was no blood on the walls. The bad news was that she was wearing a look I’d hoped never to see again.

  I nodded to Edward, to show him all was well. He immediately stood up. ‘I can only put it down to the somewhat impromptu nature of this morning’s events, but I appear to have forgotten an urgent appointment with Dr Peterson. How extraordinary.’

  He limped from the room.

  She wouldn’t look at me. She stared at nothing in particular and said, ‘He still uses the same aftershave.’

  I picked up her hand. It was ice cold and slightly clammy. ‘I left you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. I understand.’

  ‘How are you?’ And waited to hear, ‘Absolutely fine.’ It didn’t happen.

  Without looking at me, she said, ‘If I fall apart now, Leon, I’ll never get myself back together again. Give me good news.’

  I took both her hands. ‘I can give you very good news. It’s all over. He’s finished. And thank you for keeping him occupied while we sorted things out.’

  ‘Actually, my main thought throughout was where the bloody hell is Leon? He’s going to get a right ear-bashing when he gets back for leaving me like this.’

  ‘I didn’t leave you, Lucy.’

  ‘I know, but I needed the anger.’

  ‘I need you to tell me what happened here – just in case there are any loose ends for me to tidy up. Was it very bad?’

  ‘He hadn’t actually changed very much. A little more grey in his hair but not very much. A little thicker around the waist, perhaps, but otherwise much the same. He’s ageing well.’ She sighed. ‘Not like me.’

  I could have said, ‘You’re ageing beautifully,’ and on any other occasion I would, but this was not that occasion.

  ‘Well,’ I said, checking carefully for anything portable that could be thrown. ‘Don’t despair. When you’re not covered in mud or blood or attacking someone with a hair pin, you’re not too bad at all. In fact, stick you under the shower, find a dress and put some makeup on you, and you’re quite passable.’

 
For a very brief moment I thought one of The Armchairs of Doom was coming my way at head height. Which was reassuring. ‘Feeling better now?’

  She scowled and stared at the floor. I should get her to talk to me. She’s a great one for bottling things up.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  She shook her head. I know she’s ashamed. Not of what happened to her but that she was unable to prevent it.

  I sharpened my voice a little. ‘Max. Report.’

  She sighed and came back to me. ‘He came to my office.’

  ‘Who? John Maxwell?’

  ‘No, of course not. Dr Bairstow. He just stood there and Rosie Lee was out of the door before he even sat down. I wish I knew how he did that.’

  She was deflecting.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it was weird. He sat in front of me and said, “When did you last see your father?”’

  I had to make a conscious effort not to let the memories flood back. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said, “Years. Years and years. Not since I went to Thirsk. Why do you ask?” and he said, “Max, your father is here and wants to see you.”’

  Her hands turned cold again. I held them more tightly even though I knew nothing I could do would warm them.

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘He said he was here to see Matthew. Maybe even to take him away. I . . . I couldn’t take it in to begin with. He was talking to me. I knew that because I could see his lips moving. And I knew he was saying something, but it just wasn’t going in and I really should concentrate because it was so important.’

  She swallowed. ‘When I could focus, he was saying he thought there might be a problem because he thought my father could make an excellent case for guardianship. Because he was a wealthy and important man. That he sat on committees and on the boards of several local businesses. That people would listen to him. I was angry. Because I was frightened. I always get angry when I’m frightened. I said that I would fight him to the death over Matthew because he’s loved and well cared for and there were no grounds.’

  I said as gently as I could, ‘Max, we can’t afford a fight we would certainly lose. Even if we can gloss over Matthew being considerably older than he should be, he can barely read or write. His knowledge of this world is very small. And no matter how loved he is now, nothing can erase the signs of the terrible treatment he received as a small child.’

  ‘I know. I know. That was when I really panicked. I kept thinking, why was he doing this? He doesn’t want Matthew.’ She dragged her hand across her eyes and her voice shook. ‘Believe me – he really doesn’t like children.’

  I lowered my voice. Make her concentrate on me. ‘Sweetheart, I want you to stay calm. I don’t think he did want him. I don’t think this is anything to do with Matthew. I think that knowingly or unknowingly, John Maxwell was being used by someone else to make mischief. So, what happened next?’

  ‘Well, I was doing my best to stay calm because it was important to think all this through properly, but all I could think was that I was going to lose Matthew. Dr Bairstow said I wasn’t to worry. That you were fixing everything and all I had to do was keep him occupied while you did it.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘I thought you’d gone off to take Matthew somewhere safe.’

  ‘That was Plan C.’

  ‘Dr Bairstow said I was to say nothing. Do nothing. That that was part of the plan. I didn’t want to see him at all, and he must have noticed I was reluctant, because he said of course I didn’t have to see my father if I didn’t want to. That he could deal with everything – but that didn’t seem right, so I said I would.’

  Edward is not a stupid man.

  ‘So, you did see him?’

  She nodded. ‘I did. Dr Bairstow said he was in rather a hurry to get back because he’d left him being entertained by Mrs Partridge, so he felt he really should return to his office as soon as possible. He said it would be a good idea to wait in my office until I felt I was ready to face things, so of course, I went with him.’

  She stopped. I waited, because childhood terrors are very strong. I thought of Bear 2.0 upstairs, sitting on the windowsill, smiling at the world. Then I thought of the original Bear and how he was lost and I rather wished I’d gone with Plan B after all.

  ‘Was he still with Mrs Partridge?’

  ‘Yes. She was bringing him tea.’ She sat up indignantly. ‘As if he was welcome here.’

  ‘I can assure you the tea was very important. Go on.’

  ‘He told Dr Bairstow he wanted to see me privately – that he had family matters to discuss, and Dr Bairstow said we all knew that was never going to happen, but if it made him feel more comfortable he could go over there and pretend to read a file. John Maxwell said he was offended to think I thought I needed protection from him and the Boss said au contraire, he was there to protect John Maxwell from me, and he really didn’t know how to take that. Then he and Mrs Partridge sat at his briefing table and opened a file.’

  She was beginning to talk more freely.

  ‘Did he tell you what he wanted? To your face?’

  ‘Oh yes. He wanted Matthew. He cited my childhood. He said I was vicious and unbalanced.’ Her voice trembled. ‘He said I was promiscuous. That I’d been in trouble with the police. That I couldn’t be trusted with an infant and that if I surrendered Matthew quietly, now, he would see to it there would be no prosecution.’

  I got up, walked to the window and looked out. And then I walked to the other window and looked out. And then I walked back again. I picked her up and sat down with her on my lap. The Armchair of Doom creaked a little but was equal to the burden. Which was a relief. It didn’t seem likely that Edward would have taken load-bearing capacity into account when purchasing them. Not many people sit on each other’s laps in his office.

  ‘What did you reply?’

  She seemed surprised.

  ‘Nothing. You said to say nothing so I said nothing.’

  ‘Finally . . . finally you appear to be grasping the first principles of the wifely obedience so essential to a successful marriage.’

  She thumped me on the arm. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Shall I stop doing it?’

  She laid her head on my shoulder. ‘No.’

  ‘So, what happened next?’

  ‘Well, it was a good thought. Me not saying anything, I mean. I just sat and smiled at him and I don’t think he quite knew what to do.’

  ‘People hate it when you smile at them.’

  ‘That’s why I do it.’

  ‘So, you’re sitting there, doing nothing, saying nothing and yet still managing to get on his nerves?’

  ‘I think I was because then he smiled as well,’ she swallowed, ‘and suggested I might not want to defy him on this because, as I was aware, that never ended well, did it? and Mrs Partridge got up and poured him another cup of tea.’

  ‘As I said, the tea’s important. Then what?’

  ‘Then he wondered whether my colleagues were aware of my past, and I was very conscious that Dr Bairstow and Mrs Partridge were only feet away and . . .’

  ‘Trust me, they’re both aware of your past and it hasn’t made the slightest difference to anything – except they dislike your father as much as I do, I expect.’

  She shivered. ‘He kept smiling at me. And looking at me. As if he was recalling . . .’ She stopped.

  ‘Please tell me you didn’t shoot him, hit him, kick him, knife him, bludgeon him or even give him a hard stare. Nothing that would leave any marks that he might have to account for to the police, anyway.’

  ‘No, I smiled back at him. We were both at it. I’m surprised the varnish on Dr Bairstow’s desk didn’t blister. And then the Boss stood up and said if that was all then Dr Maxwell – his Dr Maxwell –
had an urgent meeting elsewhere and if he wanted to take this matter any further then he should contact my solicitor.’ She paused. ‘Do I have a solicitor?’

  ‘I suspect you do now, but it won’t come to that.’

  ‘Won’t it? Why not?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute but finish your bit first.’

  ‘Well, it was a bit odd, actually. He got up to go and Mrs Partridge said oh, wait a moment, is that your flask and we all looked down and there was one of those silver hip flasks under his chair. He said no, he didn’t have one, and she said how strange and could he pick it up for her because she couldn’t bend down as well as she used to.’

  I must have blinked a little at this because Max said, ‘I know. I was a bit surprised myself to hear her say that. Well – actually I was quite gobsmacked – but he bent down and picked it up for her and she said was he sure it wasn’t his and he turned it over and said no, but it was a very nice one. She had his coat in her hands so she asked him to put it on the desk for her and she’d track down the owner later on. She didn’t actually say so but she certainly gave the impression that people here were forever scattering their belongings to the four winds if she wasn’t here to keep an eye on us.’

  ‘You and I must buy her a massive bunch of flowers.’

  ‘If you say so, but why?’

  ‘Because somewhere, safely in her office, there’s a hip flask full of something extremely alcoholic and with John Maxwell’s fingerprints all over it.’

  She thought about that. ‘Ah. I have a glimmering.’

  ‘Exactly. Go on.’

  ‘Dr Bairstow saw him out. I stood at the window just in time to see your car disappearing out through the gates.’

  ‘Did you think I was running away?’

  ‘For about half a second and then I knew you must have had a brilliant idea so I just sat down and waited for you to come back.’ She drew a breath. ‘Which was a little bit difficult.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ I said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘So, while I was engaging with the enemy, you were . . .’