Dad turns to me and winks. ‘You still take strawberry, right?’ But it sounds like he’s saying, You’re still my daughter?
I nod.
‘We’ve no strawberry,’ the guy in the ice-cream van says. ‘Just lime.’
Dad turns back. ‘Lime? Who takes lime?’
‘No one,’ the guy says in the same voice kids in school use to show they’re too cool for whatever is going on. ‘That’s why it’s what’s left.’
‘Right,’ Dad says. ‘And you don’t have any more back there?’
‘Dad, I don’t need—’ I say, but he shushes me with his hand.
‘Where’s the closest place to get it?’ Dad asks.
‘You could try the shop on the—’ the guy starts but Dad cuts him off.
‘Not me,’ Dad says and points. ‘You.’
The guy doesn’t reply. He just sighs and looks at the next person in the queue. But then Dad takes out two fifties and slaps them on the counter and the guy’s eyes focus on Dad again.
‘I’m serious,’ Dad says. ‘My daughter wants strawberry. So where’s the closest place you could get it?’
The boredom in the guy’s eyes vanishes. ‘Closest? My house. This is my da’s van. He drove it out this morning. We cycled. It’s ten minutes that way.’ He points back towards the city. And I notice another guy behind him at the ice-cream machine. It’s got to be his twin. They are identical, except for the spots. The other guy only has a few. Big angry ones, like his small ones decided there was strength in numbers and joined together.
‘And that’s your brother there, pulling the ice creams?’ Dad says.
The guy nods. So does the brother, who moves up closer, his eyes on the money.
‘Tell you what,’ Dad says, using the voice where it sounds like he’s inventing a really fun game. ‘I’ll give you fifty now, and fifty when you get back with the strawberry sauce.’
The brother doesn’t say a word. He lifts one of the fifties and turns and goes straight out of the back door of the van. A second later, he’s cycling off down the pier.
‘And an extra twenty if you get back in less than ten minutes!’ Dad shouts after him.
Behind us, a woman with a yappy Jack Russell dog grumbles about how long it’ll take to get her ice cream now. Dad turns his grin from the guy behind the counter to her. ‘In the meantime, I always wanted to use one of those machines.’
The woman doesn’t know what he’s on about and it takes the ice-cream guy a second to realize what Dad means. That Dad will stand in for the brother, pulling ice-cream cones. The guy seems to consider it for a bit. Dad slaps a twenty on the counter. The guy gives in. He tilts his head towards the door and Dad does a jump of triumph before running around the van. He hops up inside and the guy hands him an apron and a pair of plastic gloves. ‘Go on,’ he says to Dad.
Dad winks at me as he puts the gloves on. Then he grabs a cone, puts it under the machine and pulls. The ice cream piles out in a massive lump that barely manages to stay on the cone. He hands it out to the woman with the dog.
‘I’m not taking that,’ she says.
But Dad’s grin comes easy now. ‘I’m paying for it.’
She considers the cone for a bit. ‘Put a flake in it,’ she says. He does. ‘I’ll have two flakes. Dad pulls a face, but he hands her a second one. She takes a lick from the bottom to the top of the cone, shoves the second flake into the lump of ice cream, and then walks away.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dad calls after her. Then, lower so she can’t hear, he says, ‘Cheer up, you auld bag of misery. Tomorrow might never come.’
The ice-cream guy snorts a laugh. The next customer laughs too. Dad grins from ear to ear.
But he’s wrong. Tomorrow is definitely coming. And he has no idea what I’ve done.
SUNDAY
TWO DAYS LATER
CHAPTER 25
I wake up and I know. I just know. It has happened.
I’m out of bed and running downstairs. Passing Mum and Dad’s room, I see Mum just getting up. She has that look, like her head’s still asleep, but when she sees me, she frowns. ‘Do I have the week wrong?’ She means, am I starting school or something?
I shake my head. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Around.’ She straightens the duvet, then rubs her eyes. ‘Kitchen, I guess.’
I run across the landing and down the stairs. Dad’s in there, filling the coffee machine with water. Dad does nothing before his first coffee. He must not know yet.
The coffee machine gurgles. Dad sighs. He leans with his back to me against the marble countertop and I’m thinking, Say something, anything, to stop this from happening.
I notice the newspaper on the countertop. It gets delivered early. I should have come down first. Hidden it. But Dad reaches out for it now. Unfolding it, he holds it high. Shakes it out. Coughs. Then, ‘What the . . . ?’
He’s turning. His eyes are stuck on the front page. He drops the paper onto the countertop, his eyes now flicking back and forward. He turns the page. The next. He stops and stares. His eyes stay where they are but his hand reaches out for his phone. He clicks it a few times. And as it comes to life, it starts buzzing and hopping with messages. He drags his eyes from the newspaper to the phone.
It rings.
He lifts his head as he puts it to his ear. And he sees me.
He’s holding my eye and his face begins to disintegrate as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. It’s like watching a dead person decay in fast forward, his mouth opens, his eyes sink and all the colour in his face drains to the floor.
He says nothing. He lowers the phone and it drops with a clunk onto the marble top, and he’s just standing there, staring at me.
This is it. They know. He knows.
What have I done?
It’s in the papers. It’s on the radio. It’s everywhere.
I’m sitting in the window nook in the sitting room. Outside, journalists chew on the rims of empty coffee cups and lean against the park fence.
Dad did something illegal. So there are consequences. Really obvious ones. Like jail. And he’s not going to just skip the country when we can’t even go outside. No one leaves this house. Not until I figure out what the hell is going on. Why didn’t I think about it properly, why did I send those files? What’s wrong with me?
‘Just calm down so I can think!’ Dad says. But Mum is calm, it’s Dad who’s about to have a heart attack.
My phone vibrates.
Megan
Are you holding up okay?
Me
No. We’re holing up. Not allowed outside.
I caused this. I can’t believe how stupid I was. How I thought it would somehow help. I peek out of the window again and text,
I can’t believe how big this is.
The audio clip was uploaded to the internet by a journalist from the Times. It’s been played eleven thousand times and it’s rising by the minute. They are all obsessed with Mr Reynolds’s bank, BBR, though, not just Dad. That’s why it’s so big. They’re saying BBR owes more than it owns, that it’s as bad as Stealman Brothers. They’re calling Mr Reynolds a crook. They’re claiming that the dodgy deals won’t just bring down BBR, but banks and businesses across the country. They’re calling it a crisis.
And I did this. Me.
‘How did they get it?’ Dad says for the millionth time. ‘Four days ago. That statement was dated four days ago. Someone must have hacked my account. They can’t accept that in court.’ Dad stares at Mum like he’s daring her to tell him there’s nothing wrong with hacking his account, so Mum keeps her eyes on the wall and doesn’t say a thing.
Dad’s phone rings. ‘It’s Seanie,’ he says. He doesn’t answer, and the phone keeps ringing and ringing. Dad curses. It keeps going, insisting on an answer. He waits until it stops. ‘Who the hell is behind this?’
‘I don’t know, Declan. Someone at BBR with access to your accounts?’
‘I’ve a guy, he works for
the Times. Says it was an anonymous emailer.’ He chews this over, then starts pointing furiously. ‘I’ll hire someone to trace the IP address, find out where that email was sent from.’
Oh, no. Can he do that?
‘It hardly matters now,’ Mum says.
‘It matters to me!’
‘No, Declan, what matters are all the other Seanies, all the other investors who’ve given you . . .’
I lift my phone again while he’s stuck into arguing with Mum.
Me
He’s saying he’ll trace the IP address?
Megan
Oh, no ! I never even thought of that!
He’d know it was me! He’d never, ever forgive me.
The doorbell rings. I jump. So does Dad.
‘Don’t open it!’ he says. ‘Those bloody journalists. Vultures. Nothing better to do than harass innocent . . .’
It’s Oly. I see him through the window. He’s with his wife, Linda.
Dad opens the door. They step inside in a volley of words. Behind them, journalists gather. ‘Mr Fitzsimmons! What are your comments regarding the annual loans you received—’
Dad slams the door.
Oly shakes Dad’s hand and they nod like two generals in a war movie.
‘What the hell do they think?’ Linda says. ‘That you’ll wander out there for a cup of tea and chat?’ She goes straight past Dad, down the hall. ‘Alice!’ she says through the open kitchen door. She goes inside and I get up and go stand by the double doors. Mum’s in the kitchen by now, hugging Linda.
‘What a load of hyped-up crap!’ Linda says. She goes to the kettle and fills it. She takes off her coat.
Dad and Oly come into the kitchen too. ‘Thanks for coming over,’ Dad says.
‘Yeah, no, of course,’ Oly says and slaps Dad on the back. ‘Of course.’
He looks Dad straight in the eye and gives him the kind of smile the coach gives his team when they’re losing.
No one notices me. Because no one knows I’ve anything to do with destroying Dad.
‘This is the end for me,’ Dad says.
‘Not at all,’ Oly says.
Dad and Oly go out to the back garden.
‘What if it’s true, Linda?’ Mum says and she watches Linda, waiting to see what she knows.
‘Of course it’s bloody well true,’ Linda says.
Mum gives Linda the slightest nod and looks away.
‘Alice,’ Linda says. ‘You’ll be all right.’
‘We’ll be bankrupt. He owes too much.’ Mum shakes her head and looks out of the window at Dad. He’s pacing back and forth, swishing a stick through the air, and Oly’s talking head goes from side to side as he follows Dad.
‘Look at them out there,’ Linda says. ‘Discussing the situation like the sky is falling in.’
‘It is,’ Mum says. ‘The bank could take our house.’
They’d take our house too?
Oly throws his hands up in the air and Dad stops pacing for long enough to shake his head.
‘They won’t,’ Linda says. She lifts up the newspaper. It’s open on a page that shows the faces of eight developers with accounts at BBR. Dad’s face is the first.
It’s like I poured petrol over the country and lit a match.
‘. . . with an audacity bordering on the outrageous . . .’ Linda reads, ‘. . . rules which govern the many do not apply to the few . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘The public are outraged,’ she says. She drops the paper and looks out of the window at Dad and Oly. ‘They’re just outraged they got caught.’
‘Idiots,’ Mum says.
‘Complete,’ Linda says. ‘And Oly may not be named but you can be sure he knew all about it. Look at them, the same as the morning before the finals in college, trying to scheme their way into passing.’ Linda sighs. ‘Except they’ve less hair and bigger waistlines now. Bloated school boys.’
They both laugh but it’s not real laughter. It’s more like they’re sighing.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Linda says. ‘He’s one of the gang, Alice. They look after their own. He’ll get a slap on the wrist at best.’
Mum pours the tea and they dip biscuits. Outside, Oly watches as Dad talks on the phone. I look at Dad too.
Something’s happening. Dad’s face is changing. He’s smiling. Not just an ordinary smile. A lopsided one. And all of a sudden, I realize something and relief floods through me.
I haven’t destroyed him. He’ll get away with it. Of course he will. Because in all this, there’s one thing I forgot.
Dad always has the last word.
‘Where on earth did they get a copy of his bank statements though?’ Linda says.
‘Does it matter?’ Mum asks.
‘I suppose not,’ Linda says.
Mum and Linda go quiet again, and outside, Dad talks and talks and talks on the phone, his face lining with determination with each word he speaks. The coffee cups clink and the biscuits drip with tea and as the minutes pass, the silence builds up inside me until, more than anything in the world, I need to know for sure, one way or another.
‘Mum? He’s not going to get in trouble, is he?’ I ask.
‘Christ,’ Mum says, taking in the reality of me. She stands. ‘Lucy, honey, this must seem scary to you but don’t worry, your father will be fine.’
He will be, won’t he?
‘Why don’t we order in some food?’ Mum says.
He’ll be okay. He won’t go to jail. I lean against the wall, take a few deep breaths.
We’ll be fine. Nothing will change. We’ll be fine.
Mum’s eyes are full of worry as she watches me. Outside, Dad’s smiling and nodding.
Nothing will change. I let it sink in. As it does, the relief begins to seep away.
It’s good that nothing will change. That Dad will be okay. And it’s really, really bad too. And I’ve no idea what to think or what to feel now.
I have to swallow a few times before I say, ‘He won’t skip the country or anything, right?’
Linda chokes on a mouthful of tea.
But Mum smiles. ‘No, honey—’
‘Ha!’ Dad comes in the door with his chest puffed out so far, his buttons are nearly popping. He’s about twenty times taller than he was half an hour ago. ‘I will in my barney be skipping the country. Far too much business going on right here.’ He smiles at Linda like the wisdom she’s about to hear is a present just for her. ‘You see, I’ve had time to talk it over with my good friend and financial advisor, Oly, and he’s helped me to realize that I’m just another victim of BBR’s irresponsible advice. And it would seem the good folk at Planning agree with me. Apparently this embarrassment has removed the obstacles delaying us and come tomorrow morning, we’ll be watching the cranes rise over the mill!’
Oly’s smiling. His half-time bench talk worked. His star player is back on form.
Dad flashes his teeth. They sparkle as bright as the marble countertop. ‘I should find out who this snitch is and thank him. In one day’s work, he’s achieved what we’ve been trying to do for months.’
Dad takes a low bow, and when he stands again, his smile is bloated by his words.
Now Oly steps up on the podium beside Dad. ‘So don’t you worry, Lucy. There may be some questions raised but nothing we can’t explain away.’ Dad claps Oly on the back, and Oly throws an arm around Dad’s shoulder. ‘Your dad’s not going anywhere.’
Linda actually Whoops. Mum shakes her head like she’s saying, You’ve done it again, Declan, and Dad comes up and wraps an arm around her.
He smiles at me. Dad will put out the fire that I started and nothing will change. He starts singing, ‘Your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good-looking. So hush, little baby, don’t you cry.’ He taps his forehead with his index finger. ‘One step ahead of them, baby.’ Then he stands back. ‘So make yourselves comfortable, ladies, because I think we’re in for the night.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Linda says. ‘As long as there’s food
and alcohol involved, I’m in.’
I stay there, leaning against the wall so that I don’t have to support myself.
Mum’s happy. ‘Red or white?’ she says and she’s already halfway down to the cellar. Dad’s smile is as wide as his generosity. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I pop open that Domaine de la Romanée?’
And Oly laughs. ‘Can’t keep a good dog down, eh?’
‘To hell with it, and to hell with them out there.’ Dad points towards the journalists. ‘I’m not cowering. Let’s celebrate.’
And he doesn’t say but I know what we’re celebrating. Him.
MONDAY
CHAPTER 26
When I wake up, I stay dead still as reality settles. Outside, cars beep and trees sway and people go to work. Downstairs, Mum tidies away last night’s celebration, while Dad drinks his coffee and prepares the smile he’ll show to the world today. You can’t keep a good dog down.
That’s better, isn’t it? Better than having him angry. Better than having the police at our door.
Dad’ll be okay. He always wins. That’s a good thing.
My phone beeps.
Megan
Safe to come over? I’m on my way . . .
I want to reply, it depends what you mean by safe. But I don’t, I just say, it’s fine.
Then I notice the time. It’s 9.44. He’s probably gone out. I dress quickly and go downstairs, listening as I go.
I see him. Sitting in the conservatory. He stands and walks into the kitchen talking on his phone. ‘Yeah, I know . . . but whatever it takes, get those cranes there by tomorrow. Okay, I’m on my way. Oh, and, Oly? Tell that IT guy I want answers by late this morning on the identity of our snitch.’
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