by Matt Whyman
Jack smiled, but clearly didn’t feel it was worth entering into an argument. Instead, much to Ivan’s delight, he drained the cup before suggesting to Sasha that they should be going.
‘We don’t want to be late.’
‘What do you have planned?’ asked Angelica.
Jack looked across at Sasha.
‘I thought you might like to go to a talk,’ he said. ‘At the university. It’s open to the public.’
‘The university.’ Angelica couldn’t help but look impressed. ‘That beats the back seats at the cinema.’
‘What is the talk about?’ asked Titus.
‘It’s called “Beyond Vegetarianism”,’ said Jack, which prompted Sasha to drop her gaze to the floor. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
Titus took a second to realise that Jack was inviting him.
‘I don’t think Sasha would appreciate my presence,’ he said eventually, and then waited for her to look up. ‘But I look forward to hearing all about it.’
The request was met by an uncomfortable silence. Ivan was quick to pick up on it, however. Leaning in beside Jack, he collected his empty cup and said: ‘More tea?’
Jack looked back at his girlfriend’s kid brother. For someone who had crossed him at school, the boy had been surprisingly forgiving.
‘We just don’t have the time,’ he told him, and toyed with the cup in front of him. ‘But that was truly divine.’
17
Amanda Dias didn’t look like an impressive speaker. A first-year undergraduate, she was slight in build, with cropped, boyish hair and delicate features arranged around an apparently shy, skewed smile. What silenced her audience was her militant position on the subject of ethical eating, especially those who did not share her views.
‘The hunters,’ she said at one point, ‘should become the hunted.’
Amanda stood with her feet pointed inwards and the microphone clutched in both hands. She turned to address her audience as she spoke, leaving breathy silences between each statement she made.
‘Wow,’ whispered Jack, who had chosen a middle row alongside Sasha. There were in the university’s smaller auditorium, with tables arranged at the flanks offering everything from pamphlets to specialised snacks. ‘This is intense.’
Sasha had spent most of the time noting Amanda’s sense of style. Everything she wore was made from cruelty-free material such as hemp and waxed cotton, as she had mentioned at the beginning as if to establish her credentials. Her navy-blue dress with matching cream cuffs and collar made her look like someone who might’ve been accused of witchcraft centuries earlier and burned at the stake. This martyr look worked well, thought Sasha, while the bold nature of her talk was clearly making an impression. Sasha struggled to get comfortable on the wooden bench. The girl was too good to be true. Off stage, she decided, Amanda Dias was probably one of those people who jealously guarded her food in the fridge.
‘How much of this stuff do you think she got off the internet?’ she asked Jack, leaning across so as not to be overheard. ‘It’s her thesis, no?’
Jack shot Sasha a look that told her he didn’t share her outlook.
‘We live among murderers,’ Amanda continued. ‘We share our lives with them. They walk among us. Is this the mark of a civilised society? We must confront the flesh-eaters. Change their way of life, for the sake of our world … or stop them from causing further slaughter.’
Amanda was the third person to take to the stage that evening. Sasha had listened closely to the two speakers before her. One was from the university’s Animal Rights society, while the other had worked in a hospital canteen until his conversion to veganism, refusal to handle meat products, and subsequent sacking. Until Amanda took the microphone, Sasha had been quietly impressed. It all seemed so grown up, and far removed from sitting on the edge of the skate ramp at school. These were mature individuals with passionate, heartfelt beliefs. This may have been the last place Sasha expected to find herself, but in a way it was beginning to feel like a new kind of home. Having gone without meat for several days, it seemed to her like she had at least earned the credentials to sit here and listen. The Animal Rights speaker made some interesting points, and she admired the stand made by the chef, even if it was pretty clear some drinking issues had contributed to his dismissal. In Sasha’s opinion, it was only this militant chick who had failed to strike a chord.
‘Amanda,’ said one young man in the front row, when she invited questions from the audience. ‘Are you saying it’s OK to kill meat eaters?’
Amanda smiled sweetly, as if she’d just been asked where her dress came from.
‘I am simply sharing my thoughts, and hoping to … connect, influence, inform and engage.’
Jack turned and nodded his approval to Sasha. She waited for him to face the stage once more before shaking her head. It was a shame this girl had been invited to speak. The evening didn’t need this pretentious nonsense, from someone who looked incapable of killing an unwanted call let alone a human being. Worst of all, it appeared as if Jack was hanging on every word she uttered.
‘There’ll be a few minutes before the next talk,’ whispered Sasha, when Amanda finally finished to a flutter of applause. ‘I’ll get us something to eat.’
‘You do that,’ said Jack, who rose to his feet at the same time as Sasha. ‘Just make mine vegan.’
‘Really?’ Sasha glanced across at the podium, unsure if he had just said that very loudly so somebody else could hear him. Even Jack couldn’t resist a quick look, but Amanda was busy collecting her papers from the lectern.
‘This is it for me,’ he said, when Sasha returned her attention to him. ‘There’s no going back now. After listening to Amanda, it seems to me we need to stand up for what we believe in.’
Sasha furrowed her brow. From experience, he just didn’t look the sort.
‘Jack, you’d never take a life.’
He seemed to think about this for a moment, before looking a little embarrassed.
‘I tell you what I could murder, though,’ he said, gesturing at a table of food and drink. ‘A slice of that chestnut bake.’
Leaving Jack to clamber over seats to the floor, Sasha made her way towards the end of the row. Most people looked a little older than her, but Sasha didn’t feel intimidated. Nor was she starving hungry, as she had been after her first few days of vegetarian eating. She was still surprised by how understanding her mother had been. Rather than simply serve up a supper minus the meat product, she had created alternatives just for Sasha. The chard and cheddar bake was nice, even if it had been the first time that Angelica attempted such a creation. It had even proven to be quite filling, which obliged them both to seek out a hidden space at the back of the freezer to keep what was left for another day.
Many people in the auditorium had already headed for the refreshment tables, where a small queue was forming. Sasha lined up with her arms folded and looked to her feet. The guy in front of her was wearing scuffed leather shoes, she noticed, which seemed a bit rebellious in this kind of company. She was just mulling over what Amanda Dias would have to say about that when she noticed them rotate to one side a little. She looked up, to find the young man was grinning at her.
‘Is it wrong to be disappointed knowing that there’s no bacon butty waiting for me at the front of this line?’
Sasha blinked in surprise, laughed and then touched her fingertips to her lips. The guy wasn’t much older than her. He was as scruffy as his shoes, wearing a hoodie, T-shirt and jeans as well as several days of stubble on a square-set face.
‘It would be wrong,’ she said eventually, keeping her voice low. ‘But I know just what you mean. I feel I’m queuing up to be disappointed here.’
The guy’s smile broadened.
‘That speaker,’ he said, and nodded towards the stage. ‘Is she for real?’
‘Someone thinks so,’ replied Sasha under her breath. ‘Between you and me, halfway through I wished I had a bag of Frazzles I
could quietly flick at her.’
The guy held her gaze, still beaming broadly.
‘I’m Ralph,’ he said, and shook her hand. ‘It’s been eight weeks since I last ate meat, and the whole bacon thing is driving me to distraction.’
‘The crack cocaine of the meat industry,’ agreed Sasha. ‘What turned you?’
‘It felt like something I wanted to do,’ he said simply. ‘But I know what you mean about the whole food fascism thing. Every time I hear someone like Amanda preach that meat is murder I want to go out and buy a burger. I just don’t understand why being vegetarian makes you any better than anyone else. What’s with the big statements? It’s just a choice, in a free society. I think so long as you know where your food’s coming from, and you’re happy with that, then you should be able to live your life without being judged. How about you?’
Sasha found herself listening so closely to what Ralph had to say that a moment passed before she registered her question.
‘Me? Oh, I’m just going without meat for a while. I just want to see what it’s like.’
‘And how is it going?’
Across the floor, Jack Greenway had finally muscled into a conversation between Amanda Dias and the alcoholic cook. He was nodding furiously, switching his attention from one to the other, but mostly returning to Amanda. Sasha looked back at Ralph. He was next in line to be served.
‘I’ve surprised myself so far,’ she said. ‘But it’s good to know I’m not alone in facing moments of temptation.’
Ralph seemed a little taken aback at this. Then that smile returned, before he turned to face the table. It left Sasha wondering whether she’d just said something, and then realised that she had. Before she could find a way to explain that she hadn’t just tried to score on him, Ralph moved aside for her.
‘Some of this stuff looks good,’ he said, and then dipped down to find her ear. ‘And a lot of it looks like squirrel bait.’
Giggling, and with her cheeks still hot, Sasha decided to say nothing. Instead, she picked off a slice of the bake for Jack, skipping one for herself, and then collected two plastic cups of cola.
‘Are these drinks vegan?’ she asked him.
Ralph shrugged.
‘Even if they aren’t,’ he said under his breath. ‘It can be our secret if you like.’
Vernon English had slumped so far down in the driving seat that he could no longer see over the dash. He’d done so on purpose, just as soon as Titus Savage strode into view. Waiting for his target to cross the street in front of the vehicle, on his way to the lobby in the building opposite, the private investigator couldn’t help noticing that the lower half of the steering wheel was mottled with his greasy fingerprints
‘That’s it,’ he said to himself. ‘No more chips in the van.’
Vernon had been expecting Titus. Having tailed the man for weeks now, and with an ear inside his house, he knew that today would see the takeover completed. It was all over for the company who had hired Vernon. Sure, he could’ve presented them with some evidence that Titus had engaged in corporate crimes, but what would that achieve? The company would call in the cops, and if the Savage house hid secrets about Lulabelle Hart then Vernon would just be a footnote in the story of his arrest. By staying quiet as Titus broke up the company and sold it off, the private investigator would be sacrificing his full fee. What persuaded him to just keep on the man’s tail was the belief that one day soon they would both be making headlines. While photographers tried to snatch a shot of Titus through the window of a speeding police van, Vernon would be giving lengthy interviews to the broadsheets about how his intuition and persistence had paid off.
‘There’s blood on your hands,’ he said, grunting as he sat up in the seat. Across the street, Titus had entered the lobby. He was there as the company’s new boss. The lion had arrived at his new den, and Vernon knew just what would happen next. The man wasn’t there to save the business but carve it up and toss out the parts for profit. Vernon had seen it all before. Normally, these guys, the asset strippers, were cold-hearted individuals. Some even got a kick from the misery they caused. Titus was different, however. At home, he made every effort to spend time with Angelica and their children. Through Vernon’s eyes, and with his suspicions, there was something about the guy that he was missing. Somewhere, a link existed between the beast in the boardroom and the father who put family first.
The first of the staff to be given immediate notice left about an hour later. Vernon watched them exit, some clutching boxes with their personal effects, others looking shell-shocked and tearful. How could anyone do such a thing, simply to make money? He could just imagine Titus picking off members of the workforce without a trace of emotion. Once he’d got the numbers down to the bone, he’d have them sell off the company bit by little bit. Eventually, there would be nothing but a skeleton plus a fattened bank account, and that’s when he’d move on – setting his sights on another corporate kill.
Towards lunchtime, Vernon was surprised to see Angelica making her way towards the building. She was wearing a pair of large sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky was overcast. A straw tote bag swung from the crook of her arm. Vernon squinted to see what was peeking from the top. A baguette and a bottle of champagne, he realised, before pulling the peak of his cap low in case she happened to glance in his direction.
‘So, your husband ruins lives one morning, and you show up with a celebratory picnic?’
Vernon shook his head, struggling with the insensitivity of what he was seeing here. Titus and Angelica were one of a kind. Even in the privacy of their home, food came first. It’s all he’d heard the pair talk about, but there just had to be more to them than that. Vernon watched Angelica make her way up the steps outside the building, and suddenly realised that he was following the wrong people.
If Vernon English was going to uncover the truth about Lulabelle, then he’d need to find a different way into the family. The private investigator twisted the key in the ignition, and again when the engine failed to start. Titus and Angelica were clearly too wise and experienced at covering themselves, but he felt sure the same couldn’t be said for their kids.
18
Ivan Savage enjoyed a game of chess. What he loathed was losing. That wasn’t why he joined the school club. He was there to prove his sense of strategy and logic was close to perfection. On those occasions when his opponents began to tighten in on his queen, he would turn to rules of his own in a bid to avoid checkmate.
‘Prepare for a butt kicking,’ crowed Ali Kaar, leaning on his elbows as he studied the board. ‘Whenever you want to make your move, I’m ready!’
Ivan watched him closely. He didn’t once glance down to consider his position. He barely moved, in fact, but for a tensing in his jaw muscles as he ground his molars together.
‘I need to think about this,’ he said eventually.
‘Take your time.’ Ali pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. ‘I need a leak anyhow.’
They had been playing for several hours. Ivan had opted for an aggressive strategy, but that left him with only one back-up plan when Ali pulled several surprise moves. This took the form of a jug of water and two cups. Ivan always made sure that they were in easy reach before he sat down to play. Then it was his turn to go for something unexpected. This involved refilling his opponent’s cup on a regular basis, knowing that he would have to answer the call of nature eventually. As soon as Ali left the table for the toilet, Ivan popped open his schoolbag and carefully fished out a small wooden box. It contained a complete set of both black and white pieces, identical to those used by the school chess club, as well as a thin metal mesh glove. First making sure that everybody else was engrossed in their own games, Ivan slipped the glove on and then set about replacing his opponent’s pieces. He’d done this many times over, which meant he had easily completed the manoeuvre before Ali returned. Finally, when the boy dropped back into his seat, Ivan moved one of his pieces.
‘Y
our turn,’ he said, and grasped the corners of the table as if to brace himself for something.
Ali studied the pieces for a moment.
‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘You’ve left yourself wide open.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Ivan, who smiled to himself when Ali reached for the pawn he expected him to play. As soon as he grasped it, the boy’s face contorted in shock and pain.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ivan, as his opponent set the piece back down smartly and shook his hand. A smattering of blood spots hit Ivan’s shirt, but he didn’t mind one bit. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Splinter, I think!’ Ali examined his finger, where a bead of blood was growing. ‘Man, that’s really painful.’
‘Unlucky,’ said Ivan, who gestured at the table. ‘Feel free to try again.
For the next few minutes, poor Ali Kaar suffered one assault to his fingers after another as he attempted to make each move. Even when he switched strategies, every time he touched a chess piece it left him gasping. Eventually, with tears streaking his cheeks and his hand shrouded in a bloodstained handkerchief, Ali conceded defeat in order to seek medical help from the school nurse.
‘You win,’ he sniffed, clutching his hand to his chest. ‘I never want to play you again!’
‘They all say that,’ said Ivan under his breath, and quietly reached for the glove so that he could return the pieces to the box.
It was a satisfying victory. Ivan would’ve preferred to win without suffering and bloodshed, but sometimes it was necessary to avoid the incomparable pain of defeat. In some ways, he liked to think that substituting the chess pieces for a set with a sprinkling of iron filings glued to them was just another strategy of the game. At the very least, he had thought ahead and used his brain to win.