by Matthew Ross
‘It was the asbestos.’ I knew all the facts, there was nothing she could tell me I didn’t know already. ‘The Dockyard used it in everything, all over the place, they probably even had it on their chips at lunchtime! Dad was a boiler maker, he’d seen more than his fair share of the stuff.’
‘But there’s lots of support groups,’ said Perry trying to be helpful, but the fuel was drip drip dripping on my resentment. I couldn’t afford to let it ignite an explosion but I knew what was coming next, and sure enough: ‘And there’s law firms winning compensation for the families.’
‘No, no, no!’ I immediately regretted my tone as she stared at me like I’d slapped her around the face. ‘Sorry. Not interested. No.’
‘But why?’
‘It won’t bring him back will it? Look, Dad was seventy-four, that’s still pretty good by anyone’s standards. Was he supposed to live to a hundred and fifty? How can I justify claiming the disease robbed me of crucial years with him?’ She nodded as I spoke, she’d slipped into her caring professional mode again. ‘The support groups are great, they do a fantastic job they really do, but I honestly don’t think it’s fair that I waste their time, not when there’s families that need it much more than me.’
‘Okay, I see where you’re coming from, I was only trying to ... you know?’ She looked at the floor as she spoke, keeping her eyes away from me ‘And I thought maybe, you know, saying you had money problems, maybe...’
‘No way. I refuse to use his suffering like a “Get out of jail free card” – it doesn’t sit right, sorry.’
‘Okay, okay, I understand, shall we change the subject?’ she said. I nodded, she rose and approached me with outstretched arms which she then wrapped around me squeezing away any bad thoughts. My head cleared and all I wanted was to stay like this.
‘Do you like Indian food? I cook a mean Balti, my mum’s recipe, you’ve not had anything like it.’
It sounded great and I told her so whilst I loosened my tie. She suggested I have a shower, get changed and then come over when I’m ready. I liked the relaxed, easygoing attitude she had, although I still couldn’t see me letting myself in unannounced, I’d be ringing the bell and waiting on the doorstep for the foreseeable.
She stood to leave and looked at me as though seeing me properly for the first time. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You just look a bit… your eyes, they’re a bit pink.’
‘I’m fine, it’s been a difficult few days, don’t worry.’
‘It’s okay to be sad occasionally, you know.’ She held me again and I felt as though I could melt. ‘What’s that they say: Sad is happy for deep people.’
‘Who says that? Shakespeare? Churchill? The Dalai Lama?’
‘Doctor Who. I like quotations, I collect them.’
‘In that case you’d get on with a woman I met the other day.’ I thought about the truth behind that comment then added, ‘No you wouldn’t. She was vile.’
‘Go on then, do tell, I love a bit of bitchy gossip.’
‘There’s not much to tell, she’s the manager at the old folks’ home I went to with Disco, nasty woman, but her whole office was plastered with feminist slogans.’
‘Nasty how? Did she call you Vivian? Sorry, joke.’
‘Something like that,’ I replied, realising too late that I’d taken the can marked ‘Juicy Wiggly Worms’, ripped the lid off and tossed it all over the floor. I never ever set out to cause offence unnecessarily, never talk about politics or religion that’s what Dad always said, and I really wasn’t in the mood for an argument, not tonight.
‘She was just… nasty,’ was the best I could muster. ‘She just wanted to put everyone down. Men, I mean… female empowerment, beating the men in a men’s world, that sort of thing.’
‘Uh huh,’ came Perry’s response, very non-committal, she was holding back judgement, waiting to see where I was going with this. I knew there was no way those worms were going back in the tin now, they’d seen freedom and were wriggling for it with all their might. I rubbed the palm of my hand across my tired face, and probed an itch at the corner of my eye, deliberately putting off saying anything, hoping the subject would change by itself but she wasn’t going to let it drop. ‘Go on then,’ she prompted; brilliant, looks like I’m having that argument after all.
And so, I told her about my visit to Kate Fuller’s office, how she savaged the car dealership on speaker phone, how she’d rendered Charlie Quentin into a gibbering imbecile, and mostly how she spoke so disparagingly about her husband, like he was nothing more to her than an au-pair and errand boy.
I sat back against the sofa, my head turned and eyes locked on the dead black slab of the dormant tv, I’d already adopted a defensive posture against the argument that was about to roast me like a forest fire. Mentally, I braced myself, here it comes…
‘God, she sounds like a right bitch.’
Well, I wasn’t expecting that response it must be said, yay, go Perry. I clasped her face in my hands and kissed her on the forehead, and then promptly apologised for being swept away by the relief. I was beginning to ramble, I didn’t know what I was saying, it was nothing more than a random reflexive mind dump, ‘I am most definitely not a misogynist, I’m pro-women, very pro-women, I love women, all of them.’ Perry took my hands in hers and told me shush. Gratefully I shushed.
‘Calm down. Look I’m a feminist, and proud of it.’ She spoke softly, but with purpose and confidence. ‘Being a feminist doesn’t mean I hate men, it means I hate ignorance and inequality, and if you do too, then you’re a feminist as well because that’s what it means, understand?’
I nodded, what she’d said made perfect sense to me.
‘What she is, she’s not a feminist, she’s an obnoxious arsehole, and they come in all shapes, sizes, colours and genders. Believe me, I work around doctors, there’s more than enough God complexes walking around there, I’ve seen every variety you can think of. Call it what you like: A Type, Alpha, Arsehole. It all starts with an “A” and all means someone who thinks everything in life is a battle that they have to win at all costs.’ Perry was right I realised: Kate Fuller, Mr Wilkes, they’re both the same, larging-it-off, thinking they’re better than everyone else, in competition against a world who generally either doesn’t realise or doesn’t care.
‘So, you collect quotations do you, got any other great words of wisdom?’ I asked, feeling the time was right to lighten the mood and at last change the subject.
Perry looked to the ceiling pretending to be in deep thought, a finger on her chin adding to the comedic pose, ‘The man who walks through airport doors sideways is always going to Bangkok.’
42
Perry was right, her Balti was amazing. There’s nothing to beat a good home cooked meal is there? The very fact it was her mum’s recipe seemed comforting to her, and she chatted happily about her family and her childhood. I, on the other hand, did not.
It’s not that I didn’t want to – although I wouldn’t have wanted to – but it was because we were joined by Uncle Bern, who took it upon himself to entertain Perry with every embarrassing anecdote he could think of about me. He’d only popped in to remind me about Harpo, and to get him off my back I agreed we’d sort Harpo out in the morning, but hearing there was the possibility of a home cooked meal, he managed to scrounge himself a seat at the table. Not that Perry seemed to mind, for some reason she found him charming and funny.
I began clearing the empty plates away, leaving Uncle Bern and Perry laughing raucously at Bern’s telling of my reluctant appearance as the donkey in the school Nativity play when the night outside screamed a single ear-splitting beep. Out the window I saw a single flash of amber lights, something had triggered the alarm on my van but no sooner had it started than it ended. Very odd.
Waiting by the window, I noticed movement around the van, someone was there. It was the same guy in the grey hoodie as before, the one I’d seen outside Sally’s flat. I was certain of it, and this time I wasn�
��t going to spook him, this time I wanted to see his face properly. I needed to be sure.
I opened the front door gently and sprinted towards the van as fast as a bellyful of curry and rice would allow. As I approached, I heard the rolling rumble of my van’s side door being slid open, and the metallic clunking of things being tipped over.
I neared the van, the clunking continued, he hadn’t noticed me yet, I trod as softly as I could and edged around the back of the van. The Clunker was hunched over, leaning in through the sliding doorway, busy rummaging through the contents of the van.
I raised both arms together ready to drop them on to his shoulders, I was one pace behind him, but he must have known as he spun round to face me. My raised hands dropped as planned only we were locked now, face to face. I looked straight into his eyes. He looked surprised but he must have realised my shock and surprise was greater because before I could react his arm swung up clutching a heavy drum of cable from inside the van. It struck me on the temple, a red flash went off in my head, I let go. I stumbled back on to the tarmac, more out of shock than pain, and as I sat there, I watched him run away. He didn’t dare look back as he disappeared out of sight.
Uncle Bern and Perry helped me to my feet and hauled me out of the road. ‘What was he after? Did he take anything?’ asked Bern, looking toward the van for any sign of damage.
‘No,’ I said but I could hazard a good guess at what he was after. He must be working for Hamlet now too, lumbered with a debt too big to clear and forced to search for Sally’s killer in the hope of shaking it off. He must have thought I had information, I must be ahead of the pack in that case, which was a perverse kind of victory I suppose.
‘I think you’d better come here,’ called Perry, from further up the road. Bern and I found her standing outside my lock-up garage holding my heavy-duty cruiser padlock; its shackle had been neatly severed by a mechanical cutter.
The garage stood open, looking as if a tornado had whipped through it at a thousand miles an hour scattering the contents everywhere. And then at the back, in the wreckage I saw three grimy transparent boxes, ripped open, tipped and tossed. Dad’s things lay loose and torn amongst the ankle-deep debris. Mum’s Staffordshire dogs like black and white pieces of eggshell, smashed to smithereens, the same as everything else I’ve come into contact with recently: my business, my reputation, my friends ... all broken and ruined.
Some reflex made me reach down to grab a stray piece of paper that had been lifted on the breeze, catching it before the evening wind whipped it away. I knew as I reached for it that it was an old photograph, from a time of white borders, bright primary colours and a flat dull finish.
In the picture my young dad grinned back, he’d have been about the age I am now, beside him sat Bern looking quite groovy in his dark glasses and Fred Perry, still sporting wavy black hair, both of them on deckchairs in front of a two-tone caravan, white over olive, cans of beer in hand. At their feet, a small laughing boy held a plastic yellow football. The camera was looking towards the sun and bright light blanched the top corner of the picture with white space, leaving her legs poking out below as the only trace of Auntie Val; my Mum was never great at taking photos.
‘Let’s see that,’ said Bern, looking over my shoulder. ‘Caravanning in Paignton, do you remember? Your dad borrowed it from one of his mates in the Dockyard and towed it down with that big old Granada he used to have. Took forever as your mum was scared it’d tip over if he went too fast. You learned to swim on that holiday too, remember?’
I did, I remember it vividly, it seemed to be sunny every day, the woodland camp site felt like a proper outdoor adventure to a little boy, I can picture Mum and Val both looking young and beautiful, and Bern promised me 50p if I could swim a width of the pool without armbands. And I did it. 50p was a lot of money in those days, especially when you were only five. It was probably the only time I ever got any money out of Bern. Happy times.
Perry broke me out of my nostalgia with a sob, I hadn’t noticed how this had affected her, and I put my arms around her in comfort. Bern rubbed her shoulders, muttering, ‘It’s all okay darling, nothing to get upset about.’ I was surprised how easily intimacy and reassurance came to him, and I recognised insecure pangs of envy and inferiority stinging me.
‘We need to call the police,’ she said, looking at us both, panic shining through her tears.
‘No, the police won’t be any good,’ I said. ‘Nothing’s been taken, he’s just made a mess, that’s all.’
Perry protested but Bern made soothing noises, telling her I was right.
‘Besides,’ I began to say, then paused. How sure was I? Enough I reckoned. ‘I know who it was who did this, they both looked at me expectantly. ‘It was Adam.’
A silence passed.
‘Who’s Adam?’ asked Perry.
‘His brother,’ said Bern. In my hand, Adam looked up at us both clutching his yellow ball, a time of innocence. Happy times.
Bern didn’t stay much longer, he’d had his free dinner so he left. Actually, that’s not fair. I think he realised he’d be better off out of the way given how I felt. He was very gracious in the way he thanked Perry, and I told him I’d see him in the morning.
‘I like him, he’s sweet,’ said Perry, talking to my back. I’d been trying to make sense of what happened and had retreated into my thoughts, but not wanting to appear moody made myself busy washing up whilst Perry had seen Bern to the door. The water was too hot, every plunge into the scalding sink to seek out something to scrub clean turned my hands scarlet. It was painful, but not enough to care about. Perry approached from behind, wrapping her arms around my waist. I felt warmth against my shoulder blade as she rested her head on me. ‘Are you thinking about your brother?’
Funnily enough I wasn’t, in fact I’d been thinking about Mum. Adam was always her boy, no doubt about that. Maybe Mum dying is what set him off.
‘I’ve never heard you talk about your mum before,’ said Perry taking my hand, leading me to the sofa, ‘What was she like?’
‘Beautiful, like Helen Reddy.’ As soon as I said it, I saw Perry’s blank look, ‘No-one remembers Helen Reddy anymore, the only reason I do is because Mum only ever had two cassettes in her car, one was by The Carpenters and the other was “The Best of Helen Reddy”. In the picture on the front she had this sort of shaggy 70s pageboy hairstyle. Mum looked just like her.’
Perry fiddled with her smartphone while I spoke, and turned the screen to me, ‘This her?’
‘Yeah … well, that’s Helen Reddy. But Mum was the spit of her.’
‘Very pretty.’
‘Beautiful.’
‘Do you remember the songs, were they any good?’ She fiddled with her phone, and then all of a sudden music started to play through her Bluetooth enabled speakers, ‘…I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore…’
‘I know this!’ squealed Perry, turning the volume up, she now had to shout to be heard, ‘Awesome song, we used to do this at karaoke when I was at college, I never knew who sang it though ... I am invincible ...’
I let her enjoy her sing-a-long and poured out the last splosh of red wine from the bottle, realising I’d had it all to myself – Perry wasn’t drinking as she was starting work later and Bern was driving – first time since I can’t remember I’d done a bottle on my own, but I liked how it muffled my thoughts. Perhaps I wasn’t thinking clearly, but at least I wasn’t thinking painfully.
‘Your mum had great taste,’ Perry informed me when the song finished, making me smile, and we sat silently for a couple of seconds waiting for the next song to start, another one I recognised. Straight away, I was in the back of her Renault 5 coming home from the Pentagon Centre. Perry was happy to let it play in the background, and lowered the volume.
‘We were very much a family of two halves, me and Dad, Adam and Mum,’ I said, remembering how we were. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Mum and Dad were solid, they were very much in love right up to
the end, ‘til death do us part and all that, but for some reason that’s how it was, Mum and Adam, me and Dad.’
Perry twisted the cap off a bottle of water with a hiss of escaped bubbles then gestured for me to continue.
‘I never knew why, maybe because he was her first baby so she felt something special for him. To be honest I never really gave it much thought because, when she passed, I still had Dad. I was only a kid, just turned twelve but I was a young twelve if that makes sense.’ She nodded that it did. ‘And because of that, Dad was very protective over me. Adam was sixteen, maybe he felt there wasn’t enough room for him, maybe he felt outside of the family now. I’m wondering if that’s what set him off on the path he took.’
‘And what path was that?’ she asked, softly behind us Helen Reddy chanted about Delta Dawn.
‘He wanted—’ I didn’t know what to say, or where to start. Was there one moment, a single incident that sparked it all off? If so, I couldn’t see it. It was more like wallpaper – there every day to the point you stop noticing, wallpaper – quite sad, fucked up wallpaper, but wallpaper nonetheless. I’d stopped talking, I’d just petered out, as if I’d run out of power, Perry gently rubbed my back, trying to coax some life back in my dead batteries, but I didn’t know how to go on, and gave up altogether.
‘Okay, okay,’ she said in soothing tones, ‘How long since you saw him last?’
‘Six years,’ I said, six years and four months in fact, ‘Didn’t know if he was alive or dead, he just disappeared one day.’
‘How? How can anyone just vanish in this day and age?’
‘I don’t know, if I ever see him again, I’ll ask for a demonstration, shall I?’ I snapped, and then immediately apologised, it wasn’t her I was angry with.
She kindly accepted my apology, but wasn’t going to let it go, ‘There’s CCTV cameras everywhere, phones can be tracked, and as for bank accounts…’
‘I know. That’s why I’d reconciled myself that he must be dead, it didn’t make sense otherwise.’