Duplicity

by Fin C Gray

  Now, they sat in silence, Tom twisting his wedding ring around and around, Alison squeezing his knee. The door behind them clicked, and a small cough followed it. They both looked round, and Tom managed to force a smile at the squat, balding man making his way into the room.

  ‘Hello, you two. I’m Robin. I’m here to help.’ He peered at them through thick, round glasses. ‘Now then, is there anything here that takes your fancy, madam? We have lots of styles and colours. What’s your usual look? I’ll bet you anything we can get something very close.’

  Tom and Alison exchanged glances. Tom felt his irritation bubbling into something stronger. He stood up.

  ‘Anything she likes? Anything she likes? Likes? Do you know why we’re here? And call her Mrs McIntyre. You could at least try to personalise this damn thing.’ Tom’s face reddened and he felt his chest tighten. Alison pulled at his arm, and he sat down again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, drawing her towards him.

  Robin put his hands behind his back and walked further into the room. He hunkered down, almost kneeling in front of them. He was wearing a black suit with a dark-green tie that hung loosely at his collar. Tom looked at him face on and scowled. Robin’s right hand reached to his tie and twitched at it. This idiot is nervous, probably new to the job. What the fuck is he doing dealing with people in these horrible situations? He yearned to pull him up by the lapels and spatter invective into his podgy, pockmarked face. Robin stood up again, shifting from foot to foot in front of them, twiddling his tie, wide eyes gazing earnestly at them.

  Leaning in towards them he said, ‘My dears, I know exactly why you’re here. My heart goes out to you, believe me. I’m here to help, to try and make things right.’

  Tom felt a growing desire to tell him to fuck off. Nothing was going to make this right, least of all this sweaty nonentity in front of him. He stood up again, struggling against an impulse to hit Robin.

  Brushing himself down, he said, ‘She’s losing her hair, OK? She wants to look like everyone else, look healthy, look normal. She wants our kids not to be worried. We want this over and to be out of here as soon as possible. Can I be any clearer?’

  ‘Tom. Stop it, please!’ Alison’s eyes were glistening, threatening to let go of held-back tears. Tom’s face fell, and he felt his throat tighten. God, this is me. It’s not the cancer, it’s not this oaf in front of us. It’s me. He sat down beside her again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, refusing to look at the assistant. He fixed his gaze on his wife. Shame now replaced his anger. He felt stupid and small. All he seemed able to do was upset her and make things worse.

  ‘Mr McIntyre, Mrs McIntyre… I’m sorry. This is awful for you both and it doesn’t help that I’m new at it. I don’t want to make it any worse. Bear with me a second, please.’

  He picked up the phone from the table at the side of the sofa and dialled. ‘Agnes, bring in some tea and biscuits please, quick as you can.’

  Jenny was waiting for them at the back door as the car drew up. It was already dark, and insects were flitting around the yard lights as Tom got out of the car.

  ‘Where’ve you been, Dad? I tried calling both mobiles but got no reply from you or Mum. What’s for tea? I’m starving.’

  She nodded at the bag that her father was clutching. ‘Frasers? Have you been all the way to Dumfries? What did you buy?’

  Tom looked at his daughter standing there, her dark-brown hair carelessly caressing her shoulders, her deep-blue eyes untroubled. There was a sense of normality about her that he wanted to soak up and let spread over them all.

  ‘You’ve never been shy about raiding the fridge, Jenny. Nothing for you in the bag, that’s all you need to know. Give us a chance to get in, at least.’

  Tom cringed at the unintended curtness in his voice. He’d apologise to Jenny later, make her understand. He’d already taken away her mother’s positivity, and now he was doing the same to his daughter. He’d have to dig deep and find some of his own. God knows from where!

  Alison got out of her side of the car slowly, seemingly oblivious to the scowl forming on Jenny’s face. Tom aimed a warning look at his daughter. She turned her back on them and went indoors.

  ‘We’ll all sit down after dinner and tell them what’s going on,’ said Alison.

  Tom shrugged and clicked his key fob to lock the car and held the back door open for her. In the small utility room that led into the kitchen, he pulled her to him and said, ‘Can we not wait? Just a little bit longer? Let’s just see how things go after the next chemo session—’

  He felt Alison’s hand tighten on his arm, and he turned to see Daniel standing there in the kitchen, waiting in the darkness. Tom flicked the light switch on and, as their eyes met, he saw the look of accusation on his son’s face, made harsher by the spotlight that bathed his features. Daniel turned and ran into the dining room, slamming the door behind him. When Tom turned back around, Alison had thrown her head back, and her eyes were scrunched up, her mouth tight.

  ‘We don’t have a choice now.’

  Tom dropped the bag to the floor and the wig half fell out, looking like a bad joke. He pulled her to him. He wanted her close and pulled her nearer, but she pushed him away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  She was already walking away. ‘I’m going to lie down for half an hour.’

  He tried not to notice the bald patches on the back of her head as she wearily pushed on the dining room door. They hadn’t been there this morning, had they?

  This was all happening way too fast. He was losing control of his world, and he didn’t have a single idea how to handle anything anymore.

  Tom looked around the kitchen at the mess littering the surfaces yet again. And it wasn’t just in there. In the dining room, coats half hung over chairs, and schoolbooks spilled out of discarded bags on the table.

  Marching to the front hallway, he stopped himself from shouting upstairs to Daniel and his sister, and glanced back to the door to his and Alison’s bedroom, which was slightly ajar. Alison’s feet were visible at the end of their bed. He turned around, headed back out into the yard, and got into his car.

  The radio came on as he turned on the ignition and the engine started. He pushed the gear stick into reverse. He needed to escape from this, drive away, keep driving, never stop. He looked over his shoulder as the car started to move backwards, but quickly pushed his foot on the brake and turned the engine off again. Darkness was taking a tight hold of the sky, turning the house into a shadow; the only light visible now came from the kitchen window. He laid his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. What on earth was he going to do?

  At first, Tom was hardly aware of the tapping at the window beside him. As it grew more insistent, he lifted his head and saw Daniel staring back at him. He rolled down the window, blinking at his son. His brain throbbed with dark thoughts that were sparring with one another.

  ‘You’ve been sat here for over an hour,’ Daniel said. ‘Come inside. Mum’s worried and we need to talk, don’t we?’

  ‘I’m… I’d no… sorry. Sorry, Daniel, I just needed to think, needed some quiet. No idea that it had been that long. I’ll be right in.’

  Daniel turned and went back indoors without waiting for him, but turned the yard lights back on. Rain – a thin drizzle at first – gathered momentum and seemed to hammer the metal of his car, another admonition, urging him to go inside. Tom watched rivulets streaming down his windscreen for a few moments before he pushed his door open. He was soaked through, even in the few seconds it took him to run inside the house.

  Alison, Daniel, and Jenny were sitting around the dining table. They sat in silence, but all heads turned to him as he appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ he said, pointing at his wet clothes. ‘I’ll get out of these and be right back.’

  When he returned, they hadn’t moved. All three sat in mute expectation. Jenny looked anxiously at him as he sat down opposi
te them. Daniel fixed an angry stare on his father.

  ‘Daniel, I know you overheard us as we came in and I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for you to find out that way.’

  Daniel folded his arms, his mouth thin and tight. Jenny looked at her brother and then at her parents, a fearful look on her face.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said. ‘You’re starting to freak me out.’

  ‘Mum’s got cancer,’ Daniel said, flatly, ‘…and Dad was all for keeping it from us.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t! You haven’t, Mum, have you? You’re lying, Danny! Mum, he’s lying, isn’t he? Dad?’

  Alison took Jenny’s hand and clasped it tightly. Daniel didn’t take his eyes off his father.

  Tom said, ‘We wanted to wait until your mum had finished her treatment. We wanted to—’

  ‘How long have you known?’ Daniel now stared fixedly at his mother.

  ‘About eight weeks,’ she said. ‘I’ve had two sessions of chemotherapy.’

  Jenny’s voice quivered. ‘Are you going to die, Mum?’

  Alison now took both of Jenny’s hands in hers and said, ‘The treatment is working, darling, and with help from you, your brother and your dad, I’ll beat this. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Daniel, tears streaming down his cheeks. He stood up, pointing his finger at his father. ‘You should have told me. This wasn’t your secret to keep!’ He turned his back on them and marched out of the room and upstairs.

  ‘Danny, come back please,’ Tom called after him.

  The sound of Daniel’s footsteps continued on the stairs. Alison stood up and kissed Jenny on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll go up and talk it through with him,’ she said. ‘Jenny, love, talk this over with your dad, please.’

  Chapter Eight

  Then

  Tom sat in his office, staring at his computer screen without registering anything that was on it. He glanced at his mobile and smiled weakly at the picture of Alison grinning back at him. Restlessly, he rose and wandered to the window. The sky was dark, with deep-purple clouds, and the pavement was alive with people going about their lives.

  The day had dragged, and it felt like late evening even though it was barely four o’clock. He paced back and forth in front of the window, his mind no longer registering anything outside. Returning to his desk, he picked up his mobile and stared at the screen. Still no missed calls or texts. Alison must know he’d be worried. He pressed the call button and waited. The call diverted to reception.

  ‘Thornton and Spears, how may I direct your call?’

  ‘Tom McIntyre for Alison McIntyre. I was calling her direct line.’

  ‘Oh, Mr McIntyre, how are you? Hang on, I’ll try her other extension.’

  ‘L’autunno’ from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons filled his ears as he waited and he tapped his fingers on his desk. The music stopped briefly.

  ‘Still trying, sir. Bear with me.’

  More music, then Alison came on the line sounding flustered. ‘What’s up, Tom? I’m busy here. I have another call on hold.’

  ‘Just wanted to see how you were on your first day back.’

  ‘I’m fine. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, but you don’t have to be there, you know that. They said you could have as much time off as you want. I wish you’d just come home and rest.’

  There was a brief silence on the line.

  ‘Tom, we’ve been through this a thousand times. I need something to keep me sane. The kids are at school all day, and you’re at work. It’s horrible being home on my own, at least I’m of some use here. Anyway, you keep telling me cancer hates positivity. I can forget about it here. I’m happy to be here, working. I feel normal.’

  ‘Can you at least finish early?’

  ‘Tom, get back to work, please. I’m run off my feet and more than happy to be so. I’ll see you this evening.’

  ‘OK, darling. I’ll pick you up around five thirty.’

  ‘Six. We agreed.’

  ‘Six it is then. See you later. I love you.’

  ‘Love you too. Bye.’

  Tom sat down and tried to concentrate on his emails. He groaned when he saw the flood of unopened ones that were there, and every few seconds another would appear on the list. The phone on his desk started to ring. Hadn’t he told Moira to field all his calls? Cursing her incompetence, he picked up the phone and barked, ‘What?’

  ‘Mr McIntyre, I’m sorry… I know you said you wanted no calls today… but—’

  ‘Spit it out, Moira. I’m busy.’

  ‘Your daughter is on the line, and she says she needs to speak to you urgently. She sounds upset.’

  ‘Alright, put her through.’ The line clicked.

  ‘Hello, Dad, it’s me.’ There were tears in her voice.

  ‘I know, Jenny. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s Daniel,’ she said. ‘He’s drunk.’

  ‘Drunk? Did you say drunk? How? He’s fifteen, for God’s sake. How did he get drunk?’

  ‘I dunno, Dad. There’s an empty bottle of vodka in his room and he’s been sick all over his duvet. He’s passed out now, but I’m worried. Tanya from school told me that you could drink yourself to death. I couldn’t call Mum, especially when she’s just started back at work.’

  ‘I’ll be right home. Not a word to your mum about this, OK?’

  ‘And, Dad…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s hiding something under his bed. I don’t think he’s—’

  ‘Jenny! Enough. I’ll be home soon.’

  He grabbed his jacket and keys and raced out of his office without a word to his secretary.

  Tom shook his son and tried to lift his limp body by the shoulders. Daniel groaned, pulled away and turned over. Tom picked up the empty bottle of vodka. There was another bottle, almost full, protruding from under his bed. As Tom reached for it, he noticed a raft of pictures and articles printed from various websites pushed further back. He knelt down, pulled a few of them out and grimaced at them before pushing them as far under the bed as he could. A thick, acrid stench of vomit hung in the room, making Tom retch. He went downstairs and filled a basin with hot water and disinfectant, inhaling the clean vapours, trying to erase the sour smell that was clinging to him.

  He placed the bowl beside Daniel’s bed and wrestled the pungent duvet from under him. Putting him in the recovery position, he pulled the cover from the duvet and scrunched it into a ball with the vomit inside. He sponged the duvet with the hot disinfected water and tried to dab it dry with some kitchen towel. It took him a few attempts to get a fresh cover on it, and he threw it over Daniel, who was now snoring loudly. Daniel looked almost peaceful as Tom picked up the vodka bottles, scanning the room for any other evidence.

  When he went back downstairs, he found Jenny sitting at the dining table pretending to do her homework.

  ‘That smells gross,’ she said.

  Tom ignored her and went straight to the utility room by the back door. He stuffed the duvet cover into the washing machine with some detergent and set it going, and then he hid the vodka bottles in the bottom of the outside bin. His brain pulsated against his skull, which seemed to be tightening around it, and he fought a powerful desire to scream. Back in the dining room, Jenny looked at him expectantly.

  ‘So what are you going to do, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing. And you’re not going to say anything, right? Go and tidy up the kitchen and make some strong coffee. Call me when it’s ready. When Mum gets home, Daniel is feeling poorly and has gone to lie down, OK? I’ll need to go and pick her up soon.’

  He went back upstairs and tried to rouse his son, placing a cold, wet flannel on his face. Daniel stirred and rubbed at his face as if trying to erase a mark. Tom stood up and opened the window and was glad to find the putrid smell was dissipating. He placed a fresh flannel on Daniel’s face and knelt down beside him.

  ‘Stop it!’ Daniel’s arms were
now flailing, and he hit Tom in the face. Tom grabbed both his wrists.

  ‘C’mon, Daniel, wakey, wakey. We need to get some black coffee in you.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  Tom persisted and eventually got him to sit up a bit in bed. He called down to Jenny to hurry up with the coffee, and she appeared with a pot and a cup.

  ‘You’re a disgrace,’ she said.

  ‘Fuck off, munter.’

  ‘Daniel, that’s enough. Jenny, thanks for making the coffee. I’m sure your brother will thank you in the morning. Now downstairs, please.’

  Jenny set the coffee pot and cup on the bedside table and said, ‘Charming!’

  Chapter Nine

  Today, Friday

  Robert grimaces as he walks towards the porters’ desk. He glances at the clock on the wall above the chair where Benny the night duty porter is softly snoring. It is 5.45 a.m. Slamming his bag on the counter, he throws the access flap up and kicks the small half-door against the wall. The CCTV monitors flicker in protest, but Benny doesn’t stir, so Robert picks up the glass of water beside the sleeping man and throws it at his face. Benny splutters and jumps to his feet.

  ‘What the fuck!’

  ‘This is the last time, Benny. If I catch you sleeping on the job one more time, you’re out. You understand?’ Robert points an angry finger at him.

  ‘I literally just fell over for a few seconds, boss. It’s been a long night.’

  ‘Heard it all before, Benny. Now where’s Carlos?’

  ‘Oh, he’s doing the rounds, you know. I did the first half of the shift then took over the desk. We alternate each night – you know that.’

  ‘OK, call him on the radio and tell him he can clock off. You can stay and polish the brass until Vince gets here at eight,’ says Robert, turning his back on him.

  ‘Aw, boss, it’s been a long night. You usually let us both—’

  ‘Just do as you’re told, Benny, and stay where I can keep an eye on you. I’m going to check the overnight CCTV.’