Duplicity

by Fin C Gray

‘Of course. I have loads to tell you.’

  After Jenny had gone to bed, he fished out Daniel’s envelope from his jacket and put it on the desk in his study. It seemed to glare at him. Tom took a sip from his glass and refilled it. Not quite enough for a full glass, so he opened a bottle of red wine and sat down at his desk again. Rufus had followed him in from the kitchen and was now rubbing himself against his legs.

  ‘Hello, buddy. How you liking the change of scene?’

  Daniel’s cat. Daniel’s letter. Daniel. What was he going to do about Daniel? Alison had been dead for nearly five years and for almost half of that time, Daniel had been impossible. Had he been right to let him live on his own? Who was this Waqar? Tom stared longingly at a photograph of his wife on his desk, hoping for an answer, that she might come into his head and tell him what to do. All the clarity she’d always brought him was gone. Without her, how could he ever make Daniel understand who he was, deep down?

  At least the wine stopped his mind racing – another long gulp, followed by another and an unsteady refill from the second bottle that was already half gone. Red droplets fell on the envelope, and he rubbed them off with his sleeve. He picked it up and pulled out the note, now crumpled, and spread it flat on the desk as best he could. The pink feather fluttered slightly on the paper. Tom stroked it, then pulled it from the piece of red satin. The smell of patchouli reminded him of his student days – those heady days of youth when life was easier. He twirled it between his thumb and finger.

  ‘Somehow, you know, Daniel. Don’t you?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Then

  All the furniture from the old house looked entirely out of place. This grand flat needed opulence, antiques, beautiful things. The plain magnolia walls needed Venetian plaster, and the parquet flooring cried out for Persian rugs. It would take time, but he knew it would be wonderful; this was the place he had always dreamed about, where he imagined himself living. The Queen Mother had dined in this very dining room, looking out at the view he was looking at now, sometime during the 1960s. Plush gardens with a scattering of palm trees, no less, green lawns shaded by mature trees and shrubs, and beyond, the Thames, the old City Hall and the London Eye. All this would have greeted her, apart from the London Eye.

  Tom’s old dining table looked almost comical in that illustrious space. Yes, he’d have to hire an interior designer, and soon. He couldn’t possibly entertain anyone here while it looked as camped-in as it currently did. If the Queen Mother, God rest her soul, could see it now, she’d do an about-turn, remember a pressing engagement, do a runner. Not nearly grand enough for Her Majesty as things stood. Even so, you couldn’t fault the view, or the location. London’s epicentre. He was finally where he wanted to be. If only he could have shared this with Alison. But the deal had been done.

  Even without the trappings, Tom couldn’t stop himself from wandering around the flat, lingering in every room and smiling. He had left the past behind, and this all represented positive change. Here, he could begin building a new life for himself. His new offices in Pall Mall were within easy walking distance; he couldn’t ask for a better commute. And Moira was managing the other office very well with the help of the new chap. Next on the cards was a New York office, and from there, who knew? While this place had its makeover, he would spend most of the time scouting out locations stateside. Yes, life would be good again. Daniel would come round and be a good son again, eventually, and Jenny was doing well at university. He’d make everything peachy for them all.

  Of course, all this had to be celebrated. Champagne was chilling. He took a glass from a cupboard in the kitchen and pulled one of the bottles of Dom Pérignon from the fridge, carrying both on a tray to the living-room. He admired the label before he uncorked it: 1998, such a good vintage and so lucky to get a case of it at such a fabulous price. It would be better to cellar it and let it increase in value, but wine futures were only for those who didn’t want to enjoy the wine for themselves. Clearly not him. The cork came out with a soft sigh, just as it should, and he poured slowly, at an angle, thinking of the cretinous people who had no idea how to open or pour champagne properly.

  As he sipped, it occurred to him that he had not tested out the music equipment since the removal men had left, so he powered it up and searched the menu. He had to hear what ‘Hallelujah’ sounded like with these new acoustics. And yes, it sounded great. Better than in the old place, but it would be better still when he got his audio-visual people in to integrate the systems. It was OK for now. Everything would be wonderful in time. He flicked through his music library, trying different songs for size, and before he knew it, the bottle of 1998 was empty. Better open another one – he was celebrating, after all. What would be the payback for this little bit of heaven? All debts settled, hopefully. Enjoy the spoils, Tom, while they last.

  Back in the kitchen, another bottle opened, he heard the phone ring in the hallway. He left the champagne on the worktop and went to answer it, wondering who could have his new number.

  ‘Hello? Tom McIntyre speaking.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr McIntyre. Vincent on the front desk here. I have your son Daniel and his friend here to see you. Shall I send them up, sir?’

  Tom paused for a second. His heart quickened. He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Vincent. Send them up, please.’

  Putting down the phone, he picked up the bottle from the kitchen before returning to the living room and refilling his glass. It would take them a few minutes to get to his door. He drank the champagne back in one gulp and poured another. Again, he drank it back and was pouring a third when the bell tinkled on its coil in the hall. Tom put down his drink and went to answer the door.

  As he opened the door, he saw Waqar grinning at him. Daniel stood a few feet behind, expressionless.

  ‘Hello, Mr McIntyre,’ said Waqar, extending his hand to Tom. Tom took his hand. ‘Call me Tom,’ he said. ‘Come in, please.’

  Daniel followed his friend. ‘Hello, Tom,’ he said, brushing past his father. ‘And you can call me Dad,’ said Tom.

  Daniel shrugged. He and Waqar stopped halfway along the hall, and Daniel turned to his father. ‘This must have cost you a bomb,’ he said, dispassionately.

  ‘I did downsize,’ said Tom.

  ‘Your new flat is charming,’ said Waqar. ‘Will you show us around, please?’

  ‘Of course, but first, come through to the living room. Let me get you both something to drink. How about a glass of champagne? I just opened one to celebrate moving here.’

  Tom ushered them to the living room and noticed Daniel eyeing the two champagne bottles on the table. Tom felt his cheeks colour as he picked up the empty bottle.

  ‘Could I please have a glass of water?’ said Waqar.

  Daniel was looking out through the French windows. ‘I’ll try some of your expensive champagne.’

  ‘Won’t you have a glass of champagne to christen the new place, Waqar?’

  ‘I don’t drink alcohol, Tom. We can toast you with water. You don’t want champagne, do you, Dani?’ Waqar was smiling. ‘May we sit down?’

  ‘Yes, please do. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Water for me too, Tom,’ said Daniel.

  Tom heard his music stop as he threw the empty Dom Pérignon bottle into the recycling bin. Had Daniel switched it off, or had it stopped of its own accord? Returning with two glasses of water, he noticed two backpacks in the hallway. Had he told them they could stay, all those weeks ago? Yes, he probably had. Or maybe they had other plans. Why had Daniel acquiesced to this Waqar? If he’d taken a drink, he might be less touchy. This was going to be a long afternoon. The sound of murmured conversation stopped as soon as he entered the room.

  ‘There you are, lads,’ said Tom, handing them each a glass of water. He topped up his champagne. ‘How was your journey? I forgot you were coming. To be honest, I don’t even remember you saying you were coming. Did you drive or come by train?’

  ‘We hitchhiked,�
� said Daniel.

  ‘Yes, and Dani refused to get in any of the lorries that offered us lifts, so it took us a long time,’ said Waqar, glancing accusingly at his friend.

  ‘You should have driven, Daniel. There’s plenty of residents’ parking here, so it’s easy. Think about that for next time.’

  ‘I sold the car. Anyway, who knows if there will be a next time? I don’t care for London that much.’

  ‘Your mum’s car? Oh, no! Why? If you needed the money, I could have helped out. I hope you got a good price for it. And surely you will want to come to London to see me occasionally.’

  ‘My car,’ said Daniel, firmly. ‘She gave it to me before she died.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tom. ‘I just think of it as hers. I know it was yours to do with as you like. How long are you planning to stay in London?’

  ‘Three or four days,’ said Waqar. ‘I have some friends here I want to visit. We are hoping we can stay here with you, Tom, like you said we could.’

  ‘Of course, but I only have one spare room. Don’t worry, though. There’s a hotel attached to this building – you probably noticed it when you arrived – I can easily get a room for one of you there.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Daniel. ‘Waqar and I are happy to share a room.’

  Waqar nodded his assent.

  ‘There is only one bed,’ said Tom. Was this what he wanted? Was Daniel…?

  ‘It is fine, Tom. Where I am from, I am used to sleeping on the floor on a mat. I have a mat with me.’ Waqar smiled earnestly at him.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Tom. ‘I can easily pop out and get a camp bed for one of you.’

  ‘There is no need to go to that trouble. We will be perfectly comfortable. I feel sure,’ said Waqar.

  ‘Alright, let me show you round the place. I only moved in a week ago, so it’s all a bit makeshift. It’ll be a lot better the next time you come to visit.’ Tom picked up his glass and waited for them to follow.

  Daniel was leaning on the desk, laughing. Vincent was telling him one of his stories, no doubt. Tom emerged from the lift and approached them, and Daniel stood upright, his expression hardening. Robert grinned from his chair behind Vincent.

  ‘Good afternoon, Vincent, Robert,’ said Tom. ‘Any packages for me?’

  ‘None as yet, Mr McIntyre,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll be sure to bring up any that arrive.’

  Tom turned to Daniel. ‘Where’s Waqar?’

  ‘He’s visiting some friends in Bermondsey,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Didn’t you want to join them?’ said Tom.

  ‘Not really. They’re all Pakistani friends, and they like to gabble on in Urdu. I don’t want to feel like a spare part.’

  ‘You can come and hang out with me at my new office, if you like. Maybe grab some lunch beforehand?’

  ‘Nah, it’s OK. I got stuff I want to do. I’ll see you when you get home.’ He was already walking towards the lift. ‘See ya, Vince, Rob.’

  Tom watched him disappear into the lift, said his goodbyes to the porters and headed out into the street. What could he do to get Daniel back onside? Why was this Waqar going off on his own every day? He was up to something. Three days they said they would be staying, and it was already five. The spare room was beginning to smell like a dosshouse. He couldn’t even have a quiet drink without getting the evil eye from one of them. And he was sure he could smell weed – or at least weed being covered up with incense. Only when Waqar was out, of course. He probably felt the same about weed as he did about alcohol. Waqar the boss of Daniel and Daniel the boss of me. Quite a comedy. His mobile rang in his pocket; it was Jenny.

  ‘Hello, love, how are you? How’s uni?’

  ‘I’m alright, Dad. Are you around tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Oh, just I have to come to London for the day. I have an interview for a summer internship that sounds hopeful. Planning to get the train in the morning then head back here early evening. Want to take me to lunch?’

  ‘Sure, I’d love to. What’s the internship, and where?’

  ‘Brokerage firm in the City. Booths. You know it?’

  ‘Yes, good firm. But what about teaching? I thought you had your heart set on that.’

  ‘Always best to keep my options open, and the pay’s better for what my qualifications will be.’

  ‘Can’t fault that logic. Voraciousness versus vocation. You’re a greed monger just like me,’ Tom laughed.

  ‘Cheeky!’

  ‘Oh, by the way, your brother’s here, visiting. Shall I invite him along?’

  ‘Danny? In London? God, what dragged him away from Carlisle? I haven’t seen him for ages. Is he still stacking shelves for Tesco?’

  ‘He’s here with a friend. Waqar – he seems to be the reason he’s come. As far as I know, he’s on the dole. He’s not very communicative, as you know.’

  ‘Yeah, invite the weirdo along. It’ll be good to see him, I suppose.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll buy lunch in and then he’ll have no choice over whether to join us or not. You might get to meet the mysterious Waqar too, if he’s not off out on one of his secret missions.’

  ‘I can’t wait. See you tomorrow, Dad. Have to dash. Bye.’

  And she was gone. Tom would have to call in at Fortnum’s on the way home and get some nice things for tomorrow’s lunch. Best keep Daniel in the dark until the last minute, so he wouldn’t be able to make any excuse to avoid his sister. Daniel had grown as far apart from her as from him. Maybe he and Jenny together could break through his shell.

  Waqar came into the kitchen and stood watching Tom placing canapés onto his best china.

  ‘That looks nice, Tom,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Waqar. I’m preparing lunch. I hope you and Daniel will join me. Jenny, Daniel’s sister, is coming to visit.’

  ‘Lovely. Yes, I am staying here today with Dani. I have completed all my mosque visits. Tomorrow, we will head back to Carlisle. I would like to meet Jenny. I am glad of this chance before we leave.’

  ‘Where is Daniel? I haven’t seen him so far this morning. Is he still asleep?’

  ‘No, he is downstairs chatting to the doormen. He likes the one, Vince, I think his name is. They have been keeping each other company while I have been busy in Bermondsey and Finsbury Park.’

  ‘What sort of things have you been doing there that you can’t do in the mosque in Carlisle?’

  ‘Oh, there have been some very influential imams who have travelled there this week to teach. I wanted very much to learn from them. I have enjoyed the experience very much. These clerics come only to the big London mosques. I did not want to miss the chance to hear them speak.’

  Good little Muslim, aren’t you, Waqar? What ideas are they filling your head with? He recalled the kufi he’d seen Daniel wearing back at his flat in Carlisle. At least Daniel seemed to be steering clear of wherever it was that Waqar was going. Hopefully, he would keep his distance from all that fucking misguided claptrap.

  ‘Nice. I’m glad it’s been a useful visit for you. Will you help me take the food to the dining room? Jenny will be here soon.’

  They were hardly out of the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Tom set the plates on the table and went to answer it. Jenny stood there smiling, with Rashid by her side and Daniel a few steps behind.

  ‘Look who I bumped into downstairs,’ she said, looking back at her brother, who was looking as deadpan as ever.

  Tom grinned. ‘Hello, you two. I had no idea I was going to see you today, Rashid! Come in, future son-in-law. Was it a pleasant surprise to see your sister, Daniel?’

  ‘It was a surprise,’ he replied. ‘You could have told me she was coming. I might have smartened myself up.’

  ‘You look fine, silly,’ said Jenny. ‘Doesn’t he, Rashid?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rashid. ‘And shorter than me, so all good. Great to see you again, Tom. Yeah, I wanted to see your new pad, so I tagged along. Not much doing at uni at the moment
, so I was glad to have something interesting to do.’

  Waqar stood at the end of the hall, waiting for them. He nodded at Jenny, introducing himself. Rashid approached Waqar and offered his hand.

  Waqar took his hand and said, ‘Adaab, mere Dost. Khuda sada tumhare saath rahe. Waise bhi tumhare naam ka matlab sacha yaqeen hai, aap ko ye sacha pata hoga?’

  Rashid looked confused. ‘Sorry, matey. I only speak English.’

  ‘Ah, sorry,’ said Waqar. ‘I just asked if you knew that your name meant “Of the true faith” in Arabic. I thought maybe you spoke Urdu, like me.’

  They all laughed. Tom ushered them all to the table. ‘Let’s eat,’ he said.

  ‘Looks lovely,’ said Jenny, sitting at the table. ‘Sit by me, Danny. We have a lot to catch up on.’

  Daniel ignored her and took a seat next to Waqar. Daniel appeared to be more interested in Rashid than in his sister. He was smiling and chatting to him in a way that reminded Tom of how he was with Vince. Perhaps he was like that with Waqar – at least when they didn’t know he was around, listening. Why were strangers more worthy of Daniel’s good side than his father or his sister? The more time spent with his son, the more confused and confounded he felt. Daniel would be gone by this time tomorrow, and he would be no further forward, on no better terms with him than he had been. It would have been better if Waqar had not come, if he had been allowed to spend time with his son alone. But he couldn’t stop thinking that, had Waqar not wanted to come to London, he would never have seen Daniel at all. And would that have been so bad? At least this way, he got to see he was alright. The alternative was worry, of course.

  Daniel stood behind Waqar at the front door. Both had their backpacks on. ‘Goodbye, Tom. Thank you so much for your hospitality. Perhaps we will meet again sometime,’ said Waqar. He extended his arms to Tom and pulled him in for a cursory hug.

  Tom patted Waqar’s back and skirted around him to Daniel. ‘Bye, son,’ he said, arms stretched out to embrace him.

  Daniel stiffened, keeping his arms firmly at his sides. ‘Bye,’ he said, tersely. He pulled the door open and was gone.