The door to David’s room was still closed. The hospital woke early; doctors had rounds to do, nurses had people to feed and drugs to administer, but this morning all was quiet. His hands shook as he cracked open the door and stuck his head around the corner.
Light streamed through the gaps in the blind. Abby lay curled up on her side on the cot, one hand beneath her head, the blanket half on her body and half on the floor.
As Tom entered the room, David sensed his presence and stirred and woke. He rubbed at sleepy eyes, blinked at his father for a moment, and smiled.
Tom raised a finger to his lips and jutted his chin out towards Abby.
“Hi, Dad,” David whispered. “Mum’s still sleeping, huh?”
Tom smiled and nodded. He crossed the small room and sat on the edge of the bed, taking hold of the boy’s hand. David’s fingers felt thin and fragile in his large palm. Tom was careful not to knock the clear plastic drip threading beneath the skin on the back of his hand, like a bionic varicose vein.
“Hey kiddo,” he said gently. “How did you sleep?”
David shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I try to roll over and this thing gets in the way.” He lifted his plugged hand.
Something in Tom’s chest tightened briefly and suddenly, like an internal crash of thunder.
“I need to tell you something,” he said. “I need to go away for a while. I’m not sure how long for and I might not be able come and see you, but I will do my best to call whenever I can.”
Large pale blue eyes stared up at him, innocent and utterly trusting. “Are you going away for your job?”
Tom bit his lower lip and shook his head. “Not this time, kiddo. Remember when I told you I never knew my parents?” He waited for David to nod. “Well, someone who knew my mum came to find me. Something important has happened in the place I grew up and I have to go back for a while.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Tom shook his head again. “I’m not sure. It could be a few days, maybe a week.”
David’s big eyes locked with Tom’s, his lips pressed firmly together. For a moment, Tom thought David was going to cry, but then he squeezed Tom’s hand and said, “I understand, Dad. I’ll be okay.”
Tom’s eyes filled with tears and a painful lump constricted his throat, but he forced a smile and returned the squeeze. “Good boy.”
Leaving David broke his heart. He couldn’t shake the horrible voice in the back of his mind that said, ‘What if something happens while you’re away? What if this is the last time you ever get to see him?’ Tom did his best to push the voice away and focus on the positive instead. He had a chance, an opportunity to try to save David’s life, and he would do everything in his power to make sure that was exactly what happened.
He leant over the bed and kissed the top of his son’s head, the few baby-fine strands of hair tickling his nose. He stopped himself from crushing the boy against him, hugging him so hard it would hurt.
“I love you, kiddo,” he said against David’s almost naked scalp. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know, Dad.”
Tom stood and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Abby stirred and opened her eyes, surprised to see him.
“Wow, you’re early,” she said, sitting up and stretching out a kink in her shoulder from where she’d been lying. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”
“Something’s happened.”
Panic blanched her face and she climbed off the cot, her eyes focused on David.
“Oh, no.” He put out a hand to calm her. “Nothing’s happened to David. It’s me. Something happened to me.”
Her fear refocused. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just need to go away for a couple of days,” he paused. “Possibly more.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
Tom stared at the floor, unsure of how to word his plan, despite running this conversation over and over in his head a hundred times before he reached the hospital. Somehow things seemed worse—so much more unreal—now that he actually had to say them aloud.
“Someone has contacted me. Someone from my past.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “What? Like an old girlfriend or something? Are you in trouble?”
“No,” he said hurriedly. “Nothing like that. It’s someone from my childhood.”
“A member of your family?” She looked bewildered and he knew her confusion made her angry. He didn’t want to fight with her in front of David.
“Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “We should talk in the corridor.”
Abby glanced over at David, then nodded.
“We’ll be back in a minute, kiddo,” said Tom. “Your mum and I need to have a chat.”
David gave a small smile and picked up his toy. He clutched the robot to his chest, as he would a soft teddy. “Don’t fight, okay?”
“We’re not fighting, sweetie,” Abby said. “Daddy and I just need to talk about something.”
David looked from one parent to the other like he didn’t believe them. Tom didn’t blame him. The underlying tension in the room simmered. Abby was never going to buy what he had to say.
They stepped out of the room, into the corridor, and Abby pulled the door shut behind them.
She put her hands on her hips. “So, are you going to keep making me play guessing games or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Tom decided to leave out the whole ‘a homeless guy threw himself in front of my car and now wants to take me underground to meet some Watchmen’ incident and tried to stick to the facts.
“A man who was a friend of my mother—my real mother—got in touch and he needs me to go back to where I grew up.”
“Why?”
“For David. He heard about David’s illness and he thinks there might be a way to help him.”
A flicker of hope danced across Abby’s face. “What is he? A doctor or something?”
Tom thought back to Mack’s smelly clothes and his bushy mass of hair. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, hating the lie.
“What hospital does he come from?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he come and visit David himself if he thinks he can help?”
“Things aren’t so simple. He needs me to go to him and I have to go now.”
“When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where exactly are you going?”
He shook his head miserably. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where you’re going?” she said in disbelief. “You can’t just tell me that and expect me to accept it. What if something happens to David? I need to know where you are!”
“I’ll have my mobile with me.” But then he remembered where he was going and how even going into the tube stations rendered the phone useless. “But there’s a chance it won’t work.”
“Bullshit!” she said. “You’re running away. Some old friend has got in touch and you’re using it as an excuse to get away from all of this.”
He shook his head in desperation. “No, you don’t understand. I’m not running anywhere. I need to do this for David.”
Abby moved so fast, Tom didn’t even see it coming. Quick as light, as she stepped forward and her small palm struck him across the cheek, the sound of the slap cracking in his head.
His mouth dropped open in shock and he clutched his cheek where her hand had made contact, heat rising beneath his skin.
“Don’t you dare use him as an excuse,” she spat, shaking with anger.
“I’m not,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He realised how close to tears he was. “I’m doing this for him.”
She stepped away, her hands dug deep in her blonde hair, her chin raised, incredulous. “You think abandoning him now is for him? He needs you here.”
“No, he understands. I explained it to him. He understands.”
Her blue eyes, so similar to their son’s, blazed. �
��He is a seven-year-old boy with cancer! How the hell do you think he possibly understands anything?”
Tears wobbled in her eyes and her whole body shook, but she continued to stare at him in disbelief.
His stomach clenched with anxiety. The last thing he ever wanted was to cause his family more pain. Tom stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He reached out and grasped Abigail’s wrists and pulled her towards him.
“I love you, Abby,” he said, staring into her eyes, as though eye-contact alone would make her believe him. “I love both of you and I would never do anything to hurt you. You have to trust me on this.”
She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held firm. Instead, she stared at the floor, unable and unwilling to meet his eye.
“Fine,” she said eventually. “Do whatever you want.” She pulled her hands away and Tom was forced to let go; he couldn’t hold onto her forever. “Just try to check in with us every now and then … if it’s not too much trouble,” she added, her voice sharpened with sarcasm.
Tom stood, deflated. The purpose he’d experienced earlier had been replaced by confusion and uncertainty. Did he really want to do this? Were Abby’s words the truth and he was using this nonsense as a convenient excuse to run away from all the pressure and responsibility?
A flash of the nightmares that had haunted his dreams his whole life entered his mind and he remembered the name Mack had called him, the name his mother had used. He remembered there was a chance, however small, of making David better.
“Can I at least say goodbye to Davey?”
Abby had half-turned away, unable to look at him, and pretended to be interested in a notice board hung on the wall. “Of course, he is still your son.”
Her words cut him as though she were implying she was no longer his wife.
Tom sighed and turned back to David’s room, his cheek still stinging. He hoped David wouldn’t notice and that he hadn’t heard too much of the fight. He didn’t want to leave him thinking his parents hated each other.
David sat up in bed, pale and worried. Tom smiled at him and David smiled back; an action so simple, yet powerful enough to break Tom’s heart.
“I have to go now, kiddo.”
“Okay, Dad. I do understand even if Mum thinks I don’t.”
Tom’s heart sank, knowing he’d overheard some of their fight, but David reached out and took his hand, his seven-year-old eyes shining with the wisdom of the innocent.
“Everybody needs to know where they come from,” he said.
“Yes,” said Tom. “Yes. They do. Your mum and I just disagree on that.”
“Mum’s only angry because she’s scared.”
“Are you scared, kiddo?”
David shrugged. “Sometimes, but I know you’ll be okay.” He nudged Tom with a bony elbow. “You’re tough.”
Tom grinned. “Yeah. Tough as old boots.”
“Tough as rhino-skin.”
“Tough as your mum’s roast beef!”
David laughed, a beautiful, angelic sound, and hid his mouth behind the palm of his hand. Tom glanced at his alien-looking son. He was as beautiful as the day he’d been born.
Tom leant over and kissed him, his hand crushing the boy’s cheek against his own, his nose buried in the warmth and achingly familiar scent of him.
“Dad!” David protested.
“Be good for your mum,” Tom said, reluctantly releasing his son from his grip. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know and I will.”
“Good boy.” Tom gave him one last hug, not wanting to leave, and then tore himself away.
Abby sat on a plastic chair in the corridor, her head in her hands. She didn’t look up as he walked out of the room and he paused awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether to kiss her goodbye or not.
“Abby—” he started, but she held up a hand to stop him and still did not look up.
Chapter 3
MACK STOOD OUTSIDE of the car. He leant against the bonnet, smoking a roll-up he had filched together from cigarette butts he’d found on the floor.
“Do you have to do that?” Tom asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Still a free country isn’t it?” He puffed smoke out of his mouth in a perfect O. “How did you get on?”
Tom scowled. “How do you think? Abby was thrilled. Let’s just get on with this, so I can get back to my family.”
Mack took one last long drag and flicked the butt on the tarmac where it bounced, sending red sparks against the black road.
“So, what happens now?” Tom asked, pulling open the driver’s door.
“We need to go back down. Not far from here is an entrance to the tunnels.”
“We’re going into the tunnels?” Tom asked, nerves jumping in his stomach. He’d had a strange experience on the London Underground only a few weeks earlier and he didn’t fancy going back down there. “Do you mean the underground tunnels, the ones with trains in them? Sounds dangerous.”
Mack shook his head. “These are old ones. Trains stopped running in them years ago.” He paused. “Doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous though.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
They climbed back in the car and the smell of stale smoke filled the vehicle. Tom opened the window to let in some fresh air.
“Which way am I heading?” he asked, holding his face towards the open window.
“We need to go to Bow. It’s not far from here.”
Tom nodded. “I know Bow.”
“We’ll need to dump the car and do the rest on foot.”
Great, Tom thought, leave the Audi on the streets of Bow. God knows how much of the car would be left by the time they get back.
Bow didn’t exactly have the best reputation.
Tom wondered why he even cared. The car didn’t belong to him. The company car was one of the forms of golden handcuffs offered by his job.
Before long, they were driving up Mile End road, its streets packed with Asian market stalls selling fruits and vegetable, cheap plastic alarm clocks, scarves, and knock-off Gucci t-shirts. Metal poles had been joined together and covered with plastic or canvas to make the stands. Cardboard boxes spilled out on the street.
Dark-faced men, with darker eyes and colourful clothing, sold from the stalls. Women pulled their young children along, protesting and dragging their feet, while they bought the evening’s dinner. If it weren’t for the integration of students—also dragging their feet—and the numerous student bars, they could have been in Mumbai.
They passed Queen Mary’s University on their left and, minutes later, Bow tube station on the other side of the road.
“Take the next right,” Mack instructed.
They drove beneath a bridge, its walls marred with brightly coloured graffiti. A run-down housing estate stood to their right. Row after row of terraced houses made up the estate, with little or no garden to brighten the layout. Beaten-up toys lay in heaps at the front doors, forgotten. A gang of youths hung outside a corner shop, its windows protected with black metal bars. Their heads were huddled together, but they looked up as the Audi passed, watching the car with narrow-eyed suspicion.
The houses disappeared, replaced by the ominous grey curves of headstones. Railings divided the graveyard from the road and a sad-looking church, forlorn and forgotten, stood back from the road. The church looked as though no one had attended a service inside its walls in years. The building seemed to be caving from the inside out, its blank windows watching over its wards with eternal resignation.
Within moments, the graveyard morphed into a park. The park was almost as depressing as the graveyard itself, and just as forgotten. The once brightly coloured swings and monkey bars were chipped and faded, and the horrible grey of London hung over the place.
It had been a long time since a child’s laughter had brightened this place.
Tom was thankful he had the expensive metal shell of the car to protect him from the outside world. S
eeing these places made him consider his own fortune. He’d been lucky to be able to provide a good life for his son and, despite everything else happening to him, David had not grown up in such poverty. Living in a good area, in a decent house with all the material trappings—the widescreen television, the computers, the stereo-system—it became easy to want everything to be bigger and better and forget what it was like to really struggle to make ends meet.
“Pull up over here,” Mack said, jolting Tom from his thoughts. His heart sank as he realised he would be parking the car on the other side of the park, in a badly lit area with no houses overlooking it.
Tom pulled the car up along the side of the curb. To one side, the expanse of the park stretched out. A single storey, redbrick building squatted on the other side of the street. The building’s windows were boarded up and graffiti had been sprayed across the ply-board.
Tom reached into the back seat and picked up his bag. By the time he turned back around, Mack had already climbed out of the car and now waited for him on the footpath. Tom took a deep breath and, resigned, opened his door and got out.
Mack led him across the sparse grass to the far side of the park where six-foot black railings, the paint flaking off, marked the edge. On the other side of the railings, a steep embankment dropped into a gully. The mulch of old leaves lined the bottom. An old supermarket trolley lay on its side, rusting, and a carrier bag of old nappies sat beside it. The bag had split open, the nappies fat and bloated, spilling their innards like guts. Rusted cans, their contents long since used, littered the ground.
Thirty yards down from where they stood, the gaping maw of the tunnel opened as a black hole.
Tom raised his eyebrows at the railings. “Are we supposed to get over those?”
Mack got to his hands and knees and started pulling away at the leaves piled up around the base. Tom stood beside him, arms folded, and quickly Mack revealed a hole dug beneath the railings
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