All That Mullarkey

by Sue Moorcroft

  He heard Cleo and Shona come home, Cleo’s bright voice, ‘Gosh, the house is dark. I wonder where Justin is?’ She fumbled her way to the light switch and found him lying silently on the sofa, his arm flung across his eyes. ‘Justin!’

  Shona grizzled and clung, she only ever wanted her mother when she was tired and hungry. Hung about with her, Cleo discarded her bag and struggled out of her coat. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He grunted without moving his arm, keeping the light out and making his eyeballs feel dull and bruised.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I seem to remember some promise of chicken and chips?’

  He groaned. ‘Forgot.’

  A hesitation. ‘I’ll do it. Are you hungry?’

  ‘No.’ And he lay there like a great selfish pig while she bustled round trying to cook something really quickly with Shona dangling round her legs and whingeing. After they’d eaten, Cleo washed up and Shona played and then she bathed Shona ready for bed.

  In all that time all he managed was, ‘I must talk to you as soon as Shona’s in bed.’ He didn’t even kiss Shona goodnight.

  He heard Cleo’s footsteps coming down the stairs. This was it. Time to tell. No escape. He dragged his arm away from his face, blinked, and hauled himself to his feet. Fetched a glass of water. If he didn’t have something to drink his voice might crack.

  ‘What?’ she said, dropping onto the sofa, her eyes huge in her face.

  Miserably, he cleared his throat. ‘More trouble. It’s completely out of order.’ He had to look away from her. He couldn’t meet that calm, direct gaze. Couldn’t watch her expression turn to suspicion. Disgust.

  He took a drink. ‘I didn’t get any warning. Neil called me in and I thought it was going to be something to do with my work, because we’d just been arguing about how to make my little line-drawn guy look as if he could happily exist on the crisps he was scoffing.’ He’d automatically saved his work in progress and trekked off to Neil’s office where Neil was waiting, fidgeting about the room.

  Two men in suits waited with him. Short-haired, clean-shaven. Calm. As if it were their business to be in charge at all times.

  ‘And Neil said, “These gentlemen want to speak to you, Justin. They’re CID.” And I was suddenly plunged into a nightmare. They said –’ He had to force the words past stiff lips. ‘They said that they’d had information that I’m using my office computer and downloading images from the Internet. That I’m part of a distribution circle.’

  He closed his eyes, remembering how he’d felt as if Neil’s office had somehow attached itself to the back of a train and was whooshing, bucketing and rocking around him even while the detective sergeant’s steady voice filled his ears. ‘Can you tell us anything about this, Mr Mullarkey?’

  ‘Images?’ he’d repeated, stupidly.

  ‘Pornographic images. Children.’

  ‘Children!’ His voice had burst out of him at a ridiculous volume, so loud, so harsh he could almost see the words blaze across the air in orange or red. Pantone 185, perhaps. ‘Kiddie porn? You mean kiddie porn? Me?’

  He covered his eyes. Could hear his own voice rising, protesting, as he poured it all out to Cleo. ‘They’re anonymous complaints but CID say they have to establish whether there’s any truth in them. This can’t be happening. Not to me! I told them that this is like all the rest. The police know someone’s doing this stuff. The nuisance calls, the arson at my flat, the set-up to get me arrested at the nightclub. Anonymous again – they must realise this is fabricated. I am absolutely not involved in kiddie porn, it repels me!

  ‘With them and Neil staring at me, I even began to feel guilty! And I agreed to them taking my computer away to have a look. And I had to get my laptop out of the car, too.’

  He’d had no choice but to stand there, clammy with fury and humiliation, with his colleagues looking on, while the police rapidly unplugged leads and gave Neil a receipt and lugged the computer down to their vehicle. No doubt Neil was grateful that the artists all used stand-alone computers so his could at least be isolated.

  He felt tainted, as if his body was crawling with lice, and was sure rage and disgust would dissolve his heart like fat in a pan.

  ‘So, there you go,’ he told Cleo bleakly. ‘I’m under suspicion of dealing in kiddie porn.’ Silence. ‘I expect you’ll want me to leave.’

  With an effort, he uncovered his eyes and looked at her. Yes, if her look of repugnance was anything to go by – the answer would be yes.

  He forced himself to maintain eye contact, desperate not to let this awful unsubstantiated feeling of guilt show in his body language; and desperate not to give way to the dreadful sensation that he’d somehow transmogrified into the repellent beast he was suspected of being.

  He was shocked when Cleo’s dark eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. ‘What kind of people would do this? I thought they were leaving you alone since you moved here.’

  ‘They have, until now. Presumably they’ve lost track of where I’m living so they’re concentrating on where I work.’

  ‘Can’t you change jobs?’

  ‘If there’s a job to leave! It was horrible. No one would meet my eye, Neil tried to find me another computer but all my work was on my own hard drive. The unnatural silence – I don’t suppose the others know what I’m accused of, but CID don’t seize your computer for playing FreeCell at lunchtimes, do they? And I’ve got to go in and face it all again tomorrow.’

  Cleo patted his arm.

  He couldn’t bear her silence. ‘I thought you’d want me to go. To get me away from … from Shona.’

  She frowned. ‘But you haven’t done anything. Have you?’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Oh great, just what she needed when she was late to meet Gav – Liza lying in wait for her in the busy street outside the Ntrain office. As if things weren’t exasperating enough at the moment!

  She pretended to rack her brain, tapping her foot and frowning. ‘Now, what are you doing here?’

  Liza scowled. On such a titchy, fragile-looking person, a scowl was incongruous. ‘I want to talk some sense into you.’

  ‘Too late by about thirty years. Anything else?’ The sisters stared at each other as people brushed past and the rush of the traffic rumbled by.

  Liza folded her arms. ‘What good do you think this will do?’

  Cleo shrugged. ‘It might make him feel better, it might be kind.’

  ‘Kind? It’s one of the unkindest things I’ve heard of. What would be kind would be to tell him, once and for all, that it’s over.’

  ‘He knows that.’

  Liza snorted. ‘Of course he doesn’t! You’re keeping up these stupid dates, letting him hope. And that’s not kind, that’s mean. Push him away and let him move on.’

  Cleo sighed. ‘Gav just wants to stay friends, we’re not going on “dates”. It’s civilised behaviour, that’s all. Don’t you think the fact that I’ve got a daughter with someone else might just be enough to put him off?’

  ‘No. You’re kidding yourself. Gav was always a bad loser and he can’t bear to let Justin get away with you.’

  Cleo fastened her coat against the chill in the winter sunshine and prepared to sidestep her sister. ‘Justin hasn’t got away with me. Don’t be so ridiculous. It’s not that kind of relationship.’ She moved to the road edge, ready to cross.

  Irritatingly, Liza fell in beside her. ‘Where are you meeting him?’

  Cleo sighed. ‘At Myers Hotel – OK? Inquisition over?’

  ‘Myers! Got your gold card handy, have you?’

  A blush warmed Cleo’s cheeks. Myers was pretty grand, she’d been thinking that herself. ‘His treat. To say sorry he upset me, last time.’

  Beside her, Liza nodded in exaggerated triumph. ‘What upset you? Remind me – something to do with Justin, was it?’

  In a few minutes they had reached the two pale-grey marble steps up to the bevelled-glass doors of Myers Hotel
. Through them could be seen more marble, glowing chandeliers and huge waxy plants. And Gav. Waiting. In his good suit. Bugger. She turned to Liza. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work, tweaking clients’ toes?’

  Liza smirked. ‘I’ve got a couple of hours owing.’

  Cleo suddenly felt frustrated that she seemed to be trapped into a routine she didn’t want of meeting Gav. And now defending him to Liza. With a reflex that had its origins in a lifetime’s sibling bickering, she took it out on her sister. ‘Piss off and bother someone else, Liza. When I want your help I’ll book an appointment for some reflexology, OK?’ She snatched at the long brass door handle and swung through the doors into the heavily ornate interior.

  Gav rose to meet her from his seat by a spiky cascade of minty green spider plants in a wrought-iron jardinière, face alight and both hands extended. ‘Hello, darl–– Cleo!’

  She shoved hers in her pockets. ‘Hello,’ she said, shortly. And, aware that Liza was probably still watching through the glass, she started towards the brocade and moulded plasterwork depths of the dining room. ‘Shall we go straight in? Time’s pressing, as usual.’

  Time didn’t seem to be pressing very hard on Gav. He spent ages over a menu that was, naturally, miles more involved than their usual pub-grub choice. She skimmed through and chose pasta in the hope that it wouldn’t take forever to cook.

  But her hopes were groundless because the pasta took an age making an appearance. Or maybe it was Gav’s lamb with new potatoes that slowed things up; but Cleo was almost due back at work before the waiter sailed in their direction, steaming plates in either hand. Sod it, she’d have to stay behind tonight and ring Dora to explain why she’d be late. Unless she could get hold of Justin and he’d fetch Shona? She snatched up her fork.

  Then she had a funny feeling. Acutely uncomfortable. She almost dropped her fork.

  Gav was rubbing one of his calves against hers! She pulled her legs back sharply under her chair. Because it had once been so familiar, she’d been slow to react. She stared at him. He smiled and reached out to cover her hand with one of his, laughing gently. ‘Spoilsport.’

  Her heart began to slither towards her boots, squelching her appetite on the way. She made an effort to extricate her hand. ‘Don’t. And don’t do the thing with the legs.’

  He held on. ‘You’ve always enjoyed it.’

  With her free hand, she picked up the water jug from the rose-pink damask cloth. ‘Let. Go.’

  After a hesitation, he loosed her hand, looking at her with reproachful puppy-dog eyes.

  She ate as quickly as was elegant, trying not to stretch out her legs in case he got chummy again. She refused more wine, dessert and coffee.

  ‘Oh come on,’ he protested. ‘You’ve time for coffee, surely? Nathan won’t miss you for an hour.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’ She wanted, hugely, to get away. It had come to this: she felt uncomfortable in Gav’s company.

  His voice halted her as she searched for her bag beneath her chair. ‘Hang on. I need to talk to you.’

  She lodged her bag on her lap, waiting, keeping firmly to her side of the table in case he began the touchy-feely stuff again.

  His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’ve got a room.’

  Oh no. He didn’t mean what she thought he meant, did he?

  He took a hotel key from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table as if he was bestowing jewels upon her. ‘I’m tired of always discussing our problems in public with a table between us. We need privacy. Time.’ He jiggled the key with his finger. ‘I want us to give it another go.’

  Oh. Shit. He did mean that.

  She stared, at the key, at Gav’s hopeful expression. Liza had been right, why hadn’t she listened? She tried to make her voice gentle and compassionate. ‘Gav, I don’t know where you got the idea –’ Her hands clutched sweatily at her bag at the thought of sharing a bed with him again. She swallowed. ‘I won’t meet you like this any more. I didn’t think this was a heavy talk about problems, I thought it was just a light friendship between exes. We obviously want different things. I suppose you got a lot of what you wanted, when we were together.’ She watched him flinch. ‘But that’s long, long gone. Even if it weren’t for Shona – well, there wouldn’t be any chance.’ She rose, keen to get away from his accusing silence, his eyes.

  Suddenly angry eyes.

  His swift hand grabbed for her wrist as she tried for a discreet exit from the grandly curlicued dining room of Myers. ‘It’ll work if we make it!’ His voice was a harsh hiss. ‘I’ll put up with the child. We can be wonderful again and you can stop that bastard turning up all the time on the pretext of seeing his kid.’

  Heart galloping, aware that forks all over the room had paused in mid-air, Cleo hissed back, ‘He doesn’t have to “turn up” – he’s my lodger.’ She snatched her wrist away and made her escape.

  He caught up with her halfway across the marble foyer under the central chandelier. His voice was raised, furious. ‘You must want your head examining! You’ve let that bastard into your home? And your bed? Him – a pervert for kids! A man who drools over pictures –’

  He hesitated as Liza rose suddenly from a seat between banks of plants. ‘Hello, Gav,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I’ll walk with Cleo, I’m going that way. I think that man in the bow tie wants a word with you.’ She pointed to the waiter, who was steaming in on an interception course.

  So they left Gav stabbing at a credit card machine presented on a scalloped silver salver. And Cleo had to listen to indignant and triumphant ‘I told you so!’s all the way back to the office. And it had begun to rain, slanting into their faces and making Liza madder than ever because her pompoms began to wilt.

  And then the final straw. When Cleo rushed back to her desk, flustered and apologising to the office in general for being late, Francesca removed her switchboard headset to say, ‘But your husband rang ten minutes after you left, and said you wouldn’t be back this afternoon because you’d developed a bug.’

  ‘Ex-husband!’ Cleo snapped. Tricky bastard. Crafty conniver. Who did he think he could manipulate?

  She reached for the Yellow Pages. Now, S … S, for Solicitor.

  ‘I hate to see you like this.’

  Justin looked up dully. ‘If you tell me to cheer up I’ll top myself.’

  Shona was in bed. Cleo and Justin sat at opposite ends of the sofa. The television was on to fill the silence while Cleo chewed her pen over a crossword and Justin stared at a book. As far as she could see, he’d been staring at the same page for twenty-five minutes.

  ‘It’s weird,’ she said. ‘You haven’t smiled in three days.’

  He shrugged, still staring at the book.

  ‘Fancy a beer?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No.’ After a silence, he added, ‘Thanks.’

  The day before had been his thirtieth birthday. He’d condemned any suggestion of a celebration. Cards from family and friends had lain in a sorry heap until Cleo stood them around the room. She made a special dinner of duck in plum sauce, new potatoes and baby sweetcorn and Justin had barely eaten a quarter of his portion.

  Cleo tossed her paper onto the table. It slid off the other side. She glared at Justin. ‘You’re letting them win, you realise? They set out to give you a hard time, they’ve devoted untold hours to it, and now they’ve got the satisfaction of watching you squirm.’

  Slowly, he looked up. For once, his spectacular eyes were dead. ‘I couldn’t manage a squirm if I had the assistance of two nurses and a zimmer frame. They’ve destroyed me. My life’s black and grey, I feel as if I’m breathing in noxious gas. Each day I have to go into the studio and fart about with trivial projects in an atmosphere thick with suspicion. Everyone knows I’ve done something unspeakable, no one knows what it is. They speculate behind my back.’

  Cleo sat up suddenly. ‘You have not done something unspeakable – you’ve done nothing
at all,’ she cried. ‘And when the police bring your computer back they’ll confirm that.’

  With his hand he shaded his face from her eyes. ‘Will they?’

  Something cold and horrible clutched Cleo’s insides. ‘Won’t they?’

  His voice was defeated. ‘What if they’ve got to my computer and nobbled it? Got into the studio and downloaded this filth, hidden the files for the police to find? I’ll go to prison.’

  Her heart began to judder unpleasantly. ‘They couldn’t. Could they? Could they?’

  He slammed shut his book. ‘I’m beginning to think they could do anything. Just look at the fight, the way they framed me. They’ve obviously got some very heavy friends.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

  Cleo hitched up the sofa towards him, taking his hand. ‘You’ve got to battle, Justin. You can’t just give in.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ He lifted her hand, his eyes on their laced fingers. ‘They’ve got me. I can’t fight them because I can’t see them or where the next blow is coming from, they’re invisible, invulnerable. They’re more cunning than me. And they know it.’

  Cleo gusted a huge sigh. ‘They didn’t seem particularly ingenious at first, did they?’

  He laughed a creaky, bitter laugh, a mockery of the joyful cackle of the old Justin. ‘They got better, with practice.’

  ‘But don’t let them get the better of you.’

  Slowly, as if exhausted, he closed his eyes. ‘Cleo, for God’s sake, they already have. They’ve won! Sometimes I look in the mirror at this stranger who gets into knife fights and fantasises over kiddie porn, and I want to set fire to myself.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Monday, and a Powerful Listening workshop. The members of the group were too young and heedless to listen to anything more demanding than James Blunt. The client, a leisure industry giant, had allowed itself to be seduced by the workshop’s groovy write-up instead of analysing what was useful for their employees, and hadn’t been inclined to listen to advice.

  Cleo heard her customary bright and interesting tone rattling out the tried and tested theories, got them going in the role playing, then had to watch them fall about laughing at their own uselessness. Listening wasn’t their thing and they did it badly. She gritted her teeth and by the time she’d finished with them they did it better; but very evidently didn’t see the point and would probably never apply a single thing they’d learnt.