‘Oh, Jesus.’
The phone crackled. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘They told us today that the project I was supposed to be assigned to has fallen through. They’re trying to put a bid together to salvage it but it’ll be a few months until it gets off the ground, if at all. I was going to talk to you, and say that you’ll have to take the strain for a bit.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you get it Ben?’ she hissed, her voice rising. ‘You blowing your top with Kraver might just have ruined us!’
‘Juliette,’ I shouted. ‘I am fighting for my livelihood here, for you and I as well as for Marine. What the hell else did you expect me to do, after all we’ve heard about Walker? Just let it lie? Leave him free to hurt someone else’s daughter?’
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard her use my name, before she hung up.
TWELVE
THE NEXT DAY all I could do was walk around the city, in a state of numbness. My feet pulsed into the ground, my agitation lost in useless steps which led to no resolution.
I can remember returning to our house, and being struck by how our once-vibrant home had changed. A low hum was throbbing through it, and I couldn’t locate where the sound was coming from. We live in a world of many alarms, none of which sound our true concerns. Everything in the house - the tick of the grandfather clock, the pace of Juliette’s movements - had slowed to a funereal pace. As I put my keys on the glass table, the noise so loud that I wondered if I had cracked the surface.
A letter on the doormat confirmed that the Fitness To Practice hearing would be in two and a half weeks’ time. It said that I would be issued with something called an ‘Interim Prohibition Order’. Banning me from teaching until the enquiry had concluded. It did not detail why I was having my fitness scrutinised all of a sudden. The only reference to any charges against me was one line towards the end. ‘At the hearing we will be discussing the appropriateness of your behaviour on campus’, it said.
Juliette appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, holding Christian’s hand. She was dressed in a scarlet cardigan, one which I remembered her wearing when we first took Marine for dinner at a restaurant. At the end of the meal Marine had slept in its thick folds, Juliette tenderly kissing her head as her daughter fell still. I shook my head angrily, trying to dispel the searing pain that accompanied the memory. Juliette saw my reaction and took a step back.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
She let go of Christian, and looked at the floor.
‘I’m waiting for your apology,’ she whispered.
The thought of Marine’s light snore, coupled with the sudden recollection of Kraver’s incessant smile, forced a flare of anger through my insides. It ignited in my mouth.
‘You want me to apologise?’ I roared. ‘I’ve been trying to get us some justice!’
Juliette nodded, her eyes tracing the shape of the panels on the floor in saccadic movements. Christian began to cry. Juliette looked down at him, and nodded to herself as she walked into the kitchen. When she came back she was holding out a small envelope that had recently been ripped open.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘Came in the post this morning. Read it.’
I pulled out the tattered piece of paper, and as I unfolded it, Juliette’s eyes watched me for a reaction.
On a small white postcard had been typed:
STOP DIGGING FOR TROUBLE. YOUR DIGGING IS ABOUT TO CAUSE YOUR FAMILY SUFFERING YOU CANNOT IMAGINE.
‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Who would have sent this?’
Juliette shook her head, disappointed by my response. ‘So many people Ben. The police, worried that their insufficient investigation could come back to haunt them? Someone at the school’s board of governors? Paul Kraver?’
‘It’s Kraver.’
‘Don’t make this personal. You really think he’d risk it?’
‘I don’t think anyone else would risk getting caught. I’ll get him for this.’
‘Get who, Daddy?’ Christian asked.
She shook her head, hard. ‘Ben, is anger your only reaction? Why do you have to do the one thing we’ve been told not to do?’
‘Well what would you have me do?’
As she kept shaking her head a kind of hysteria began to grip her. Her shoulders shook. I reached forward to hold her. Calm her.
‘Juliette, stop it. Come on, it’s okay.’
‘No,’ she said, pointing a shaking finger at me. ‘I’ve already lost a daughter to these people and I’m not going to see them get my family again.’ She fixed her eyes on me and began shaking her head. ‘No. No,’ she stammered.
‘What do you mean? We have to fight this!’
‘If you insist on fighting this, Ben, you won’t be doing it under my roof. Not while filth like this is coming through my letter box!’
‘What?’
‘Ben, I’ve made a decision,’ she said. ‘This fight has become too vicious.’
‘I agree,’ I said, holding my hands out. ‘This is probably the toughest time of our life, Juliette, right now. But, don’t you see? This fight has to happen. We can’t let another family go through what we’ve suffered out of fear of speaking out. We have to find out what happened.’
‘I don’t care about other families,’ she said, firmly, closing her eyes. ‘I care about what’s left of mine. I am not letting you turn this home into a battle ground.’ She firmly massaged a tuft of Christian’s hair, which stood up defiantly after every stroke. With big eyes Christian looked between us. ‘I couldn’t control what happened to Marine, but I’m going to make damn sure Christian doesn’t suffer as well,’ she said.
‘What are you saying?’
She kept her eyes shut.
‘Ben, just for now, I think you should stay somewhere else.’
+ + + + +
That afternoon, the spell broke. I left the house, with just a few possessions in a holdall, sure that the world no longer possessed any magic.
I closed the door behind me, and waited for Juliette to rush outside and pull me back in to the home we’d built. As I stepped down onto the street I gradually realized that she was not going to do that.
I was unable to think rationally, to consider what hotel I should stay in. I parked my car on the edge of the city, leaving my bag, and I walked, almost as if drugged, towards the lights of the town. I had hoped to spend the evening planning my strategy but I had more pressing problems now. I didn’t know what to do, and some silent intuition had taken over.
It was that subdued part of the day- when the lights in cafes have been switched off; but before garish pubs illuminate the dark.
It was only during that walk that I started to see behind the scenes of real life. Walking on the bridge into the city I passed a man thumbing a battered acoustic guitar as he sang ‘Waterloo Sunset’. He was trying so hard to charm the blithe passersby with his tribute to another place, and to a forgotten time. Behind him, the water quietly shimmered. A harsh backdrop in which nothing was reflected.
As people passed him by, in a thick stream, I thought of the world as one huge tide. Each droplet within it another distinct person. It was a tide that heaved, building power and intent, before inexplicably falling apart, then starting to gather once again. Some waves congregated at the musician’s feet, dropped money, and then were washed away. I saw then that people were just glad to be part of a wave, glad to be moving, glad to acknowledge that they were part of a sea. As the man turned into himself, blowing his hands against the cold, I wondered if people had to act in waves - to retain a sense of their own essence. At that moment the lone singer was divorced from the purpose of his sentiments. No one wanted to hear from them, and he knew it. His words rang out over an isolated river. He was a solitary drop, exposed enough to evaporate or be wiped away.
I stood over the river, at the place at which the bridge met the pavement and the city began. I peered over the edge into the darkness. Looking closely, I watched that silvery mas
s mix into itself. I moved closer to the edge.
The temptation to throw myself over, to have that swaying body anaesthetize me with the comfort of death, was so powerful.
I didn’t want to fight any more. I didn’t want to be separated from home. More than anything I had never wanted my family to be harmed. But it had been harmed, permanently. Now, by trying to fight for justice over that, I was causing them to be harmed even further. But what sort of a person would give in, and let them get away with it?
As I looked down at the river, I could see the wager. I could see the energy and fight and belief that I needed, to win. I knew, deep within my soul, that at that moment I didn’t have what was required. I would lose the fight, but I would go down trying. The worst outcome possible was what would occur. Harder still, no one would lament my loss. They would say ‘he was a fool for trying’. But I knew it would cause me such torment not to fight. Standing there I could see the whole torrid transaction still to come.
I stepped closer to the edge, the pain building up within me. Ready to break in a poisonous wave. Just jump, I thought. Jump, and soon it’ll all be over. The uncertainty, the pleading, the planning, the pain.
My feet shuffled against the wall, as I worked out how to mount it. I momentarily thought of Christian. Of Marine, smiling. Her eyes laced with salt on that cool island beach. When pain was unimaginable. I pictured her expression. What would she say if she could see me now?
‘Daddy, what are you doing?’
I stepped back, tears streaking my face. But the seductive power of the water seemed irresistible. I wanted it wrapped around me. I could jump, I thought, and it would at least buy me time. But Marine’s smile flashed into my mind. ‘No,’ I said.
I rarely bothered to pray. I had only prayed once, when Marine was born. I had prayed for her to be protected by the universe. Even then it seemed a dumb request. Now the universe had rejected my plea I saw little point in praying now. But I did, standing there on the edge.
As I stood a step back I released a small prayer.
‘I won’t kill myself tonight,’ I whispered. ‘But if it gets any worse, then I will. I have lost it all. Give me something to stop me coming back to this bridge again.’ I looked up at the sky, and saw that it was empty, and I pulled myself away from the edge.
My phone bleeped. Phillip.
I’m worried about you. And not just because you dress like a celebrity chef on a daytime chat show. Can you call me?
I laughed, gritted my teeth, and turned towards my car.
THIRTEEN
I COULD SEE, from his reaction, that I must have been hollow-eyed when I arrived at his flat.
‘What Hammer Horror flick were they filming today then?’ he asked.
‘I can’t look that bad,’ I said, trying to swing my bag over his threshold.
‘It’s not you that’s bad,’ he said, with a soft smile.
I wasn’t used to him being this accommodating, and I suspected it would be a fight for him to sustain it.
‘What do you mean?’
He exhaled. ‘I know Juliette is grieving, but I think throwing you out right now is pretty unforgivable. She should not be abandoning you. It’s your family. Your house as well.’
‘Only until we default on the mortgage in a month’s time. She’s ended it, Phil.’
‘It will pass, you know that. Come on, get in here.’
‘No, I don’t know that. I don’t know how to even begin to fix this situation.’
‘You can begin by moving in here for a bit,’ he said, frowning. He fished through his pockets, and handed me a set of keys. ‘You always have a place, even if it is just a punctured futon. I bet you’ve come to the same conclusion as me about who sent that awful postcard?’
‘I expect so,’ I said.
He seemed to want to say something, but years of rivalry caused a blockage. A low buzz of anger emanated from his eyes. I had never seen it before. I saw then that there was an anger in Phillip regarding injustice in the world. But he seemed to struggle to find the words to express it. Except in his stand-up, perhaps.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Come on, Ben. Tonight, we’re going to shake off your problems. I have just the ticket. We’ll party like we’re nineteen again.’
That evening Phillip was performing a one-off stand-up gig for charity in the City Hall. He’d put two tickets aside for Juliette and I, and he insisted that I still use mine ‘Can you meet Violet in town?’ he asked. ‘Give her Juliette’s ticket? I want her to see my show. I think she’ll like it.’
As I waited for Violet, by the statue of Neptune in the square, I wondered if Phillip had been right about Juliette. In a world of chaos, perhaps it is a bad gamble to commit to one person. One false turn and you can be left teetering on the gaping morass.
I took in the crowd. This shimmering shoal, winding their way past, sticking together. The windows of each shop appeared like glassy voids. Ready to suck the curious into their consumerist whirl.
This is life, I thought. Scattered with whirlpools.
FOURTEEN
‘YOU LOOK FROZEN,’ a voice said.
I looked up and recognized Violet, a stylish woolen hat pushing her fringe onto her eyelashes. As she leant in to hug me I took in her scent, and noticed the pastel blue nail varnish that clasped my shoulder. She was like a treasure-box of femininity, the lid askew enough to shed some of its gold light.
‘We’ve got ages before the gig,’ she said, taking in the swirling masses. ‘What do you reckon, shall we get a drink?’
‘We’ll need it, if we’re going to find Phillip funny for a whole hour,’ I said.
She chuckled, and we moved into the throng.
The city now seemed submerged into its own essence, silver light reflecting off its windows and rivers. We trailed up a cobbled street and peered in at the slightly wonky bars, all full of the low murmur of intimacy and discretion.
‘We could have a swift one in here,’ Violet said, placing a clumsy mitten against a steamed window.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why this one?’
‘Because I used to barmaid in here and the manager was dead sexist, talked down to me all the time.’
‘But surely you want to avoid it then?’
She smiled, wanly. ‘Nah. I fancy going in with a famous celebrity and seeing his reaction.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ I said.
She went inside, and I followed. Sure enough, the flinty exchange between Violet and the doughy man behind the bar suggested some smothered resentments.
‘Let’s get a couple of cocktails,’ I said.
She nodded, and adjusted her hat. ‘You sound like man trying to drown something?’ she said as she peered, on tiptoes, at the contents of the optics.
‘Or a man just trying to drink something,’ I said.
‘You sure about that?’ she asked, tilting her head as she chose a drink. I wondered how much she knew, and how much she had intuited. There was something in her squirming, in the dogged determination to keep probing, that suggested sexual intensity.
We found a small booth at the back of the pub, where the slow advances of people in the lane outside were only just discernible. I had envisaged that evening that I wouldn’t be able to socialize, but Violet’s presence invigorated me. After our first meeting I had marked her down as vaguely pretentious. But what I had taken as pretension now seemed to be an admirable sense of aspiration.
‘So, did you enjoy your Almost Famous moment?’ I asked, as we set down the bright cocktails.
‘You know, not as much as I thought I would. Perhaps because you’re not famous enough. Maybe you need to go on Big Brother, or Celebrity Love Island. Raise your profile a bit.’
‘One of those shows where they pair you up with some other D-lister in the hope of sparking a romance?’
‘Nah, you’re not D-List,’ she said, mock-aghast.
‘Just out of curiosity then Violet, where am I?’
�
�Well you’re not A-list,’ she said, taking a strong sip. ‘Oh, that’s pretty good. So A-list is like Tom Cruise. B list - I don’t know, Ryan Giggs?’
‘If you have to sleep with your wife’s brother to reach the B list, I’m not interested.’
‘Ha. C-list, Chris Evans? So, I’d say right now, you’re stranded somewhere between B and C.’
‘I had no idea I sat so high in the alphabet.’
She leant back, but her perfume closed around me. Its grip was strong. I suddenly had a very clear vision of Violet, focused as she worked behind the bar. Planning for something more, as she poured pints. Inspecting the world outside with narrowed eyes.
‘You don’t know how famous you are, do you?’ she said.
‘I can’t be that famous. But what about you?’ I asked. ‘Was finding the lost pages of that diary all part of a grand plan to reach the A-list?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m just trying to keep my chin above water,’ she said. ‘I was the first person in my family to even go to university. Doing this Masters is so far ahead of the plan that I’m just trying to keep going. You know, trying not be found out.’
‘Wow. You must be smart. Or have worked incredibly hard.’
‘Yeah. Both, you know,’ she said, feigning nonchalance. ‘But I’m sure you’ve worked hard to get to where you are too, Ben?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And all you want is to know it’s not in vain?’
‘Yeah. Now more than ever,’ I said.
‘I sensed that,’ she said, looking down at her drink.
‘Why do you say that?’
She titled her head back. I noticed how her lips, falling into a natural pout, had a cherubic quality to them. Her eyes now seemed less curious, and more visionary. They betrayed within her something that I suspected had never been played out in the real world, and perhaps only fleetingly grasped in her own mind.
‘The first time I met you, you looked pained,’ she said.
‘I’m still in the thick of something.’
An Honest Deceit Page 9
