Something had changed. I knew it.
QC was in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, stiff-armed. Coming through the gate, I caught his eye and got nothing back—not a blink, not a crease, not a sideways glance. Glazed is not the right word for how he looked. It was as though he’d been suspended in formaldehyde.
Passing the windscreen, I could see my father in the backseat with Chloe. They were packed in close to one another—weirdly so, I thought. As I opened the door to get in, I got a fuller sight of them. She was sitting upright, leaned into the crook of his left arm. Her lips were so pursed they were translucent, and she was breathing only through her nostrils—fast little puffs and gasps. I believe that she was trembling. His right arm was strained across his stomach so his fist could reach the shallow in between her hip and ribs. ‘And you claimed you didn’t need to go,’ he said to me. ‘How much of that tea did you drink, anyway?’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘Well, don’t just stand there, Danno. Get in.’
‘My bag,’ I said. ‘It’s—’
‘Stuff it in the footwell. There’s tons of room.’
I did as I was told and put my seatbelt on. QC was already buckled up. After I settled next to him, he finally moved to look at me. His whole face was an apology. ‘Where now?’ he said to my father.
‘That’s up to Daniel.’
Chloe’s breathing was not getting any slower.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked her, twisting round.
My father flinched, tugging her backwards. ‘She’s never been better. Have you, Chloe?’ When she didn’t respond, he tugged her again. ‘Have you?’
And in one broken note, she said: ‘No.’
QC turned on the engine.
‘Take it slow,’ my father said. ‘Or you know what happens.’
The car rolled back, crunching the gravel chips. We were facing the long steep slope of the road. ‘So, it’s up to you, Daniel,’ said QC. ‘Tell me where to drive, we’ll go there.’
I didn’t understand.
I couldn’t think of anywhere.
‘Home,’ I said. It came out with a question mark.
QC glared at the rear-view. ‘You hear that?’
‘Yeah, I heard him,’ said my father. I had never known his voice to sound so hollow before that moment. His pretence of goodness had diminished. I had the outermost of him and nothing more.
‘So? What’s the plan? What do I do here?’ said QC.
‘We’re not going home yet. Ask him again. Oi, Danno—’ My father kicked the back of my seat. ‘Danno.’ He kicked it again and I turned. He had the Stanley knife this time, raised up in his fist like a Drifter he’d bought for me and wanted to unwrap. ‘You see this? You see what I’ve been forced into?’ Chloe spluttered, trying to angle her cheekbone away from the blade. He dropped the knife back to her side. ‘I was thinking we’d drive north for a bit. See a bit of greenery,’ he said. ‘How’s that sound to everyone? Good?’
I was already crying. ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘Dad. What are you doing?’
But all he had to say to me was: ‘Get the atlas out then, son. Go on. Sit back and show QC how well you navigate.’
Of course, stories told at knifepoint are unreliable, and I would be misguided to recount the words she was coerced o into saying that afternoon without first stating that I know how much she censored them—for his benefit, and for mine. Except the feeling grew in me, the further we drove, the more he compelled her to speak, that Chloe was telling me a version of events she knew I’d sieve the truth from, maybe not right away, but in the future. She was banking on it, I suspect. And that’s why it’s important to relay the things she told me in the car—to make it clear how shrewd she was, how brave. I want you to know everything.
For a while, we drove without conversation, just the abject noise of my father’s whistling, and my telling QC when to turn, which exit to take. We were headed towards the Pennines. ‘Somewhere up there. Anywhere, I don’t care,’ were my father’s instructions. Chloe’s stuttered breaths went on until we found our way to the A660—I had my finger on the vein of it, but didn’t know at what point I was expected to stop tracing the route. Outside, there were rows of houses with nice hanging baskets, drystone walls and bus shelters, corner shops, opticians, squat yellow boxes of grit for the roads: civilised things, decent things. Inside, was my father and his Stanley knife.
We got as far as Ilkley before QC piped up. I suppose he couldn’t stop himself. ‘Can I ask you something, Francis?’ he said.
My father cleared his throat, as though awaking from a nap. ‘I think you just did.’
‘Look, the least you can do is tell us what you’re hoping to get out of this.’
‘I don’t really know yet.’
‘You don’t know yet,’ QC said. ‘That’s great. That’s fucking great.’
‘Proof, I suppose. That’d be a start, wouldn’t it?’
‘Of what exactly?’
‘Of the fact that I’ve been royally fucked over by the universe.’
‘Is that all? Jesus Christ, mate. Join the club.’
‘You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I don’t.’
‘No, you don’t. They don’t teach you it at fancy schools like yours.’
‘I got kicked out of mine, but okay.’
‘Yeah, mate, you had it rough.’
‘It wasn’t all plain sailing, trust me. And what d’you call this, by the way—a picnic?’
I knew this sort of goading would only make my father twice as determined. I hoped that QC would shut up again.
‘I think you need to do this girl a favour and stay out of it,’ my father said. ‘I’m not sitting here to have my head examined. Especially not by you.’
QC went quiet.
I tried to make a plea of my own. ‘Dad, you need to tell us why you’re doing this.’
‘That’s pretty clear, I think,’ he said.
‘But this isn’t like you.’ I didn’t believe it even as I spoke it.
‘I don’t know if you’re right about that, son.’
Chloe made a tooth-sucking sound, as though he’d pressed the blade a little closer.
‘I don’t understand it,’ I said. ‘Any of it.’
‘I know you don’t. That’s part of the reason I’m doing it, Dan.’ And I heard the drag of his elbow against the backseat as he hauled her in. I turned to check on them. Her chin was squeezed in his left hand. He was puckering her cheeks like a kid with a doll, and she was trying not to resist. ‘Tell him,’ he said to her. ‘Tell him what you did to me.’
‘She can’t speak if you’re holding her face like that,’ said QC, eyeing the mirror.
‘No one’s talking to you, Barnie.’
‘Then let her go.’
‘Are you trying to make me hurt her? Shut the fuck up.’
QC went quiet again.
I was still craning my head back to look at them. His hand slid down to her shoulder, and she exhaled with relief, or disgust, or both. ‘Turn round,’ he said to me, ‘you’ve got a map to read. And, anyway, I want you to listen, not gawp at her. This is the most important conversation you’ll ever have, believe me, so just follow orders.’
I was afraid to do anything else.
‘Go on,’ he urged her. ‘Don’t leave out the bit where you completely fuck me over.’
After a moment, she said, ‘okay, okay. I . . .’ and broke off. Her voice had dried up, and so had her lips. ‘I don’t know—what you want me—to say.’
‘Start with how we know each other. The rest follows from there.’
‘I can tell him that,’ said QC.
‘I told you to shut up.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I want him to hear it from her, idiot. Just drive the fucking car.’
She managed to collect her thoughts enough to speak, despite it all. I was amazed by her. There was something of my mother’s attitude in
Chloe, a deep-lying toughness. It’s doubtful that they’d ever have been friends, the two of them, but still—put them in a room without my father, they might well have found some other common ground. I like to imagine these conversations sometimes. I prefer to dream up words she did not speak than think of those my father forced into her mouth.
HIM:
Tell him what you do on the show. Go on. That’s a good place to start.
HER:
Make-up.
ME:
Dad, please. This isn’t right.
HIM:
Don’t undersell yourself, Chlo. You’re an artist.
HER:
Assistant.
HIM:
She’s an Assistant Make-up Artist. Tell him whose make-up you do.
HER:
Everyone’s.
HIM:
Come on, don’t be coy about it.
HER:
Maxine’s.
HIM:
She does Maxine Laidlaw’s make-up. Well, she helps. You do her scars and everything, don’t you, Chlo?
HER:
Yes. And her eyes.
HIM:
What about her hands?
HER:
And her hands.
HIM:
What d’you think of that, Dan?
ME:
It’s nice.
HIM:
Nice? You can do better than that.
ME:
It’s cool.
HIM:
It is cool. Now—tell him how we met. Who pursued who?
HER:
On set. I saw you.
HIM:
Where?
HER:
In the queue. For coffee.
HIM:
And who else was in that queue?
HER:
A few others.
HIM:
You don’t remember?
HER:
No.
HIM:
Declan Palmer.
HER:
Right. Declan Palmer.
QC:
He’s one of the producers.
ME:
I know.
HIM:
How d’you know?
ME:
I watch the credits every week.
HIM:
See, Chloe. See how much of a fan my lad is? You thought I was exaggerating.
ME:
Dad, you’ve got to stop this. You’re hurting her.
HIM:
Hush. We’re just getting warmed up. Tell him what you said in the coffee queue.
HER:
I said I liked the way you worked.
HIM:
And what did you mean by that exactly?
HER:
They’d asked you to build something quickly and you did it.
HIM:
What was it? The thing I had to build?
HER:
I don’t remember.
HIM:
Course you do.
HER:
[. . .]
QC:
A step in Cryck’s compartment. So Maxine could reach higher.
HIM:
Shut up. She’s telling it.
HER:
I was waiting for them to re-light the scene.
HIM:
There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
HER:
I thought you were nice. I liked how confident you were.
HIM:
It’s all coming out now. That’s it.
HER:
You were handsome.
HIM:
All right, I’m not looking for compliments. Just stick to the facts. Who pursued who?
HER:
I pursued you.
HIM:
That’s important to remember, Daniel. She pursued me.
QC:
Yeah, skip to the bit where you cheat on her.
HIM:
I swear to god, if you don’t shut it—
ME:
Please. Stop. Keep out of it.
QC:
[. . .]
HIM:
How long did we go out for after that, Chloe?
HER:
Five months.
HIM:
No. Try that again.
HER:
We were never really—
HIM:
What’s that? Say it louder so everyone can hear you.
HER:
We were never really together.
HIM:
Repeat that again.
HER:
We were never together.
HIM:
Wow. So quick to admit it all of a sudden.
HER:
I thought we were, but we weren’t.
HIM:
You wanted something serious.
HER:
Yeah.
HIM:
But I didn’t. I was quite straightforward about that, wasn’t I?
HER:
Yeah.
HIM:
So, what were we to each other, then—friends?
HER:
I don’t know.
HIM:
Of course you do.
HER:
I can’t say in front of—
HIM:
Dan’s a big lad. And he likes to know things, don’t you, Dan?
ME:
[. . .]
HER:
We slept with each other.
HIM:
How often?
HER:
A lot.
HIM:
Eight times. Is that a lot?
HER:
Yes.
HIM:
Is it really, though?
HER:
No.
HIM:
You wouldn’t say we were an item, then?
HER:
[. . .]
HIM:
Don’t make me repeat myself.
HER:
No. Like I said. We weren’t together.
HIM:
You didn’t have any right to think of it that way, did you? We weren’t a couple.
HER:
No.
HIM:
So then explain to Daniel why we couldn’t get on set today.
HER:
[. . .]
QC:
You’ve missed about ten steps there, Fran.
HIM:
Shut up.
HER:
That was down to Palmer, not me. I—
HIM:
Turn round, son. Keep your eyes on the map.
HER:
I made a mistake.
HIM:
You made a mistake. What kind of mistake?
HER:
I accused you of something.
HIM:
How were you sure I did the thing that you accused me of?
HER:
Huh?
HIM:
Simple question.
HER:
I don’t know. Because I saw you.
HIM:
Have you had your eyes checked recently?
HER:
What?
HIM:
Did you come and speak to me about what you saw? Or did you just blab right to Palmer?
HER:
No, no. I—
HIM:
What?
HER:
I didn’t speak to you. I just told Palmer.
HIM:
Yeah, you’re pretty good at telling tales.
HER:
[. . .]
HIM:
So don’t be all vague about it. Explain to Daniel what I’m supposed to’ve done. If you were so positive about it all, you can stand by it now, can’t you? Paint him a picture.
HER:
[. . .]
HIM:
I’ll fill in the background, if you like . . . It was back in March. At the studios.
HER:
Yeah. Okay.
HIM:
Why w
as I there?
HER:
I don’t know.
HIM:
To get the Bloors’ house out of the stores and put it up again.
HER:
Okay. Fine.
HIM:
There were re-shoots. Everyone got called in except Maxine.
HER:
Yeah. Right. It was back in March. Re-shoots.
HIM:
QC—this would be the perfect time for you to talk.
QC:
What is it you want me to say?
HIM:
That you were there with me.
A Station on the Path to Somewhere Better Page 14
