This gets me what I’m after. He rises to his feet like a grizzly bear, under threat and unfolding. His eyes are blazing and his jawis tight as he tosses his bag of sawdust to one side, raises both fists and marches towards me. Instinctively, I take several steps back.
‘Ralf?’
The man’s voice comes from behind him. Dad stops in his tracks and turns to look. A badge on his white shirt reads ‘Deputy Manager’. ‘What’s going on?’ the man asks, surveying the mess.
Dad can’t say anything more to his boss than that he’s sorry and it was an accident.
‘So,’ I shout, ‘you can apologise for some spilled fucking paint, but not for what you’ve done?’
His manager steps in between us. ‘I don’t know what this is about, mate,’ he says, ‘but we have a zero-tolerance policy for customers who abuse our staff.’ He speaks into a walkie-talkie and asks for urgent assistance in aisle 23b.
‘Do you know who he is?’ I ask, pointing to Dad. ‘Do you know what he did? He’s a child killer, and you’ve given him a job.’
The man attempts to hide that this is news to him. ‘Our parent company is part of the government’s Right to Work programme,’ he manages, ‘and our head office decides who is suitable—’
‘I don’t care!’ I bark at him. But before I can continue, a burly woman wearing a black-and-orange security jacket approaches us, assessing the situation with admirable cool. The deputy manager orders her to eject me from the store.
‘He’sthe one you should be kicking out,’ I say, glaring at Dad.
The manager gives me one last chance to exit of my own accord. Realising I’m not going to accomplish anything else here, I make my way along the aisle and towards the sliding entrance doors.
I turn to take one more look at my dad, now back on his hands and knees, scrubbing the crimson-and-white concrete. I can see myself in how pathetic he looks and it’s deeply unsettling. I rub my damp fingers together and see splashes of red paint on them.
We both have blood on our hands.
Chapter 52
Damon
Confronting Dad today has drained every ounce of strength left in me. Maybe even more so than after a drowning, or killing that man in the car park. Which reminds me: before I try to get some sleep, I type into my phone words like ‘landfill’, ‘refuse collection’ and ‘body’, but no news stories appear. If he isn’t found by the end of the week, I don’t think he will be. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to rest with something like that on my conscience. It is beyond my understanding how my dad has lived with what he did to Daisy Barber. Or any of the others if, as I suspect, he was responsible for their deaths, too.
For much of the train journey from Basingstoke to London’s Waterloo, I’m drifting in and out of a hypnagogic state, traversing consciousness and sleep. Luckily a commuter’s briefcase brushes against my knees and stirs me as we pull into the platform. I make my way towards the Northern line where I’ll catch a train home from Euston. At least, that’s the plan. But at the last minute, I drag myself into a carriage heading south.
I’m too exhausted to make the almost two-hour journey to Northampton from here, so I make a snap decision to visit Helena instead and ask if I can crash in her spare room for the night.
When she tried to talk me out of seeing Dad, I let her believe that perhaps I’d listened. It was easier than pleading my case to deaf ears. But I’ll admit to where I’ve been when I see her. I’ll also apologise for taking my frustrations out on her last time. Now I’ve met him, I can sort of understand why she didn’t warn me earlier that Dad wasn’t dead. She didn’t want me to get hurt, either physically or emotionally. And clearly he is every bit as volatile now as he was when he killed Daisy Barber. Helena has my best interests at heart.
As the Tube train enters the tunnel and I catch my reflection in the darkened window opposite, I’m relieved that my fears of seeing Dad in my own appearance aren’t realised.I am not him.Unfortunately, I’m distracted from this gratifying epiphany by finding Mum and all three children sitting on either side of me. I turn to the left to look at Callum first, but the seat is empty. My hallucinations must only available today in reflected form. We five stare dumbly at each other uninterrupted until my train pulls into Lambeth North station, which triggers their vaporous exit.
My phone signal reappears, and I spot a voicemail from Adrienne’s number. It briefly crosses my mind that Melissa can no longer cope with the guilt and has told her girlfriend everything. And now she is gunning for me. I nervously press play.
‘Hey, it’s Ade,’ she says cheerfully, putting my mind at immediate ease. ‘Just a quickie. I wondered if you’d spoken to Mel lately? I sense there’s something on her mind, but each time I ask her, she says she’s fine. Do you think you could check in with her? I’m not asking you to breach any confidences or anything like that. I’m hoping she might tell you if there’s something troubling her. Thanks, hun. See you soon.’
Guilt takes a jab at me. What I’ve put Melissa through is beginning to come between them. Once upon a time, I might have been quietly glad of that. Seeing them together has become easier over the years, but it won’t ever feel painless. I’m reminded of how I was introduced to Adrienne. It was at AJ and Nisha’s engagement party. AJ asked in advance if I was comfortable if they invited my ex and Adrienne. I wanted to tell him ofcourseit was going to make me feel awkward, that seeing the woman I loved being around the womansheloved was going to destroy me. But I didn’t. Instead, I kept up a facade all night to prove to our friends I was capable of behaving like an adult, while the child inside me sobbed in a corner.
I think Adrienne was more nervous than I was when Melissa introduced us. She was smart, funny, self-deprecating and beautiful, and it wasn’t hard to see why Melissa had fallen for her. I tried to find fault and hate everything about her. It was impossible. By the end of the night, the three of us were doing Sambuca shots together at the bar. In the meetings that followed, I’d find myself absent-mindedly staring at Adrienne, wondering what she had that I didn’t, and what had led Melissa to fall so deeply for her. It never took long to arrive at half a dozen good reasons.
Even now, a small part of me resents Adrienne for giving Melissa what I can’t. But if I don’t manage it, if I allow it fester, I’ll lose out. Having only a part of Melissa in my life is better than having no Melissa at all. Which is what I risk now with my demands on her. She was right to have branded me a selfish arsehole for missing that clinic appointment, because that’s exactly what I am.
I let out a long sigh as the reality of my situation kicks in. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. This constant need to try to find out more about myself is taking away more of me than it’s adding. Helena was right to ask me if the truth is worth dying over. If seeing visions of the dead has benefitted me in any way. The answer to both questions is a resounding no. All I’m doing ispunishing myself and those closest to me. Meeting my dad was the final straw. If I continue in the way I am, I fear this will ultimately destroy me. I must find a way to focus on the future, on making things right with Melissa and preparing for parenthood. If it’s not too late.
Shortly after I exit the Tube, I arrive at Helena’s house. After being attacked, I’ve developed the habit of checking over my shoulder to see if anyone is following me. Night is falling and when there’s no answer at her door, I let myself in again with the hidden key. My voice echoes through the gloomy hall and I enter the lounge. She’s not there. I flick on the switch to see more clearly, but no light appears. I try another switch and it’s the same. I find the fuse box in a cupboard under the staircase and it’s still switched to ‘on’. Outside, the neighbours’ windows aren’t illuminated, either. There must’ve been a power cut.
‘Helena?’ I shout again, and gingerly remove my phone from my pocket and switch it to torch mode. Still no reply. I check upstairs, but I’m alone.
On a table next to her armchair in the lounge, a Dictaphone and a brown, sealed, padded envelope catch my eye. My name is written across the front of the latter. Curious, I open it. Inside are seven small cassettes, each containing my name on the inlay card as well as the label stuck to the tape. There’s a note, too.
Helena,
