Away from Blair I can think more clearly. See a bigger picture that emerges from beneath the grim mist we’ve been left with since new year. One that has more questions than answers.
Ben has been gone seven days and we’ve no idea where he is. No message, no sightings, nothing. He is, to all intents and purposes, dead and no one wants to consider any other possibilities.
I press my thumbs and forefingers together, feeling a pinch, a bite of hurt as I wait for the man I’m meeting, someone who could make my skin crawl if I chose to let him.
“Isaac.”
His name on my lips no longer makes me want to bow my head and ask for forgiveness I know I never needed.
“Lucas.”
We don’t shake hands. We walk through a labyrinth of side streets, narrow passageways that only the locals and the pickpockets know about, and the politicians.
There’s a door that looks innocuous enough; the paint peeling and tattered, no number or knocker because you’ll only be allowed in if they’re expecting you.
It’s seedy and pristine and a place that harbours secrets like a sugar addict has sweets. You have to need to know about it and I’ve needed to know.
It was the place I first met my father.
The door opens and a smiling woman who looks like she was a cleaner in the seventies stands there, saying nothing. This is Veronica and she owns the place and all of our tongues. The walls here don’t talk, they don’t listen and they never see a thing.
Lucas follows me down a set of stairs to a narrow darkened corridor with doors on either side. I walk until I find the open one, number twelve and my room of choice because there’s nothing next door apart from a cleaning cupboard that’s too small for anyone to hide in.
I’m not paranoid. I’m realistic and I’d rather avoid a situation than firefight. Like now.
“Your father is concerned.”
I take a seat and get ready for the show.
“He wants me to speak with you.”
“To me, you mean.” I scatter the bait.
Lucas gives a small huff that tells me he’s spent too long with my father recently and has absolutely no patience for me.
“Withyou.”
“Oh, fuck off, Lucas. We both know that my father wishes constantly that I was as much of a puppet as William.” I reach in my jacket pocket for a packet of cigarettes. I never smoke, unless it’s something to do with the sperm donor and his demands. Needs.
“He doesn’t. You know that.”
I flick the lighter open and spark up. The scent of tobacco reminds me instantly of Ben and I feel pain in my chest.
“Let’s move on from our differing theories about Mr Goldsmith Senior.”
“Sir Goldsmith. Didn’t you see the New Year’s honours?”
I hadn’t, because I’d been searching for one lover and fucking the other. “He was knighted? What the fuck for?”
Lucas’ nose wrinkles as he hates swearing, just not enough to work for someone other than my father. “There’s no need to be crass, Isaac.”
I don’t even try not to smile.
“What was he knighted for then, my dear father?” I let my Cornish accent become stronger, mainly because I know that also pisses Lucas off.
“Services to the country. His political career.” Lucas sounds vague. I wonder how much my father paid or if someone was gullible enough to do it thinking my father was the saint he made himself out to be.
“My father must be very pleased.”
