‘I’m coming there.’
‘You better.’ She hung up.
Delle grabbed my arm. ‘What happened?’
I just shook my head, went to the bedroom. Dragged a T-shirt out of the wardrobe with fingers that were numb and tingling. With my other hand, I dialled my father.
EVAN
Chrissy’s door was ajar. The kid was sitting back in his desk chair watching a chat conversation roll up the screen, Metallica blasting. The room smelt of sweat and Lynx body spray. I was so used to coming in and turning the music down I didn’t even have to look for the knob, did it by feel as I sat on the bed. I steadfastly avoided looking at the cum stains on the sheets beside me and said, ‘Hey, birthday boy.’
‘Hey.’ The kid didn’t look up. Spaced out. He was resting one of our nice crystal tumblers on his belly and sipping from it now and then, something that, from the smell, was probably vodka and Red Bull. The blatant underage drinking was typical Chris. He was in trouble for the paintball shooting. Might as well double down and defiantly drink my stolen vodka in our special glasses right in front of me. ‘Mum’s pissed at you.’
‘Mmm. Well, she’ll get over me abandoning her to go to work faster than she’ll get over you shooting one of your friends in the face, Chris,’ I said. ‘She just showed me the photo. That kid’s not going to school on Monday.’
‘Yeah, so what?’
‘So we need to talk about today. And last night.’
Chris shook his head, blew air out through his thin lips. ‘Man, this is rich.’
‘I know you were in Redbelly last night,’ I said.
‘No, you don’t.’ His words were firm and slow. ‘Because I wasn’t there.’
‘There is only one reason I can think of that you’d lie to me about being there,’ I said. ‘Because you’re afraid of being in trouble. For underage drinking, or for being with someone you’re not supposed to be with, or for anything else that might have gone down.’
‘Dad.’
‘Someone who looks exactly like you caught an Uber into Redbelly last night, just before eight, and bought a drink at the bar. They had a good hard look at the murder victim. That person—’
‘Jesus, fuck!’ Chris suddenly roared, throwing down his drink. The crystal glass thunked loudly on the desktop, sloshing liquid over some papers. There he was: the angry, cornered Chris. The shyest abandoned dog at the shelter, which, if pushed hard enough, could become the most savage creature in the building. He’d always been like that. Bottled up fury. ‘Would youlisten to yourself? I give you an answer to your question and you just keep going at me like I didn’t answer at all. Why am I even talking to you?’
‘Where did you go, if you didn’t go to Redbelly last night?’
‘To Liam’s.’
‘Call Liam on your phone right now,’ I said. ‘Put it on speaker.’
‘No.’
‘Open your Uber app and show it to me.’
‘Make me, bitch!’
Fury sizzled in me. Because I bottled my rage, too, but over the years the lid that kept it down had become old and degraded. I told myself to loosen my grip on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if I’d called my father a “bitch” at your age?’
‘Don’t start down that road.’ He waved a hand at me, eyes back on the screen. ‘You think he’s a terrible person. I get it. I’ve been hearing it for years, how terrible Pop was to you and Uncle Rus. I’ve got news for you:everyonethinks their parents are terrible people. It’s part of life.’
‘Chris.’
‘He never burnt you with cigarettes. He never left you to starve.’
I was starting to shake with rage.
‘He’s never told you that he loves you,’ my son went on. ‘Too bad. Get over it.’
I blew out a measured breath.
