Page 172 of Into the Dark
My throat heats up as I swallow back my response. The bored teenager across the other side of the room is playing with her hair while her dad, I think, explains how it’s all going to be all right. The mother is less convinced. She has her head in her hands and looks to be crying. They look well-off. Two holidays a year and a double garage, I’ll bet. He’s ripped some people off, most likely. He ain’t murdered anybody, that’s for sure. Doesn’t look the type. Not like I do, for example. When I bring my eyes back to Fred he’s watching me carefully, eyes back to that same calm blue.
“So why am I here? You had something you wanted to say to me—that’s what he said.”
When his lawyer got in touch, he put it to me like a polite invitation. But I knew what it really was. An order.
Still taking orders from him, even now.
“What was it then?” he asks conversationally, the tone and change of direction confusing me for a second. “What she have?”
I tense. I don’t want him thinking about her or talking about her. I want her a million fucking miles away from him and his thoughts and his person and his reach. Which she will be soon. Two days and then we’re out of here. Gone. The boxes are already there, filling up a huge, fully furnished house next to the beach. A blue pool that looked cool and refreshing even on the screen of her laptop. Her sister organized everything. Two days.
Fred urges me to answer with the whites of his eyes.
“A girl,” I say quietly.
His face softens, and he nods. “She got a name?”
I think about not telling him, but then he gives me another look. A look that says, “You stole everything from me, you insolent, traitorous little prick, so don’t fucking tempt me, yeah?”
“Emilia,” I tell him. The space over my chest where the name is marked in dark copperplate font next to Alex’s burns and vibrates as I say my daughter’s name out loud.
“Emilia.” He sighs. “Well, that’s just fucking beautiful, innit?” He sits forward, and I have to try very fucking hard not to flinch. “She look like her mother or you?”
Wicker basket. Bright green unfocused eyes—her mother’s. Full lips—mine. Button nose—Cale. Her hair is a small, circular patch of reddish gold that’s more the shade of Alex’s, but which is getting lighter every day. Alex thinks it’ll darken like hers, but I’m not so sure. Cale’s darkened a little before going blonde. Daddy, she sleeps a lot. Can I hold her? She drinks soo much milk. I don’t like milk. Can I feed her? She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Skin like strawberry milk and smooth like velvet, like Alex’s. Smart, alert eyes like Alex’s.
“She’s more like her mother,” I admit proudly.
“Ahh. A real little princess then.” He nods, smiling. “Good for you, son. Happy for you. Happy for you both—I mean that.” Something sad flickers across his face then, but it’s gone just as quickly.
My spine itches. My arse is clenched. My legs are numb, tight everywhere. This is off. All of it. What the fuck am I doing here? This is what he had to tell me? That he’s happy for me? I’m only here because I felt there might be something noble and honorable in coming. In looking him in the eye and owning up to what I did. Not the Vicky thing—no good could come of owning up to that—but for what I did to him personally. I could at least own up to that.
Now I’m thinking: What the fuck was I on? Alex didn’t want me to come. I knew that. But she said nothing more on it once she knew my mind was made up. As I left, she just told me she loved me.
“Fred…” I shift in my chair, uncomfortable, too hot and leaden with a guilt that I’d just about convinced myself I don’t feel.
I did what I had to do.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think in here, Jay.” He cuts me off before I can say anything more. “More time than I ever had out there. Eight months is a long fucking time in a box with a portable TV and no window. But it calms the mind, it does. Never got a fucking minute to think out there. Always one thing needed sorting or another, always someone wanting one thing or another. Trying to take everything away from you. Shit you think you need. It’s amazing not having anything else they can take away from you,” he says in a tired tone. “Been learning Italian as well. They got some Italian bit that comes in twice a week and teaches us how to ask for wine and bread and tell the time—as if any of us will have the chance to use it. Maybe they want to twist the knife in, sick fuckers.” He laughs a soft laugh that reaches his eyes for a change.
“Fred…” I try again.
“A painting class too. Bloody painting, me!” Another laugh, a shake of his head in disbelief. “Not bad at it either, turns out. Maybe I shoulda been doing that all this blooming time. Coulda been making millions, selling it off to posh wankers with more money than sense.”
“Fred, for fuck’s sake…”
“Just fucking shut up and let me speak, will ya?” He darkens instantly.
I stiffen once more, but my mouth closes in its usual fashion, obedient as always. We stare at each other over the nailed-down metal table for a bit, silent but thinking loud.
“I get why you did it,” he says eventually.
My eyes narrow a little.
He smiles. “I know you inside and out, Jay, always have.”
He knows me inside and out, yet he didn’t know I was planning to sell him up the fucking river. Yeah, Fred, keep telling yourself that, mate.
“You weren’t cut out for all of that nonsense—not really. I tried to make you into something you weren’t. Big Sal said you’d be worth something, and I agreed with him on that. So for years I tried. But you weren’t that. You were never that.”