Am I Right or Am I Right? (14 page)

“Mike? Who is it?”

Vanessa’s dad turned to the side and I could see into the room behind. This whole experience had made me sick, but things suddenly took a turn for the worse. The Fridge walked out from a room and moved toward the front door, her expression changing from mild concern to shock as she recognized me.

I turned and ran.

See Calma run.

Chapter 23

Trying to move the Fridge

I sat on the floor in front of the television, watching a program on the mating habits of the aesthetically challenged lesser spotted newt. The male of the species, despite its appearance, didn’t have problems attracting females. It cavorted around, waving disfigured limbs and inflating cheeks until it was touch-and-go whether its head would explode, and the females were falling over themselves, getting all hot and bothered and clearly thinking,
Phwoar, what a stud!
It’s a strange business, nature.

Mind you, there were boys in my year who were similarly hideous yet also had no problem scoring.

I was waiting for the Fridge to get home.

Fact File

Common name:
The Fridge

Scientific name: Rustus westinghousius

Habitat:
Not often found in domestic houses, despite its common name, the
Rustus westinghousius
is most comfortable in undesirable places of employment, where it will remain for long periods of time, often to the detriment of its offspring. An elusive creature, it can occasionally be sighted during those infrequent moments when it rests.

Mating habits:
Mates once and then gives up the whole business as a bad job (see
Baldus shortarsius
). However, recent research indicates its libido can hibernate for years, springing back to life when placed in close proximity to a hairy slimeball.

Appearance:
Careworn, solid, given to dowdy outfits from cheap department stores, and in desperate need of a makeover.

Toxicity:
Can occasionally paralyze with one blow of its tongue at distances of up to twenty yards, but generally harmless.

Status:
Deeply worrying.

Jason had come round, but I’d refused to answer the door.

After the grisly appearance of the Fridge at the home of Vanessa’s father, I’d simply run. I couldn’t remember pushing past Jason at the gate. I can’t even remember how I’d got through the gate. Maybe I’d vaulted it. Maybe I’d run right through it, like they do in cartoons. All I could recollect was sitting at the side of a road, head in hands, lungs screaming for air. People walked past me like I was invisible.

Eventually I got the bus home. I still didn’t have keys, but there was a window round the back that was slightly open and I wriggled in. Jason turned up half an hour later. I wasn’t ready to talk to him, though I knew he deserved an explanation. It would have to wait.

The phone rang a couple of times and I heard the click of the answering machine. Eventually, in case it was the Fridge calling, I went and played back the messages. Two. Both from Jason. Both asking that I call him as soon as possible. I turned down the volume and went back to the living room. Waited.

I was angry. I had plenty to be angry about. Nothing was working out at all. Everything was falling apart. And at the center of the chaos was the Fridge and Vanessa’s dad. The trouble was, I didn’t have much in the way of hard information. All I had were questions. What was going on between them? Was it romance? How could the Fridge, even with her tragic history of choosing the wrong guy, go for someone like that? And what if I was wrong about Vanessa’s dad? There was no evidence. Nothing, as the saying goes, that would stand up in a court of law. All I had were feelings. The sensation when I felt his eyes running over my body in the police station. The coldness when he looked at me outside the apartment. Scratches on his daughter that could have happened in a number of different ways but which
felt
wrong. The atmosphere of nervousness in Vanessa’s house, a chill history of repression and violence you could taste.

Only feelings. But sometimes that’s enough. The feelings swirled in my head now, dark clouds building to a thunderhead. And one thought circled, again and again, splitting the brooding darkness like a flash of lightning. The Fridge had seen me at the apartment. She had seen me running. But that had been two hours ago. Didn’t I matter to her at all? By the time I heard tires on the driveway, the clunk of the car door closing, and the grate of her key in the lock, I was a tight ball of resentment. I didn’t get up. I stared at the television screen, though I’d long since stopped watching. There was an explosion bottled within and I knew the slightest thing would trigger it.

I sensed the Fridge behind me but didn’t turn.

“It’s about time we had a talk,” she said.

I pressed a button on the remote and the screen blinked into darkness. There was silence. I got up from the floor and sat in a chair. I didn’t look at her. The Fridge slung a bag off her shoulder and sat down wearily in the chair opposite. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes with both knuckles. I could pick up a lot from the edges of my vision.

“What’s going on, Calma?” she said eventually.

“You tell me. I’m in the dark. Just where you want me to be.”

“Don’t be absurd. I haven’t got time for stupidity.”

The trigger had been squeezed. I stood up.

“No, of course you haven’t,” I said. “You never have time. It’s in very short supply. Hey, if you’ve got somewhere to go, don’t let me keep you. I never have in the past.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did, Mum. You did.” I was pacing now. I needed movement. Energy sparked from me and I couldn’t control it. “It’s exactly what you mean. And I’m supposed to be grateful you can spare me a few precious moments. I’m your daughter, for Christ’s sake. Your daughter. What am I supposed to do? Make an appointment?”

I couldn’t stop the tears pricking my eyes. I hated that. It made me angrier.

“Calma, you’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. All right?”

I kept pacing, but the Fridge was at the center of my vision. She seemed smaller somehow. Maybe it was the size of my anger that made her appear that way. I forced my tears to stop.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” she continued. “Not until we’ve talked everything out. That’s a promise. I know I haven’t been around enough. I know I should have talked to you before. You deserve that. I’m sorry. All I can say is I’m sorry. Can we talk, Calma? Please?”

I didn’t say anything as I paced. Apologies are so annoying. They chip away at your anger. I let the silence stretch. The Fridge leaned back in her chair and scratched at the palm of one hand, her eyes downcast. Little lines of worry were etched into her forehead.

“I’ve been seeing Mike for about three weeks now. I wanted to tell you about it. I was going to tell you about it. Tonight, in fact.”

I snorted.

“It’s the truth,” she said.

“Out of curiosity,” I said, “why didn’t you tell me before? I mean, it’s a fairly big deal, isn’t it? I’m assuming that when you say ‘seeing,’ you mean a romance. Yeah?”

The Fridge didn’t reply and my stomach lurched at the tacit admission. I hurried on.

“So what is it about me that meant you couldn’t say anything? Come on, Mum, I can handle it. What huge character flaw do I possess that makes it impossible to share important information with me?”

She didn’t stop the palm scratching.

“You’re not the easiest person in the world to talk to, Calma.”

“I suppose I’m not. Talking requires people to share the same space. Or are you saying it’s difficult to be around me? Is that it? You can’t even bear to be in the same room as me?”

She snapped her head up.

“Of course not. I’m not saying this is your fault. It’s not. It’s mine. But at the same time, you’ve got to admit you make judgments quickly, and they’re not always nice or fair. I should have told you. But I wanted to find the right time. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know he’s Vanessa’s father?”

“No. I just found out. He told me he had a daughter, but he never mentioned her name. It didn’t come up.”

“All right. Give me the sordid details. No, on second thought, just the bare bones. Where you met, how you met, where it’s heading.”

The Fridge pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her bag and lit one. She sucked the smoke into her lungs hungrily.

“We met at the casino,” she said finally.

“How romantic!”

“Please,” she said. “You wanted to hear and I’ll tell you. But I could do without the sarcasm.”

I didn’t say anything.

“There’s another reason I didn’t mention him to you,” she continued. “Mike is a police officer. You know that. He told me he interviewed you after the holdup at Crazi-Cheep. Well, he was at the casino for work. Now, you mustn’t say a word about this to anyone, Calma. You’ve got to promise me.”

I gave a slight nod.

“The police are investigating the casino. Money has gone missing and they suspect at least one of the employees has been siphoning it off. Trouble is, they didn’t know how and they didn’t know who. Mike was undercover, observing what was going on. He’d been watching me. A suspect, I suppose. Anyway, it seems that after a while he knew I was in the clear. So he approached me, asked if I’d help with investigations, an inside line of inquiry. But I couldn’t tell anyone. They were all under suspicion. I’ve been passing stuff to the police through him and apparently they’re close to making arrests.”

She got up, fetched an ashtray, and continued.

“He made me swear I wouldn’t tell a soul until the investigation was wrapped up. I couldn’t tell you about him. But then something else happened. I’d meet him regularly, in secret, to give information. Neither of us intended it to happen, but…well, we discovered…feelings. We were developing…a relationship. We were trying to be professional, but it got to the stage where we had to admit how we felt. That was two weeks ago. I suppose I could have said something to you then—not about the investigation, but that there was someone in my life. I’m sorry I didn’t. I guess I thought it would be better to wait until the whole investigation was over before letting you know.”

Not only was this the longest speech I had heard from the Fridge in years, but it was the longest silence I’d maintained in the same period of time. I didn’t know where to start. Slapping her round the face was the obvious option, but I restrained myself.

“Tell me, Mum,” I said. “This ‘investigation’—does anyone else know about it? Apart from you and Sherlock, I mean.”

“Of course not. Not at the casino. I told you—it’s a delicate operation.”

“So the only way you know a dastardly crime has been committed is because Inspector Morse told you?”

“I asked you to cut the sarcasm, Calma.”

“Sorry. I just want to get this right. Instead of going to work—the best place, I’d imagine, to carry out your undercover role—you’d throw a sickie to meet up with 007. He’d hand you a two-way radio receiver pen, give you a pair of shoes with laser-controlled missiles, and maybe wire your underwear. Am I getting warm?”

That got the Fridge to her feet. She didn’t look pleased.

“How dare you, Calma? How dare you be so rude? You resent me. Maybe you’ve got reason. But there’s no excuse for cheap jibes at the expense of someone you don’t even know.”

“Oh, I know him, Mum. I know all about him.”

“How?” demanded the Fridge. “How do you know about him?” It was a good question, so I ignored it.

“He’s a slimeball, Mum. He’s a disgusting chauvinist who undresses you with his eyes. I know that from my own experience. But I also know he is abusive toward Vanessa. His own daughter.”

“What?” The Fridge was shocked to her frosty core. She stopped in the middle of pulling out another cigarette and stared at me. The anger had been wiped from her face. Now there was incomprehension. “What do you mean?”

“You want me to define abuse?”

“How do you know? Has Vanessa told you this?”

It was my turn to be shifty.

“I just know, all right?”

“Has Vanessa told you?”

“I’ve seen the marks.”

“Has she told you her father has abused her?”

I’ll give her that. The Fridge would make a good cross-examination lawyer. I decided to go with withering scorn.

“Of course not. Do you really think she’s going to go around talking about it? That’s not the way it happens, Mum. It’s something kept secret, even from your best friend. But just because the shame is too great to admit doesn’t mean it isn’t going on. I know, Mum. I know.”

“And what evidence do you have?”

“More than you’ve got for the great casino heist!” I was struggling and I knew it. The phone rang but we ignored it. “Look, Mum. You know as well as I do that sometimes you don’t have firm evidence—no smoking gun, no fingerprints or DNA samples—but you know inside what’s the truth. Trust me on this. Please. The guy is poison. He’s hurting Vanessa. I’m sure of it.”

The Fridge lit another cigarette. Her hands were trembling as she took a drag, but when she spoke her voice was surprisingly strong and steady.

“Thanks, Calma, but I don’t need a sermon on trust from someone who is ridiculing everything I’m saying. I’ll tell you what, though. I won’t undermine you. In fact, I’ll acknowledge that it is valid to trust your instincts if you’ll acknowledge mine. Sometimes, despite ‘feelings,’ the absence of evidence might indicate someone is innocent. What do you think?”

“Him or me, Mum. Do you trust him or me?”

“That’s cheap and unfair. This has nothing to do with Mike. The question you are asking is do I trust your feelings or mine?”

I waved my hands around helplessly. I hate finding myself in an argument where I’m being outmaneuvered. It doesn’t happen often.

“Okay, then,” I said. “So which is it?”

She laughed and I almost hated her for it.

“You’ll learn one thing in time, Calma,” she said. “You
have
to trust yourself, because if you can’t, then you might as well give up on everything.”

“You’re wrong about him.”

“It’s possible. But I can’t accept it just because you say it.”

“It’ll end in tears.”

The Fridge placed the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. She seemed, suddenly, very tired.

“It normally does, Calma. It normally does.”

The phone continued to ring in the background.