Beneath the Skin (15 page)

40

Ur not the same guy any more.

The final break-up is played out in text messages. He stares at his phone, not knowing what to reply. The truth hurts. Jo has always been truthful. That's what he loved about her. Loves.

We need a break.

It was the best he could do. Wasn't that the modern way, to have a break? There'd been two days of radio silence after the station incident followed by a bleak meeting over coffee in a shopping mall. Nothing had been resolved and they'd parted awkwardly, chairs scraping back with a noise that scratched his heart. And now the texts.

Yeah. Get help Walt.

I will. I am.

Text me when ur fixed.

He is laughing at that, and the laugh comes out silently, like a dry sob. It comes from somewhere deep down. He'd thought all the raw, hurt parts had been exposed with the therapy, with all the help he'd been getting, but there's always more to discover, always something untapped, a fresh ache.

He decides that he will never be fixed enough for Jo.

41

They were both sitting at the kitchen table when he came down. William was ploughing his way through a bowl of cereal, Mouse buttering toast at the kitchen counter. Walt's heart opened painfully. Could he allow himself to believe that he was a part of this? William looked up and smiled, cheeks bulging like a hamster.

‘Walt, can you help me build a Lego train today? After school?'

Walt made a noncommittal noise, looking to Mouse for approval; she usually had some excuse ready, some barrier to hand that he could never hope to get over. Now, she placed the plate of toast on the table between them and gave him a look he couldn't fathom.

‘That depends.'

His eyebrow shot up. ‘On what?'

‘On how good you are with Lego!'

She shot him a grin and whirled away, back to the sink, picking up her cloth, wiping away crumbs. She was humming to herself. Smiling, he pulled out a chair and plonked himself down.

‘I'll have you know I've served my time at the Lego yard.'

‘Really?' William's eyes grew round as saucers.

‘Oh aye. I've built a pirate ship and the
Battlestar Galactica
. I'm no novice.'

The kid looked suspicious. ‘Who did you build them for?'

‘My niece and nephew.'

‘How old are they?'

‘Ooh . . . bit younger than you.'

‘What are their names?'

‘Ella and Jack.'

‘Where do they . . .'

‘William, eat your breakfast. There'll be time to talk later,' said Mouse. She looked pointedly at Walt and placed a mug of tea in front of him. ‘Thanks for the tea this morning, by the way.'

He thought of the two mugs, stone cold and abandoned on her bedside table, and caught her eye. Something shivered between them.

‘Tomorrow morning,' he said. ‘You'll get tea in bed tomorrow morning.'

Her smile made something spike inside him. William was talking but he couldn't concentrate on what he was saying.

‘. . . and I always eat Maltesers when I'm building Lego.'

Walt's attention settled back on the boy. ‘You mean you want me to provide the Maltesers?'

The kid nodded, his spoon in his mouth.

Walt smiled. ‘It's a deal. But there's just one thing I have to do first.'

His hands were shaking so violently, he let Mouse dial the number. It was the only number he knew by heart, and he dictated it to her. She handed him the receiver, squeezed his shoulder.

‘Mam! It's me . . .' He heard his own breathing in the mouthpiece, scared and shallow.

‘Robert?' It was a whisper he'd barely caught. His grip tightened on the phone and something swelled in his upper chest.

‘Aye, it's me, Mam.'

‘Oh my God! We've been so worried, son! Here's your dad. Pete? Pete!' Her voice rose to a shout and he winced. ‘It's our Robert! Steven's here as well. We're minding the bairns and he's just back from . . . What? It's Robert!'

A muffled handover, and Steven's voice came on the line, his accent as rich and broad as it had been when they were lads, before he went off to college. ‘Ee, Robert! Where aya, man? We've been worried sick!'

Walt tried to smile but his mouth wouldn't stretch. ‘Steven, I'm that sorry, man. I wanted to get in touch but . . .'

His mother's voice was hectoring in the background.
Is he all right? Ask him if he's all right. Tell him we had to call the police.

‘Ee, man, divvent worry. Where are ya? Am coming to get ya.'

We filed a missing persons. Tell him! It was on the news.

‘No. No. I'm in Edinburgh. I'm fine, I'm just . . .'

The voice on the other end was firm. ‘Stay where you are. I can be in Edinburgh by . . .'

‘No, Steve.' Equally firm. ‘I just wanted to let you know I'm all right. Honestly, I'm all right.'

He put the receiver down. His heart was thumping and the swelling feeling in his chest hurt.

I'm all right.

42

William was sitting on his bed with about eight boxes of Lego at his feet. Of the other boxes – the red box and the black box and the rest – there was no sign. This felt healthy. They were in the top tier of the doll's house, so cramped it was as if the walls had been squeezed together after the house was built. Walt chose a small wooden stool, painted with an image of the sun, and sat down carefully.

‘I always knew the sun shone out of my arse,' he quipped.

‘My mum wouldn't like you talking like that.'

Walt picked up a Lego box and examined the picture. Some kind of Mad Max automobile piloted by chubby yellow men with boot-black hair. One of them had a moustache and looked like a Colombian drug lord.

‘So where's the train? Bring it on.'

William put his head to one side. ‘Are you really going to help me with this?'

‘Sure. I said I would.'

William's wardrobe door was a collage of frayed stickers, photographs and drawings. Miles of Sellotape glistened by the light of a forty-watt bulb. The one tiny window was pretty useless; too high up to provide an outlook, too poky to illuminate the room naturally. There was a daubed painting of a horse sitting on a rocket; another one of two females, a baby and several cats. A colour photograph of a toddler on a beach caught Walt's eye.

‘Is that you? Which beach was that?'

William nodded slowly. ‘I was three then, so I don't remember.'

The idea of a family holiday, of the baby William making sand pies and eating ice lollies seemed bizarre, like imagining the Addams Family on Blackpool Pier. Did Auntie Alys take Hector the stuffed cat with her, wrapped in a bath towel? He tried to visualise Mouse in a bikini; a shiny, smiling Mouse with a teak suntan and a flower in her hair. A delicious frisson ran through his body.

‘Kid, I'm going to be around for a while. Bring on the Lego train.'

‘But you were going to leave, weren't you, the day Granddad went missing? I saw your bag stuck behind Shackleton.'

‘You knew I was planning to leave?'

The kid nodded. He was chewing his bottom lip, the way he did when he was upset.

‘How? It was a spur of the moment thing.'

‘I went through your bag.'

‘No shit.' Walt tried to hide his amusement.

‘I just wanted to find out more about you. That's when I saw the rope for the first time and I thought . . . Well, I watch the films they put on in the afternoon. There's always a man like you in them.' William had been talking to some spot on the carpet. Now he looked up, catching Walt's eye. ‘There's always a man who doesn't stick around for long.'

Walt's heart contracted painfully. He tried a little humour. ‘You think I'm Clint Eastwood? Make my day, punk!' He stuck out his jaw and stroked the stubble, but the joke fell flat.

‘They're usually robbers.'

‘I see.'

‘Or murderers.'

Walt narrowed his eyes. ‘Let's get back to the Lego. Trust me, kid. I'm going nowhere and I'm not planning to do anything bad. Not even to myself.' The declaration was oddly calming.

William's face broke into a smile, and he upended one of the boxes. Coloured bricks spilled out across the floor. Walt took a deep breath and picked up the instruction leaflet.

Building the train was more complicated than Walt had thought and after ten minutes he was dying for a fag. He persevered though, because the kid was obviously totally into it, correcting his mistakes and singing some funny little song.

‘You never got me Maltesers,' William said eventually.

Walt perked up. ‘Neither I did. I'll away out and get them now.' He got stiffly to his feet, brushing Lego pieces from his clothes.

‘Walt . . .'

‘Yup.'

‘You know how I showed you my box collection?'

‘The colour-coordinated one, aye.'

‘Well, you know the black box?'

‘I do. I remember the black box.'

‘And I had those old photos in it . . .'

‘The ones of your granddad and uncle . . .' Walt's voice tailed off. It felt a bit like Voldemort – he who must not be named.

William nodded. ‘Well, when you were away finding Granddad, Aunt Alys raided my room and took all the pictures.'

Walt looked at him sharply. ‘Really?'

The kid nodded. His eyes were full and watery, threatening tears. ‘She took them. She said if I told anyone about Uncle Coby she would . . .' He faltered. ‘If I told anyone, she'd take me down to the basement and stuff me and put me in a glass case next to the kittens.'

Walt was shocked. ‘Kid, this is serious stuff. I don't think Alys is . . .' He searched for a word that wouldn't freak William out, although having your auntie threaten to practise taxidermy on you was about as freaky as it got. ‘Reliable. She isn't reliable.'

‘She's crazy.'

‘We're all crazy. It depends how far you take it.'