Dangerous to Know (6 page)

“You can’t stop us seeing each other.”

“Don’t you dare try me,” Mum snapped.

“Look,” said Louis, “if it’s not what Bethany’s parents want, we have to respect that.”

“But it’s so unfair—”

Mum cut in on me. “Listen, Jack, are you smoking? Were you taking anything this weekend?”

“No!” I yelled. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not Herod? I’m not Owen, OK? Just because they fucked up doesn’t mean I will. Jesus Christ!”

All right, so I was lying a little bit but she was so paranoid it was ridiculous.

“Don’t swear at your mother,” Louis said. Both of us ignored him.

“You don’t know what might happen,” Mum said, quietly. “Owen was fine. Herod wasn’t. How am I supposed to trust you if you sneak around like this? Trust is a two-way process, Jack.”

Silently, I cursed myself. I should have taken the chance and asked them about the festival. It had just seemed so much easier not to bother, especially when I thought they were both going to be safely in France the entire weekend.

Mum shook her head. She wasn’t finished yet. “And Bethany’s father’s obviously really unwell – he obviously doesn’t need this kind of upset. What’s wrong with you? My God, Jack.” Then, to my horror, Mum started crying. Huge sobs that shook her body. Louis hugged her but she didn’t stop.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, automatically. Did I feel guilty then or what? She was really upset.

Louis shook his head, irritated. “You should have asked us. Since when did we become so unreasonable that you can’t tell us what you’re doing?”

“Anyway, Jack,” Mum said, “you’re grounded for the whole summer. No television, either.”

I didn’t take much notice. Mum’s always saying over the top stuff and then forgetting about it once she’s calmed down.

Almost as an afterthought, she turned to me and said, “I didn’t even you know had a girlfriend.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel you don’t tell me anything at all. I don’t know what’s wrong with you at the moment.”

Oh, no. We weren’t going to take that particular conversational path. Not if I could help it. I’d rather she yelled at me. Anything but,
Darling, you know that I’m always here to talk, don’t you?
Brings me out in the cold chills every time; it’s no picnic having a counsellor for your mother.

Time to change the subject. “Mum,” I said, “what’s going on? Something’s happened, hasn’t it? I thought you weren’t coming back till Wednesday.”

Louis gave me one of his sarcastic looks. “That much is clear.” He and Mum looked at each other for a moment.

“It’s Herod,” she said. “His friend Andrea from the Peace Centre called Louis’ mother in Paris. We gave the Centre Sabine’s number as an emergency contact in case anyone ever needed to speak to us and no one was here. Herod’s gone. He’s left the Centre. Possibly he’s even left Dorset.”

“No one knows where he is,” Louis said. “That’s why Andrea was so worried. Apparently she was very upset on the telephone, very shaken.”

So that was it. Herod was missing.

Mum glanced out of the window, as if she could just turn around and Herod would be standing there. She swallowed before speaking, struggling to spit out the words: “We’ve called the police, of course. The local force down there. They searched the whole house and all the parkland around it, but he just wasn’t anywhere…” She paused. “The policewoman said we wouldn’t believe how many people are found hiding in their own homes – just wanting to get away from things. She said sometimes they don’t want to be found and we had to be ready because if that was Herod’s choice there was nothing anyone could do.” She turned back to Louis. “But last time we saw him Herod didn’t seem like that at all, did he? Wanting to get away?”

Louis shrugged, rubbing her shoulder. “I don’t know. I didn’t think so.”

“Oh, God,” Mum said. “I’m going to have to phone Edward. He ought to know, at least.”

“I wouldn’t bother calling Dad,” I said, quietly. “It’s not as if there’s much point.”

“Jack—” Louis began, but Mum was properly crying now and he turned to her instead.

I felt numb, frozen. They didn’t need to say any more. It was pretty obvious why they’d come rushing back across the Channel.

Then the phone rang and everyone jumped. I was the first to reach it. “Hello?”

I recognized the caller’s voice straight away: sixty Marlboro Reds, a pint of whisky. “Jack.” Owen laughed, lazy, sarcastic. “Wait. Don’t hang up. Turns out you left just in time. Pissing it down here. We’re in the pub. So tell them we’re coming. Probably tomorrow.” I knew he was smiling. “It’s time I got home for a visit.” The line went dead just as Mum yanked the phone out of my hand, glaring at me.

“What’s the matter with you?” she snapped, for the second time.

“It wasn’t Herod,” I snapped back. I waited a minute, can’t deny I enjoyed keeping them in suspense. “It was Owen. He’s coming home.”

I turned and went out into the hall, letting the door slam behind me, leaving Mum and Louis alone and speechless. In the kitchen I stood by the fridge a moment, holding on to the open door, staring in at an ancient Parmesan rind and a gnarled slice of melon.

Get a grip
, I told myself, drinking milk straight from the bottle. I was starving. All I could think of was Herod and the Creature. I knew I needed to steer my mind away from all that. I had a sudden memory of sailing with Dad one time when we visited him in San Francisco – the only time. He’d borrowed a boat from a friend, the kind with two hulls – a catamaran. I remember Dad leaning on the rudder so we slid past a slimy green rock sticking out of the sea, salt water in my face, steering us away. He was like a superhero, I thought. There was nothing he couldn’t do. Except call us more than once every six months. No, he didn’t seem able to do that.

Thinking too much about Herod and the Creature was a mental danger zone. Thinking about Dad wasn’t much better.

But worst of all, Bethany wasn’t there.

I was absolutely screwed.

I had to have more.

After supper I lay on my bed listening to Radiohead. The music wasn’t enough. I was tired to the bone – Bethany and I had worked all night, catching only a few hours’ rest after dawn – but even so, I knew sleep wasn’t going to come easily that night. I saw her every time I closed my eyes, black hair falling across her face, the silver spider brooch on her coat.

I turned the stereo off, lay in silence, staring up into the shadows. Years ago, when I was a kid, I’d stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. No, Herod had done it for me, arranging them carefully into galaxies and solar systems. I’d never got around to taking them off.

I opened the window and leaned out to smoke a fag, but the itch didn’t go away: I didn’t really want to smoke.

I wanted Bethany.

I couldn’t have her.

That’s what they reckon
, I thought, remembering the look on Bethany’s face as she left. I smiled to myself in the lamplight.

Downstairs, in the room below – Louis’ study – I could hear Mum’s voice. She was speaking to someone on the telephone. “Edward, he’s not a child any more. Of course I’ve called the police— Yes, yes— But we don’t know he’s actually unwell.”

She was talking to my dad about Herod and it sounded like he was worried, which surprised me. Hypocrite.
If you care that much,
I thought,
why don’t you call more often? Why don’t you come and visit?

Mum had called the police. Somehow, hearing that again made the whole thing seem more real. Herod was gone: officially a missing person.

I wondered if she’d mention Owen and I found myself thinking about that disaster of a trip to London.

“We shouldn’t be taking him,” Owen said to Herod. Then he turned to me. “Come on, Jack, just go home, OK? How many times do we have to ask?”

We were at the train station. I’d followed them out of the house, uninvited, whilst Mum and Louis were at a garden centre.

“Don’t treat me like a baby. I said we should come.” What if Dad had gone by the time we found his hotel? I was scared, but I wasn’t about to admit that to either of them. What if they just went to London without me?

“Shut up. Two day returns to Paddington.” Owen handed over the money to the cashier, a bored-looking old woman in glasses.

“It was my idea,” I repeated. “Listen, if you don’t take me, I’ll tell.”

“You’re a devious little bastard, aren’t you?” Owen sighed, glancing at Herod.

“He’s right, though. It was his idea.” Herod said.

Owen turned back to the cashier. “Child’s day return, too, please.”

Owen and Herod went everywhere together. They were always doing stuff that I was loads too young for. This time, I was part of it. I couldn’t stop myself grinning as we crossed the platform and got onto our train.

We found four seats together. Owen lit a cigarette the moment we sat down. “Listen,” he said, “here’s the rules: no running off, no whining and no talking. Got it?”

“Yes,” I told him. “Definitely.”

I was going to see my dad. I would have done anything.

Shame it didn’t work out how I’d hoped.

We found the hotel in a square of tall white houses with iron railings outside, all facing onto a garden. The warm rich smell of roses hung everywhere. Even the stink of car exhaust fumes had faded and we were only ten minutes’ walk from the nearest Tube stop. I watched a woman with glossy blonde hair step out of a black cab in front of a house on the far side of the square. It was so quiet here the click of her heels on the pavement echoed faintly.

“That’s it,” Owen said. “Where that woman just went. That’s the hotel.”

Herod frowned, very slightly. I followed him and Owen across the street. I remember feeling a bit let down – this wasn’t what I had expected at all. I knew my dad was rich. Mum had told me he was incredibly clever, that the computer software he designed was like nothing anybody had seen before and that it was making him a lot of money. So shouldn’t he be staying in some swanky place like you see in films, with a red carpet outside and uniformed flunkies at the door?

“Christ, this looks expensive,” Owen said cheerfully as we climbed the chalk-white steps. Tiny green bushes in clay pots sat on each step. The front door was painted glossy black. I didn’t know how Owen had figured out where to go – there wasn’t even a sign outside saying it was a hotel.

The entrance hall was a blur of golden floorboards, white walls, an antique desk, flowers in enormous vases taller than me. Sunlight shone in through a crack in the blinds; a chandelier cast its shimmering reflection on the high ceiling.

“Excuse me?” The receptionist’s voice was icy. “This is a private—” She stared at us, her eyes passing over me and practically bulging with horror as they rested on Owen and Herod. Owen had dreds then and both of them looked like proper crusties with knackered old jeans, big boots. Owen was wearing a Rage Against the Machine T-shirt and Herod had a safety pin through one ear at the time. “… it’s a private hotel,” the receptionist finished, weakly.

“Good,” Owen said, cheerfully. “We’re looking for Edward MacNamara. Is he still here?”

The receptionist raised one eyebrow. Her face was so perfect, like it had been painted on. She frowned, looking at us as if we stank. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we can’t give out our guests’ details. Who are you?”

“He’s our dad,” I said. “We’ve come to see him. Please.” I was eight years old.

For a few seconds, everyone stared. Owen said afterwards that if it hadn’t been for me they would never have got past the receptionist.

She picked up her telephone.

I focused on the lift (screened off behind a wrought-iron gate), waiting for Dad to appear, but five minutes later, a door next to the receptionist’s desk opened on silent hinges and my dad walked in; he’d taken the stairs.

He was tall and suntanned, out of place on a grey day in London. It was like looking at an older, darker version of Owen and Herod – some kind of photocopy. Creepy. The same high cheekbones, the same yellow cat’s eyes. Black hair, eyebrows like ticks drawn in charcoal.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dad said. He was wearing a blue suit but it was as if he were dressing up. I could tell he didn’t normally look that smart. I noticed a worn leather bracelet on his wrist, and he had a silver earring, too. I don’t think he even saw me at first, just the twins.

“Hi, Dad,” Owen said, unsmiling.

Herod kept quiet, hands in pockets. He looked kind of edgy, though, shoulders hunched, staring at the polished wooden floorboards.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” said Dad. “What the hell’s going on?”

“We came to see you,” Owen said, simply.

I glanced at Herod. He stared straight ahead and said, “No. No.”

It didn’t make any sense. Dad and Owen both turned to him a moment, each wearing matching expressions of confusion. I came to know that look of Herod’s very well – it was a kind of emptiness spreading across his face, like the real Herod had drained away, leaving something else that only used his face as a mask.

And then Dad saw me.

I had been waiting for this moment for almost two years.

“Jesus Christ, Owen.” Dad’s voice was steady and calm now but you could tell he was really angry. “What’s the meaning of this? Your mother is not going to be happy.”

Owen just shrugged.

At that moment, the wrought-iron gate moved silently to one side, the lift door opened and out stepped the blonde woman we’d seen in the street. She was younger than Dad and wore a grey suit with high-heeled shoes. I remember noticing her fingernails for some reason – they were shiny and pink like the inside of a shell.

“Edward?” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Jessica!” Now Dad sounded properly annoyed, not just icy calm.

She opened her handbag, took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. “Never mind, Edward – I can see you’re busy.” The door to the street closed after her with a click, letting in a gust of warm air.

I remember the silence. Wanting it to be over. Even I could see we’d made a massive mistake.

“Listen,” Dad said, “all of you. I have a meeting this afternoon. It’s not just any old meeting. I’m going to see one of the guys who founded Apple about some software. You know, the computer company. I can’t cancel it. I’m literally about to leave. My flight’s at eight this evening and I’m heading straight to the airport after the meeting. You’re going to have to go home. I’m sorry.”