Fatlands (11 page)

‘I suppose when someone drove down the road to check and found the car still outside the house. But by then there's nothing they can do. I mean they can hardly walk up in broad daylight and take it off again.'

‘But they must have realized the next time the car was used it might not be him on his own. In fact it would almost certainly have been the two of them together.'

‘Yes.' It was an uncomfortable conclusion. A mad scientist was one thing, his innocent daughter another.

Frank shrugged. ‘Well, you're the one who thinks
they've got principles. Why didnt loverboy try and warn her?'

And once again I heard the first ring of a telephone call. And I saw Mattie with her back to the door, papers in one hand, phone in the other, arguing with someone. Only a matter of deduction. If it wasn't her father and it wasn't Helen, who else could it have been? In which case why hadn't he warned her? Or maybe he was trying. Maybe he never got around to it because I interrupted the call.
‘Listen, I have to go now. I'll see you. I mean, you won't be late will you?'
But see you where? Back at the school? Or sooner? Maybe the visit to the car was just an excuse all along. And once she had got the entertainment guide she would have made a run for it. Whatever it was, she hadn't exactly given him time to answer back.

Frank was watching me. I thought about telling him, but right at that moment I didn't need to feel any worse than I already did. ‘I don't know,' I said feebly.

After a while he said, ‘I don't suppose you want my version?'

I smiled. ‘Would that stop you giving it?'

‘The problem with knowing too little is you have to make up too much. You've got a picture of a boy, probably a boyfriend, who may or may not be connected to the ALF. The rest is speculation. Healthy exercise, but not to be trusted.'

Good old Frank, pulling me back from the brink again. ‘So, what should I do?'

‘Well, I'd say you'd better go looking for Bob Dylan.'

‘Matt.' He grinned. ‘I just want you to know I can see through your lies.'

It took me a little while. But then I wasn't expecting it. And I hadn't been there in his heyday. ‘That's very good.'

‘Yes, well some of us are old enough to remember the Isle of Wight. I never liked him after he went electric.
Meanwhile, what are you going to do with this?' He pointed to the envelope.

I shrugged. ‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing?'

‘You said yourself I can't prove anything. It'd be a waste of their time.' I made myself busy not looking at him.

‘Hannah?'

‘What?'

‘Look at me.'

‘Yes, boss.'

‘You did tell them everything that happened that night, didn't you?'

‘Sure. I—'

Telephones. Sometimes I swear they know they're being talked about. He picked up the receiver, but kept his eyes on me. ‘Comfort and Security. What d'you want?' He's got a great telephone manner, Frank. If I were in trouble, I'd be round like a shot. ‘Yes, it is.' Pause. ‘Yes, she does, but I'm not sure she's here at the moment. Can I ask who's calling?' His tone changed. ‘If you'd just hold on a minute.' He put his hand over the receiver. ‘She says her name is Christine Shepherd, and she wants to meet you.' Thank you, Christine.

It wasn't as good an address as her husband's: a purpose-built apartment block off Shepherd's Bush Green, with one of those front gardens that is no one's responsibility except the neighborhood dogs'. The flat was on the fifth floor. The lift was cleaner than the garden, but not exactly a triumph of design. When I got out on the top landing, all the front doors had different colours and doorbells to them. The whole place had a feel of built-public, gone-private about it.

The door opened on an older version of Mattie: the same great mane of hair, and the same straight little nose
and upward tilt of the mouth. But a smile that would never reach the eyes again, like someone else I knew. They might have been at war, but she and Tom Shepherd had more in common than they realized. It made you wish for a happier ending.
‘My wife is a disturbed, unstable woman.'
Those had been his words. At first sight they wouldn't have been mine. We shook hands and she stood aside to let me in.

The sitting-room was neat and stylish on a limited budget. From the kitchen beyond I heard someone at work. So Christine's man was new in more ways than one. Maybe she was the one who changed the plugs now. She sat down. I did the same. Except neither of us knew where to start. So you're the woman who watched my daughter go up in flames … You could see the opening sally wouldn't be easy.

‘Thank you for coming.'

‘You' re welcome.

‘Have you seen Tom?'

I nodded.

Her fingers did imaginary crochet in her lap. ‘How is he?'

‘Upset. Angry.' Inadequate words, but the only ones I had.

‘With me?'

‘I think with everything. Maybe with himself if he knew it.'

‘If he knew it,'she repeated quietly. ‘Yes. Did he talk about me?'

‘No. Not a lot.' Well, it was only a small lie.

‘I see.'

I sat waiting, staring at the rug. Nice piece, the kind that improves with study. In the end I had to help her. Well, wouldn't you? ‘Mrs Shepherd, would you like me to tell you what happened?'

She looked up, but didn't speak. Women, of course, cry more easily than men; it doesn't necessarily mean they feel things more deeply. Still, it was awful to watch. She nodded slightly. I took a breath and told her what she wanted to know.

I don't know if it helped. I mean, what comfort can anyone gain from hearing a story which moves so inexorably towards death? I made it as gentle as I could and I filled it with Mattie's optimism and spirit and humour, as if those things could somehow transcend the tragedy. I said very little about her anger, although I think we both knew I had left it out. She cried silently as I talked, nodding occasionally and wiping her eyes with her fingers, and towards the end when her fingers weren't enough, she put her head in her hands and sat for a while.

I waited, my back to the kitchen door. The clatter of crockery had stopped midway through the story, and now something made me turn my head.

She was standing in the doorway. It was hard to tell how long she'd been there. She was tall, attractive, with red hair, well cut, and a strong, open face. What really gave it away though, was how she was looking at Christine. She crossed the room and sat on the arm of the sofa, the line of her thigh touching Christine's arm. Then she put a hand gently on her shoulder. And there was, in that gesture, something that transcended any notion of sisterly affection. For her part Christine didn't even look up. She simply lifted her own hand and put it on top of her lover's. And so, gradually, the strength of their physical contact pulled her back into the land of the living.

And, of course, now I knew, far from being strange, it all seemed so obvious. Obvious and almost welcome. Or maybe I am confusing that feeling with relief, because now at last I could understand the ferocity of all the emotions, both in Mattie and her father. So much rage and
pain. How else do you cope with a wife who doesn't want a husband, and a mother who appears to prefer another woman to her own daughter?

Over Christine's head her lover offered me the slightest smile of introduction. ‘Veronica Marchant,'she said, and it was a voice to match the face, clean and clear. ‘Pleased to meet you.' I nodded. She watched me, then frowned slightly. ‘You didn't know?'

‘No,' I said, because it was pointless to pretend.

Christine glanced up at her lover, then back at me. ‘Tom didn't tell you?'

‘No.'

‘And Mattie … ?' I shook my head. You could see that it hurt her almost as much as the story I had just told. ‘She didn't talk about me?'

‘Not much,' I said. ‘But she missed you.'

‘Yes, I missed her, too.'She caught her breath. ‘But I don't think she ever understood. Maybe it's not understandable.' But then that wasn't mine to comment on.

‘I think Miss Wolfe might find it helpful to know what happened, Chris,'said Veronica, watching me over her lover's head. And I wondered if that was the way a man would have put it, or if somehow their womanliness made it all different.

And so it was that I learnt the story of the Shepherd marriage: a modern little morality tale of sex and circumstance, starting with an errant conjunction of sperm and egg cementing a relationship which would otherwise have gone the way of all flesh. But they were young (she at teacher training college, he a post-graduate), unsure about abortion and under fierce parental pressure. The way she told it, it was hard to know whether they gave in or simply gave up.

The early years were a struggle because of money, with Shepherd chasing fewer and fewer government
research jobs, and by the time things got easier and he'd become the development officer for the Vandamed livestock division, the emotional fault lines were beginning to reopen between them.

The relationship had never been successful sexually, although she'd done a good job of hiding it, even from herself. But as Mattie grew older and Christine could no longer hide behind the excuses of maternal exhaustion, it became impossible to ignore any longer. Although, as she told it, it wasn't quite that simple. When was it ever?

‘There's one thing you should know. Veronica didn't break up my marriage. Tom and I did that for ourselves. And he was as much to blame as I was. Yes, I could have been a more responsive wife. But I never refused him. And if he hadn't left, then I'd probably still be there now.'

‘He left you?' Among all the mud Mattie had slung at her father that one hadn't been mentioned.

‘I don't mean he packed a bag and walked out. But from the way he behaved he might as well have done.'She was angry now and the emotion sculpted her face in memory of her daughter. ‘I suppose I should have seen it coming. From the start he'd always been more interested in his work than in me. I think that's why he was able to block it all out for so long. Maybe that's why I didn't mind. It made things easier in some ways. But after Mattie was born he'd always found time for the family. Until he got the London job.'

‘Head of research.'She laughed bitterly. ‘Everything he'd ever wanted. Maybe that was the problem. Sometimes I think he was scared he wasn't up to it—there were others better qualified. I don't know. Maybe it wasn't work at all, maybe it was me. Whatever it was, he just closed down completely. Never came home, hardly even saw Mattie or me. He seemed to lose all interest in the idea of having a family. He gave up sex long before I did, spent
more nights sleeping in the laboratory than he did with me. And when we did see each other all we did was row. I stayed for as long as I could. But in the end there was nothing to preserve anyway. That's when I met Veronica.'

She broke off. I waited. After a while Veronica touched her hair ever so lightly just to tell her we were still there. Christine moved her head into the caress, like a blind person moving towards sound. Their intimacy was almost painful to watch. I wondered where they had met and how quickly they had both known. And, of course, there were other things I wondered but knew that I would never ask.

‘And Mattie?' I asked quietly.

‘I would have taken Mattie if I could,'she said angrily, with a voice still steeped in guilt. ‘But she was already blaming me for Tom being away all the time, and I didn't know how to tell her. Anyway, by then I was in such trouble she would have been in a worse state coming with me. I was only gone two weeks. No, not two weeks. Thirteen days. Thirteen days compared with thirteen years.'She smiled grimly. ‘Nobody seemed to notice that discrepancy. But then they were all men. By the time we got to court Vandamed had had lawyers and private detectives crawling all over us. We didn't stand a chance. But then we didn't have much of a case, anyway, since Mattie said loud and clear that she wanted to stay with her father. I dare say it was her way of punishing me for what I'd done.'

And I think she was probably right. Having your mother leave home for another man is one thing, but—well, put it this way, I couldn't imagine it ever, let alone at thirteen. No wonder Mattie had tumbled so eagerly into the long grass with her sexy gardener. At that age you'd need to do something drastic to convince yourself it wasn't hereditary.

‘What about after the court case? Did you make any attempt to get Mattie back?'

She sighed. ‘I went to the school once to try and see her. But they refused. I think it was on Tom's instructions.'

No, actually. But why hurt her more by telling her the truth. ‘And you never tried to snatch her?'

And for the first time she laughed. ‘Can you imagine anyone trying to snatch Mattie? Is that what he told you?' I half nodded. ‘Well, he wouldn't be the only one who sees me as some kind of threat to civilization. Poor Tom.'

Poor maybe, but not that stupid, surely? How sexually undermined could a man be? ‘Disturbed and unstable.' It was beginning to feel more like a self-portrait than a description of his unfaithful wife. Maybe the death threats had got to him more than he was willing to admit. Poor Tom. Poor Mattie. Poor Christine. It was just another of those stories where everybody gets hurt. Even before one of them climbs into a booby-trapped car. A vicious, stubborn image. Still, at least it reminded me why I was there.

When it came to her husband's work with animals, however, Christine Shepherd knew next to nothing. And when I tried to find out what Mattie's feelings on that subject had been, I drew an even greater blank. Tom Shepherd had stopped talking about such things the best part of two years ago. And as far as she remembered, she and Mattie had stopped asking. That was the problem. She did, though, have a suggestion.