Patchwork Man (28 page)

I swung into Chambers on the way back, walking the forty-five minutes from where I’d met the twins in Camden in preference to taking the tube. I needed to clear my head and fighting to keep it in the claustrophobia of the underground was currently beyond my capabilities with so many tangled skeins twisting into knots in my head. Louise was manning the reception desk as usual.

‘Everyone’s at lunch,’ she informed me anxiously. Three o’clock and at lunch?

‘When did they go?’

She looked blank, ‘Umm, I don’t know. But I’ve collected your post for you,’ she added helpfully, waving a fistful of letters at me. I took them from her and was about to leaf through them when the absence of Gregory’s hovering presence struck me.

‘Are you here entirely on your own, then Louise?’

‘Umm, only for a while.’

‘Where’s Gregory?’

‘Mr Gregory’s out too.’

‘Where?’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘You don’t want to tell me?’

‘It’s not that, it’s because of Mr Tibbs ...’ but I didn’t hear the rest of what she said in my surprise at the franking emblazoned on one of the letters. It was the distinctive coat of arms that shut off the rest of the world to me.

‘
Are you all right Mr Juste?’

I looked up from paper, head still spinning to find Louise peering strangely at me. My mouth opened and shut like a fish before I managed to grunt an acknowledgement. She continued to frown at me and I wondered what expression I had on my face now – as dumb as the one Heather said I had when I thought about Kat? I tried to smile reassuringly at her but she looked doubtful. I caught sight of myself reflected in the portrait of Mr Justice Jowett behind her. I looked as half-arsed as he did just before he died, already well into his dotage.

‘Mr Tibbs?’ I asked to fill the gap whilst I gathered my senses.

‘Is actually a Mrs Tibbs.’

Oh?’ I stared at her. What the hell was she talking about?

‘She had kittens in the archives. The 1998 archives.’
Heather’s archives – that was why they were disturbed.
‘Mr Gregory and the others have taken them to be rehomed. I couldn’t bear to say good bye so I’ve stayed behind to man the desk.’

‘Oh.’ She looked so sad I wanted to hug her. ‘And Mr Tibbs?’

‘He’s being done so he can’t have any more – but I get to keep him – her – when he’s OK again.’

‘I’m glad.’ I allowed the inane grin I’d been trying to hold back from splitting my face. She looked at me oddly.

‘Oh, and I almost forgot – Mr Gregory gave me this for you. He said it was hand-delivered just before lunch.’ I took the second letter from her. The paper was thick and expensive – ridiculously opulent in comparison to the thin white paper of the other envelope. It was addressed in a sprawling black hand reminiscent of a tarantula spreading itself across it. Something about the depth and pressure of the address made my stomach turn. It reminded me of Win’s handwritten message on the reverse of his business card. Elation turned to apprehension.

‘Who from?’

‘I’m sorry Mr Juste, Mr Gregory didn’t say. Do you want me to ask him when he comes back?’ I considered the envelope. If it was from who I thought it was from, I wouldn’t want Gregory remembering who had delivered it.

‘Probably not necessary. I’ll let you know if I do.’ I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, aware Louise was still watching me curiously. I wanted to open the envelope in private and my office was nearest. On the other hand, the cement mixer in my stomach was warning me the contents might be something I’d want to mull over well away from any other curious glances. The information Win had given me last time had been anything but pleasant. However, I couldn’t very well open the damn thing on the tube, or walking home. ‘I’m not here either, Louise, if anyone asks.’ If the clerks could go incognito then so could I, although it occurred to me that their whereabouts must be known to Heather. There was no evading Heather.

I left Louise staring after me and made my way cautiously upstairs and past my co-partners offices. I needn’t have worried. None of them were around either. The place was like the Marie Celeste. I made it to the bolt hole of my office and shut the door firmly, allowing it to stick as if locked. The scent of Heather’s perfume still lingered in the air, but maybe that was from her last visit. Chambers seemed to have a knack of encasing sensations within it and preserving them.

I spread the letters on my desk, relishing for a moment more the red and gold of the coat of arms and the formality of the royal appointment. Margaret had predicted it wouldn’t be long in coming. Shame in a way that she couldn’t see it. Perhaps Danny’s case had played its part too, even though it hadn’t been concluded yet. Ironic, that. In theory now I didn’t need to be seen to conclude it – and yet, it had become imperative on a personal level that I did. The other correspondence looked to be run of the mill and I set it aside, placing the heavily endorsed envelope centre stage. I took a deep breath and slit it neatly across the top. I expected to find an abusive or irritating note from Win, maybe with more accusations or claims. I was wrong. It was far worse than that. As soon as I saw the printed name at the bottom of the page, I knew it was worse than my most rancid fears.

It was signed merely ‘J’, and the message was brief.

There was only one ‘J’ in my life – one who had been threatening me from the periphery of it for days now, without being present. The sick fear of those long-ago days slid over me once again. The feel of the polythene over my face. The way it sealed my nostrils and sucked into my mouth as I struggled for breath, forcing my eyelashes into my eyes as he pulled it tight and I writhed, eyes bulging and chest bursting. And then the pain – simultaneously searing and freezing – a dry ice burn of revulsion. When it was over and salvation rushed back into my lungs, the ecstasy of release barely compensated for the black pit of despair and loathing my soul sank back into. Thirty-five years of the feelings washed over me again as intensely as then. I drowned in a tide of stinking sewage – all the flotsam I’d thought I’d left behind, but had merely dragged along in my wake.

Shut up, he was saying. Shut up and leave the past dead. Yet now I’d started, how could I stop? My only hope was to sort out the mess and find a way forward – especially now Queen and country had bestowed the possibility of doing so on me. Yet the threat was explicit and needed no explanation. This time, there would be no salvation, and no loosened bag for this cat to jump out of.

A different possibility struck me. What did
be in touch soon
mean? Was he intending blackmailing me, or smothering me? ‘Let the cat out of the bag’ was ambiguous. It could mean sharing secrets or be referring to Kat. Was he planning on using her against me, or on me? I couldn’t let either happen. I needed to figure out exactly what was going on so I could minimise damage or I could kiss goodbye to that crested letter ever becoming a reality, and now I also needed to keep the other people safe too.

I bundled the letters back into their envelopes and left the other post untouched, taking with me only the two opened letters. I left without bothering about how much noise I made. The stairs deadened my footsteps anyway, enabling me to slip past Louise, now in the post room busy with the outgoing afternoon mail. There was still no sign of Gregory but the other clerks were engrossed in wading through their sea of files, winding up cases and prepping evidence for court appearances the next day. It was now four o’clock and they would want to escape by five. I slipped noiselessly out of the front door and onto the anonymity of Lincoln’s Inn, walking the rest of the way to the Strand, immersed in trying to rationalise what I knew.

Win’s role had seemed straightforward at first – consumed by the desire for revenge – but the revelation about Danny’s parentage, and now about Wilhelm John’s false imprisonment, muddied the waters. Did they change his intentions, or were they just incidental parts of the same story? Then there was Margaret – or maybe I should say, Molly? They still hadn’t found her killer. I was beginning to suspect they wouldn’t. Given how much she must have known maybe someone had been more comfortable with her not being around anymore, and who that someone might be worried me even more. Eventually I found myself back where it had all started: Danny – and how and why he’d been involved at all. By the time I’d given up trying to hail a cab because it was rush hour, and walked along to Embankment to pick up the District Line, my brain had gone from largo to allegro and stopped working altogether. Now it really was time to pull the covers over me and let oblivion minus the brandy take me.

And yet even that simple respite eluded me. When I eventually fought free of the stale air of the hated tube, the bodies pressed too close and the faces too far into my personal space, there was another surprise waiting for me on my doorstep.

‘Danny!’

‘I ran away.’ He scrambled up and I was struck again by how scrawny he was. I’d not noticed that in the interview room but since I’d seen him marooned in the middle of the hospital bed, and known he could be my son – I’d seen him as the child more than the client.

‘From the hospital – why?’ I hesitated, unsure whether to take him inside or straight back to the hospital.

‘I hate it there ...’ he paused, ‘and I was scared.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘’Bout half an hour.’

‘You were fine when we left you this morning. What changed? ’ His expression turned mutinous. ‘Nothing.’ He scuffed at the edge of a protruding cobble.

‘Well clearly it has or you’d still be safely hooked up to drips and getting better.’ I waited. No, it was a really bad idea to take him in.

‘Uncle Win came round,’ he burst out in response.

‘Win – at the hospital?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How the hell did he get in?’

‘He’s family.’ He looked at me strangely. ‘He told me something about you.’

‘Ah,’ now we had it. I prepared for the onslaught, wondering if I should ring Kat before it started or wait out the worst. My stomach turned over. I could have done with the brandy but it wouldn’t have helped.

‘He said you’re me uncle too.’ The pinched face looked worried. My breath came out noisily in relief, but why hadn’t Win told him the more explosive version? ‘But if that’s true, how can you be me brief as well? And you was going to get me off.’

The options narrowed down to just one – the one that was the bad idea. I put the key into the lock and opened the box. Whatever else Win had told Danny he’d also added another strand to the twisted threads of the weave – family commitment.

‘Let’s go in for a moment, Danny. We need to have a talk.’ He trotted after me like a puppy. I debated where to take him and decided on the kitchen. He perched unsteadily on one of the breakfast bar stools and surveyed the room open-mouthed.

‘Blimey, you’re loaded,’ he commented at length. I suppose to him the sleek elegance Margaret had commissioned did look like ‘loaded’. It was intended to convey that impression. As ever, Margaret was effortlessly effective. Sheer black marble worktops, pristine white glossy doors and sparkling chrome stamped sophistication all over what really was a place of functionality. She’d done the same with the bathroom and downstairs cloakroom before moving onto the lounge, dining room and bedrooms in her make-over of my house and me. The only private space I’d managed to defend successfully had been my study, as doggedly masculine and traditional as I’d first created it, without any modern trappings. It could have been the private room at a gentleman’s club with its burnished wood grain, heavy drapes and outsize office chair. Only the fact that I didn’t smoke kept it from being completely so. When Francis had visited to pay his respects in private shortly after Margaret had died, the room had perfected itself – replete with his cigarillo smoke and expensive cologne.

Danny’s insubstantiality was even more apparent as he swayed gently on the high stool. He reminded me of a malnourished nestling in danger of plummeting to the depths below from weakness due to starvation.

‘Have you eaten today?’

‘Nah, I slipped out when they had the doors open to bring the grub in.’

‘Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?’

‘Cor, yeah!’

I made him a sandwich – cheese, peanut butter and tomato ketchup; his choice. He tucked into it as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Whilst he devoured it, I turned the kettle on to make myself a coffee, debating what to do next. I’d said we needed to talk, but what about – and how much? I was now labelled as his uncle, thanks to Win, which could have been a sign that fatherhood was precluded – or could merely be another twist of the tiger’s tail, to see how much I would roar. Whatever, Win wasn’t stopping until he got what he wanted: ‘
Win Juss – gets you what you want when you want it
.’

I surveyed the boy who was possibly partly mine. He had a look of me about him that was true, but then so had Sarah, Binnie, Jill and Emm – though it pained me to say it, and even Win. It was in the eyes, I decided. We all had Ma’s eyes even though our features differed. I hoped there was little of Pop in us, with his buckled belt and readiness to use it, but it must be present to a greater or lesser degree – that inclination towards aggression. It was in the genes, as the doctor had amply demonstrated in the hieroglyphics still bundled into my pocket alongside the buff brown envelope containing the enigma of Margaret. In Win, it displayed itself most obviously, but there had been an element of it ever-present in the thinly veiled hostility towards men that Jill and Emm had brandished like a weapon, and Binnie had been far from welcoming, or defenceless, I suspected. Kimmy? The hardness was palpable in everything she did – from child neglect to prostitution. Sarah had said she thought Kimmy wanted what was best for her kids and that was why she’d gladly put Danny up for adoption. More like getting rid of her kids was what was best for Kimmy. I wondered who would be next after Danny.