Perfect People (42 page)

‘No phone calls,’ she said. ‘The phone’s been very quiet.’ She frowned at something in her tapestry for some moments, then said absently, ‘We had a visitor, though, about an hour after you left.’

‘Oh?’ Naomi said.

‘A very pleasant young man. He was American, I think.’

‘American?’ Naomi echoed, a tad uneasily. ‘What did he want?’

‘Oh, he’d come to the wrong address – he was trying to find
something
farm – I can’t remember exactly – I’d never heard of it.’

‘What did he look like, this guy?’ John asked.

Her mother took some moments of careful thought, then said, ‘He was nicely dressed, very polite. He wore a shirt and tie, and a dark suit. But there was one thing – he did something your father did often, you know? Your father used to put on his tie, but forget in his hurry to do up some of the buttons on his shirt beneath. This young man had forgotten two buttons on his shirt and I could see, beneath his shirt, he was wearing one of those religious crosses – what are they called – gosh, my memory’s so bad these days, I keep forgetting words! What on earth are they called? Oh yes, of course, how silly of me – a crucifix.’

American. Crucifix.

John sat in his den, his whole damned body shaking.

This man, it didn’t have to mean anything bad. It didn’t have to mean that—

Except that a bunch of crazed American fanatics, calling themselves Disciples, had been murdering couples who had been to Dr Dettore and had twins, and now an American wearing a cross around his neck had turned up to a remote English house where there just happened to be a couple who had been to Dr Dettore and had twins.

He tried to think what further security measures they could take. They’d had toughened glass put in the windows. Window locks. Security lights. High-quality door locks. An alarm that rang through to a control centre. Panic buttons. Maybe he needed to get Naomi and the children away from here, for a while, at any rate. Go to Sweden, perhaps?

Or check into a hotel? But for how long?

They were looking into getting guard dogs. And there was one other security option they hadn’t yet taken. The firm who had done all their installations had included details and a quote at the time, but it had been quite expensive and they hadn’t seen the point. Now he regretted that decision. He went to the filing cabinet, pulled open the bottom drawer and lifted out the file marked
Security Systems.

Then he rang the firm and asked how quickly they could install the security cameras they had quoted on. He was told it would be about ten days. John told them if they could do it tomorrow, he would order it now. After keeping him on hold for a couple of minutes he was told they would be along at nine o’clock the next morning to install them.

When he had hung up, he then typed out an email to Kalle Almtorp at the Swedish embassy in Kuala Lumpur.

He sent the email then went upstairs to the box room, where Luke and Phoebe were sitting on the floor in front of their computer. They must have heard him coming, he thought, because he saw the screen flicker as he entered the room, as if they had hurriedly switched from whatever they had been looking at to something innocuous.

‘Hi!’ he said.

Neither of them looked at him.

More loudly now, he said, ‘Luke! Phoebe! Hallo!’

Both turned their heads very slowly, in unison, and said, ‘Hello.’ Then they stared at him, for some moments, smiling, as if they were reacting as they were expected to.

Cold air eddied through his veins. They looked too neat and tidy, too immaculate. Phoebe wore a bottle-green tracksuit and white trainers; Luke wore a navy roll-neck jumper, neatly pressed jeans, spotless trainers. Neither had a hair out of place. For a moment he had the impression he was looking at robots, not at real people, not at his children. It made him want to back out of the room, but instead he persevered, trying to put into practice what Dr Michaelides had just told them they should do.

As nonchalantly and cheerily as he could, he knelt down and presented his cheek first to Luke, then to Phoebe. Both of them drew their faces sharply back, in turn.

‘No kiss for Daddy?’

‘Kissing leads to sex,’ Luke said, dismissively turning back to the screen.

‘What? What did you say, Luke?’ John asked, astonished, all kinds of alarm bells suddenly ringing, wondering, hoping, desperately hoping that he had misheard his son. But moments later, Phoebe confirmed that he hadn’t.

‘We don’t kiss,’ Phoebe said haughtily. ‘We don’t want to be abused.’ Then she, too, turned back to the screen.

‘Hey,’ John said, floundering for a reply. ‘Hey, you listen to me—’ He stared at the shiny casing of the computer, at the keyboard, at the mouse, at the multi-coloured mouse pad, his nostrils filled with the sour reek of plastic. He felt numb.

Beyond numb.

Luke moved the mouse and John saw the cursor sweep up the screen and stop on a square. He double-clicked and the square opened, like a miniature window, to reveal a flashing sequence of numbers.

John stood up, went to the wall, and pulled out the plug. Both children looked up at him without even a hint of surprise on their faces. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘What is this talk about abuse? Where’s this from? The internet?’

Neither of them said anything.

‘Is that what you think about your mummy and I? That we’re going to abuse you? Because it’s not a very funny joke.’

Both of them stood up and walked out of the room.

‘Luke! Phoebe!’ John said, barely controlling his anger. ‘Come back, I’m talking to you!’

He burst out of the door after them and yelled at them. ‘LUKE! PHOEBE! COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!’

Continuing to ignore him, they went downstairs.

He started after them, then stopped. How was he supposed to deal with this? It was like dealing with moody teenagers. Is that what they were?

He was really trembling badly now, his brain misty with anger. He just wanted to grab hold of them, shake them, shake the little bastards until the truth fell out of them. But Sheila Michaelides had told them that confrontation with the twins would just drive them further into their shells – exactly like teenagers, he thought.

Oh sure, easy to say, Dr Michaelides – but how the hell are we supposed to avoid getting angry when they say something like this?

Remembering for a moment his reason for coming upstairs, he went into his bedroom, took the two keys that were hidden underneath his handkerchiefs, then opened his wardrobe, pushed his suits and shirts over to one side, the hangers clacking, to reveal the steel gun cabinet he’d had fixed into the wall. Then he unlocked the door and lifted out the heavy shotgun that nestled inside.

It was a Russian-made twelve-bore, which he had bought, second-hand, after a three-month wait for the licence, at the same time as they had put in the other security measures here. He had never used the gun, and Naomi had disapproved strongly at the time. Nonetheless, he had always felt better at night for knowing it was there.

It seemed heavier than he had remembered; the stock was warm, the barrels as cold as ice. He broke it open, admiring for an instant the finely engineered movement, and squinted down the shiny insides of the barrels. As he closed it again, he heard the reassuring click. Then, raising the gun, peering across the pinhead sight and down the top of the barrels, he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Safety catch!
he remembered. He slid it off, pointed the gun at the window, gripped tightly and squeezed first the right trigger, then the left one, hearing the sharp click each time.

Kneeling, he pushed the gun under the bed, far enough in so that it was out of sight. Next he took the box of ammunition from the cabinet, broke it open and put four cartridges in the drawer in his bedside table. Then he put the box back in the cabinet, locked it, and put the keys back in place beneath his handkerchiefs.

He sat on the bed for some moments, thinking what else he could do, what other precautions he could take, and all the time hoping to hell he was just overreacting, that this American had been innocent. In all likelihood they were worrying about nothing. Hell, his mother-in-law had never been to the States, she didn’t like to fly, so she could have mistaken his accent.

He went downstairs to the kitchen where Naomi was making a late snack lunch for them all and Luke and Phoebe were sitting at the kitchen table

Leaning against the Aga for warmth, he said to his mother-in-law, ‘Anne, this man who came to the door – he was definitely American?’

‘Very definitely.’ She was emphatic.

John thought for a moment. ‘You said he was looking for an address – he was lost or something?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘John, it
is
pretty confusing around here, first time you come. I got lost, too. You’re not very well signposted.’

‘I don’t think he was lost,’ Phoebe said sharply, without looking away from the television.

There was a brief silence. ‘Did you see this man, Phoebe?’ Naomi asked.

‘You don’t have to see someone to know they’re not lost,’ Phoebe said scornfully.

‘So why do you think he wasn’t lost, Phoebe?’ John asked.

Still without moving her eyes from the television, Phoebe flapped away his question with her hand. ‘We’re watching the show, please stop interrupting.’

John and Naomi exchanged a glance. He saw his mother-in-law smiling at her impertinence.

Insolence.

He should have slapped Phoebe down for it, so should Naomi, but it was still a major achievement to get the children to speak at all, still a novelty to hear them.

‘It was a farm he was looking for?’ John said.

‘I think that’s what he said. And – oh yes – feed!’

‘Feed?’

‘Agricultural feed – he was selling agricultural feed!’ Then her brow furrowed. ‘Although I have to say he really didn’t look a terribly
rural
type.’

John went to his study and phoned, in turn, each of the five local farming families around them whom he had met. Three of them answered and confirmed they’d not had any visitor fitting that description. They each promised to call him if the American did turn up. At the other two numbers, he got the voice mail, and left messages.

John then tried to turn his attention to his book and make use of this sudden extra time away from work. But it was hopeless, he couldn’t concentrate; he was too worried about this American with his crucifix.

Naomi called him back down for his lunch. After he had eaten he put on his Barbour, a rain hat and wellington boots, and went out for a walk across the fields, circumnavigating the house, keeping close enough to be able to beat any car coming up the drive back to it.

A thought was going round and round in his mind:

What if they had been in when the American had come?

Later in the afternoon, there was a reply from his email to Kalle. It was an automated response, telling him that Kalle was away from the office for the next ten days. A short while later the two remaining farmers returned his calls. Neither of them had had any visitors today.

At half past five in the afternoon, John’s mother-in-law set off for her drive back home to Bath. It was already pitch dark outside, and the rain was still tipping down. John put on his Barbour and wellingtons and, carrying a golfing umbrella, escorted her out to her car. He kissed her goodbye, then stood in the porch with Naomi until the tail lights had disappeared down the drive.

Although he got on fine with her, he normally felt a sense of relief when she had departed. It was good to have the house back to themselves.

Normally.

But this afternoon he felt a deep sense of anxiety, and wished she could have stayed longer. With a torch, he made a circuit of the house, checking that the sensors for all the outside lights were working properly, comforted a little by the sudden flood of brilliant light as each one came on.

In the living room, Naomi flopped down on a sofa, grateful for the chance of a few minutes to look at the paper. She had a headache that was getting worse by the minute. Luke and Phoebe were lounging back on the other sofa, engrossed in watching an old pop video of the group The Corrs on MTV.

‘
Thunder only happens when it’s raining
,’ they were singing.

Suddenly Phoebe grabbed the remote and turned the volume down.