The Slap (62 page)

The two adults looked stunned. Rosie shook her head. ‘I can’t believe that.’ She stroked Hugos’ hair. ‘Did the old man scare you?’

Richie’s mouth dropped open. Hugo had not answered; his mouth was pulling at Rosie’s tit.

Gary stepped out onto the porch. ‘Hugo,’ he shouted. ‘Did you spit at an old man?’

The boy buried himself deeper into his mother’s breasts.

‘Hugo!’ the scream startled all of them. ‘What the fuck did you do?’

The boy started to wail and Gary went to grab him out of his wife’s arms.

Rosie struggled, evaded him, and started running down the hall, her son still in her arms.

Gary shrugged, turned around to Richie. ‘Come on, mate, come and have a beer.’

 

Gary opened two tinnies and handed one to Richie. Rosie had the kettle on to boil. She had also started singing to herself, as if the incident had not happened.

‘Yoga was great,’ she turned around and beamed at Richie. She came and sat beside him. Hugo, playing with a tiny toy truck on the other side of the table, suddenly smiled at Richie. His eyes were clear, almost teasing.

‘Okay,’ his mother sang out. ‘Friends again. We’re all friends again.’

Hugo rubbed at his arm. ‘He hurt me.’

Rosie winked at Richie. ‘I’m sure he’s sorry. You’re sorry aren’t you, Richie?’

What about the old man? What about what Hugo did? Rosie’s eyes were boring into Richie, forcing an apology out of him. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back, confused. Don’t cry, you little bitch, he scolded himself, don’t you dare cry.

‘I’m sorry,’ he gulped. He remembered Hector’s derision and the old man’s wrecked dignity and he closed his eyes as tight as he could as if by shutting out the image he could make it go away, make it not have happened.

It didn’t work. The sobs came and he couldn’t stop them. He was crying exactly like Hugo had been, crying like a baby.

 

‘Drink your beer.’ Richie wiped his eyes and cheeks. He did not dare look at either adult. He obeyed Gary but the alcohol tasted sour, curdled. He took a sip and put it down.

‘We know you wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt Hugo.’ Richie finally looked up, grateful for the affection in Gary’s voice. ‘Just tell us what happened.’

I was mortified that your son spat at an old man, that’s what happened. How does that happen? I hurt Hugo, I hurt a small kid, how the fuck does that happen? I am not a bad person. He wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to shut out the memory of that jeering, arrogant, hateful sneer.

‘I saw Hector at the pool.’ The words tumbled out, a rush of relief. They were out before he could stop them. Richie went cold, realising he was about to change things, enter into unfamiliar and dangerous territory. He nearly shivered. Gary and Hugo and Rosie seemed to diminish, as if he was suddenly looking at them from a long way away. He’d count to fifteen. He’d count to fifteen and hold his breath. Then he’d make a decision. He started to count. Rosie and Gary looked at him, baffled. Hugo was ignoring him, sitting on his mother’s lap and scrawling over an old phone bill.

Gary looked at his wife and then back at the teenage boy. ‘What the fuck has he got to do with any of this?’

Eight. Nine. Ten.

‘Did Hector say something to Hugo?’ Gary’s voice rose in panic. ‘Did Hector do something to Hugo?’

Thirteen, fourteen.

No. To me.
To me.

Fifteen. The words rushed out. ‘It’s what he did to Connie. It’s what the dirty bastard did to Connie.’

There. The words were said.

‘What did Hector do to Connie?’ Rosie was rising from the table, coming over to him, her face over his. ‘What did he do to Connie?’ she ordered. She was shaking him now.

‘He did things to her. He made her do things to him.’

He was paralysed. The two adults exchanged glances. For just a moment, Gary looked elated, like a footballer who had just scored a goal. That moment dissolved into a frown.

‘That fucking wog cunt,’ Gary sneered at his wife. ‘Your friends, your rich snob friends. He’s a fucking paedophile.’ He jumped up from his seat and stormed down the corridor.

The word slapped hard. Richie held his breath. Not that word. That was the ugliest word in the world. Rosie started to cry.

Hugo clambered back onto her lap. ‘Mummy, Mummy what’s wrong ?’

‘Nothing, baby, I’m alright.’

Hugo turned to Richie, calm, serious. ‘I forgive you, Richie,’ he announced solemnly, as if he had been rehearsing the words. ‘It didn’t hurt very much.’

Gary was in the doorway. ‘Let’s go.’

Rosie did not move. ‘Rosie, we’re going to confront that animal now.’

Richie could not bear to look at the woman, she seemed lost, appalled.

Gary tore Hugo off her. ‘
Now.
You’re going to tell Aish all about it. You’re going to tell that stuck-up bitch exactly what kind of man her husband is.’ He turned to Richie. ‘And you’re coming with us. You’re going to tell them exactly what you said to us.’

No. He couldn’t face Hector. No way. He couldn’t do it.

‘She’s at work.’ He yelled it out, remembering that his mother had told him she was working with Aisha at the clinic this Saturday. He could face Aisha. He couldn’t face Hector, there was no way.

‘Fine,’ growled Gary. ‘Then we’ll go to the clinic.’ He was smiling, still holding his son. ‘Wait till she hears, wait till she finds out the truth.’ He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She shook him off. ‘Come on,’ his voice softened. ‘It should come from you.’

Rosie got to her feet. ‘Okay,’ she announced, her voice now hard. ‘You’re right. It should come from me.’

 

It all seemed to happen in slow motion but also in an instant. Was this what was meant by relativity, quantum physics, all those ideas and calculations that were so hard to get his head around? It all seemed to happen so deliberately, as if their movements were all rehearsed and preordained, that it would be impossible to stop any of it. Getting into their car, buckling Hugo into the child seat, fastening his own belt, driving down High Street, parking, walking into the clinic. The waiting room was full, smelt of dogs and air freshener. His mother was at the counter, she was looking up, surprised, then scared. She rushed to him.

‘What are you all doing here?’ Her voice rose. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Where’s Aish?’

His mother ignored Gary. ‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong?’

‘Where the fuck is Aish?’

One of the clients looked up, distressed. A dog barked.

His mother swung around at Gary. ‘This is a waiting room. Behave yourself.’

‘We want to see Aish. Now.’

‘She’s busy. She’s in a consult.’

‘Fine.’ Gary pushed past Tracey, walked through into the office. ‘We’ll wait.’

‘You can’t go in there.’

Gary’s laugh was mean, jubilant. ‘Trace, trust me, I’m fucking happy to say my piece out here in the waiting room but I doubt Aish would want me to.’

His mother and Gary faced each other like warriors in a video game.

Slowly she nodded her head. ‘I’ll tell her you’re here.’ Her voice was shaking. Aish would be furious. Gary laughed harshly again and walked through, followed by Rosie, hand in hand with Hugo. Richie went to follow but his mother put a warning hand on him.

‘What’s this about?’ she hissed.

He shrugged helplessly.

Thankfully the phone rang at that moment and his mother, hesitating momentarily, had to answer. He escaped into the office.

Hugo was playing with a small statuette of a white horse, one side of its body skinned to reveal the equine anatomy underneath. Rosie was sitting on the chair next to the computer. Gary was standing, arms locked, waiting. He looked as if he would explode from anticipation. The room was tiny, cluttered. Richie sat on the floor. The phone rang again and startled everyone. He could hear his mother answering it in the waiting room. They heard a door slide in the corridor, a dog yelp.

Aisha appeared at the door. She looked stunning. He knew she was older than his mother but she didn’t look it. Her skin was clear, didn’t have any of his mother’s wrinkles and lines. She was wearing a white medical coat. His mother appeared beside her.

‘Aish, I’m sorry, they forced—’

Aisha cut her off. ‘Trace, please put the phones off the hook.’ His mother nodded. ‘And please apologise to the people waiting. Tell them it is an emergency and I’ll be with them as soon as I can.’ She walked into the room and closed the door. She did not take a seat. Gary was staring at her but Aisha ignored him. She nodded to Richie and his cheeks burned. He smiled weakly.

Aisha kissed Hugo on the cheek. ‘How are you, Huges?’

‘Good,’ the boy replied, then quickly looked at his father.

Aisha turned to Rosie, still ignoring Gary. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘It’s about that animal you’re married to.’ The words were brutal, but suddenly, in front of the calm, serene Aisha, Gary no longer seemed threatening or confident.

He hates her, realised Richie, he really hates her.

‘Gary,’ Aisha laughed, finally acknowledging him. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

‘Of course.’ Gary was trembling. ‘Hector’s shit doesn’t stink, does it?’

Aisha put out her hand, interrupting him. ‘This is my work, my business. Please keep your voice down.’

‘Did you know that your husband was fucking Connie?’

The ugly words tumbled out. Richie wanted to be sick. His mother had just walked back into the room, had heard the words. Her mouth fell open.

Aisha shuddered; for one moment she seemed uncertain, to lose her composure, and reached out a hand to the back of a chair to steady herself.

She straightened and looked directly at Rosie. ‘I don’t believe that for a moment.’

Gary gestured to Richie. ‘Tell her.’

Aisha swung around to him. He wished he could disappear. He looked down at the vile green carpet he was sitting on and wanted to drop through it. He could not bring himself to hold the woman’s gaze.

‘What do you have to tell me, Richard?’

He wished she had not used his real name. He knew what she was doing, she was making him an adult, making him responsible. He would not look up: he could not face Aisha’s penetrating stare, his mother’s confusion.

‘Tell her.’ Gary was insistent.

Shut up. Shut up.

They heard footsteps down the corridor, a dog barking again, the creak of the office door knob turning. His mother called out, petrified, ‘Don’t come in.’ As soon as the words were uttered the door opened. Connie was standing there, her work uniform in one hand. At first puzzled, then alarmed, she looked at everyone in the room. Her eyes rested on Richie. He looked at her, open-mouthed, amazed. He had no idea of religion, had never learned a thing about it, but it was as if she was a messenger from the heavens. Connie would make it right, somehow she would make it all right. The girl bent down to Hugo, who leapt up to embrace her. Connie looking around at the adults, her face fearful, her eyes suspicious.

‘What’s wrong?’

Aisha’s voice cut through the silence, firm, steady. ‘Richie seems to think that Hector has done something to you, Connie?’ Aisha’s voice suddenly broke, she made a choking sound. ‘That’s he’s done something terrible. Is it true?’

Richie held his breath. This was big, this was too big. He’d have to count to sixty, to ninety, hold his breath to ninety. This would be the only way to make it right. He’d count to ninety, he’d start now. One, two . . .

But he couldn’t block out the world. Connie’s voice sliced through.

‘Aish, I swear, I swear, I don’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t have a clue.’ He’d never heard her sound like this, so scared, almost delirious. He could feel her shaking next to him. Her voice became a wail. She was screaming at him. ‘What the fuck is this about, Richie? What did you say? What the fuck did you say?’

He could not speak. He could not breathe. Where was his ventolin? He began to search frantically through his pocket.

It was Gary who answered her. ‘He implied that Hector molested you.’ His voice was a whisper, ravaged. Richie pumped the ventolin into his lungs, his eyes firmly on the dirty carpet. He would not dare look up, could not dare face Connie.

‘It’s not true.’ He could hear the sobs in his friend’s voice. ‘Aish, I promise it’s not true.’

Aisha quickly came over to the girl, put her arm around her. ‘I know, darling. I believe you.’

Connie’s next words lacerated him. ‘He’s obsessed with Hector,’ she spluttered. ‘He’s fucking sick. He’s making it all up. He took your photo.’ She must have turned to Rosie; Richie was concentrating on a half-submerged staple hidden in the carpet. His breath was coming back. ‘Just look in your photo albums at home. He’s stolen your photos of Hector. He’s sick, he’s sick, he’s a real sick fuck,’ she screamed again. She kicked him hard on his leg. He didn’t call out, he did not cry.

‘Why would you do this? What fucked game are you playing?’

He could hear Hugo beginning to cry.

‘Rosie, please take Hugo home. He shouldn’t have to listen to this.’ Aisha’s tone was hard, cruel. He heard another sob. Rosie? Connie?

His mother.

He could not look up, he dare not look up.

Rosie was trying to say something, the words could not come out, they were gibberish.

Aisha, for the first time, exploded. ‘Just fucking go. Get out of my life.’

They went. They had left. He went to pick at the staple, remove it. It suddenly seemed crucial it not be there. Someone could step on it. Not someone, a dog.

‘Get up.’

He shook his head. He would not get up, he would not listen to his mother.

‘Rick, get up!’

He obeyed. Aisha was still hugging Connie. Neither of them could look at him. He would not look at his mother.