Behaving Badly (38 page)

‘But didn’t you ask what it
was
?’

‘I did. And he told me it was an anti-vivisection video about monkeys, because your dad had been involved with neurological experiments.’ David groaned quietly, and shook his head. ‘But I believed him. And the point about Jimmy is that he’d never ever
been
violent. He was the man of peace. The hero who was an animal rights campaigner, but who had publicly
denounced
violent action—so no one had ever thought him extreme. I had
no
reason to doubt him, plus I wanted to impress him, so I said I’d deliver it for him—and I did. He did say that it would give your father a “bit of a shock”. But it was only the next day, when I found out the truth, that I understood what he’d meant by that.’

‘You were on a bicycle, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So
you
were the slight female figure seen by the milkman?’ I nodded. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said quietly. ‘It was you. It was
you
.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Well, thank you for telling me at last. How long has it taken, Miranda? Six weeks? And now I want you to tell me something else.’ My heart sank. ‘Who is Jimmy?’ He looked at me. ‘Who is he? I’d like to know his full name, and what he does. You say you met him again recently, so you’ll be able to tell me.’

‘I can’t,’ I said miserably.

‘You can.’

‘Okay, yes, I can. I
could
. But I don’t
want
to.’

‘But I have the right to know.’

‘That’s true. But
I
also have the right
not
to tell you. And I’m very sorry about it, David. I wish I
could
tell you—but this has never been about
Jimmy
—it’s about
me
. Shopping Jimmy—however awful he was—would make me feel underhand and wrong. Plus the fact that I know his wife, and it could destroy their marriage. And I’m sure he’s done nothing horrible since, and isn’t a threat to anyone.’

‘So why did he do what he
did
?’

‘I wish I knew! But I don’t. He never explained his motive, and I only saw him once more—the following day. Then I heard not long afterwards that he’d left Brighton, and after that there was no contact at all.’ We sat for a moment, listening to the sharp cries of the seagulls as they hung in the air overhead.

‘How weird,’ said David after a few moments. ‘You and I are on different sides of the same terrible event.’

‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘We are. For the past sixteen years I’ve thought about you so much. I used to try and imagine what had happened to you and how badly you’d been hurt. All I
knew was what I read in the newspaper the next day. I felt so
dreadful
about it, David—the whole thing was a terrible shock.’

‘So you say.’

‘Well, I say it because it’s
true
. I used to write you these letters, in which I’d tell you the whole story and apologize to you. But I’d always tear them up, because I was terrified that you’d go to the police, and then my life would be ruined.’

‘Poor Miranda,’ he said. ‘Poor Miranda…’ A flicker of hope rose in my heart. ‘I feel very sorry for you. I really do. And maybe what you’re saying
is
true.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. All I
do
know is,’ he stood up, ‘that we won’t be having lunch after all. Could we go to your car?’

‘What for?’

‘I want to get my stuff. I’ll get the train back to London.’

‘Oh David,
please
don’t go. We can talk about it for as long as you like, but please
don’t
go like this—not now.’

‘But there’s nothing else to say. You’ve finally told me the truth. I don’t feel like being with you, Miranda. It’s not my injuries. It’s not even the effect it had on my life. It’s the simple fact that that bomb was intended to kill my father. So forgive me if I don’t much feel like fraternizing with the woman who put it through the door.’ He picked up his jacket. ‘I feel…differently about you now. I don’t trust you at all. You told me when we played chess that strategic thinking isn’t your strong point—but it seems to me that it
is
. I even suspect you manipulated me into falling in love with you, so that I’d forgive you. But I don’t. And although, yes, I had fallen in love with you, those feelings were for someone else—the person I
thought
was you. So can we get my bags now?’ he added quietly. We walked in silence to the car. I opened the boot, and he lifted out his camera bag, his holdall,
and the tripod. Then he turned and walked away; and I stood there, staring at his retreating form until he was quite out of focus, no more than a dot, then a speck, and then gone.

CHAPTER 13

‘I wish he’d got
angry
with me,’ I wept to Daisy when I got back to London. ‘But he was too shocked.’

‘Poor Miranda,’ she said. ‘I did think he might take it better than that.’

‘Well, Christ, it’s such a huge thing. I never had
any
idea how he’d react. I just hoped that he’d be able to cope with it, but he clearly couldn’t.’

‘So what did you do when he left?’

‘I sat in the car for about an hour, just crying. Then I went to see my mum.’

‘You didn’t tell her, did you?’

‘No. She saw I was upset, but she assumed it was about Alexander and I didn’t disabuse her of that. My dad was there too.’

‘Really?’

‘They were having lunch.’

‘Good God!’

‘I know,’ I said as my sobs subsided. ‘All very civilized. But they’ve got this mad idea for the llamas—it’s totally
nuts
.’

‘What is it?’

I wiped my eyes. ‘It’s so crazy, I’m too embarrassed to tell
you—anyway, they were busy discussing that. I stayed for about an hour then drove back to London.’

‘And there was no message from David?’

‘No. But I knew that there wouldn’t be.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

What am I going to do?
‘I wish I knew, Daisy. I feel so awful.’

‘What do you
want
to do?’

‘I just want to convince David that I’m telling the
truth
. But that’s going to be impossible, as he now believes I’m manipulative and deceitful—both of which I
have
been.’

‘Only because you
had
to be.’

‘I know. But he clearly thinks I’m like that all the time.’

‘If he knew you well, he’d know that you’re
not
.’

‘But that’s precisely the problem. He’s known me less than two months. I
couldn’t
tell him the truth before, Daisy. I tried to, but I couldn’t, and now I’ve got myself in this terrible
mess
. He also said that he thought my feelings for him weren’t genuine, that it was guilt, not love.’

I heard Daisy hesitate. ‘Is there
any
truth in that?’

‘No. I fell in love with him, because I fell in love with him. Love doesn’t grow out of a bad conscience—resentment does.’

‘That’s true. And presumably he wanted to know who Jimmy was?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t tell him. However vile Jimmy is, it felt…
wrong
. And in any case, Jimmy is irrelevant to me in all this.’

‘But he’s not irrelevant to David.’

I sighed. ‘I know. But there’s no way round it. David also wanted to know
why
Jimmy did it—of course—and I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t, because I don’t actually know
myself
.’

‘Then I really think you’ve got to find out. Because if you could at least tell David
that
much, it would help him. He must feel so
dreadful
, Miranda.’

‘He does. He feels terrible. In fact he cried, Daisy. He cried.’ I felt my throat ache.

‘Well… I’m not surprised. It’s all been thrown up for him again, but he still doesn’t have closure. So he has all the pain of revisiting it, without any resolution—plus the awful knowledge that
you
were involved. You’ve
got
to find out why Jimmy did it,’ she reiterated.

‘How am I going to do that?’

‘Well…ask.’

‘What? Ask
Jimmy
? Just like that?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’ll never tell me. It’s too dangerous.’

‘So is
not
telling you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you could, well…threaten him. Couldn’t you?’

I stared at her. ‘
What
?’

‘Look, Miranda, Jimmy may or may not be a bad man—but sixteen years ago, he did a
very
bad thing. And as he involved you in it, he at least owes you an explanation. I suggest you demand to see him—then tell him that you’ve confessed to David.’

‘He’ll go absolutely
apeshit
.’

‘He will. He’s relied on your silence all this time—and now you’ve broken it. But tell him that you haven’t actually given David his name. Then say that you won’t do so—
if
—and
only
if—he agrees to explain
why
he did it.’

‘But that’s blackmail, Daisy.’

‘
Yes!!
’

That evening I wrote a letter to David, repeating everything I’d said to him in Brighton. Then, once I’d posted it,
I decided that I
would
do as Daisy advised. I’d go and see Jimmy—the next day. I wouldn’t ring him in advance—I’d just go to the House of Commons—the public have access—and I’d wait in the lobby for as long as it took. Parliament might be in summer recess, but the MPs were still working, and Jimmy was ambitious—he wouldn’t slouch. But what if he was away? I looked at his website. It said that he would be on holiday in Scotland for two weeks, from the sixteenth of August, so he probably
would
be there, clearing his desk. But what about Herman? I couldn’t take him, and I couldn’t leave him for hours, so I phoned Daisy and she agreed to have him at work.

‘I’m in early tomorrow, so bring him at nine. I’m so glad you’re doing this, Miranda,’ she added. ‘It isn’t just David who needs to know—
you
need to know too.’

Yes, I thought miserably. I do.

The following morning I got up early, dressed smartly, then walked over the bridge with Herman and got the tube to Tottenham Court Road.

Daisy met me at reception.

‘God you look pale. Haven’t you slept?’ I shook my head. I handed Herman to her, then she gave me something.

‘Put this in your bag,’ she said quietly. ‘I think you’ll find it handy. It’s very easy to operate—and it’s discreet.’

I felt my jaw slacken. ‘Isn’t it illegal?’

‘I’m not exactly sure,’ she whispered. ‘But I know that sending people letter-bombs
is
! Jimmy may refuse to see you,’ she went on. ‘But if he agrees, then I just thought it would be useful to have the conversation on record. As for persuading him to tell you, just think of him as a difficult, domineering dog who you’re going to bring to heel. Take a rolled-up
newspaper with you if necessary. Best of luck!’ Then she hugged me and I left.

I got the tube to Charing Cross then walked down Whitehall towards Westminster. As I saw Big Ben, and heard it chime the half hour, my heart-rate began to increase. I felt sick with fear, and I was miserable about David, but I had to do this—for him. I made my way through the knots of tourists to St Stephen’s entrance, my knees shaking. As I expected, security was tight.

‘Who are you visiting?’ asked the security guard at the door.

‘James Mulholland.’

‘And is he expecting you?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

‘Please empty your pockets and put your bag on the moving belt.’

As I passed through the metal detector, I could see the tiny tape recorder quite clearly on the screen, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone; they probably assumed I was a hack. Then I picked up my bag and walked down the cool, flagstone corridor, past Westminster Hall, to Central Lobby.

‘I’d like to see James Mulholland,’ I said, as confidently as I could, though my knees were trembling.

‘Do you have an appointment?’ the attendant asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And what’s your name?’ I told him. ‘Please wait.’ He dialled the extension, but there was no reply. ‘It’s on answerphone at the moment. Please take a seat and I’ll try again in a few minutes.’

After a quarter of an hour, I went up to the desk while the attendant tried Jimmy’s line again, and this time he got a reply.

‘His private secretary says she has no record of your meet ing.’

‘May I speak to her please?’ He passed me the phone.

‘Mr Mulholland won’t be here until ten thirty,’ she explained. ‘But in any case, I don’t have a note of you in the diary. May I ask what this is about?’

‘It’s about… Sussex University,’ I said. ‘Mr Mulholland must have forgotten to mention it to you, but if you say that Miranda Sweet would like to speak to him, urgently, about the biochemistry department at Sussex University, then I think that’ll ring a few bells.’

‘Well I will, but he’s quite busy today. If he decides he has time to see you, I’ll ring down.’

‘Thank you.’ I breathed a sigh of relief.

As I waited, I glanced round the octagonal lobby with its ornate vaulted ceiling. There were groups of foreign students, and workmen polishing the mosaic floor. By ten forty-five there’d been no word. Then at ten past eleven I heard my name.

‘Miss Sweet,’ the attendant repeated as I rushed up to the desk. ‘Kindly write your name and details here, and then you’ll be taken to Mr Mulholland’s office.’ My hand shaking slightly, I wrote my name in the register, then followed another attendant down a long green-carpeted corridor, then up three flights of steps, until I was standing outside a heavy oak door with Jimmy’s name on it. I knocked and entered.

His secretary, a pleasant looking woman of about fifty, was sitting at a desk in the outer office. Just visible in the inner one was Jimmy. He was on the phone.

‘Yes,’ I heard him say. ‘I agree it should be added to the National Curriculum. Of course.’ Now, having registered my presence, he politely wound up the conversation. As he walked towards me he looked calm and self-possessed,
with his slightly swaggering walk, but there was that distinct flicker of anxiety I’d seen before.