Daddy Dearest (19 page)

‘Yes, I’m going to get her.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be scared.’

‘You won’t be scared. I’m going to lock the door and leave you some food. Just wait for me. Okay?’

She wasn’t okay. You could hardly expect her to be. I’d just hit her. Now I was going to leave her. She put her arms round my neck and clung to me.

‘Darling, listen to me.’

She wasn’t listening.

‘If you want Mummy back, I have to go now. I can’t take you. It’s too dangerous for little girls.’

‘But what about the monsters?’

‘There are no monsters.’

I wish I hadn’t lied to her. I wish I’d just told her the truth. Adults are so conniving.

‘There are.’

‘There aren’t. Now, I’m going to leave the TV on. Don’t answer the door and don’t answer the phone. Do you want me to bring you a chocolate ice cream?’

See how I tried to deflect her? See how I tried to take her mind off things?

‘I wish I was coming with you.’

She was depressed.

‘So do I, darling.’

Now I was doing the hugging.

‘Listen, Daddy loves you more than anything in the world and is very proud of you. Other daddies couldn’t leave their five old girls on their own. They’d be like babies, always crying.’ I made my best impression of one and she smiled a bit. ‘There are only a few who are grown up enough to be left. You’re one of them.’

I was making inroads. Some of her natural colour returned. It started to mask where I’d hit her.

‘I’m still a bit scared, Daddy.’

‘I know, darling.’

I picked her up and took her into the kitchen. I opened the wire drawer. Along with the instructions and matches and light bulbs I kept some pictures she’d drawn for me. One of them was of our handprints. I took it out and showed it to her. I forgot it had her mum’s on, too. Happy days.

‘Just leave this here and every time you get scared, put your hands on the handprints and think of us altogether, because in a little bit, we will be.’

She put her hands on hers and saw that they no longer fitted.

‘Look, Dad. I’m not a baby any more.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re not.’

What kind of man leaves his five-year-old daughter in a flat on her own? A man who’s taken leave of his senses? An evil man? I could point to the children left outside shops, or in the house while parents nip next door to borrow some milk, or kids left in baths, to show it goes on all the time. I could reassure you that I removed all dangerous objects before I left and made sure nothing was switched on that shouldn’t be on, and that she couldn’t get on to any worktops, although I couldn’t stop her using the computer chair to get up there. I could tell you the oven was off, the hobs were off, the bath wasn’t running and that I’d pulled the phone out and hidden it - and you’d still think the worst of me. I did everything I possibly could: I left sandwiches and crisps and drink out; I brought her toys in; I closed all the windows and locked them. You think I wanted to leave her? You think I wanted to leave my little girl? I die just thinking about it.

I put my hands on my prints and they fitted exactly, although I can’t think how. I remember nothing of that man, whether he was happy or who he was. ‘I’m not going to be very long, sweetheart. Remember what I said. Stay in the living room and don’t answer the door.’

‘Okay, Daddy.’

I waited a few seconds to make sure she hadn’t come after me, then left the flat. I checked the lock once, twice, five times, then ran down the corridor.

I know I said I’d never used text since it all blew up, but I did then. I didn’t really know what I was thinking, just that I needed help.

I wrote
Please come back
. It’s all I could think of to say.

I was scared, never mind her. I was scared of the things she could do to herself and the things they were going to do to me. I took the fire escape out the building. There were shoppers unloading their cars in the car park and tramps sleeping in doorways. I smelt their piss and saw the puddles growing around them and wondered if that would be me one day when all this was over; when I’d served my time and come out to nothing. I passed a newspaper vendor on the corner and stalled when I read the headline: Missing Girl’s Mum’s Tragic End. News travelled fast. They hadn’t even held the inquest.

I’ve never been a runner, not that I haven’t the build for it - indeed, at school, I was famed for outrunning bullies - it was more a case of how stupid it made me look. My limbs went everywhere and my face contorted like a gargoyle’s. The same thing happened when I made love, though less people were looking (I think). Some of the faces I’ve seen at the height of their concupiscence, you’d think I’d killed them. They were like faces found in peat bogs with wire garrottes round their necks. Maybe that’s the way we should all go.

That day, I didn’t care who saw me. I ran through the back streets and felt alive. I think it was the moment I’ve risked most in my life. I’ve been conscious of these moments - I wouldn’t call them opportunities - several times before, where the hint of danger lifted me out of myself and I realised something life-changing was happening. They didn’t happen enough for my liking, but then I’ve always been careful.

I risked a lot when I walked out of a performance of
Krapp’s Last Tape
. You’d think that was no strange thing with Beckett but I was playing Krapp at the time. There was no one left to play the tape. I don’t think the audience appreciated the irony. I risked a bit more -
a lot more
- when I got back in touch with that Chinese girl I saw on the bench. It turned out she sat there quite a lot. I didn’t intend to start anything with her; we just sort of fell into it, although everyone comes up with crap like that, don’t they? I used to meet up with her several times a week and waited for the conversations to lead us to bed. When my wife found out, she remembered that first time and the signs I was making to her before our little girl was born, and she thought I’d embarrassed and humiliated her in a most terrible way. I had, of course.

The thing is, the consequences of what I was doing never really hit me till we were in that dingy hotel. Before that, I could convince myself we were just friends, albeit ones with bad intentions. I remember thinking everything was still okay right up until she took her clothes off. Then things took a less forgivable turn and I started kissing her body and she gave out short high-pitched squeals but still we were okay, I thought. It only changed when I penetrated her. There was no excusing that. I was aware of the risk I was taking, but even then it seemed less. I didn’t realise I was going to lose everything. I thought I could get away with it. My face contorted like a gargoyle’s and she let out higher pitched squeals and we kept at it. I remember thinking I should stop for a good long while, but then I just gave up. It was a rotten, cheating thing to do and there was no excuse; which is probably why I did it again and again.

I was reminded of this and
Krapp’s Last Tape
when I arrived at the police station. Sherlock had one on his desk, though more high tech than the one we used on stage. He seemed really agitated - more agitated than I’d ever seen him - and I realised he thought things were coming to an end. I wondered if this would be my last tape and who would play it if it was? Would it be read out in court as my last confession?

Mole came into the room after a few moments and squinted at me. He shuffled some papers and waited. I didn’t know where to turn.

‘You said you had some news?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it significant?’

‘We think so.’

‘Have you found her?’

It was a bold gambit, going straight in there, but the feeling of being alive was still with me. I wanted to turn the tables. I wanted to be the one asking the questions. I wanted to be out of there. Every second away increased the chance that something would happen to her.

‘No. But we think we know where she is.’

I know I should have felt overjoyed at that news; I should have been down his throat with both feet; but I was dreading the
she’s in your flat
bit.

‘Where?’

‘The rug you found, we’ve found the owners.’

‘Who?’

He paused. I don’t know what procedures the police have in place for telling you things; you’d think I’d have a right to know who the suspects were; but there are so many legal loopholes to get through, you have to be careful. Sherlock was very careful. ‘A Chinese couple on the top floor.’ I think he wanted to see how I would react. ‘You know them?’

‘There’s quite a few Chinese in the building.’

He put two photos on the desk - mug shots, actually - of the couple I’d met in the basement. It’s strange how cruel, how mean, how guilty they now looked. Already I was seeing them as drug dealers and kidnappers.

‘They deny everything, of course. They say they don’t know how the clothes got there.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I said at the outset that I’d always level with you; I’d always tell you the truth. I don’t like hiding things from people.’

‘I remember.’

I was giving it my best shot.

Mole remained unmoved. He sat there shuffling his papers, waiting for us to start. I wondered if he’d been primed before. I suspect all judges and police officers and solicitors are in it together. They probably bet on which way it will go.

‘They’re the couple you met on the stairwell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your daughter was in the lift at the time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which means they couldn’t have passed you and got down to the basement before you?’

‘No.’

‘So they weren’t responsible for your daughter’s disappearance.’

‘Is that a question or a statement?’

‘Both.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You asked me to come over because you had a lead. Why are you playing games with me? You said you knew where she was.’

‘We think we do. We’re just waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’

He paused. ‘A phone call.’

I looked at Mole. He blinked back from behind his glasses.

‘From who?’

‘From one of my officers. He’ll be at your flat soon.’

I nearly choked. ‘What’s he doing there?’

‘Looking for your daughter.’

I was terrified. ‘You think I’d know if she was?’

‘Of course.’

‘So why go when I’m out?’

Sherlock looked at me not unsympathetically. ‘From experience we’ve found it best to do it this way. People do strange things when they’re cornered, even to their loved ones. The safest way is to separate them.’

‘This was a plan?’

‘Yes.’

Mole perked up at this and blinked at Sherlock. ‘Are you charging my client?’

Sherlock blanked him completely and addressed me. ‘It must be galling to think you’re being accused. No one likes that, especially after what you’ve been through. But my duty, as I said at the start, is not just to you. I hope you understand that.’ He took her picture down from the wall. ‘We all share your pain. This could happen to any of us. We had reports of a child’s voice coming from your apartment.’

The woman with the stilettos? The game was well and truly up. It would only be a matter of minutes and he’d know. Everyone would know. My only consolation was she would be safe.

‘You think I’ve got her?’

It was call his bluff time.

‘I’d like to think not.’

So would I. Three minutes passed. I imagined my little girl watching television and shrieking when the riot police came crashing in. What kind of thing was that to see?

My fingers drummed on the desk. As I hadn’t formally been charged with anything, I supposed I was free to go, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. Where would I go, anyway? Back to the flat to pick my little girl up? She was better off with them. The feeling of being alive was gone; it was replaced with the dread expectation of loss.

Gran Vals’ thirteen notes - who’d have thought they’d take over the world like that? - broke the catatonic melancholy I had sunk into. Sherlock picked up his Nokia and his eyes sunk into me.

I don’t remember what he said exactly. I just remember the relief on his face.

‘Well?’

‘They’ve found nothing.’

What
?

‘I could have told you that.’

‘We had to make sure.’

Nothing
? My heart was screaming out at me.
What do you mean
?
She’s watching television. Why haven’t you found her
?

‘Where does that leave us?’

‘It leaves us with them.’

He held up the mug shots of the Chinese couple.

‘You said they couldn’t have done it.’

‘I said they weren’t responsible for your daughter’s disappearance.’

‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

‘Not necessarily. Your daughter’s clothes were lined with heroin. Whether it came from the rug or not, it ties them into this. The basement was full of boxes someone had tried to get rid of. All of them contained bags of heroin, the same batch as on the clothes. There’s too much money involved for them to be left by chance. Someone was expecting them to be picked up.’

‘I still don’t understand how this ties in with my daughter?’

He looked at me morbidly. ‘Suppose there
was
someone down there when she turned up. And suppose she saw something?’

Never underestimate man’s capacity for invention.

‘You think she’s dead?’

I
nearly died.

‘I said I’d be honest with you.’

‘They were coming up the stairs when I saw them.’

Mole stirred and broke my reverie. ‘I take it my client isn’t being charged with anything and is free to go?’

Sherlock nodded. ‘For the time being.’

It seemed scarcely possible I’d been given a reprieve. Sherlock didn’t bestow any last pearls of wisdom. He let the silence do the talking. I vaguely wondered if this was part of his plan - I wouldn’t put it past him - but I had to push it aside. I had other matters to attend to.

On my way out, I saw the hobbit. She pointed me to the far end of the corridor where bouquets of flowers had replaced the grid maps of the city, and where teddy bears played under canopies of white bunting. It seemed strange to find such a floral oasis. She showed me some cards that had been placed there. I didn’t really pay much attention until I opened one and saw it was for me.
With Deepest Sympathy
, it said.
We all share your pain
. There were other flowers outside the station, heaped high like waterfalls, cascading petals onto the newly-cut grass. I wish I knew all their names. I wish I knew all their colours. I wish I could tell you how it made a difference and how I’d made up my mind to change. I’ve done a lot of bad in my life; and if I was to weigh it with the good, I would be in deficit, although it never stopped me complaining. I wished a lot of things in my life and not many of them came true. I only had one left.