Woodhill Wood (20 page)

"Roger? Don't! Look, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh, you stupid bitch! Don't start playing the innocent with me. You just had to do it, didn't you? You just had to see me fail. Well, I hope you're satisfied now. Look at this! Go on, look at it!"

"What is it?"

"What is it. What is it. What do you think? What do you fucking think it is? Take it, go on, take it... I said, take it! No. No, I'll read it to you. I'll read what they said, then you'll be happy, won't you? Ready? 'Dear Mr Duff'.. that's me... `Thank you for your letter of the 27th November.'...nearly two weeks ago. Ring any bells? No?... Read on... `We have read the thrust' ...the thrust! They didn't even bloody read it!... `the thrust of your book - Prosecutors will be Trespassers - but feel it remains unsuitable for publication in its present form.'...enjoying yourself? There's more... `Given your position and reputation,' ...reputation?... `your position and reputation we were particularly interested to receive your work, which is obviously the result of considerable effort.' ...patronising bastards... `We are fully aware that the point of view you express could be of considerable interest to the legal fraternity.' ...Now for the good bit! Ready? I said, are you ready! Look at me when I'm talking to you! Right!... `However, on further reading, we feel that, in general, your arguments remain somewhat poorly supported by the evidence that you cite and that the arguments themselves may require further consideration before we would consider proceeding beyond this point. In addition, the overall style may be regarded as rather too informal, which we feel distracts from the subject matter itself. We do not claim expertise in particular areas of law, and have therefore sought the advice of two persons in this field upon whose opinion this decision was based. The fact that we felt able to respond so swiftly should not be viewed as reflecting negatively upon this work' ...crap... `as we endeavour to retain an excellent working relationship with both existing and potential authors. We look forward to reading a revised version at a later date.' ...in other words, they hated it. They hated it so much that they sent it straight back. It just bounced off them. And do you know why they hated it? Because it wasn't fucking finished! It wasn't ready! So, you win. You finally win. So that is that. All over. Happy now, bitch?"

"Oh, God." she said.

"Why? Why did you do it?"

"Roger, listen, I didn't send it. I wouldn't send it. I know how much it means..."

"Crap. Don't start messing me about woman. Who else would it be? Eh? Who else goes shoving their ugly face into other people's business. You love it, don't you? You interfering bitch. But this time you've gone too far. You know what you've done, don't you? You know. I'll be a laughing stock now. I can guess who they got to read it. I know which expert they wheeled in to have a good laugh. Pemberton, that's who. They got Pemberton to read it, and that's it, all over. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I'll have to leave the practice, the Society, the..."

"Come on, Roger. Don't be ridiculous."

Gurde heard a sound like a belt coming down hard on a leather palm and heard the mother's cry of pain. Gurde knew he should have moved earlier but he wanted to hear it all. Now he leapt to his feet and ran towards the hall. He sprinted to the door and burst in to see the mother curled up on the sofa, holding her hands over her face, with the father standing over her, rubbing his lower lip rapidly from side to side.

The father's eyes filled with such bitterness that Gurde stopped in his tracks. "Get out!" he shouted.

Gurde took a step backwards. A shout from the father sounded ten times louder than from anyone else. Everything in the room seemed to shake under the weight of it.

Gurde fought the urge to leave and stood his ground. "What are you doing?" he said, trying to control the tremble in his voice.

"I said, get out!"

Gurde looked at the mother. She nodded that Gurde should go, that he shouldn't see the father like this.

"Leave her alone. I... I sent it," Gurde said.

The father's arms dropped to his sides as if the power that drove them had been switched off. He turned around, slowly and deliberately, until he was facing his son. "You did what?"

"I sent it. The book. I sent it."

There was a pause, and then the father said "I don't believe you."

"It's true. It was me.."

"No," he said. "No, I know what you're up to. Now get out!"

"I sent it, Dad."

"Get out! This has nothing to do with you!"

"I thought they'd accept it. I thought you would never get around to it. You told me it was finished. You told me. Two weeks ago you said it was finished."

The father stood, still and silent, burning his stare deep into his son's eyes. Then he looked back at the mother, who had lowered her shaking hands but was keeping them at the ready. The father shook his head. "No. You're on her side. I know that. She's got to you too, hasn't she? Now I told you to get upstairs. You will do what you are told. Now!"

"No, I won't. I'm staying here."

A look of disbelief passed over the father's face, then his bottom lip dropped to reveal his teeth and a deep red colour began to fill his cheeks. "What did you say?"

"I'm not going. I'm staying here. You're hurting Mum. I heard it. I sent your bloody book. Me. I sent it. I sent it to Mr Paterson in Edinburgh. I used the letter you'd written. I sent it on a Monday. The stamps cost one pound seventy four pence..."

He walked towards Gurde as if nothing was wrong and stood in front of his son. Then he straightened his back and hit Gurde on the side of the head with the flat of his hand. There was no warning, no chance for Gurde to brace himself.

The boy flew across the room and crashed into the front of the piano. He struck his head against its carved top, then dropped on to the stool and then on to the floor. Gurde lay there, feeling the warm carpet beneath his fingers and against his cheek, as a great emptiness washed over him.

"Roger! Leave him!" Gurde distantly heard her rise and scamper across the room to kneel and cover his face with her arms. "Just leave him alone!"

"Get up, woman!"

She drew her arms tighter around his shoulder blades.

"I said get up!"

"Stop! Think what you're doing. For God's sake, think. Look at what you've done! It's only a book."

"Only a book? Only a book?" A great sigh burst from the father and he was gone.

"Come on, Matty. Sit up. It's all right now. Come on."

Gurde lifted his head from the floor and found himself resting in her arms with his face pushed against her breasts. The part of his face that had been struck was hot. He could almost feel the imprints of the individual fingers tingling on his skin.

They stayed there, neither moving, listening to the father in the kitchen, hearing the can of beer hiss open, hearing the scratch of a match and the flash of its ignition.

Gurde felt a prick on his cheek, a warm point of movement that ran across his face like the trail of a snail to his mouth. He recognised the taste of tear and shuffled himself upright to see her face. Her eyes were red. The tears hung inside the edge of her lower lids, welling up from inside, trying to stay with her until they could hang no more, then cascading over the brim and down her face to drip on to the floor.

"Was it you? Was it you that sent it?" she said quietly.

Gurde nodded.

"Why?"

"I had to... I thought I had... "

She ran her fingers through his hair. "Why did you have to?"

"I had to, Mum. I had to send it."

"Yes, but why did you have to?"

"I just had to, Mum. I had to send it before it was too late."

"Before what was too late, Matty?"

"Everything, Mum. Before everything was too late."

"You're not well, are you?"

"I... "

"You're not well. I think we should see a doctor. We'll go and see a doctor in the morning. That's a good idea."

"I'm all right, Mum. Honest."

"No, you're under a lot of pressure. I understand. I understand what you're going through. Don't worry Matty. Things will be all right in the end. Things will be all right. I know it's difficult for you. You'll see."

Approaching footsteps in the hall killed her words and Gurde could feel her tensing. The father filled the doorway, a glass of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, swaying slightly, glaring down upon the two cowering figures on the floor.

"Why did you do it?" he said in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry." Gurde replied.

"I'm not talking to you. Why did you do it woman? Why?"

The mother's grip on Gurde's arm grew tighter. He put his free hand over hers for support. There was a pause as she struggled for the right words to use. She didn't find them. "I didn't..."

"I said, why did you do it? Why do you want to destroy me?"

"It wasn't Mum," Gurde said again, "I sent it, Dad."

"You used the boy, didn't you? You used him, thinking that through him you'd be safe. Do you think I'm stupid? Do you? What did you promise him? Eh? What little scheme did you think up to get your son to do your dirty work for you?" The father drew briefly on his cigarette and spat out the smoke. "You disgust me. Do you know that? You make me feel sick. I know your little game. You've been trying to turn them against me for years with your evil little games. I've heard you telling them things, nasty little stories, trying to undermine me, making fun of me behind my back. And like a fool I let you take my sons away from me. I let you poison their minds with your evil games, making them pity you so you could use them against me. Well, let me tell you something. The game's over. The game's all fucking over now. You've won your little victory but I will win the war. Do you hear me, bitch? I will win."

"Roger, please listen.."

"No, you listen. You've always tried to ruin things, right from the day we were married, tried to spoil all the things that would give me pleasure..."

"Roger.."

"Shut it! You just can't shut up, can you? Always telling those friends of yours how wonderful you are, how fucking wonderful you are, how you've wasted your life marrying me, how they should all pity you, it's pathetic. Pathetic. But it's my life that's been wasted. It's my life that's been wasted because you just can't let things be, can you? You always have to ruin everything I plan. You enjoy it, get some sick pleasure out of seeing me fail, humiliating me in front of the children.."

"I've never..." She was crying uncontrollably now, drowning in the waves that were crashing over her. "I've never..."

"Never what? Never loved me? I know that. It didn't take me long to work that out. Why did you agree to marry me in the first place? I've never worked that one out. I wish to God it had never happened. Do you remember what you said on our wedding night? 'I think I've made a terrible mistake' you said, on our fucking wedding night! I knew then I'd married a bitch and I was right, wasn't I? A nasty, destructive, manipulative, selfish little bitch. I saw your game years ago but you wanted children, so I gave you children, thinking you might change, but no, you didn't change, you didn't change. And now I'm trapped in this hole. Trapped with you for sixteen years. Do you think I've enjoyed it? Do you? Do you think there was one moment where you didn't make my stomach turn? I hate this, hate it. I've watched my life disappear, working my guts out just so that you can afford to turn my children against me. Just think what I might have been. I had hopes, you know? I had plans..."

"I can't stand this anymore. I can't stand it!"

"You can't stand! Always you. Always you. What about me? What about what you've done to me? Matt, tell me what she promised you. Tell me what she did to make you do this. What did she promise you? Happiness? That's what she promised me and I'll tell you son, don't believe her, not for a minute. It's just one, big, fucking lie."

Gurde sat up and pushed her away, sensing that any words spoken while he was held to her chest would be put in her mouth. "She didn't promise me anything, Dad. She didn't even know about it. She didn't know a thing. It was just me."

"Shit! See what you've done? See how much you've poisoned their minds. Now they lie for you like dogs! Like..."

"Roger, listen, I mean... Wait a minute. Matty isn't well. He's couldn't help it. You must believe him..."

"Oh, I believe him. It's you I don't believe. Are you sick, son? Are you ill?"

"No, Dad... I..."

"See! She lies again. Always lies. Trying to use the children against me. I know your game. In sixteen years I've learnt a thing or two, let me tell you. Saying Matty's sick to make feel guilty. Well it won't work, not this time..."

"Roger, he is sick. He just doesn't know it..."

"Oh, I see. Now, if your children won't play your game you say they're mad..."

"No, I didn't say any..."

"Shut it will you? Just shut it!"

"Mum?" Ben's little voice came shining through and all heads turned to look into the hall. "Mum? I can't sleep."