A Ghost in the Machine (15 page)

Judith appeared somewhat taken aback by the soap and sponge. She handed it straight to Ashley saying, “Just look what Benny's brought us.”

“How lovely.” He smiled, taking the box. “Do stay and have some tea, Ben. It must get a bit lonely over there.”

“If you're sure…Such a welcome. Benny, beaming at both the Parnells in turn, settled happily by the window. She had just started to tell them of Croydon's latest adventure – overtaken by greed and confidence he had fallen into the fish pond – when Judith leaped up crying: “My fax! Excuse me…”

“I think being underwater is really frightening,” said Ashley. “I've always been afraid of drowning.”

“
I'm
afraid of drowning too.” Benny spoke as if it was the most joyful coincidence ever. She was also afraid of being kidnapped, falling through the sky, and being bitten by tarantulas, which she knew turned up on a regular basis in crates of bananas. “Which is why I never eat one. Or sail.”

Ashley offered Benny a croissant. “There's plenty left. And some black cherry jam.”

“You've made a real friend over at Appleby House,” said Benny, taking a croissant and smothering it with butter. “Polly was talking about you for ages the other night. Asking all sorts of questions.”

“Really?”

“She's such a kind person. So sympathetic.”

“I've only met her once but she seemed…charming.” Ashley adjusted the blanket around his legs then, with a sudden impatient movement, threw it off altogether. “I suppose I should return the compliment. Do you know when she'll be coming down again? Will she be living here when her parents move? And what about boyfriends – she must have lots – is there anyone special?”

“Someone rang up very late the other night and she went rushing out. Young people…” Benny sighed and shook her head looking so bewildered she might have been talking about young dinosaurs. Then she said, “I know it's rude to make personal remarks so I hope you'll forgive me but you're looking so much better today, Ashley.”

Benny was not just being polite. There was colour in Ashley's lips, his eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed.

“D'you think so?” Though he hadn't noticed looking better – Ashley looked in the mirror as little as possible these days – he suddenly felt it might well be true. Actually he had felt pretty well the other day too, talking to Kate in her kitchen. He should be with people more. It wasn't good for him and Jude to be cooped up here twenty-four hours a day. He wondered for the first time if his illness might be psychosomatic.

“Look, I've had an idea. Next time Polly comes down we must have a little supper – just the four of us – so Judith and I can get to know her better.”

“Gosh – that sounds lovely.”

“Maybe you could give me her London address? And we can sort dates out.”

“I'll bring it over right away.” Life, thought Benny, was getting more interesting by the minute.

“It's Judith's birthday soon. We could make it a celebration.”

“What a wonderful idea,” cried Benny.

“Only…” Ashley put a finger to his lips and spoke very quietly, “I'd like it to be a surprise.”

“I understand.” Benny became equally hushed. “Mum's the word.”

Judith sat in her dark cubbyhole, listening. Wondering at the sudden shift from clear audibility into whispering murmurs. There had been no fax, of course. She just had to get away. One more minute of Benny's bouncing, indiscriminate enthusiasm and she felt she would scream. As for that ghastly soap…

Now they were laughing. She couldn't remember when Ashley had last laughed out loud. It was a strong sound, reminding her of the old days. How could this stupid woman make Ashley laugh when she herself so often failed? Well, they would not shut her out. Judith closed down her computer and was about to return to the kitchen when the telephone rang. She snatched up the receiver and all her mental grumbling ceased. It was the clerk at their doctor's surgery. Could Mr. Parnell manage a 4:30 appointment next Tuesday? She was irritatingly vague about the reason. Judith expected nothing else. People who worked in Appointments always pretended they didn't know anything. It must be the results of his recent blood test. Her mouth suddenly dry she hurried away to tell Ashley.

Halfway through the afternoon of 20 July, the last day in his final week at the Ewan Sedgewick Comprehensive, Mallory was trying not to let his euphoria show. It would not be kind. He knew there was not a teacher in the school who did not envy him. Or who was not keenly aware that he had not earned his retirement fair and square. Like winning the bloody lottery he had overheard his secretary muttering and, in essence, Mallory had to agree. Except that he had won something far more important than money – he had won his freedom.

He was in his office, stripping the walls of posters, timetables, lists of sports fixtures home and away. Once, dates to remember and now to forget for ever. He picked up his heavy desk diary, sprayed the page edges fiercely against the ball of his thumb and seven months of inscribed misery spun by. Parents' meetings, staff meetings, union meetings, governors' meetings; meetings with the police, probation officers, janitors, ground staff, schools inspectors, caterers, admin. Old Uncle Dave Blunkett and all.

About to toss the hated book into the bin Mallory was suddenly seized by a gleeful, childish will to destroy. He wrenched the spine apart, then ripped out the pages a fistful at a time, ripping them up, tearing them again and again, then hurling the bits into the air like so much confetti. Halfway through this ridiculous display he stopped, the pointlessness of the whole business overwhelming him, making him sad.

Only forty minutes to go. He didn't have to stick it out, of course. Indeed, he need not have come in at all, and actually got the impression that the Office was surprised to see him. But, by some strange reversal of feeling, now that Mallory could choose he chose to be present at the Ewan Sedgewick to the no longer bitter end.

He was trying not to regret too much that the celebration he had planned with Kate for tonight had had to be cancelled. Of course they must go down to Forbes Abbot if Benny was ill. But he had been so looking forward to it.

They hadn't eaten at Riva's, their favourite restaurant, for almost three years. The last time was Mallory's birthday but he had been so tired and strung out that even the delicious food, discreet service and lovely surroundings could not make the evening a success. How different this time would have been.

At this point in his reminiscence the phone rang. He was disinclined to answer. What could it have to do with him? He had cut free of all duties, said goodbye to the handful of people he would be sorry not to see again and for sure there was no surprise party waiting in the wings. So why pick it up?

Afterwards he wondered what difference it would have made if he had gone then. Just put on his coat and left with it ringing in his ears. Possibly, in the long run, not a lot. Things would have been delayed, is all. The outcome would have been the same.

“Hello?”

The receiver made a strange, strangled noise.

“Who is this?”

“Aahh…” Crying, sobbing. “Dad…”

“Polly?
Polly
…”

“I'm in such…such…trouble.”

“Where are you?”

“Home. Oh, Daddy…please come…”

“What is it?”

“
Just come.
”

“OK, OK! I'm leaving now. Listen – don't— I mean – stay where you are, all right? I might be— The traffic…”

“Don't tell anyone, please!
Nobody.
”

“I won't.”

“Promise!”

Of course he had promised before racing out like a mad thing and throwing himself into the car. Driving off, scraping the metal gatepost, he suddenly realised he had not asked which home she meant. Perhaps she'd been ringing from her flat, which was in Dalston, miles from Parsons Green. What if she was waiting there now, distraught, watching for him through the window?

“Oh God.” Already in a solid jam he dialled home on his Nokia. When there was no reply he rang the number of her flat. Nothing. Mallory cursed himself for racing off in such a state. If he'd stopped even for a couple of minutes to think things through he might have dialled 1471. But then, if she wasn't picking the phone up…

He reran the few brief sentences over and over in his mind. She'd been terribly upset, yes. Crying, yes. Frightened? He wasn't sure, perhaps because he had never seen Polly frightened in her whole life. It occurred to him then for the first time that she might not have been alone. That perhaps someone was forcing her to make the call. Standing over her. She might have discovered a burglar trashing the place…The very thought drove Mallory mad. He started putting his terror into words, mouthing threats, muttering obscenities. Then he punched the dashboard, hurting his hand.

Two women paused on the pavement and bent to stare in through the car window at him. One of them mouthed what could have been, “Are you all right?” The other started laughing. The queue dragged itself slowly forwards.

Mallory inhaled deeply and struggled to keep his mind on the traffic. He was a rational man, he must think rationally. Try and separate what he actually knew to be true from the seething mass of frightening images now threatening to burst his brain. Concentrate on the facts. His daughter was distressed and in some sort of trouble. She was at home and almost certainly by herself. He would be with her soon and between them they would work it out. More deep breaths.

By the time he turned into the home stretch he was feeling slightly calmer. A feeling that vanished, giving ground to a great swoosh of alarm the moment he saw parked cars, nose to tail, both sides and the whole length of Cordwainer Road. He hesitated but was driven forwards by angry hooting from behind. At the corner was a red-and-white-striped hut used by workmen drilling the road and narrowing it to single traffic only. No space there then. He turned into Elmstone Road – hopeless. Harbiedown Road the same, plus skips. Desperate he finally left the car blocking a garage heavily inscribed “Positively No Parking.”

Polly opened the door and stared at her father in amazement. Sweating, panting, holding his side against an agonising stitch, Mallory could hardly speak.

“Dad?” She reached out and helped him inside. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“Run…Running.”

“What for?”

“I'm all right.” She was struggling to support the full weight of him. “Honestly.”

“Why were you running?”

“Worried.” Mallory leaned against the stair banisters, feeling weak at the knees with anxiety. He released a single, rasping exhalation that really hurt. His breathing gradually became less laboured. “You sounded so…”

“Oh, Dad.” She put her arms around him again. They swayed clumsily for a moment and almost overbalanced. “Here, come and sit down.”

The sitting room, which he had been wildly seeing as half destroyed or at least intensely chaotic, looked just as usual. Weak rays from the afternoon sun spilled over the furniture, showing up the dust. Touching a vase of dying roses. Mallory made for the settee and Polly helped him as though he was an invalid.

“I'll make you a drink—”

“No, no! Tell me Polly, for God's sake.”

Mallory gazed at her intently. There was no trace of tears. He was touched that she'd washed and dried her face and made an effort to overcome her distress. Now she appeared calmer than he was. But even as he watched her eyes darkened, her lips drooped and began to tremble. She clamped them together so forcefully they all but vanished. Mallory reached out and took her hand.

“Just tell me, Poll.”

So she told him. About how she had got drawn into playing the market with a group of sharky people who she thought were friends. And how she won and won and then lost and lost. And how she had a chance to recoup everything and make lots more because there was a whisper everywhere that this new
dot.com
company were going to be the next big thing. Anguished at being excluded from this marvellous opportunity, when she was offered a loan by the group's banker she jumped at it. He was sure the whisper was true and he was always right.

“Honestly, Dad, this guy's not even thirty and he's so
rich
and he started with
nothing.
He drew up a contract. I signed and things were OK for a few weeks – not great but the shares seemed pretty stable – then everything just collapsed overnight and I lost the lot.

“That was when I read the small print. Twenty-five per cent compound interest because I had no collateral. That was three months ago and the interest's already nearly as high as the debt. He…um…did suggest another way out but I just couldn't do it. He's like a slug – so slimily foul, so greasy—”

“Of course you mustn't do anything like that!” Black rage welled up in Mallory. Hatred for the unknown man, a longing to grab him by the throat and squeeze and shake and throttle and choke. Christ! What a bastard.

“Daddy, you're hurting.”

“Sorry.” He released her hand. “Sorry, love.”

“So it's just piling up and up and up. He's like those vicious sharks on housing estates. Borrow five quid, turn around three times, you owe five hundred.”

“How much did you borrow, Polly?”

“Ten.”

“Ten
thousand
?” Polly hung her head. Her hair fell forward, a thick mat of dark curls.

“And how much does this debt stand at now?”

“Nearly sixteen.”

“This is unbelievable.” Mallory carefully drew in his breath and exhaled a long despairing sigh. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

“Like who?”

“Doesn't the LSE have an advice—”

“I don't need advice,” screamed Polly. “I need fucking money!” She burst into tears, covered her face with her hands and rocked slowly backwards and forwards.

“Oh God.”

“I thought you'd understand.” Her voice was muffled. Flat and dull as if the argument had been wrestled with for hours already and they had already worn it out. “I thought you'd help me.”

“I do—I will. I only wish you'd come to me before.”

“Couldn't. Not with what you were going through.”

“The thought of you carrying a burden like this all by yourself…”

Mallory suddenly remembered the argument, weeks ago now, about Polly's flat. The row that had been interrupted by Benny's telephone call and the news of Carey's death. This must have been what the money was for. He remembered Kate's caution; her wary sceptism. And she had been right. Even just acknowledging this made him feel disloyal to Polly.

“So that's why, when Aunt Carey left me all those shares I went wild with relief. But you do see, Dad, waiting another ten months'll be just crippling. Hardly any of it will be left.” Polly gazed directly at her father, eyes swimming with un-shed tears. “You've known Dennis all your life. If you asked him, as a special favour, to bend the rules just this once, I'm sure he would.”

“Polly—”

“I wouldn't expect it all – just enough to cover the debt.”

“There's no need to ask Dennis.”

“I don't understand.” Polly spoke with simple bewilderment. She held Mallory's gaze, her own, clear and shining. She had been preparing for this moment ever since discovering, in Dennis's office, who actually had control of her legacy.

“Your bequest is part of the Lawson estate. Which has all been transferred to me.”

“I can't…what?” Polly looked incredulous, her pretty mouth wide open. Then she was laughing and crying all at once. Flinging her arms around his neck, soaking his jacket with tears. “Then everything's all right.”

Mallory awkwardly patted her hair. After a while Polly sat back, wiped her face on her shirt and stared at him with great seriousness. She frowned, then squared her shoulders as if coming to a decision.

“I did it for you, Dad.”

“What?”

“You were locked up in that hideous place like someone in a madhouse. It was so cruel. I watched it killing you. And all because there was no money.”

“It's over now.”

“Once when I came round you looked so manic. You stared at me as if you didn't know who I was. Do you remember that?”

Dumbly Mallory shook his head.

“I was afraid you'd do something desperate. And I couldn't have borne that. I just couldn't.” She clenched her fists, banging them hard on the arms of the chair. “They make obscene money, those arseholes. On the turn of a card. And I thought, why shouldn't my dad have some of it?”

“Oh, Polly.” Choked with emotion Mallory could hardly get his words out. So much was tumbling through his mind. Admiration for his daughter, for her courage in carrying all this in silence. Sick loathing for the unknown man who had dared,
dared
to try to blackmail Polly into having sex with him. But, most overwhelmingly of all, joy and gratitude at this demonstration of how much his daughter loved him. Of course he had always loved her. Most parents love their children, it comes with the territory. And they, thought Mallory, love us when they're small. They must, for we are their life-lines. But when they are grown up and have no sensible reason to love you yet love you still then, my God, then aren't we the lucky ones?

“Dad?”

“Sorry – yes, Poll.”

“How long…I mean, when could you—”

“Quickly. A couple of days.”

“And could I have it in cash, please?”

“
Cash?
”

“A cheque he might just hold on to. Not bank it, I mean. Christ knows, he doesn't need the money. Then, in a way, he's still controlling the situation.”

This was not the real reason. The truth was that Polly couldn't wait to fling the money into Slaughter's astonished face. Shove a giant fistful past those wet, slobbering chops. Ram some up his hairy nostrils. Stuff it into the waistband of his obscenely large trousers. Panting slightly now with triumphant expectation, she began to laugh. The vignette had been so vividly realised it was as if it had happened already. What he would do didn't enter into it. Divorced from his power suddenly Billy Slaughter was nothing.