Owning Jacob - SA (34 page)

He couldn't see it being resolved in a reasonable way.

Kale wouldn't permit it.

He was stil fretting over what might happen when Maggie cal ed to tel him that Colin had fed a hosepipe from the exhaust into his new BMW, locked himself inside and turned on the engine.

In some ways it was more of a shock than when Sarah had died. That had been a fluke, a capricious trick of a random universe, devastating but no more so than if she'd been in a plane crash or struck by lightning. But Colin's attempted suicide seemed to contravene some undefined natural law. Ever since Ben had known him he had been the reliable, orderly one of the two of them. For him to try to kil himself was unthinkable.

But then so was him having an affair.

Ben had wanted to go to the hospital straightaway, but Maggie told him not to. Colin was out of danger, she'd said, and both she and the boys were there. 'He doesn't need anybody else.'

She had sounded cool and self-possessed, as if her husband were recovering from a bout of flu rather than a failed suicide attempt. Ben supposed it was shock, but when he cal ed round to the house the evening after Colin had been discharged she greeted him with the same degree of control.

"You can't stay long. I don't want him to get tired,' she told him. Her smile was as unyielding as ceramic. He'd braced himself for tears, bewilderment or recrimination. Instead she exuded the self-satisfied confidence she normal y assumed for her dinner parties.

He was stil wondering at it as he fol owed her to the lounge. Colin was sitting in an armchair in front of the TV, but the sound was turned down so low he couldn't have been fol owing what was on. He looked embarrassed when Maggie led Ben in.

'Look who's come to see you,' she announced, with a falseness that made Ben wince. She told them she would be in the kitchen if they wanted her, then left. The aftertaste of her presence hung in the air with her perfume, inhibiting conversation even more.

He sat on the edge of the settee. 'So how are you feeling?'

'Okay.' Colin looked at his hands, the TV, and final y his hands again. His face was pale, thinner than the last time Ben had seen him. The enormity of what he'd tried to do stood between them. So did Ben's sense that he'd let him down. He felt he didn't know him any more.

'Do you want to talk about it?' t Colin switched his attention back to the TV. 'What is there to talk about? I tried to kil myself, I didn't …' He shrugged, then broke out coughing. 'Sorry,'

he said when the spasm had passed. 'Stil a bit wheezy.'

"Why did you do it?' The question that had been pushing at Ben final y surfaced. 'Why didn't you fucking say something?'

'There was nothing to say. Jo finished with me.' Colin gave a wan smile. 'Another fucking cliche, eh?' Ben found he was vetting al his questions and responses before voicing them.

'When?'

'Last week.' The first thing he felt was relief that it had been a sudden thing; that he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own problems that he'd missed the signs. Then he felt ashamed for feeling that way. 'What happened?'

'She's been offered the chance to work for the record company's New York office. She's going next month, but she said it was better to finish now so there were no loose ends. End of story.'

'That's what made you … you know …'

'Try to kil myself? I suppose I didn't like thinking of myself as a "loose end".'

'Does Jo know?'

'I doubt it. Most people at work just think I'm il . There's no reason for her to know anyway. I didn't do it to make her change her mind, or to spite her. I did it for me.' The matter-of-fact way he spoke was unnerving. 'You're not going to try anything again, are you?' Colin put his head back and stared at the ceiling. 'No, I don't think so/ he said, thoughtful y. 'To tel you the truth I can't even real y remember how I felt when I did it. It might be the sedatives they've pumped into me, but it al seems a bit distant now. I can't imagine getting that worked up about anything at the moment. I just feel sort of hol ow.' Ben remembered how he'd felt after Sarah had died, and then again when Jacob had gone to live with Kale. But he'd never felt suicidal.

He wondered if that said anything about him.

What about Maggie and the boys?' he asked, feeling obscurely cheated. 'How've they taken it?'

'Oh, okay. Maggie's been very good. Andrew doesn't real y

understand what's going on, but I wish Scott hadn't found me.' He pursed his lips. 'Or, at least, I wish it had been someone else.' Maggie had told Ben how their eldest son had gone into the garage and seen his father sitting in the locked car with the engine running. Ben didn't like the boy, but he wouldn't have wished that on him. 'What did she say about Jo?' Colin glanced uneasily towards the door. 'She doesn't know about her.'

'Even now? She must have some idea!'

'She thinks it was pressure of work that got to me.' Colour had come back to Colin's face, but it only emphasised its shadows.

'So aren't you going to tel her?'

'What for? It's finished. There's no use upsetting her any more than she has been.' Ben made no comment, but he was thinking about how Maggie had behaved. He wouldn't have cal ed it upset.

"The doctor's signed me off work,' Colin continued, 'so I think we're going to go away somewhere in a week or two. Try and put al this behind us.' He didn't sound enthusiastic.

Before Ben could answer, the door opened and Maggie came in. The smile could have been on her face since she left.

'I think that's enough chat for one night. Don't want to tire him out, do we? Doctor's orders.' She stood by the open door, waiting for Ben to leave. He looked at Colin, expecting an objection, but none came. Colin was looking down at his hands again.

Ben stood up. Til be in touch. We'l go for a beer before you go away.' Colin nodded, but without conviction, and Ben knew they wouldn't. Even if Colin wanted to, Maggie wouldn't permit it

'He just needs rest,' she said, after she'd ushered Ben into the hal way. 'He's been doing too much lately, that's the problem. I'm going to make sure he has an easier time in future. No more working weekends and nights, and having to stay out with sil y little bands til al hours.' She opened the front door and turned to him. 'There's been too many things pul ing at him lately, but that's over now. He needs to spend more time with his family. We're al he needs.' Her smile was as bright and determined as a beauty queen's, and seeing it Ben realised that Colin was wrong. She knew. Not al the details, perhaps, not names and places, but enough.

And now she knew she'd won.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. He looked around as Scott came down them. The boy regarded them sul enly, making no attempt to speak as he went past.

'Say hel o to Ben, Scott,' Maggie said, but he didn't even slow. Her smile twitched as she watched him disappear down the hal way. "He's stil a little upset.' Ben said goodnight and left. The door clicked shut behind him. He found he had tensed himself, as though the entire house would shatter like glass.

As he went back to his car he thought that a family could stay together and stil be destroyed.

The case conference was scheduled for the fol owing week.

He'd final y begun to accept that he wasn't going to get Jacob back. Or, if not accept, at least realise that there was nothing he could do about it He knew he had to come to terms with it and get on with his life. More than that, he had to try and rebuild one, because there wasn't much left of the life he'd had.

But knowing that didn't make it any easier to do. He felt he was just treading water, waiting for the day of the conference to arrive.

He told himself things would be better afterwards.

The night before it was held he went to the launch party

of a new magazine with Zoe. He had tried to cry off, but she wouldn't listen. What are you going to do if not? Sit at home by yourself, watching tel y and getting pissed while you worry about what's going to happen tomorrow?' Actual y, that had been almost exactly what he'd had in mind. 'No,' he said. 'Of course not.' The party was at a cel ar bar in Soho, a dark place of blues and purples that made everyone look cyanosed. He knew a lot of the people there, had either worked or drunk with them at similar occasions. Zoe, her hair red once more, stayed with him long enough to make sure he wasn't going to go straight home, and then disappeared into the crowd. Ben found himself talking to the magazine's picture editor, who seemed to presume he was there touting for work and obligingly offered him some. Then there was another photographer, an almost-friend he hadn't seen for over a year. Talk moved on to censorship, and Ben enmired himself in an argument with a writer, a vehement man with bad breath, over the responsibility of the artist. He was enjoying it until the writer cal ed him a commercial photographer, as if that made him some sort of photographic hack whose views were invalid. Ben began to object, but realised he couldn't.

The man was right.

Everything that he did had a shelf-life. The fashion photographs were valid only for as long as the fashions they contained, and while some of his advertising work might lay claim to a sort of kitsch value, that was al . He was good at what he did, but what he did was nothing. It was disposable.

And he had chosen to do it.

So what did that make him? He had given up trying to achieve anything more than a technical competence because he'd believed that was ultimately al photography amounted to; a triumph of form over content, of craft over art. He wondered if the limitation hadn't been his, if he hadn't been blaming the camera because he'd had nothing to say. And what about now?

He didn't know. Nothing sprang

to mind, but the knowledge that he no longer even tried gave him an unexpected ache of loss. For some reason he thought of Kale, tirelessly arranging damaged pieces of metal in his search for a pattern.

Perhaps it wasn't so much what you had to say as trying to say it anyway that mattered.

Al at once the drinks felt heavy in him. He was on the verge of becoming drunk, and he didn't want that. He put his glass down. The writer was stil talking animatedly, taking Ben's silence for acquiescence. Ben excused himself and moved away. He looked around the room for Zoe's red hair, but the purple lighting made colours unrecognisable. He gave up and went out.

The night was cold and crisp. The street sparkled with the beginnings of a frost, not yet white but starring the dul concrete with pinpricks of light. Already the idea he'd felt on the verge of grasping was becoming less tangible. He tried to hold on to it, but then a cab drew up and the last remnants slipped away.

As he sat back in the taxi he was already thinking about what would happen at the case conference the next morning.

It was held in the main social services building of Kale's local authority. The room looked like an anonymous boardroom, with a long central table ringed by plastic chairs. Most of them were already taken when Ben arrived. Carlisle sat opposite him, speaking in low tones to someone whom Usherwood said was probably his manager. Next to them was the child protection co-ordinator, a grey-haired woman who would be chairing the meeting. There were several other people in the room, including a uniformed policewoman from a child protection unit, but Ben didn't know any of them.

The only people not there were John and Sandra Kale.

The grey-haired woman looked at her watch. 1 take it

Mr and Mrs Kale were notified what time to be here?' she asked Carlisle.

The social worker shifted uneasily in his seat. 'I spoke to them yesterday. They-' He broke off as the door opened. The solicitor who had represented Kale before bustled in. He was red-faced and flustered. 'Sorry we're late,' he apologised. 'There was, ah, a bit of a hold-up.' He didn't explain further and no one asked as first Sandra and then Kale himself entered.

Sandra didn't look at anyone as she took her seat by the solicitor. She was, for her, conservatively dressed in a long-sleeved sweater and a skirt that came down to her knees. Kale wore the same creased suit Ben had seen him in before. He gazed unblinkingly around the room as he walked in.

When he saw Ben he stopped dead.

'Er, Mr Kale …' his solicitor said. Sandra was looking down at her lap. Kale stayed where he was for a moment longer, then went and sat down. He didn't take his eyes from Ben.

The grey-haired woman cleared her throat. 'I'd like to thank everyone for coming. My name's Andrea Rogers and I'l be chairing this conference. Rather than have separate meetings, both Mr and Mrs Kale and Mr Murray have agreed to attend together and to share information.' She turned to the Kales. 'Ordinarily, I'd take a few minutes to have a word with you in private before we started, but as we're running late I'm afraid we'l have to move straight on.' Sandra didn't lift her head at the implied censure. Kale continued to stare at Ben as the co-ordinator introduced the various welfare officers and professionals in the room. The last person she came to was a social worker from the local authority where Sandra Kale used to live.

Ben saw Sandra stiffen when he was introduced.

'Before we begin I'd like to stress that this isn't a legal hearing of any kind,' Rogers said. 'No one's on trial here.

The aim of this case conference is to consider various concerns which have been raised about Jacob's welfare, and to decide whether or not they provide grounds to put him on the Child Protection Register.' Kale swivel ed his head towards her. "You're not taking him away.'

"No one's suggesting that, Mr Kale. But a complaint has been made, and we have a duty to examine it.' She held his gaze calmly before turning back to her notes.

'The basis of complaint is with regards to Jacob's schooling and special needs. Also that some of your actions may have put him at physical risk, and may continue to do so. In addition we have to consider new information which has come to light about your wife that was overlooked by the local authority.' Sandra seemed to shrink into herself. Ben felt the weight of Kale's stare shift back to him.