Someone Else's Son (35 page)

‘So what kind of knife was it?’ Brody said and immediately heard a folder open, some paper being slid across a table. There was silence, followed by a brief gasp from Carrie.

‘Oh my God,’ she said.

‘What the hell is it?’ Brody demanded.

‘It’s a photograph of a kitchen knife,’ Dennis said.

‘One of
my
kitchen knives,’ Carrie whispered.

Brody constructed the image in his mind – no doubt an expensive cook’s utensil bought from the finest retailer. Then he added the blood; thick and dark after it had dried, perhaps peeling and cracked around the handle.

‘Are you certain?’ Dennis asked.

‘I can show you the rest of the set if you like. They were specially imported from Japan. The handles are abalone and the blades the best steel available. Each one cost nearly three hundred pounds.’

‘Hadn’t you noticed one missing?’

‘No, I hadn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t cook.’

Brody grunted and shook his head. ‘What the hell does this mean then?’ He stood. His legs were aching. He couldn’t sleep properly and when he did finally drift off, his body was contorted from alcohol and grief.

‘I’ve been mulling over the same thing, Professor. Is it possible that Max found it necessary to carry a knife for protection? It’s the most common reason. If so, then perhaps someone else, someone from the gang, got their hands on it during a scuffle.’

‘Oh no . . . oh Christ.’ Carrie’s whimper was pitiful. It was pure sadness, dredged up from the core of her soul. ‘He was killed with one of
my
knives.’

‘We’ll have to wait for forensics but it’s likely, yes. I will say, however, and I know just how distressing this is for you both, but finding the weapon involved is a huge breakthrough. I am confident further evidence will be brought to light and lead to a quick arrest.’

Brody wasn’t really listening any more and he sensed that Carrie probably wasn’t either. ‘Let us know the minute you have results.’ Brody stuck out his arm – an indication for Fiona, who had remained silent throughout, to guide him from the room.

‘Wait,’ he heard Carrie say, followed by a chair scraping. The meeting was over. There was nothing more to be said. None of it would bring back Max.

 

The bonnet of the car was still warm and Brody leant back against it, knowing from the quickening footsteps behind that his ex had followed him outside. He lit a cigarette.

‘Why would he do that?’ Carrie said breathlessly as she approached. ‘Take a knife.’

Brody shrugged. He sucked hard. ‘Where the hell did it all go wrong, Carrie?’ He imagined big plumes of smoke wrapping around her head; the disgusted look on her face.

‘Last Friday,’ she suggested quietly.

‘What have they got you on?’

‘I have no idea. Leah is taking care of it for me.’

Brody laughed bitterly. ‘So we both need people to take care of us, right?’ Fiona was already sealed inside the car, talking on the phone and rearranging his department meetings. Brody tapped the glass.

‘I guess,’ Carrie replied unexpectedly.

‘And how did that happen?’ Brody felt the heat of the cigarette approach his fingers. ‘Was it when we fell out of love, do you think? When we realised that the world was a desolate place without the other but we were both too proud to admit—’

‘Brody, stop!’ Silence, then, ‘I can’t take this right now. Please.’

‘As I thought,’ he said, dropping the butt. ‘The truth hurts.’

‘You never could get over me leaving you, could you?’

Brody heard a tiny wave of anger welling in her. That’s what he wanted.

‘You never accepted that our lives were diverging so fast that . . . that . . .’

Disappointed, Brody listened as she trailed off. He reached out in her direction and found her arms. He gripped them. ‘I was working it all out, Carrie. There was going to be a solution to it all but you never gave me a chance. You were the one that went off at a tangent with your career.’

‘Life isn’t all about mathematics, Brody. You can’t work out a formula for love or happiness.’

Brody ignored the comment. He took a deep breath. ‘I went back to Denningham last autumn.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I wanted to find out why Max left.’

‘We know why he left. He was rebelling against us. Me.’

‘That’s not true, Carrie.’ Brody could only imagine her face as he last saw it – fresh, honest and beautiful. With one little lift of her brow or pucker of her mouth, she could shift mountains inside him. He hoped she still had that about her. ‘I spoke to some of Max’s . . . classmates.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say friends.

‘Oh?’

There. That glimmer of hope in her eyes; the tensing of tendons running either side of her neck that only showed up when she was anxious; the way she’d clasp her hands at her chest like a child. He knew it would all still be there. He reached out and felt her again. Her arms hung limply by her side and her shoulders were bent forward. She wasn’t anything like the woman he remembered.

‘He wasn’t happy, Carrie.’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘I met the acting head. Turns out that Dr Jensen had to take extended sick leave due to stress. The current head teacher wasn’t afraid to tell me that the school has had serious problems for the last decade. He’d been sent in to clear up the mess.’

‘But Dr Jensen was so . . . nice.’

‘But incompetent,’ Brody added.

‘This doesn’t tell us much about Max, Brody, or why he left Denningham.’

‘He was desperately unhappy, Carrie. I’m certain he was being bullied.’

‘No . . . no, that’s not—’

‘It was no different for him at Milton Park either. His life was a misery there, too. But no one messes with the street gangs.’

‘And you
knew
this?’

Brody lit another cigarette. He would smoke the whole packet in one go, then buy more and more and keep going until his lungs collapsed and he dropped dead. ‘Yes,’ he said while exhaling. The shame hit him full in the face. ‘I knew.’

It was during English that Max realised Dayna had somehow banished the thing that had haunted him all his life; perhaps replaced it. He also realised that it was that
thing
– the unnameable, dreadful force that had overpowered him all his life – that had made him the way he was.

Different.

He didn’t like it that Dayna had ended up sitting next to Shane this term. It wasn’t as if he could even hate the boy for bullying him. He was one of the few kids in the year that hadn’t actually punched him, nicked something from him, or made his life a misery by spitting out soul-destroying comments every time he walked past.

Shane had his arm round the back of Dayna’s chair. It was way worse than bullying.

Max couldn’t take it any longer. He stood up. ‘Need the toilet, sir.’

‘Sit down, Quinell,’ Mr Lockhart barked. It was unlike him to shout.

New ways for a new term, Max thought defiantly, ignoring the teacher and leaving the classroom. On the way past Shane, he lashed out and swiped his arm off Dayna’s chair. He bent down close to Shane’s ear. ‘Get the fuck off my girlfriend.’

His insides shook as he stood in a cubicle, leaning back against the graffiti-covered wall. Risking a beating by Shane and his mates later was nothing compared to what he had just achieved. He’d just told Dayna, after all these months of skirting around each other, that they were properly together.

 

‘What was all that about then?’ Dayna opened the packet of smoked salmon Max had brought from home. She sniffed it.

Neither of them had mentioned the incident as they’d left class and headed down to the boiler room for lunch. It had been too cold to sit by the stream for a while now. Max had once suggested they sneak through the caretaker’s store and eat in the warmth of the boiler room. The light bulb had blown on their first visit so they brought candles next time. There were no windows in the basement, but Max liked it that way and thought Dayna did too.

‘I dunno.’ Max shrugged. He was embarrassed now. He wanted to tell her he loved her. Properly this time, without it getting caught in his throat and her running off. ‘It was Shane. He had his arm round you.’

Dayna laughed. ‘You said I was your girlfriend.’

‘Did I?’ he replied far too quickly. His insides curled. Then, ‘Maybe you are.’

‘I’d like that. We’ve been friends for a long time, Max. We’ve kissed. We understand each other.’

‘I’d like to kiss you again.’ He couldn’t believe he was saying this. Where had it come from? Was it because he’d stood up to Shane in English and ignored Mr Lockhart? Was it that being rude and foul-mouthed to people, not giving a toss about their feelings, sapped their confidence and handed it right over? If so, then he suddenly had a glimmer of insight into why everyone picked on him. He unwrapped the crackers and offered one to Dayna.

‘There’s no one else in the world like you, Max.’ Then she laughed as she bit into a biscuit with salmon draped on top.

Max grinned. The sight of her, the sound of her, made his days worth living. Life was truly amazing.

 

The kiss was tentative at first – him leaning in but then backing off when she didn’t respond. It never quite happened. She sipped her Coke and knotted her fingers. The bell would sound soon. He tried again, reaching out to the crook of her leg as it sat bent awkwardly under her other leg. They were sitting on dust sheets they’d found piled up in the corner. Like a bed, Max had thought as they’d spread them out.

He trailed his fingers down to her knee. Her muscles were tensed and her legs slim. She wore thick tights and he was touching her through the weight of her grey school skirt, but still the lines of her body made his mind spin as he imagined her limbs naked, pale and warm, wrapping around him.

He shook his head. She would hear his thoughts.

‘I hate this uniform,’ Dayna said.

Was that an invitation to take it off? Max wondered. He would never dare. Not in a million years. Their mouths were still a few inches apart. All he had to do was lean forward a little more, close his eyes . . .

‘Kiss me,’ she said.

Max threw back his shoulders and his eyes widened. What had she gone and said that for? Now he didn’t know what to do.

‘Not sex, stupid. Just a kiss.’

Max was trembling. He leant towards her again. She had already closed her eyes and was waiting for him. As he got closer, he smelt the Polo she’d just crunched. Her skin was lightly freckled, just a dash on her cheeks. He wanted to touch his lips on each one, working down her neck where the freckles disappeared beneath her school blouse.

‘What are you doing?’ Dayna suddenly had her eyes open.

Again, Max jolted back. What
had
he been doing?

‘Sorry.’ His voice was croaky. In an instant, he hated himself again. ‘It’s just that . . .’

His words were lost in Dayna’s mouth as she pressed her lips against his. It was different this time – none of the coyness, wondering if he should or shouldn’t. He knew he should, because Dayna was the one who’d started it. There was no doubt in his mind now that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. For weeks –
months
– they had danced around their feelings. They were preoccupied by surviving at school, by just getting through each day without being hurt, tormented or picked on. Max hadn’t had the courage to take things further before. This was big. This was enormous.

Dayna’s tongue prised apart his lips. God, he’d never felt like this before. She was amazing. Without realising how it had happened, Max somehow felt her shoulders against his palms – he was holding her,
touching
her. Even after their tentative, embarrassing, experimental kisses last year, he’d not had the courage to consider anything like this.

It beat everything, the years of suffering and ridicule and hatred and wishing he was dead. This kiss, this beautiful unending kiss, changed everything. He would suffer his whole life over again for a single moment with her. Max opened up and allowed himself to drown in the bliss. She was in control. She’d said she didn’t want sex.

What?

Max turned rigid. What had she meant? He pulled away, leaving Dayna stunned, blushing, her pupils floating in her eyes like shiny buttons.

‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘Max?’ Dayna wiped her mouth.

‘Why don’t you want to have sex with me? What’s wrong with me?’

Dayna’s face relaxed again and the lips that had so recently been a part of his spread into a wide smile. ‘Silly,’ she said, hugging on to his arm. ‘Just not yet. Not here. It needs to be right, yeah? Somewhere special.’

He didn’t get her. He didn’t get anything any more. ‘So why do you like me?’ he asked. ‘When no one else does?’ He heard the words echo a thousand times round the dingy room. It was no place for this to be happening, yet somehow it was perfect. It matched their lives, their inevitable union.

‘Because,’ Dayna said, cupping Max’s face in her warm hands. The moment was electric. Max could hardly breathe. ‘Because you’re different.’ She paused. ‘And because you’re just like me.’

Then she kissed him again. Max thought he had truly died and gone to heaven.

‘What d’you reckon?’ Dennis was on his third coffee in the last hour. He’d spent most of the night pacing around his house – the insalubrious terrace that he’d just been able to afford once he’d paid off Kaye and made sure that Estelle had everything she needed. No one could accuse him of being a bad father, even though he’d not seen his daughter in over a month.

‘They’re playing us for a laugh, that’s what. They get a lot of cred for spending time in a cell. They’ll be right up with their mates now, you can be sure of that.’

Dennis wondered how Jess seemed so fresh, clear-skinned and, more annoyingly, clear-minded. If she wasn’t newly married, he’d probably try it on. Carrie was way out of bounds, of course, and he couldn’t forget her parting words last time he’d spent the night:
this never happened
. It did about as much for his self-esteem as having yet another stabbing on his patch and a series of interviews that, when viewed as a whole, just didn’t stack up. Retirement seemed a long way off.