The Road Between Us (49 page)

Uncle Niall.

As she looks him up and down, her mild annoyance at being disturbed turns to concern. His collar is unbuttoned, his tie loosened and a vein in his neck is standing proud, like a blue pencil under his skin. He is swaying and, even across the porch, she can smell the alcohol on his breath. There is the top of a half bottle of something sticking out of his jacket pocket. It looks empty. ‘Hello, Sir Niall,’ she says with friendly sarcasm in her voice. ‘Have we been drinking?’

‘Where’s Northy?’

‘Out.’

As he leans in to kiss her cheeks in greeting, she tightens.

‘Did he say when he’d be home?’

‘Nope.’

‘I brought this back for him.’ Niall hands over the black folio-sized notebook in which Edward had written the first part of his memoir. ‘I was vetting it on behalf of …’ He runs his hand through his hair as he lets himself in. ‘I’m not a bad man,’ he says.

As Hannah follows him into the sitting room she flicks through the notebook. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’ve always done what I thought was best.’

Hannah is confused. ‘What’s up?’

Niall turns and stares at her with eyes that are red-rimmed.

‘Your dad was always better than me, you see. Always a better man. More honourable. More tolerant. He had a moral compass whereas I …’ His face crumples and a low keening starts. ‘I always loved him, you know. You believe that, don’t you?’

Hannah is shocked. ‘What are you talking about, Niall? What’s happened? Has something happened at work?’

He turns and buries his face in his hands. ‘It’s all over. The game’s up. They’re going to have to sack me.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, Uncle Niall, whatever this is about.’

He seems to rally a little at this. ‘Thanks, Han. You’ve always been a good friend to me.’

‘And you’ve always been a good friend to me.’ She smiles. ‘And a good godfather.’

Niall sniffs again as he turns to face her. ‘Even with your hair like that, you still look just like your mother.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Wish I didn’t sometimes.’

He touches her hair. ‘So beautiful …’ Niall shakes his head, trying to clear it. He then smiles his joyless, pinched smile again. His mobile pings in his pocket but he ignores it. ‘Have you got anything to drink? I need a drink.’

‘Sure. Wine? There’s some white in the fridge.’

Niall swallows deeply and stares at her. ‘Thank you,’ he says. He looks to Hannah as if he is on the verge of tears.

Moments later, when she closes the fridge door with a nudge of her hip, Niall is standing behind it. She twists the cork out of the bottle that is already open, pours a glass and hands it to him. Setting the bottle down on the table she finds herself covering her chest with her forearm, as though she is naked.

Edward has been parked outside Rheinisch-Westfälische Bank for half an hour when the black Mercedes appears from the building’s underground car park. He follows it to Mile End station. When it pulls over, a silver-haired man climbs out of the back seat carrying a sports bag. Edward recognizes him from the funeral. Since that day he has been trying to work out why Walser attended. He had overheard Hannah talking on the phone to someone about him and was pretty sure he had heard her say the words ‘ransom payment’. His thoughts had also been returning to the Koran he had found at the château. Another jarring note.

The Mercedes drives on a few yards and parks at a pay and display. Edward parks on a double yellow. In his haste to follow Walser into the Underground, he doesn’t lock his car or feed a parking meter. When he sees where Walser is heading, he buys a ticket and follows him on to the escalator, keeping his distance. At the bottom, he breaks into a half-jog. When he sees the silver-haired man step on a tube, he does the same, in the next carriage. Walser gets off at the next stop.

Seeing him heading down Whitechapel Road, Edward follows, only to lose him again. He stands outside a pub, cursing under his breath. Then he notices the sports bag he had seen earlier. The man carrying it is wearing a flowing brown cloak made of wool. On his head is a white headdress tied with a black rope-like cord. It is Walser. He must have slipped the outfit on in the pub. As he watches him enter the East London Mosque, Edward feels a sudden coldness in his gut.

‘Small world.’

Edward recoils as he turns to see Mike. The driver is wearing a suit and open-neck shirt.

‘Always wondered where he went. Guess I must be lacking in curiosity … Actually, it was you I was following. I clocked your Volvo outside RWB. Little tip: it’s best to put one car between you and the car you are tailing.’

They are both now staring at a half-moon illuminated on top of one of the prayer towers. ‘You didn’t know he was a Muslim?’ Edward asks.

‘No, I knew. I just didn’t know he came here. His mother is a Muslim … Turkish. A lot of Turks came to live in Germany after the war. They would marry anyone they could to get citizenship. From what I gather, Walser was raised a Christian in Germany then converted to Islam.’

‘Hasn’t he ever mentioned it?’

‘You wouldn’t ask that if you’d met him.’

‘Why didn’t he come over and introduce himself at my father’s funeral?’

‘He had to rush off. I’m glad we’ve bumped into each other today though. He was a bit concerned when you left Le Jardin in such a hurry. Wanted to know why I hadn’t been to collect you.’

‘There was a storm.’

‘Yes, we heard all about it from François. I’m sorry if it ruined your break.’

Both men turn to look at the mosque again. ‘Muslims make me nervous,’ Edward says. He turns to face Mike and adds:‘I don’t want you to feel you are being compromised but I think your boss is … I think there are things about him you need to know.’

Mike doesn’t seem interested. ‘Your friend Sir Niall Campbell came to ask me about him once,’ he says.

Edward tries to weigh where Mike might stand on what he is about to tell him. ‘I think he might be involved in …’ But he can’t find the right words. ‘This Muslim thing … I think he might have had something to do with my kidnapping.’

Mike grins. ‘You think right. He paid your ransom.’

‘Who? Niall?’

‘No, Walser.’

‘I was told it was Niall.’

‘By who?’

Edward rubs his neck. ‘I need to talk to … How do you know that about Mr Walser? Why would he do that for me?’

‘That, I think, you should ask him yourself. It’s time you two met properly. Let’s go and wait in the car for him to come back. He won’t be long.’

‘OK, excuse me a moment.’ Edward takes out his mobile and dials. When Niall’s mobile goes straight to voicemail, Edward leaves a message: ‘Call me. We need to talk.’ He dials Niall’s direct line at the Foreign Office next. ‘Can I speak to Sir Niall please? … Edward Northcote … Did he say where he was going? … Thank you.’

As they walk back to the entrance of the Underground, Edward takes a backward glance at the mosque. Rubs his neck again.

‘You OK?’ Mike asks.

‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

They emerge from Mile End station in time to see the Volvo being taken away on the back of a Parking Services lorry. Edward is still trying to get through to the car pound when Walser, wearing his suit again and carrying his sports bag, surfaces from the Underground entrance. When he sees Edward he stops walking. After a beat, he nods in acknowledgement. Edward ends his call.

As Mike takes the bag from Walser he says: ‘I’d like you to meet Edward Northcote, sir. I thought we could give him a ride home.’

Edward holds out his hand and says: ‘You don’t seem surprised to see me.’

Walser gives a pursed smile as they shake, covering Edward’s hand with his other hand. He then holds the car door open and indicates with a deferential gesture that Edward should get in.

Forty minutes later, Edward steps out of the Mercedes, gestures goodbye and, as he stands on the pavement and watches the tail lights getting closer and closer together, tries Niall’s number again. When he hears a door opening, he turns to the house and hangs up.

Niall steps out, buttoning up his jacket. When Hannah comes up behind him from the hallway he turns and gives her a hug. Edward can see her hand reaching around to rub his back. The door closes behind her.

Instead of walking away, Niall stands on the step as if confused about his location. He runs his hands down his face then rests his chin on the steeple he has formed with his fingers. His eyes are raised to the heavens like a Renaissance painting of an anguished disciple. In the yellow light cast by the sodium vapour of the street lamp, Edward can see that he has tear tracks on his cheeks. The speech he has been planning no longer seems necessary.

Niall, still unaware that he is being observed, clears his throat, straightens his shoulders and treads the path towards the road. When he sees Edward standing half in shadow he freezes. The two men regard one another for a few seconds. Niall’s mouth opens and
closes, a still-wet grayling on a riverbank, then he raises his hand to shield his eyes.

Edward walks past him, turns a key in the lock and enters the house. Without looking back, he shuts the door. The metallic crack of its latch lingers in the night air like the sound of glass shattering.

IV

One month later

FATHER AND DAUGHTER WATCH FROM THE FRONT DOOR AS THE
estate agent levers the ‘For Sale’ sign out of the front lawn, carries it to his van, waves and drives away. The house has gone for the asking price, after only one week on the market, and it is time for its occupants to leave too.

They both have steaming mugs of coffee in their hands and these they now clink together. ‘To a fresh start,’ Edward says.

‘A fresh start,’ Hannah echoes. ‘And no more press.’

‘And no more press.’

‘Might just have one last look around. Make sure we haven’t left anything. What time are the cleaners coming?’

Edward checks his watch. ‘They should be here in about a quarter of an hour.’

They wander from room to room in silence, turning on lightbulbs that seem naked without their shades, staring at curtainless windows, trailing their fingers over the ghost outlines that indicate where pictures have been hung. The house has an unfamiliar smell: damp and dusty. And familiar noises – the creak of the floorboard outside the spare room, the ping of the top-bathroom light switch – seem too loud and echoey today.

Each room seems to trigger a different memory: Christmas
mornings, birthdays, the drunken laughter of dinner parties. But emptied of possessions it already feels as if the house is no longer their home.

The two crates that Hannah wanted to keep out of storage were delivered to her halls of residence at the Slade that morning. Edward has managed to pack the things he wants kept out into one suitcase. When they reach the master bedroom and see it on the bare floorboards, next to the pewter urn containing Frejya’s ashes, Hannah says: ‘Are you going to tell me why Walser paid your ransom?’

‘At some point, perhaps. Not yet. There are some more details I need to establish, some information about your grandfather. I’ll write it all down for you when I get to Norway, that will be the easiest thing.’

‘But it’s given you some closure, right?’

Edward looks down, smiles and looks up again.

‘Do you know why Uncle …’ Her mouth puckers as she hesitates. ‘Why Niall tried to prevent Walser making the payment?’

‘I imagine because it was Foreign Office policy.’ His words lack conviction, as if his throat has constricted in an attempt to prevent them escaping.

‘Really? I think it suited him to have you out of the picture. He always, like, felt threatened by you. Always envied you. Envied your talent, your family, your wife.’

‘Actually, I think it was Frejya he envied.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Edward says, turning to pick up the suitcase and end the conversation.

‘When he came to the house drunk that night he said something about …’ She looks up at the ceiling as she tries to recall exactly. ‘That he always loved you.’

Edward, still with his back to her, draws in breath, holds it and then exhales slowly. ‘I think he did, in his way. He told me so once, when we were students, in a drunken moment after aVarsity match. I forgot all about it, but I guess he never did.’

Hannah thinks she understands now. ‘When you were posted to Norway he could forget about it, too, but as soon as you came back to London … Is that why he and Sally never had children?’

‘That’s not for … That’s between them.’

‘Now that he’s resigned, do you think you can forgive him?’

‘It’s more a question of whether he can forgive himself.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’

Edward sighs again. Shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’

‘He keeps ringing.’

‘I know.’

Hannah drops her shoulders. A lock of hair is trembling across her pale grey eyes. ‘Don’t go.’

‘You’re better off without me.’

‘I’m not.’ She rubs her arms. They have had this conversation before and she is no longer sure she believes the lines she has assigned to herself. ‘Dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long do you think it will take to finish your memoir?’

‘Not sure, six months maybe. A year.’

‘I was thinking of taking Mum’s ashes down to Cornwall later this month.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to do it with me?’

‘Sure. But I will if you want me to …’

Hannah pats his arm. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Actually, I think I need to do it on my own.’

‘I understand.’

Hannah wonders if he does. She barely understands herself. It is something to do with the anger she feels about being neglected throughout her teens, about being abandoned in the middle of her A levels. Mother and daughter need to make their peace.

As Hannah gathers up the urn, Edward picks up his suitcase and they walk down the stairs together.

‘I’ll wait to let the cleaners in,’ Edward says as he opens the front
door. ‘I’ve got a cab coming soon. Are you sure I can’t give you a lift to your halls?’

‘Thanks, but I fancy a walk to the tube. Clear my head.’