The Loyal Servant (19 page)

‘But that was one of the conditions. He agreed to pay for Freddie’s treatment just so long as no one found out about it. But he thought it was all right to tell you?’

‘I’m a good listener.’ Angela sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘Between you and me, Mrs Larson, I was quite surprised that Sir Fred was ashamed of his son’s…’ She was really groping in the dark now. ‘His… condition.’

‘You can’t really blame him, I suppose.’ The old woman let out a long sigh. ‘It is a mortal sin.’

Angela fidgeted on the uncomfortable settee. ‘Isn’t it more a sickness?’ She felt as if she was running out of guesses in a game of twenty questions. ‘Shouldn’t we really be feeling sorry for Freddie?’

‘But the medicine they give him is just as bad as the filth he was injecting into his veins. It’s still opium isn’t it?’

Angela quietly pushed her business card onto the table and leaned back on the settee. She exhaled, not trusting herself to speak. She had an urge to punch the air. After a moment she cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure the treatment will be successful. I expect you’re praying for him?’

‘Every day. But the treatment won’t cure the reason he became addicted in the first place. I pray every day that he can rid himself of that sin too.’ She turned to Angela. ‘I suppose Fred was too ashamed talk to you about that.’

‘Actually, he did touch on it… briefly.’ She wriggled forward on the thin seat cushion. ‘Would you like to comment on it?’

‘You would love that for your story, wouldn’t you?’

‘I… I just want a balanced account – like I said before.’

She looked into Betty’s eyes and saw a shutter go down. It felt as if the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Betty Larson struggled to her feet.

‘I’ll see you out.’

27

Caroline pushed open her front door, stepped inside and wearily unbuttoned her jacket. Her arms were heavy and her fingers numb, she fumbled with each button. The adrenalin she must have produced over the last 72 hours would probably have been enough to revive a three-day-old corpse. Right now it felt as if she’d completely exhausted her supply.

By the time she’d left the office, facilities management still hadn’t delivered the moving crates. She’d planned to stay until they arrived, to make a start on packing, but Pam had practically prised her from her desk, telling her she was under strict instructions from Prior to make sure she left early. With Pam watching over her, Caroline had reluctantly gathered together her bag and jacket at 3:30pm, convinced more than ever that something was brewing and it was somehow related to the computer surveillance and the academies division move. Anything might be spirited away from the fourth floor in her absence.

She wriggled slowly out of her jacket and resolved to get into the office as early as possible the next morning. She still might be able to save some vital piece of evidence that was destined for the shredder. She shoved her jacket on the banister post, too tired to fight with the coats on the rack by the front door, and made for the clank and rattle of crockery coming from the kitchen. She pushed open the door, expecting to see her mother over-exerting herself, but discovered Dan instead, squeezing a fat worm of mayonnaise over a sandwich filling that seemed to consist of an entire deli counter’s supply of ham and cheese, with a handful of cheesy puffs piled on top.

‘No wonder you never want your dinner,’ she said and kissed him on the cheek before he had a chance to duck away.

‘I’m growing.’ He laid a hand on the top slice of bread and leaned on it until mayo oozed from the sides. ‘It’s important to get sufficient protein and fat in my diet.’

‘Can I put in a good word for vegetables?’ Caroline flipped on the kettle and retrieved a mug from an overhead cupboard. ‘How about a nice tomato to go with that? Or a bit of lettuce?’

Dan pulled a face and headed towards the door, sandwich in one hand, can of Coke in the other.

‘Where’s your gran?’

‘Having a lie down.’

‘Good. I’ll pop in and see her in a bit.’

‘Whatever.’

‘I was hoping we could have a little chat. Just you and me.’ Caroline threw a teabag into the mug and tried to sound casual. ‘Talk about… you know, things.’

Dan stopped before he reached the door. He didn’t turn round. ‘I don’t want talk about it.’

‘You’re going to have to at some point. The problem won’t just go away through wishful thinking.’

Dan slouched into the hall.

‘We all need to sit down and discuss what’s going to happen next.’ The kettle hissed noisily on the counter, Caroline flicked it off. ‘Did you get a chance to speak to Kylie at school today?’ Caroline shouted after him. ‘How was she?’

‘Mum! Can you just drop it? It’s none of your business.’

‘Oh I think it is. You’re only 14. Your business is my business.’ She could hear her mother saying much the same thing to her, 25 years ago. She shuddered. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.’

Dan stomped to the stairs. Caroline ran after him.

‘We will need to talk, Dan. Why not start now, when it’s just the two of us?’

Dan ignored her and started up the stairs.

‘Dan! Don’t walk away while I’m talking to you. You still haven’t told me where you were all night on Friday.’

‘Please Mum – not now.’

‘But what happened? Who were you with? Did you get into a fight?’

He disappeared onto the landing. Caroline heard his bedroom door slam shut.

Another triumph of good parenting. Well done you.

She trudged up the stairs and hesitated when she reached his room. What was the best way to handle this? She tried to remember what her mother had said to her so that she could avoid making the same mistakes.

Through the door she heard the tapping of fingers on keyboard. Dan seemed to be much happier instant messaging complete strangers than talking to his own family. Sometimes she thought she’d have a better chance communicating with him if she invented a screen name for herself and lurked in his favourite sci-fi forum. Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid idea. There had to be a way of connecting with him. What she needed was something that didn’t involve eye contact. Some activity where they could sit and chat while they were occupied doing something else. Preferably involving something techie. She stood for a few moments, just listening to the rapid whirr of fingertips on plastic, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Of course.

She ran downstairs, collected her laptop from the living room and hurried back to his door. She thumped her free hand against the wood.

‘Dan?’

The rattle of the keyboard coming through door slowed for a moment.

‘I’m sorry I’ve upset you, love. I didn’t mean to. It was really dumb of me, especially as I need your help.’

The typing ceased.

‘I need to ask you a favour. I’ve got a computer problem that could really do with your input. I’m sure you could solve it for me in no time. I’ve been struggling with it for days.’

‘What is it?’ His voice was indistinct, his mouth probably crammed with cheesy puff sandwich.

‘It’s a work thing. If I don’t get it sorted I could be in serious amounts of trouble.’ She knocked on the door again. ‘Do you think you might be able to help?’

After a few seconds of silence the door creaked open a crack.

Several cups of tea and half a packet of chocolate digestives later, Caroline was still sitting next to Dan, watching her son’s fingers blur over the keyboard of her laptop. He only used the first two fingers of each hand and his right thumb for the spacebar, but Dan’s typing speed must have been twice the rate she notched up on the Pitman secretarial course she completed when she wasn’t much older than he was now. He stopped at intervals to attend to the pinging of instant messages on his own laptop. As he typed his replies his forehead would pucker and the corners of his mouth turned down in an exaggerated scowl.

‘I remember when I used to speak to my friends on the phone. Or even meet up in the Wimpy for a gossip and a banana split,’ Caroline said after one of Dan’s prolonged bouts of messaging. ‘I do hope I didn’t pull a face like that. We used to have a laugh.’

‘What – back in the dark ages?’

‘Who are you talking to? Would I have met any of them?’ She glanced at his screen. ‘
The Boss
? Which one of your mates is a Springsteen fan? Should get him together with your dad.’

‘God, Mum! It’s private. Do you want me to help you or what?’

‘Won’t say another word.’

She sat quietly for another five minutes eyeing the open packet of biscuits on the desk, desperately trying to resist helping herself to another. To avoid temptation, she twisted the wrapper tight shut and reached over Dan, putting them on the far side of the desk, well out of grabbing distance. As she sat back down she noticed a scrap of paper with an 0800 number scrawled across it, the initials ‘CL’ written underneath. It wasn’t Dan’s handwriting.

‘What are you looking at now?’ He stopped typing and turned round to face her.

‘You know me and biscuits – I won’t be happy until I’ve hoovered up the lot.’

Dan got out of his chair and looked across the desk. He spotted the paper scrap and glanced back at her. He plucked it off the desk, together with his mobile phone, and stuffed them both in a pocket.

‘How are we getting on anyway?’ Caroline said. ‘Making progress?’

‘Can’t really tell you that.’ Dan clamped his bottom lip tight between his teeth. ‘Might be another five minutes, or another five hours. You could just leave me to it.’

‘Not sure I could, actually – given it’s a work thing – you know, confidentiality rules and all that.’

‘What? Are you telling me it’s top secret? Where you work?’

‘Less of the sarcasm, thank you. You’d be surprised what passes across my desk. All manner of classified information.’

Dan snorted and started typing again. ‘If you’re staying you might want to get something to read.’

‘I’m fine as I am.’ She made an effort not to glance towards his pocket. An 0800 number? She tried to remember the other digits, but the glimpse had been too fleeting. Who was ‘CL’? The company whose number it was, or the person who’d written the note? She resolved to check the last landline phone bill; it was just possible Dan had called the freephone number using the home phone.

‘So… how’s school?’ Desperate to keep him talking, she plumped for the safest subject. Everything else seemed to be out of bounds.

He shrugged.

‘Played any big matches lately?’

‘What?’

‘The rugby – how’s your shoulder?’ She lifted off her seat a fraction, trying to get a better look. Dan immediately pulled the collar of his shirt up.

‘I know you didn’t want to go to the doctor’s after last Friday, but you might have done yourself some serious damage. Why don’t you let me take a look?’

Dan shoved back his chair and stood up. ‘I’m not sure we’re going to have much luck with this.’

Caroline let out a breath. She’d pushed him too far. God knew how many more unexplained injuries he was carrying. ‘If you were having trouble at school…’

He stared down at her, his face contorting the way it used to when he was a toddler, just before the tears started to roll. As much as it pained her, she pressed on. ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you? Or if not me, a teacher?’

Dan marched across the room, folded his arms and stood facing the wall.

‘If someone’s been threatening you…’ She had a sudden vision of Reynolds spitting and swearing. He was no better than a school bully. ‘Kylie’s dad hasn’t… If he’s so much as laid a finger on you… Dan – has he hurt you?’

Dan blew out a noisy breath, but didn’t say a word.

‘Dan? You can tell me, you know. I won’t go round there all guns blazing.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said quietly.

‘Tell me, then. Don’t leave me on the outside.’

He turned slowly towards her, rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘It’s nothing. Drop it.’ He was closer to tears than she’d realised.

Caroline held up her hands. ‘OK, OK.’

‘I’m not leaving you on the outside. It’s just that…’

Come on Dan, you can do it.

‘I mean…’ He screwed up his face, took a step forward and lifted his arms from his sides. For a moment Caroline was convinced he was going to embrace her. She smiled and walked towards him.

Her laptop let out a loud ping.

‘Tell me what’s wrong Dan.’

He turned away from her to look at the laptop screen. It was too late. The moment was lost.

‘That means it’s cracked the password.’

‘No, I meant—’

‘Excellent!’ He sat back down and expanded an Excel spreadsheet so that it filled the screen. ‘Is this what you were expecting?’

Caroline slumped into her seat and stared at the small text until it gradually stopped swimming in front of her eyes. She nodded slowly.

The heading at the top of the sheet:
Contractors
, didn’t come as a complete surprise. It was, after all, a document taken from the procurement folder. The first column was headed
Name of contractor
and each cell below contained the name of a company – again, hardly earth shattering information. The names ran in alphabetical order, from AB Containers at the top to Davis Electricals at the bottom of the screen. Caroline grabbed the mouse and scrolled down a few dozen lines. She’d still only got as far as the E’s and the F’s. A few of the companies were listed more than once. She checked the heading in the next column:
Academy
. That explained the repetition in the first one – government approved contractors were likely to work on more than one building project. She couldn’t understand why someone had gone to the trouble of password protecting such uncontroversial information. She was obviously missing something. She scanned the remaining columns. The third was headed with a pound sign followed by three zeros, which presumably would be the total worth of each contract. The amounts ranged from a few thousand to a few hundred thousand pounds. As each academy cost around £25 million to build, these amounts weren’t particularly out of the ordinary.

‘Was it worth the bother?’ Dan said. ‘You look disappointed.’

‘It all looks pretty standard stuff.’

‘No state secrets then?’

She shook her head.

The next column contained a list of names, surname followed by initials. The one after that was headed
Severity
and contained numbers, mostly eights, nines and tens. Caroline traced a finger along a row.
Fisher Logistics, Cuckmere Arts Academy, 20, Rogers, B
,
10
. Her finger stopped underneath the heading of the final column.