CAUSE & EFFECT (9 page)

The old family home in Pickering felt overcrowded. Pat, with Gordon — her feckless shit of a husband, the two bairns, and Mam, all crammed into the front room. Dad’s seat was waiting for him and Mam leapt up to welcome them before scuttling into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Pat, naturally, made a huge fuss of her
daft brother
and Miranda waited beside him for her turn in the spotlight.

Dad changed into slippers and then nipped into the kitchen, presumably to deliver the bad news in private. Soon after, tea was served with a slice of cake and a sprinkling of attitude.

“It’s lovely.” Miranda played nicely, although she didn’t use her name and would certainly never call her ‘Mum.’ Thomas had been on first name terms with John and Diane Wright from the moment he clapped eyes on them.

“So, where are you staying?” His mother made out like she didn’t care, and fooled no one.

“We’re at the Best Western,” Miranda parried. “We managed to get a special deal.”

Thomas glanced at Pat, who was trying hard not to laugh. This was like watching a lioness face down a crocodile at the watering hole. “How’s work, Gordon?” He opted for a soft target.

“So-so.” Gordon looked at his watch none too casually. “Well, I’d best be off with the kids – come on, say goodbye to Nana and Grandpa.”

The children swamped their grandparents and then approached Uncle Thomas for their customary pocket money; after which Miranda handed out chocolate. Then, without a word between Pat and her husband, Gordon took off with the kids. The front door slammed, carrying the children’s voices with it, and Pat seemed to relax, motioning for Miranda to sit beside her. Thomas winked at Pat; unless he was mistaken battle lines were being drawn.

“Right, lad, let me go and fetch them photographs.” Dad left the field early, clearly in no mood for bloodshed.

Thomas filled in, asking about the extended family – uncles, aunts and cousins he’d had nothing to do with in the past decade. When that rich conversational vine had withered, he shifted the focus to Ajit and Geena. All he could get out of Mum was, “It’ll likely be a big bairn, judging by the size of him.” It was said with affection and it helped ease the tension.

While father and son pawed over photographs, Miranda delved into her case to deliver a Harrods bag to Thomas’s mother.

“Just a little something.”

“How thoughtful.” She melted.

By five thirty they were away to the Best Western. Miranda confirmed her double room at reception.

“So you knew I’d stay with you?”

“No . . .” She paused. “I booked it for me, and to add you if required.”

Required?
He didn’t like the sound of that. She did the necessary at the desk, insisting it went on her credit card, while he tried not to look — and feel — like an afterthought. Once they were upstairs, he rang Ajit at home.

“At last! I thought you’d got lost after York and ended up in Ripton. What are you both doing tonight then?”

Ajit insisted on picking them up at the hotel, so Thomas booked an early meal for two beforehand. Dinner was fractious; the staccato conversation managed to say nothing at all. He felt himself withdrawing; he’d expected Yorkshire to be a challenge, with everything else going on, but not like this. He figured she’d tell him eventually — she always did.

Ajit was punctual to the minute; he had the look of a condemned man about him.

“You’ve cleaned the car!” Thomas squeezed into the passenger seat behind him.

“He’s a cheeky bugger.” Ajit beamed at Miranda beside him. “So how was it wi’ the Bladens?”

No reply. On the drive over, Ajit chronicled Geena’s two false alarms, her mania for tuna and inflatable ankles.

“Bloody ’ell, Thomas, I’m going to be a dad soon.” Ajit sounded like he still couldn’t believe it.

Thomas went in first. Geena looked immense. “Are you sure it’s just the one kid?”

“‘Ullo love,” Geena adjusted the cushion behind her. “Put kettle on, will you?” She slapped a nearby chair. “Well, come in, Miranda.”

He left them to it and joined Ajit in the kitchen. They jostled together among the cups, seventeen-year-olds again.

“How’s your job, Thomas? Don’t worry, I am covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

* * *

Time among friends twisted the minutes and folded the present in with the past. Ajit had been the first to know when he and Miranda had decided to go to London and had lent him the money for the tickets. Now, as he relaxed in their company, he felt maturity creeping up on him. Soon Ajit and Geena’s lives would change forever and revolve around sleeplessness and feeding times. He listened to them talking about baby names and stole a glance at Miranda. Were they next? Wasn’t that what couples did?

“And then . . .” Geena tapped Miranda’s knee, shaking the chair as she rocked with laughter, “Ajit’s mum suggested I have a ‘traditional’ home birth with all the women of the family in attendance! I said, ‘Bugger that — I want a hospital with a dishy doctor on standby.’”

“We’re having it in the Malton,” Ajit explained.

“Oh aye,” Geena erupted into laughter again, “
we
.”

“You’re gonna be there in the delivery room?” Thomas looked at Ajit incredulously — Ajit, who got rattled at the sight of a needle.

“He better be!” Geena answered for him.

Miranda had left the room without leaving her seat. He knew that look in her eyes — a storm was approaching. “Right.” He put down his mug. “Time we left you good people to your bed. Do you want help getting Geena out of her chair?”

He rang for a cab and waited at the door with Ajit wedged beside him.

“Listen, sorry about Miranda; I don’t know what her problem is today.”

“How d’ya mean?”

“Never mind, it’s been a long day. We’re seeing my folks tomorrow, but ring me if anything’s happening.”

The taxi journey was a crypt on wheels. He kept his mouth shut until they were back in their hotel room.

“Couldn’t you have made an effort? I know you didn’t want to come, but it’s not their fault.”

“No.” She stomped around the room, searching for a hairbrush. “It’s yours. I told you I’d rather not be here, but you insisted I come along to play happy families.”

“What
is
your problem? Have I done something to piss you off?”

“Just leave it. I’m tired; I’m going to bed.”

He didn’t need surveillance skills to work out it wasn’t an invitation.

He was out next morning, camera in hand, and returned with pictures of two chaffinches and the back end of a squirrel. Miranda was in the shower. When he pressed his ear against the door so he could hear her trying to sing, he thought he heard her crying. She emerged from the steam wrapped in towels, her face a little blotchy. Somehow she could still make pissed off and unhappy look good.

After breakfast they went walkabout in Pickering, a busy Saturday in a typical market town with endless opportunities for not talking to one another. They got to the café early. The place could have doubled as a lace museum. There were only four chairs at the reserved table. Apparently Pat, Gordon and the kids were out for the day. Knowing Gordon it could well have been a trip to the garden centre.

Hostilities had abated by the time his parents arrived. Miranda broke new ground by calling them Helen and James. He watched the three of them struggling and went on the offensive.

“What’s the latest with Pat and Gordon?”

His father faltered. “Well, she doesn’t say a lot. I think they’re managing . . .”

“And what about you two?” Mum returned fire.

He was all out of ideas after the previous night. When make-up sex was off the table, he knew they were in bad shape.

Helen advanced further into enemy territory. “You’ve had years to sort yourselves out. If you’d stayed in Leeds — or come back to Pickering — things might be very different now.”

“Excuse me, I need the loo.” Miranda stood up and glared at him.

He made the most of her absence by defining a few boundaries. They were all enjoying a nice cup of tea when his mobile came to the rescue.

“Alright, Thomas?” Ajit’s voice echoed in the earpiece — a classic corridor conversation. “Geena’s been taken into hospital, on account of her blood pressure — a precautionary measure.”

“So it’s not the big push, then?”

“No, but I think she’d be glad of that now. Complete bed rest until the baby comes. She came in first thing this morning and she’s already bored out of her skull. Do you feel like popping in to cheer her up?”

“In hospital you say?” He mouthed ‘Ajit’ for the benefit of everyone at the table. “And where are you again?”

“The Malton, like I told you yesterday.”

“The Malton?” He repeated it for effect. “That’s miles away.”

It had the desired result. The journey over was punctuated by Thomas’s efforts to include Miranda in the conversation and a fat lot of good it did him. They were dropped outside and he walked off to the front desk, threading his way to Ajit, with Miranda trailing behind him.

Ajit looked elated to see a new face. “It could be up to a week they reckon — she’s nowhere near ready,” he muttered outside the room.

“I bloody well am,” Geena called out. “Are you coming in or what?”

The room smelled of some aromatherapy spray — the scent he had noticed at their house. A stuffed piglet, Geena’s from childhood, was propped up on a pillow.

“Does Percy know he’s getting a sibling?” Thomas flicked its ragged ear.

A medic put her head around the door and asked them to leave while she did a quick examination. Miranda was first out and the three of them decamped to the corridor. Ajit tried small talk about her business and Thomas listened in. Miranda was so self-contained. She didn’t need looking after and that scared the hell out of him.

The medic emerged and passed on a message for Miranda to go in alone. She went pale at the news, glancing behind her up the corridor. Ajit caught Thomas’s eye and nodded towards the drinks machine.

“Girls’ talk!” Ajit nudged him without turning back. “Is she alright?”

“Dunno.” Thomas was relieved to have Ajit on his wavelength. “She’s been in a funny mood since we left London.” He dug into his pocket for a handful of change.

“P’raps she’s broody.” Ajit stroked his chin. “I’ve ’eard that some women get that way when one of them has a bairn. Maybe you want to think about that, Mr Intelligence.”

He concentrated on carrying the coffees back while his mind turned somersaults. They’d never discussed having kids — apart from joking about what terrible parents they’d make. And now his job always seemed to get in the way.

Ajit knocked on the door before they went in. Geena was in tears. Thomas meekly handed Miranda her coffee; she’d have given Medusa a run for her money. Ajit moved around the bed to Geena’s side and Thomas looked on.

He felt the walls closing in, as if a haze had filled the room and only he could see it. He heard each shallow breath, felt his heart pounding and knew he had to get out of there. Without saying a word he closed the door behind him. A few paces on he dropped his cup into a bin, inhaling the sickly aroma of machine coffee and creamer as it hit the plastic liner and burst.
Jesus
. He felt the sweat in his hands as he switched on his mobile.

“Hey Karl, it’s Thomas — any news?”

“You could say that. I got a look at the police report — ballistics confirms what we already knew. I’ll tell you more when I see you.” Karl’s phone paranoia kicked in.

He took a Judas breath. “I’ll come back today.”

“Well, that’d be useful but I can hold the fort here until you’re ready.”

“No, it’s settled. I’ll ring you from the train.” As he slumped with relief against the wall, he felt his rucksack digging into his back. Inside were his camera, his passport and his keys — all the things that mattered.

He dragged himself back along the corridor and tried to lose himself in justifications. Jack Langton was depending on him and so was Karl. Besides, Miranda might be grateful for an excuse to leave. He cleared his throat and went inside, a few steps from the door.

“I’ve just spoken to Karl. Sorry, I’m needed in London.”

“No.” She spoke quietly and didn’t say anything else.

He couldn’t tell whether she was objecting or if she didn’t believe him, so he waited. She was quiet for a time, taking it all in. And just when he thought she was okay with everything she flipped. A complete meltdown; screaming, flailing at him, resurrecting every injustice he’d ever inflicted on her — and there were many. Telling him how he put his fucking job before her every time, and now he’d treated his only friends the same way.

“The truth is you need your job — you’re lost without it. You run back to London. I’m staying on at the hotel.”

Ajit stared at the floor. Geena grabbed his hand, pulling him close, crying and crying without saying a word, until finally Miranda told Thomas to get out.

He shut the door and kept on walking, telling himself it wasn’t cowardice but self-preservation. Either way, the rush of air past the automatic doors was the purest oxygen he’d ever known. When he reached York he rang his sister. He wanted to get in his side of the story first, and he passed on Miranda’s mobile number so Pat could keep an eye on her.

“Oh, Tommy.” Pat’s voice sank. “Whatever’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, Sis.” He told her the signal was breaking up and cut the call.

At York, he collected a couple of Southern Comfort miniatures to anaesthetise him for the rest of the journey. Not being a big drinker had its advantages. He woke as the train arrived in London, a sweet taste on his lips and a bitter one on his conscience. The therapist, who he’d stopped seeing, had once asked him if he saw a way back to the person he used to be. Before he’d been dragged into the Surveillance Support Unit quicksand like all the others. “No,” he whispered on the train, “there’s no way back now.”