Twenty-Two

I know that I must brace myself to call Archie. Joanna calls him twice a week and she’ll certainly tell him that I’m here. Not only that, but I can’t talk to Joanna herself again until I can say we’ve spoken. Last night she was very agitated about the police, even though I didn’t tell her about the skeletons.

My hands tremble as I search for the number of Archie’s school. It’s in Sleaford. Chosen, as Joanna has pointed out many times, so that visiting would be easy. As she would doubtless say if she were here now, I could hop in the car and be with him in less than an hour. I’ll be expected to indicate to the school what the purpose of such a visit might be. Mindful of this, I decide to talk to his housemaster first: Hamish Maitland. I find his number on a short typed list that has been pinned to the kitchen notice-board. Joanna’s handiwork, no doubt; or possibly Jean’s.

The number turns out to be his direct line and, miracle of miracles, he is sitting beside his telephone.

“Hamish Maitland? It’s Kevan de Vries. Archie de Vries’ father. I’ve just called to . . .”

The voice at the other end cuts me short in mid-sentence.

“Mr de Vries! I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’ve been meaning to call you myself.”

His slight Scottish twang is irritating, as is his teacherly assumption of superiority.

“Oh? Why is that? Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Well, now, that depends on what you mean by ‘wrong’. As I’m sure ye know, Archie didn’t take kindly to your own and his mother’s departure for abroad. No tae put too fine a point on it, he’s been quite difficult since you left. Nothing that we can’t handle, which is what we’re here for.” He allows a sort of pregnant silence to elapse, which I find infuriating. I leap quickly into the vacuum.

“I’m glad that we’re agreed on that,” I say as smoothly as I can. “Your fees are not cheap, as we both know, but until now I’ve been convinced that Joanna and I are receiving good value for our money.”

I, too, let a meaningful silence into the conversation. Much to my surprise, the sarky little rat shows that he’s prepared to take me on.

“Yes. Well, Mrs de Vries is a different matter. Archie’s very upset about her . . . condition, as any wee lad would be, even without the challenges that Archie faces. I’ve a huge amount of respect for your wife, Mr de Vries, and the way that she is facing up to . . .”

“Facing up to her death, you mean? Do go on.”

He falters, but only for a few seconds.

“What would really help,” he concludes in the bland, non-specific manner I’ve come to associate with his kind, “would be if yeself and Mrs de Vries could be a little more . . . co-ordinated – in your relations with Archie.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand, my patience now threadbare. “Why can’t you just spit out exactly what it is you want to say, instead of talking in these dishonest insinuating riddles all the time?”

This time the silence is much longer; so long, in fact, that if I couldn’t hear the man’s laboured breathing at the other end of the phone, I’d be inclined to think that he’d cut me off.

“Very well, Mr de Vries, since you want it in the raw, you shall have it. I was just trying to spare the feelings of all concerned.” I can picture him, the paunchy little runt, steepling his fingers and telling himself to keep calm as he gets the better of me, disciplining himself not to show his glee. But I’m too weary and now too concerned about both Archie and Joanna to pursue his cat-and-mouse game any further.

“The truth of the matter is that we’ve had to keep Archie mildly sedated since his mother’s departure. I wasn’t there myself when she took her leave of him – neither, I believe, were ye yeself – but something that she said has persuaded him that he won’t be seeing her again. Naturally, I’ve tried to talk him out of this. I’ve told him that, although she’s very ill, she’ll be standing by him; that you’re a family and you’ll all work through this thing together. That is correct, isn’t it?” I can imagine his piercing little piggy eyes winkling the truth out of me and for the first time am glad that ours is not a face-to-face conversation. There is another long pause, before I steel myself to reply.

“It’s true as far as I can make it so. But – and perhaps I should have told you this before – Joanna’s illness has destabilised. That’s the official term: the ones that the doctors use. What it actually means is that the leukaemia has taken rampant control of her body, to the point where there’s little that they can do for her. All that they – and I – can do is make her as comfortable and tranquil as possible and help her to wait for the end. As it happens, I was called to St Lucia on business shortly after we received this diagnosis. It was my decision to take her there, to help her to shed all the cares that she has here and to find some peace. I make no apology for saying to you that Archie is the biggest of her worries and therefore the one that I most hoped to release her from during her last few weeks on this earth. You may criticise me all you wish,” I conclude defiantly, hoping that the nasty little man can’t hear the catch that’s come unbidden into my voice.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, very sorry indeed.” He sounds genuinely sympathetic, but there is a steely quality to what he’s saying that tells me that he has a sting in his tail.

“But what?”

“Beg pardon?” It’s a phrase that riles me, but I make myself humour him.

“I accept your sympathy, and I’m grateful for it, as I’m sure Joanna would be if she were listening. But I sense that you still have a point that you wish to make, perhaps your original point when we started this conversation?”

“Indeed. Well, it seems a little unkind to say so now that you’ve explained matters in so much detail, but the fact is that Mrs . . . his mother spoke to Archie yesterday and he’s been pretty much unreachable ever since.”

“What did she say to him?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was in the room, but I didn’t put the phone on speak; I considered that too much of an invasion of his privacy, particularly as we’d been reducing the medication over the past few days and he seemed to be coping well on the lower doses. But I’m certain she told him that you’d come home.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he kept on saying, ‘Why hasn’t he come to see me?’ He said it several times.”

“And that sent him into one of his spasms, did it?”

“I wouldn’t call the manifestations of Archie’s illness ‘spasms’, but I realise it’s not appropriate to discuss the details of that now. No, actually it didn’t. He was pale and upset, but still quite rational. It was something else that tipped him into hysteria. Something that she said about the house.”

“Which house? This one?”

“I assume so. He wasn’t specific, but there aren’t many houses with which he’s intimately acquainted, are there?”

“I suppose not. I can’t think what Joanna can have said, though. She’s usually so careful with his feelings; and besides, I haven’t told her about the . . .”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. Nothing that need concern you, or Archie. I was just thinking aloud. So is Archie back under heavier sedation again? Or is it possible for me to speak to him now, or arrange to visit him?”

“He has been prescribed tranquillisers – quite strong ones – but not so strong that they’ve knocked him out completely. He’s still able to study a little. But I wouldn’t advise talking to him at the moment. He’s not confident on the telephone, as you know, and, if I may say so, your having attempted to contact him so belatedly after your return is only likely to confuse and anger him further. I can’t stop you from visiting him, of course, but I’d like to offer my professional opinion that just the one visit this week will be all that we can expect him to cope with.”

“What are you talking about now? Who else has been to see him? He’s not supposed to receive visitors without our written permission.”

“No-one else has seen him, yet,” Maitland says, silky smooth again now that he has firmly repossessed the upper hand, “but it is my understanding that your wife will be coming here tomorrow. As one of his two legal guardians, she has no need to supply written permission for herself, as I’m sure that you’ll agree.”

“Joanna? But I’ve just told you that our plan was for her to stay in St Lucia until . . .”

He is merciful enough not to make me finish the sentence.

“Quite so, Mr de Vries, which brings me back to the point I was trying to make much earlier in our conversation. I take it that you were unaware of her plan to return, and her reasons for not telling you are certainly not my affair. However, your son’s welfare is very much my business. A little more communication between yourself and your wife would help Archie a great deal. Certainty is what the boy needs, or as much certainty as we can supply. A complicated and confusing succession of strange adult stratagems and being told half-truths can only lead him into despair. I hope that you will forgive me for being so blunt?”

“Eh? Oh, yes, of course. You’re only doing your job,” I say, with as much irony as I can muster. “Goodbye, Mr Maitland, and thank you for spelling out the situation so clearly. I’ll find out exactly what my wife’s plans are before I contact you again.”

I put down the phone and lay my head on the desk, willing the tears not to come. Who is now leading whom into despair? It seems to me that it is not just Archie who is staring into the abyss, but the whole of our crazy ‘privileged’ family.