Chapter Fourteen

Michael drove slowly to make it easier for Mister Kasov, struggling with the little blue van behind them, and to delay arrival. Laura sat beside him, head averted, holding a small bundle of dirty clothes tightly on her lap.

He said, unnecessarily, “About two or three minutes more.”

Laura’s head moved slightly as she said, “I’m a bit scared.”

Michael could have said a great deal but settled for: “You’ll be okay. Your dad won’t spank you too hard.”

This time she looked at him, saying, “Don’t joke.” She tugged at the clothes on her lap then continued in a small voice, “I wish he would, really. When I was little he’d do it then he’d hug me and it was all right between us again.”

“I think we’ve gone past getting back the way things were.”

“Are you scared?” Laura asked.

Michael thought about it then said, “No, relieved I’m getting out of that house. Worried about you, but not scared.”

“I still think you should have phoned your parents and said you were coming.”

“I’ve got a key,” Michael said, “If they’re not there, I’ll leave a note.”

“Coward.”

Michael shrugged. “If you want. I just can’t stand any more rows.” Laura eased round in her seat to face him. Michael could feel her need like spiking heat on his skin and risked taking his eyes off the road. He said, “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Whatever is making you look as if you’re stifling a giant fart.”

Laura sniggered then said, “You’re such a charmless oik.”

“True,” Michael said. “Now what do you have to say that’s going to upset me?”

“All right.” She rushed on. “Please, please, don’t get into an argument with my parents if they come out.” She sat back, adding, “There, I said it.”

Michael sighed. “With me all ready to start a fist fight. You’re no fun at all. I’m pretty sure I could take your mum.”

Laura gripped his arm saying, “Promise you won’t do anything?”

“Cross my heart.”

She stroked his sleeve as she went on, “You would have got angry about me saying that a few days ago. Maybe even yesterday.”

Michael pulled a hard-man face. “What makes you think I’m not?” He said. “I might be seething inside: a volcano ready to erupt, a pressure cooker ready to…”

She tapped his head with her knuckles. “I get the picture.” She leaned forward and put a butterfly kiss on his cheek then whispered, “Thank you.”

He signalled left and turned the wheel, saying, “Batten the hatches, we’re here.”

They saw it at the same time.

Laura said, “Oh, Michael.”

Even at this distance, the boxes piled outside his parents’ front gate were obviously Michael’s belongings. The little red box of keepsakes stuck on top like a cake decoration.

He said, “Forget the tearful farewells then.”

Laura put a hand over his on the steering wheel and said, “Stop the car.”

He did it and Mister Kasov’s brakes squealed behind them. Michael got out and walked back to the van.

Mister Kasov peered out of the tiny side window and said, “A little notice of your intentions would have been appreciated.”

Michael pointed. “Sorry, but I just saw my stuff on the pavement.”

Mister Kasov looked that way then said, “Oh, they packed for you.”

“You could say that. Tossed my clothes into some boxes might be more accurate.” He leaned off the van, adding, “If you want to park beside it, I’ll leave Mister Denby’s car and come across.”

Mister Kasov nodded and fumbled for the gear stick.

Michael walked back to the car, climbed in and looked at Laura, saying, “They’ll be watching, probably my parents as well as yours.”

Laura nodded almost imperceptibly then reached for him and said fiercely, “Let’s give them something to look at.”

Michael pulled his face away and gripped Laura’s hands. “No, we’re better than that,” he said and pushed her back into the seat. “I’ll drive nicely and be a good boy. You sit there like a little lady. You can fake it this once.”

On the edge of tears, she said, “Pig.”

He drove forty yards to the Denby’s front gate, parked carefully, switched off the engine and gave Laura her father’s keys.

He said, “You have to go straight in. Don’t look back.” He swallowed hard then went on, “If you cry, I will, then I’ll have to fall on my sword or something. You know what us Romans are like about being girly.”

Laura sniffed hard and said, “You are such an idiot and I feel like…” She touched her stomach. “It hurts so much.”

He pushed her gently, saying, “You did tell me your period’s due. It’s probably that.”

Laura giggled wetly as she opened the door then said, “How can I have a tragic moment with you?”

Michael unlatched his door and got out.

Over the car roof he said, “You might think that’s ironic after we’ve been married sixty or seventy years.”

Laura wiped a hand across her eyes then said, “We will be too. At least.” She took a step backwards then asked, “When will I see you?”

Michael touched his pocket and pointed at hers. “You’ve got Mister Kasov’s number. That’s only as far away as I am. Now go. Big smile.”

Laura gulped then said, “Fuck smiling.”

Michael tried to grin, felt it crumble and murmured, “I love you.”

Laura said, “Oh, God!” and ran up the front path.

The door opened as she reached it and she was inside and gone. Michael waited until his legs were ready to hold him up then started towards the van.

Sitting in it a few minutes later, his mind threw up a string of cartoon pictures: his parents tossing his belonging out of their house into dark puddles and wet dog shit. Ragged cats and elderly people leaping out of the way. Then Boy-Michael rushing up the street towards them, head almost as big as his body, mouth huge, roaring at his parents, force lines throwing them back against the wall. As they squirmed, his rage tried to change into something else. Something with long black fur but Boy-Michael fought it away and stood glaring at his mother and father as they cowered by the front door. Faces hating him. It was bad, sickening and also an incredible release.

A sound brought him back. Michael looked up and saw they were already a mile from his home, the car slowing at traffic lights. Mister Kasov tapped the horn again and murmured, “That gentleman perhaps has not grasped the concept that green means go?”

Michael said, “Bloody stupid, ignorant, selfish people.”

Mister Kasov glanced at him but didn’t speak.

* * * *

Michael walked into the parlor and showed Mister Kasov his pay packets, saying, “I found these at the bottom of a box. A week’s pay and my holiday money from Smithson’s. Would you believe my mother took off housekeeping up to today? She’s left an analysis of how she worked it out.”

Mister Kasov said, “A thorough lady.”

“Not the word I was searching for.” Michael shook his head.

Mister Kasov put the tray sized book he had been reading on his lap and asked, “What would you like me to say, Michael? I don’t know your parents.”

Michael said, “I suppose it’s lucky she didn’t take an extra week in lieu of notice.”

“Bitterness suits you, my boy,” Mister Kasov said. “It brings such an attractive, childlike pout to your face.”

Michael dropped his money on the table. “Yeah right. What’s the point? At least I’ve got some cash for a while. I’ll spend that and think beautiful thoughts.” He grinned at the expression on Mister Kasov’s face then said, “Okay. So are you going to keep pulling me up all the time when I say something stupid?”

The old man shrugged. “I speak as I believe.” He nodded towards the shop and went on, “Perhaps you should make yourself busy, occupy your mind. The shop could open for another hour or two.”

Michael said, “Good idea. It’ll give me something to think about beyond what the Denbys are saying to Laura right now.” He walked out into the sales area. Reaching for the door lock, Michael caught movement beyond the glass. For a moment it was just a figure then he said, “Oh, Jesus!”

Hortan gave him a tiny, chopping wave and sauntered off.

Mister Kasov called, “What is it?”

Michael wrenched the door open and ran outside. A group of eight young boys on bicycles were making a dangerous game of the cobbles, not looking ahead and he had to step back into the shop doorway or be run down.

When he reached the alley again, Hortan had gone. Michael turned back putting both hands to his cheeks and felt heat.

From the doorway, Mister Kasov asked, “What happened?” Michael told him. The old man stepped aside. As Michael walked past him, he continued, “Are you sure it was he?”

“Absolutely certain. He waved.” Michael showed him the gesture.

Mister Kasov clicked the catch over and reversed the “open/closed” sign then said, “How could he be here? Does anyone know of this place?”

“Only Laura,” Michael said as he peered out of the window. “Maybe he just stumbled on us by accident.”

Mister Kasov shook his head. “Not likely. People who search for my shop from my advertisements, often become lost. And from your description, he did not strike me as a lover of old books.”

“Then he must have followed us back from my parents’ house.”

“He has a car?”

“Don’t know.” Michael snapped his fingers and went on, “He was wearing a motorbike jacket. Lots of studs.” He walked over to the gazebo, needing to sit down then asked, “Did you see a motorbike following us back? I didn’t.”

“I had much trouble just concentrating on the road ahead,” Mister Kasov said then looked at the darkening windows. “If he followed, it is likely he was watching your house which makes him serious about you.” He looked at Michael, adding, “Perhaps watching both houses.”

Michael thought about that then said, “At least it’s me not Laura he followed. So I must be the target.”

“Today.”

“You’re making me nervous, Mister Kasov.”

The old man smiled. “Anxiety keeps us alert, in small doses, that is,” he said. “Ignoring the facts will not make them go away.”

Michael bunched his fists, asking, “What should I do? I can’t just sit here and wait for it.”

Mister Kasov walked over and patted his shoulder. “You can do very little.” He wagged a wrist in a parody of Hortan’s gesture. “What threat is the wave of a hand if you tell anyone? Perhaps it is all that will happen. He desires that you be uncomfortable. To know he is there.”

Michael said, “Then he’s got his wish.”

“You give the man power if you restrict your life because of him.” Mister Kasov walked back into the parlor, adding, “I will not give him one inch of mine. Make some tea, Michael. Let us be normal.”

Michael started for the door, saying, “When I’ve had a look round.”

“Is that wise?”

“Maybe not, but I have to do it.”

Michael turned right outside the shop and walked fast. It was almost dark and he looked around wishing there were somebody to ask about Hortan, if just to confirm his existence. Now, a few minutes beyond seeing the man, doubt roiled inside him: fuelling old worry about himself, where self-trust might not even stretch to his eyes. He walked past an eccentrically tipped bin beside a green painted shop with “De Graff” above the door in gold script and stepped over the low railing that shut this narrower alley off to vehicles. It ran only as deep as the shop and opened into a parking area. A black Rolls Royce with bulbous, saucepan sized headlamps stood with its rear bumper against the shops back wall. A small man in a fur coat stood by the driver’s door, examining keys.

Michael said, “Excuse me.”

The man stumbled, dropping the keys, and turned quickly.

He asked, “What do you want?” in a high frightened voice.

Michael said, “Sorry to startle you. I was wondering if you’ve seen a blond man with a motorcycle parked here. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a lot of silver studs.”

The man’s face became more wary as he asked, “If I have?”

“I just wanted to know where he went.”

The man said, “To hell I hope.” He tried to bend for his keys, gave up and as he put a hand against the huge car for support Michael stooped quickly and retrieved them.

Handing them back, he asked, “What did he do?”

The man shook his head in disgust saying, “Called me a filthy, filthy name I have not heard in…many years, when I asked him to move the cycle.” His face registered alarm and he went on quickly, “He is a friend?”

“Far from it,” Michael said. “I’m sorry he bothered you.”

The man smiled suddenly. “Now I recognise you,” he said. “The young man staying with Rolf Kasov.” He held out a tiny hand. “Willi De Graff.” The palm felt like warm stone as Michael gripped it. The man continued, “I am a goldsmith. Bring your pretty friend when you need a ring. I will make you a good price.”

Michael said, “Thank you, Mister De Graff, I’ll remember that.” He released his hand carefully then asked, “Can you tell me what’s beyond this area? I just want to walk around and make sure he’s not still hanging about.”

Mister De Graff stared past his Rolls as if he didn’t look that way often and said, “Nothing of interest, the road starts a few yards down there.” He pointed right. “The foul young man rode his cycle left towards the shops.”

Michael said, “Thanks, I’d better get back.”

Mister De Graff touched the edge of his fedora and smiled. Michael started away, realizing he had forgotten his jacket again.

* * * *

The first sign was an open door. Michael stepped inside, blinking against the darkness and tripped over books.

Mister Kasov’s shaking voice asked, “Michael?”

Michael reached up behind the door and ran his hand along the wall until he came to the bank of light switches.

He flicked them all on, turned and whispered, “Oh, God!”

Two benches in front of the shops bay window had been thrown over. The piles of books they usually carried, scattered across the floor. Mister Kasov stood in the glare of seldom used window lights, holding a tea towel to his face. Michael saw red stains on it.

The old man said, through thin cotton, “No need for the tragic expression. A simple slap to the face that made my nose bleed.”

Michael tried twice before he managed to say, “Hortan?”

Mister Kasov nodded. “He walked in. I thought it was you. He threw down the benches.” He demonstrated with a wild swing of his free arm. “Then he told me to give you a message. He hit me for the sake of emphasis with his pretty green crash-helmet.”

Michael shut and locked the door, feeling sick then turned back to the old man and asked, “What message?”

“With or without the expletives? Agh!” Mister Kasov made a dismissive gesture. “He told me to tell you that he owes you extra for what you did to your mutual friend. His grammar and diction were abysmal but I believe I have the gist.”

Michael turned one bench upright and Mister Kasov dropped down on it then said, “That is better. Ah, and he had an erection throughout his loud monologue.”

Michael took in a breath that felt like far too little air reached his lungs then asked, “Did he mention anything about Laura?”

Mister Kasov shook his head. “He was only here for a minute or less—no time for conversation.”

Michael sat down beside him, almost gripped the old man’s hand then let his fingers drop to the slickly varnished bench.

He said, “This is my fault. He must have seen me leave the shop.”

Mister Kasov patted his knee, saying, “Blaming yourself is one way to go. It might be more useful though, to put that energy into defeating him.”

Michael looked at the bloody face and asked, “How? When he can come in and do something like this and just walk away?”

Mister Kasov said into the towel. “He ran away, there is a difference.” He wiped his nose carefully then continued, “My uncle and cousin were dragged from their shop in Munich and hanged from their own awning, so the story goes. I think a bloody nose will not break my spirit.”

“That was wartime,” Michael said. “This is different.”

Mister Kasov said, “Not so different for men like Hortan. Here they run, in Munich they swaggered. The minds are the same.”

Michael stood up and began to collect fallen books.

Putting the first stack on a bench, he asked, “So what did they do in Munich, fight back?”

Mister Kasov sighed loudly then said, “They died, believing it not possible, what was happening to them.” He pushed the top book an inch so it sat directly over the one below and continued, “If one does not learn from mistakes, one is certain to repeat them. We will resist him.”

Michael said, “Sounds good, but how: toss a Molotov cocktail in his staff car?”

Mister Kasov chuckled then said, “Excessively dramatic, but I like the way your mind is working.”

He glanced at Michael then pointed at the floor. “You can think and pick up books at the same time, my boy.”

* * * *

Michael phoned Gordon at exactly eight and told him what had happened. Gordon’s news was little better. His friend’s contacts in the police were becoming harder to reach and less willing to chat when they did take calls. George wanted to stop before he ruined what good will was left to him.

Michael couldn’t argue with that and asked, “What next?”

Gordon’s lighter clicked and he said, “You seem to be further along than me and I don’t have any other people I can lean on for you. I’m going to be at Hadenley most of tomorrow, talking to staff about a couple of new patients and doing the regular visits. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open. Apart from that…”

Michael said, “You could visit Laura’s parents for me and warn them.”

Gordon cleared his throat then said, “I can phone them anonymously.”

“They’re not on the phone.”

The silence lasted too long. Michael almost asked if he was still there, then Gordon said, “I can’t go round to the house, Michael. I’m a long way past what I should be doing now. If they report me to the hospital, I’m finished there and part of this meeting tomorrow is about setting up a more professional support service with me chairing it. I can’t jeopardise that. There’s too much time and effort invested. Sorry.”

Michael was embarrassed to feel shock at not getting what he wanted.

He took a quick breath and said, “I’m sorry, Gordon, I didn’t think about how it would affect you at all. Selfish of me. The thing is, Laura and I had more or less worked out a way for her parents to take us running off seriously. That depended on Ralow turning me in to the police and them questioning her. Now nothing has happened, she probably hasn’t said much. We didn’t discuss that possibility at all which was stupid. They aren’t just going to take my word that she’s in danger. They’ll think it’s me trying to excuse taking her away. If she backs me up They’ll probably think it’s her being a stupid, love sick child, lying to help me.”

Gordon said, “I can see how that might happen. So, what can I do?”

Michael said, “Could you phone Laura’s father at work on Monday, if she hasn’t talked to me before then?”

“I can certainly do that as long as I don’t have to leave a name.”

Michael thought quickly then said, “That should be okay. Thanks.”

Gordon asked, “How do you want me to play it: names of the players, or just a warning?”

“The fewer names the better, I think. Just that somebody might try to get at me through Laura and he should watch out for her.”

“Do you want to put yourself up like that?” Gordon asked. “It’s not going to make you his favorite person.”

“It’s a bit late for getting on his good side.”

They talked a little more after Michael told him the name of the solicitors Mister Denby worked for.

Then Gordon asked, “So, Michael, what are you going to do with yourself now?” He sounded glad to change the topic.

They talked about the shop and Michael began to feel uneasy. When Gordon said he had work to do and should be going, Michael experienced only relief. He hung up and walked back into the parlor feeling a little puzzled and hating it. Mister Kasov sat with a mug of tea, his spectacles crooked on the swollen nose.

He looked up and said, “I could not hear your conversation, but I think I detected a change in your tone. There are problems?” Michael told him what Gordon and he had discussed. Mister Kasov sipped his tea, then said, “Michael, I will not patronize you, by stating how much I respect your mind. The fact is that your responses are…odd sometimes. That is apart from our discussion about dreams and violence and cartoon characters.”

Michael didn’t want to hear the reply, but asked anyway. “How are they odd?”

Mister Kasov smiled. “At least you do not jump down my throat: an improvement.” He looked past Michael, eyes unfocused then went on, “I remember the very worst student my school of psychiatry ever had: an Italian–Febritzi or Felitzi, I do not recall exactly. He had the face of an idiot and the mind of a poisoner. An unpleasant man on any scale, but he said one thing I remember well: that when someone close to you is leaving or near death, think about how you view their departure. If your sorrow is for them if they near death, or the mutual loss of companionship in both instances, you are an adult. If the sorrow is for your abandoned self, you are a child.”

Michael thought for a moment then asked, “If it’s a bit of both?”

Mister Kasov shrugged. “As I said, he was a very bad student.”

“So what does that mean? I look at people in terms of how much they can do for me?”

Mister Kasov nodded, saying, “Some of the time at least.”

Michael asked, words not really a question: “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Not with friends.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t have any friends.”

Mister Kasov chuckled then said, “A pat answer, giving you much freedom from responsibility, bravo.”

Michael sat on a straight-backed chair and let his arms flop down on the table top then he said, “I’ve never had room in my head for anyone but me.” He tapped his skull. “When you’re a freak, you live in here all alone. People would never stop running if they could see inside.”

Mister Kasov’s face softened. “I am sorry, Michael,” he said. “I was exercising my intellect on you. I apologize.” He balanced his cup on the narrow chair arm then continued, “I watched my father with his obsessions and fears that pushed my mother and me away. I often thought he had too little to worry about rather than too much. I wish I had thought about it more.”

Michael said, “I can pretty much guarantee he had too much even if most of it didn’t make sense to anyone else.”

Mister Kasov nodded then said, “Very well, another question: Who knows you best?”

“My mother,” Michael said immediately.

“She has known you longest,” Mister Kasov said. “Who knows your mind best? Who have you shared yourself with most?”

Michael thought about it then said, “Laura I suppose. I know she hasn’t run away. She loves me.”

“That is a reason, an excuse for not running?” Mister Kasov asked. “She is so obsessed with you her mind does not work correctly?” The old man shook his head then continued, “Perhaps she stays because she knows her mind and your mind and that is part of her love for you.”

Michael said, “I hide my true self well.”

Mister Kasov snorted through his nose then looked as if he wished he hadn’t. He said, “You are as hidden as shit on a bed sheet, my boy. You give yourself too much credit.”

Michael grinned at the unexpected vulgarity and said, “I’m better here, in your shop. You’re looking at a different me. You should see me at the office.”

“So, you have left the office,” Mister Kasov said. “If it hurts, stop doing it: basic health advice.”

Michael looked around and said what was in his mind. “I think I would like to stay here for as long as you’ll have me.”

Mister Kasov grabbed his cup as it began to slide then said, “I need the help, but this is not a sanctuary.”

Michael nodded, saying, “I know that.”

The old man smiled at him. “I will make a bargain,” he said. “You are welcome for as long as I believe that you stay because you want to, not because you are afraid to leave.”

Michael picked up his teacup, reached across and clinked it against Mister Kasov’s. “You’ve got a deal.”

Mister Kasov winced, saying, “Gently please, these cups belonged to my grandmother.”