For Scott, working with his son was always beautiful.
Daniel liked to pretend. He would watch his dad working on a car, and then he would mimic the actions on his own invisible vehicle, his eyes constantly roving to his father to check he was doing it right. He would even hitch up his trousers when his father did, or rub his hands at the same time, or sigh and tut in concert.
In those moments, Scott could easily forget that his son was nearly twenty-three.
He was fully aware that his boss didn’t approve of Daniel being in the garage. ‘It’s dangerous,’ Gavin would say. ‘He could get hurt, or damage something.’ But Gavin wasn’t working today, and Scott had jumped at the opportunity to spend time alone with his son. No offence to Gemma, but the father–son bond was like epoxy resin: it worked best without a third ingredient.
Right now, Scott was labouring beneath a jacked-up 4x4. He looked across at Daniel, lying flat on his back and staring up at his own imaginary car while making twisting motions with his imaginary spanner. The simplicity and purity of it brought a lump to Scott’s throat.
‘Daniel,’ he called. ‘I’m nearly done here. Could you bring over the wheels for this Audi, please?’
Scott came out from beneath the car and stood up, stretching his aching back.
‘Here you go, Dad.’
Scott turned. He had expected Daniel to roll one of the wheels over to him. Instead, Daniel was carrying all four of them, two tucked under each arm. Wheels, not just tyres. He might as well have been carrying swimming floats.
‘Er, thanks, Daniel. Just put them down there for me, will you?’
Daniel propped his load up against a metal post. ‘What else can I do?’
Scott scanned the interior of the garage for a task that would be useful but not hazardous.
‘You see that filing cabinet over there? We’ve made room for it in the office. Would you mind taking all the stuff out of the drawers? Then you can help me shift it.’
Daniel nodded vigorously, then marched like a soldier towards the cabinet, his arms swinging wildly at his sides.
Scott smiled and focused his attention on the first of the wheels. Seconds later, he heard a grunt from behind. He turned and saw that, rather than emptying the drawers, Daniel had simply wrapped his arms around the full cabinet, picked the whole thing up, and was now carrying it into the office.
Scott shook his head in amazement. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered. ‘Where the hell did he get those genes from?’
The movie was just okay. Scott had sat through enough films like this one to know what to expect. There were a few one-liners aimed at a more adult audience, and there was some amusing slapstick, but the main enjoyment for Scott came from watching the reaction of his son. Daniel was transfixed from beginning to end. He even seemed unaware of his hand mechanically grabbing popcorn and transferring it to his mouth. For a couple of hours, the outside world ceased to exist for Daniel, and even when the closing music thundered in, he insisted on remaining in his seat until the credits had finished rolling.
Scott wanted to hang on to that enjoyment as he drove home. He listened to Daniel jabbering endlessly about the film and tried to absorb some of his exhilaration.
But then he pulled his old Ford into the car park, and the tower block loomed as if to impress upon him that this was, and always would be, the end of the line. His heart sank. The short-lived fantasy was over.
The pair entered the building. Scott wrinkled his nose at the pungent odour of weed, but Daniel didn’t seem to notice. He had stopped talking about the film and was now on to television soap operas.
‘You mind if we take the lift?’ Scott said.
‘I don’t like lifts. I like the stairs.’
‘I know, but I really don’t feel like walking all that way up. Come on, Daniel, keep me company.’
Daniel looked up the staircase and then back at the lift doors. ‘Oh, okay.’
Scott allowed Daniel the disproportionate pleasure of summoning the lift. While they waited, Scott reflected on how quiet the building was. It could be like that sometimes, the vast structure feeling almost devoid of life.
The lift doors shuddered open. Daniel stepped in with some trepidation and stared at the metal walls enclosing him. He let out a slight murmur of discomfort when the lift jerked into life again and began dragging them upwards.
‘It’s all right, Daniel. It’s perfectly safe.’
‘It doesn’t feel very safe.’
‘I know, but it is. Trust me.’
‘I always trust you, Dad.’
The lift slowed and came to a stop.
‘This is number eight,’ Daniel said. ‘We don’t live on this floor.’
‘No, we don’t.’
The doors opened. Facing them was a man who made Scott tense immediately. The man appeared to be in his twenties. Stocky, with coarse stubble and thick eyebrows. He wore a black leather jacket and skinny jeans, and over one shoulder was slung a khaki backpack – much older and heavier looking than the one Scott was carrying. He was chewing gum, and had a cigarette tucked behind one ear. There was something in the way he glared at Scott that suggested he wasn’t a person to be trifled with.
The man came forward. Scott and Daniel parted to let him through, Daniel flattening his bulk against the side wall. As the man turned and faced forward, Scott asked him what floor he wanted.
‘Ground,’ the man said.
Scott really wished he could grant the request, but he knew the lift would insist on completing its assigned journey first.
‘Er, we’re going up.’
The man narrowed his eyes at Scott, as if to discern whether his command was being challenged. As the doors closed and the lift groaned with its increased load, the man said, ‘Right. I’ll go up, and then I’ll go down again.’ He made it sound as though Scott was entirely to blame for this elongation of his journey.
‘You must have pressed the wrong button,’ Daniel said.
Shit, Scott thought.
‘What?’ the man said. The single word dripped with a menace that went undetected by Daniel.
‘You must have pressed the up button. The lift wouldn’t have stopped if you’d pressed the down button.’
‘I pressed the down button.’ It was said with finality, but Daniel was determined.
‘Then the lift must be broken.’ He turned to his father. ‘Dad, you said this lift was safe.’
‘It is safe, Daniel.’ Scott flashed a weak smile at the third occupant, but it seemed to have no effect.
‘You should walk,’ Daniel said to the man.
‘What?’
‘It’s better for you. And it’s easier going down.’
The man looked at Scott. ‘Is he for real?’
‘He’s got—’ Scott began. And then he thought, No, why should I have to tell people he’s got learning difficulties? It’s their damn problem, not his.
He worked his jaw, not knowing what he should say instead. He thought he was saved when the lift halted suddenly.
But that’s when it all went wrong.
Later, he would delve into chaos theory without even knowing he was doing so. He would wonder about how things could be so finely balanced that the most inoffensive of words, the briefest of glances, the tiniest lapse of concentration could alter lives so profoundly and irreversibly. A touch that could start an avalanche.
Perhaps it wasn’t the jolt of the lift stopping – perhaps it would have happened anyway – but it was in that moment that the strap on the man’s backpack came loose, and the bag slipped from his shoulder and fell to the floor and the flap flew open and some of the contents spilled out and Scott saw the plastic bags of white powder and the wads of money and the semi-automatic pistol.
‘Fuck!’ the man said as he squatted to retrieve his possessions.
Scott looked away. He saw that Daniel wasn’t looking away but instead staring wide-eyed at the items, and he thought, No, Daniel, look at me, not him, don’t see those things, don’t say anything, and why the hell aren’t these doors opening, why can’t we get out of—?
The doors opened.
Scott grabbed Daniel by the wrist and pulled him into the corridor. He wanted to move faster, but Daniel was dragging his feet, his eyes still on the man. Scott pulled harder, his own gaze on the fire doors ahead.
‘Wait!’
Scott halted.
Shit.
The man followed them out of the lift, walked directly up to Scott and locked eyes with him. ‘What did you see?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Scott said. ‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘Right answer.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘What about you? What did you see in the lift?’
Say what I said, Scott willed. For once in your life, tell a damn lie.
‘I saw my dad, and I saw you, and I saw some money and a gun.’
Shit, shit, shit.
The man moved into Daniel’s personal space. ‘Have you got a fucking death wish or something? I’ll ask you again, dickhead. What did you see?’
Daniel seemed puzzled, but then his face brightened.
‘Oh yeah. You’ve got some bags of white stuff in there too.’
Scott hastened forward. ‘He doesn’t understand. He’s got learning difficulties.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, he hated himself.
The man gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not asking him to win the Nobel Prize. I just want to know if he can keep his mouth shut.’
‘He will. He won’t tell a—’
‘Shut it.’ He turned to Daniel again. ‘So what about it? What’re you going to say if anyone asks about me?’
Daniel looked helplessly at his father.
‘It’s okay, Daniel. Just tell him what he wants to hear, and then we can go home.’
‘Yeah, Daniel,’ the man said. ‘You heard him. Tell me.’
‘Tell me what I’ve got in this fucking bag.’
Daniel looked again at his dad, and then at the man. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
The man nodded. ‘That’s more like it. Now you’ve—’
‘I didn’t see everything. I only saw the money and the gun and the white stuff.’
Scott moved forward again. He said, ‘Look, he’s not being funny with you. He doesn’t know how to lie, that’s all. He’s not going to talk to anyone about this.’
And then he made the mistake of putting his hand on the man’s shoulder.
The man whirled and slapped Scott’s hand away.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
Scott stepped backwards, but the man followed, jabbing Scott in the chest.
‘What kind of fucking game are you two trying to play?’
‘No game,’ Scott protested. ‘We just want to go home, okay? Leave now, and we won’t say a thing.’
‘I know you won’t, because you’ll be dead in a fucking ditch if you do. Do you understand?’
Scott nodded furiously.
‘And what about the fucking retard over there?’
Even for Scott, who had heard every insult invented, the word sent shockwaves through his body. It pressed a button within him that electrified his limbs. He lashed out, pushing the man away.
‘Don’t call him that!’ he yelled. ‘He’s my son!’
But the man was already shaking his head and clenching his jaw and bunching his fists and advancing towards Scott. There was a glint in his eye that told Scott he was about to show no mercy and he was going to enjoy it, and Scott tried to ready himself for a fight that he knew he wasn’t going to win, and he wondered what it would be like to have broken teeth and bones, and he could feel his legs turning to jelly and his chest panting for air, and he hoped that he could at least put on a decent show in front of his son before ending up in hospital . . .
And then the man was gone.
He was whisked off his feet as if by a whirlwind, and that whirlwind was Daniel, who now had a meaty hand clamped around the man’s neck and was pushing him further and further up the drab grey wall and saying through his tears, ‘Leave my dad alone, leave my dad alone, leave my dad alone . . .’ And as the man’s dangling legs twisted and kicked out for purchase, Scott grabbed his son’s arms and yelled at him to stop, stop it now, Daniel, put him down . . .
When the message finally penetrated, Daniel obeyed his father and released his grip, and the man fell in a heap on the floor. Scott went to the man as Daniel retreated, whimpering, to a window in the corner of the gloomy corridor, but it was obvious even to Scott’s untrained eyes that nothing could be done, that even such a small fragment of time was impossible to reverse.
The man was dead.