I’d sold the family home after my father died. My mother’s health had deteriorated and she had to be placed in a nursing home. From the day David left until her death seventeen years later, she didn’t say a word.
`Poor Mama,’ David said when I told him. `That old bastard had a lot to answer for, you know.’ He refused to tell me what he meant by that. He said he would one day if I really wanted to know, and if it was relevant.
It was relevant now. I desperately needed to know. But he wasn’t talking. Not to anybody. I had some spare time at work the next morning so I set about checking who I might know in the legal profession. One of the few useful things to come out of my extremely expensive education was that I could call on a wide `old boys’ network if I needed a favour.
I got lucky on my third call. Michael Trengrove, from my year, was a solicitor. He’d been one of the quietest boys at the school. I could see him sitting, fingers together, giving off the occasional, `Mmm,’ to questions about the more obtuse sections of the legal code. He said he'd `make enquiries’.
I hung up and leaned back in the plastic staff-room chair and yawned. I hadn't had much sleep the night before. The sight of Jimmy Knowles had stirred up a hornet’s nest of old memories, none of which I’d been able to handle. All my life I reckoned that not thinking about unpleasant or difficult things would make them go away. But Suzy pushing and the fact that it was David, made it harder than usual to bury them.
I was jolted back to the present by Norm Chadwick’s enormous voice. Norm was my boss, and the senior lecturer at the university I’d worked at on and off since I graduated. He had one of those voices that echo from behind their owner’s faces and bounce off the walls making your head vibrate.
He was a tall, emaciated man with pebble spectacles and a tufted forelock at the front of his otherwise bald head. Though tight-lipped, with a stern upright carriage, he was actually a kindly, sweet tempered man who worried dreadfully about his staff and students alike. He’d been very patient with me since David’s illness, not expecting much. He didn’t get it either.
`Are you all right?’ He boomed anxiously into my left ear. My eyes crossed and I nearly fell off my chair. `You seem a bit nervous today, Rob. Can I help?’
`Er…no…no,’ I muttered. `I’m fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all. Didn’t sleep very well last night.’
As soon as I said it I knew I shouldn’t have. For the next ten minutes Norm very kindly and earnestly told me about all the ways of dealing with insomnia. I responded in the usual way one did as he droned on. Drifting away and nodding occasionally.
I was letting his echoing voice drift past me unchecked, when I caught a word.
`What?’ I was immediately alert.
`What, what?’ Norm looked puzzled.
`That last thing you said? Something about a new computer technology?’
`Yes, yes. Quite extraordinary.’
`You mentioned a name.’
`Did I? Oh, yes. Cameron MacAllister. Is that the one?’
`Yes, and another name.’
`Anderson Forbes? That’s the firm Cameron works for. He’s doing very well. A big article in the `Journal of Computer Science & Systems Biology.’ He was one of my students you know. Before your time. Now when…’ His eyes glazed over as he plumbed deep into his brain. I knew from past experience that if I didn’t pull him out quickly he'd get lost in there.
`It doesn’t matter when, Norm. What about him?’ He looked at me vaguely. I hoped I’d arrested the slide.
`Oh…er…of course…I was just not sure when he…well, anyway…it’s just that,
well, to put it as kindly as I can, he…well…he…wasn’t…at least to my way of thinking…’ I waited. He’d been known to waffle for as long as five minutes. I looked at my watch. He noticed. `My dear boy, I’m holding you up. You have a class?’
`No, Norm, I haven’t got a class. Tell me about Cameron MacAllister.’
`Oh, yes. Not a particularly nice boy. A bit…aggressive perhaps…and…’
`Norm—’
`Mmm? Oh yes. A bit…limited too…if you know what I mean. Still it just goes to show that one must never underestimate people. He’s really doing awfully well. In computers, you know. Extraordinary new developments. Quite revolutionary.’ He beamed at me, nodding happily. `That was your field, wasn’t it Rob. You and—?’
`My brother. Yes, it was.’
`Pity you aren’t still working in that kind of thing, really. I would have expected you…rather than Cameron…if you understand me. Still, not everyone’s cut out for a business career, I suppose.’
He wandered away, without realising that he’d said anything important. That he’d left my heart beating at twice its normal rate, and a bell ringing loud and clear in my brain. Suddenly we had two leads. For the first time in nearly a year I felt a tickle of hope.
Cameron MacAllister. A student of limited ability who’d achieved scientific results beyond his old teacher’s expectations. And Norm was a very astute old teacher, for all his vagueness in other ways. Cameron MacAllister, who was doing very well in business with a radical development in computer design technology. A field in which my brother David was unsurpassed.
And Jimmy Knowles. We knew where he was now, and he wasn’t going anywhere. But would he talk? Would he tell us about Cameron MacAllister? My head ached. So many questions. So many gaps to fill in. That was why I’d retreated in the first place. So I wouldn’t have to think about it at all.
Except once a week, when I saw David. Even then, for a long time I had to be at least half drunk to go to the hospital, to be able to stand seeing my wonderful big brother sitting silent and staring slack-faced at nothing.
It had been wonderful at first, when David came back. He had regaled us all with marvellous tales of his travels, the jobs he’d had, the people he'd met. I finally found out why he’d been kicked out of school. Why our father had been so angry with him.
Bored by the schools traditional education and forbidden to do his own thing, he decided to do it anyway. Without permission. He was always polite, but he only did what he wanted to do. He read the books he chose, left the school grounds when he wanted to and only obeyed those rules he considered reasonable. He drove his teachers crazy. After several conferences with my father, the school requested that he leave. The rest, as they say, was history.
It was raining heavily as I drove home and pulled into my parking bay under the flats. As usual I’d left my umbrella at work and I didn’t own a raincoat. Cursing, I tucked my briefcase under my arm, pulled my jacket up over my head and raced, head down, to the door at the foot of the stair-well.
I was fumbling with the handle when I heard a clattering on the stairs and the door was snatched out of my hand. My case and keys flew as a fast moving body sent me flying. The running man stumbled and trod on my hand as he leapt over me. I yelled and he swore savagely.
I was lying in a heap and only had time for a fleeting glance of a large red face, when the man swung around and kicked me in the stomach. He was shaping up for another kick when someone called from an upstairs window.
By then I’d curled into a ball clutching my stomach so the next kick landed on my arm. Painful but not deadly. The man turned and ran but I was concentrating on just breathing and didn’t see where he went. Lorenzo told me later that there was a car parked outside in the street. Its engine was revving and its lights came on before the man reached it, meaning there were two of them.
By the time Lorenzo got to me I could breathe again and was staggering to my feet. We hobbled up the stairs together, aided on the last flight by Vanni. It was ridiculous. A repeat of yesterday, only with a different victim.
I followed their horrified looks and saw that the door of my flat was wide open. Inside was chaos. Everything had been thrown everywhere. Clothes, food, kitchen equipment, books, strewn all over the floor. My sound equipment was smashed, along with the CDs and DVDs. Flour, bottles of tomato sauce, soft drink and beer had been emptied out making a revolting mess over everything. There were brown smears down the walls, some forming four letter words.
It smelt like an open sewer. Vanni stepped carefully through the litter and peered at a dark brown deposit.
`I thought so,’ he said. `Shit. The filthy bastard’s shat all over the place. Christ, that’s sick.’ He shook his head in disgust.
The three of us just stood there. Staring.
`I'll call the police,’ croaked Lorenzo and left.
Vanni kept patting my arm. We were both in shock as we stood staring at the damage.
Eventually I was forced to move by my phone ringing. It was Suzy.
My mouth opened but my tongue was still frozen, so I stood mute for an age.
`Rob? Rob? What's happening? Hello, hello…o. I know you're there. I can hear breathing. Rob?’
`Hello,’ I finally whispered.
`What? I can't hear you.' I cleared my throat. My stomach hurt. So did my arm. Shock had made me forget my injuries. I wished it had lasted a bit longer.
`Suzy—' I managed.
`What's happening?’ The last thing I wanted was for Suzy to see this mess. I felt defiled, violated. You know you have to report it, but that adds to the defilement and shame. I felt ashamed in front of Suzy and didn't want her here. I had to say something, anything to keep her away.
`Look, I’m a bit snowed under.’ Right. `I'll get back to you soon, okay?’
She got the message and hung up. I sensed she was hurt but I had to be alone right then.
Lorenzo stuck his head through the door. `The cops said don’t touch anything. There might be fingerprints or something.’
Vanni and I looked at him. It seemed unlikely, with this mess, that anything could be found, let alone fingerprints.
`Yeah, well,’ he said, shaking his head as he looked around, `that’s what they said.’
`Did they say how long they’d be?’ asked Vanni.
`Soon, they said. I told them the number of our flat as well. I thought you might like to wait there, instead of...’ He waved vaguely.
`Thanks,’ I said, `but I think I’ll wait here.’
Lorenzo looked hurt. I smiled wearily. `Sorry Lorenzo, I just feel I have to be here when the police arrive. I’ll sit on the step.’
`Don't be silly, we'll wait with you, and you can't sit on bare concrete. You’ll get piles.’ Vanni dashed off and re-appeared with a cushion. I very gratefully sat on it. My legs were giving out, and though the soreness in my stomach had faded slightly, my arm more than compensated for it.
I rolled up my sleeve. In the dim light I could see a large, angry swelling near my elbow which was already turning black.
`Oo,’ said Vanni, `that's nasty. Do you think it's broken?’
I flexed my fingers. They felt stiff but everything worked, sort of. Lorenzo leaned against the wall, staring at me. I kept my eyes on my arm. I knew he was going to ask me something difficult.
`You haven't done anything nasty to anyone, have you Rob? I mean…’ He gestured towards the chaos.
`And what happened to Suzy last night, too. Don't forget that.’ Vanni chipped in.
`Coincidence. Bad luck,’ I muttered.
`What?’ asked Lorenzo.
`Coincidences.’ Or not? I closed my mind. People get robbed every day. Trashed too. Coincidences happen. Truth is stranger than fiction. Everybody knows that.