Melissa said, “Does it make a difference now?”
Taken aback, a little pained: “Well, yeah. Course it does. If I let Leon down, then that’s been hurting our relationship ever since, even if I was too thick to realize it. And I know I don’t see a lot of him, but him and Su . . . they’re the nearest I’ve got to a brother and sister. Maybe everything’s fine and I was the perfect cousin. I hope. But if I wasn’t, I need to know, so I can fix it.” With another wry grin, lifting my chin to get at the underside: “This is what people always say about murders, isn’t it? They drag up all kinds of other stuff, and everyone’s stuck dealing with it?”
When she didn’t answer: “Look. Probably this doesn’t make sense, but . . . this whole getting-attacked thing: I need that to be something. A fresh start. A wake-up call, to get my life sorted out. Otherwise it’s just shit—let’s be honest, so far it has been just shit. If I can make something good out of it . . . you know?”
And of course Melissa, bless her sunflower heart, couldn’t turn away from that. Her face lighting up: “Yes! Do. That would be wonderful. And tell Leon that. He’ll understand.”
“I will.” That was a good idea, actually. “I need to know what I did to him, though. If I did anything. Could you help me?”
That pulled her eyebrows together. “Me? How?”
“Could you ask Leon and Susanna what I was like, back then? It’s a natural enough question; it’s the same as you wanting to look at Hugo’s old photos. Obviously they’re going to tell you I was a great guy, but could you keep pushing? I’ll help things along; I just need you to do the actual asking.”
“Why can’t you? Like you said, if you did anything bad, they won’t want to tell me. You could ask when I’m not there. I’ll go to bed early.”
The truth was, of course, that if I started poking around asking questions Leon was bound to turn wary, and probably Susanna too, depending. “The thing is,” I said, taking a breath and meeting Melissa’s eyes in the mirror, “I’d rather they didn’t know how badly my memory’s messed up. I know that’s stupid. Obviously they probably have some idea that I’m not a hundred percent, but I’ve been working really hard to act at least halfway normal around them, and I’m hoping I’ve done OK. If I go in there like, ‘Uhhh, guys, just wondering, any chance you could refresh my memory of, like, our entire teens?’ then that’s down the tubes. And I just . . . I can’t stand the idea of them feeling sorry for me.”
She could hardly shoot that down. “I understand. I don’t think you’re badly messed up, Toby, I really don’t, but . . .” She saw my wince. “I’ll ask.”
I blew out a breath of relief. “God, that’s a load off my mind. I’ve spent the whole day going round in circles trying to figure out a way to do it myself—I mean, I bet there is one, but my head . . . If you can do it, that’s brilliant. And could you ask about Dominic, too? What he was like? If they won’t rat me out, they might say enough about him to give me some idea what was going on. And that won’t seem weird, either: God knows he’s a big enough part of our lives right now, there’s every reason why you’d want to get some idea of him.” It occurred to me, for the first time, to wonder why Melissa hadn’t in fact asked anything about Dominic at all.
She said, “Is this about what happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” I said frankly, turning around to face her. “Let’s be honest, there’s a chance it could turn out to be connected—I can’t see how, but who knows, at this stage. But that’s not the main point.”
For a moment I thought she was going to balk, but then she nodded. “OK. I can ask about him.”
“Leave it till after Hugo’s gone to bed. If they do come out with anything awful that I did, he doesn’t need to hear about it.” And, of course, it would take me a couple of hours to get Leon good and drunk. I’d been down to the offie that morning for impressive quantities of gin and tonic, and I was going to be doing the pouring.
“No, you’re right. I’ll do that.”
“And just . . . keep in mind that everything you’re asking about, that was ten years ago. OK? I was a stupid arsehole kid. And remember, Su and Leon both exaggerate. If they say I did something really horrific, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. Whatever comes up, could you give me the benefit of the doubt?”
I meant this part, from the heart—there was, after all, a small but non-zero chance that Leon was going to try hinting that I was a murderer. It must have showed. Melissa came to me, put her hands on my arms and looked up into my face. “Of course I will,” she said, very seriously. “Always.”
“Thanks,” I said, and pulled her close for a one-armed hug. “Thank you so much, baby. It’ll all be fine. We’re a good team, you and me. Yeah?”
“We are,” Melissa said. “Now”—a quick breath, a small nod to herself—“let me go find those scissors.” She tiptoed to kiss me on the nose and left me to it, and I went back to my shaving and my Robbie Williams impression in an even better mood.
* * *
?Tom tagged along with Susanna, which didn’t really fit into my plan, but I didn’t let it worry me: the night was young, I was pretty sure I could come up with a way to get rid of him. While we waited for the takeaway to arrive, I moved around handing out pre-dinner G and Ts (none of them poured too strong, not yet, no rush) and laughing at everyone’s jokes. My haircut had turned out pretty well and the shirt suited me—I had realized, putting it on, that I’d gained back some of the weight I’d lost; I looked better than I had since that night, and I felt it too. I made sure I stumbled just often enough, within earshot of Leon and Susanna (Tom can I get you a drink, oh that’s right you’re driving, sorry that’s the third time I’ve asked you, haha! . . . Yeah, Hugo’s work is going great, spent today going through the, you know, the thing, what’s it called, Jesus, the state of me, head like a sieve!)—cheerful idiot, harmless, no need to take him seriously. It was Melissa’s turn to pick the music, so her French bistro swing was bopping away in the background, all scarlet lips and saucy hip-sway, Oh that man! Melissa was dressed up to match, white dress with a swingy skirt and sprays of green flowers, and she was gamely listening as Tom explained some mind-numbing diorama project he had inflicted on his first-years—not going near Leon or Susanna, not yet, biding her time just like I was. The feeling of collusion gave me a delicious burst of triumphant mischief, the two of us on our secret mission, we should have had code words— I caught her eye and winked, behind Tom’s back, and after a fraction of a second she winked right back.
Hugo sat in the middle of all this, smiling, drinking his G and T at a careful angle to make sure none of it spilled from the loose corner of his mouth. There was something absent about him, abstracted—laughing at jokes a few seconds too late, “Hm?” when I asked him what he wanted to eat—that made me edgy. Everything looked like the beginning of another seizure, and apart from the obvious, that would have pretty much put the kibosh on my plans for the evening.
It wasn’t until dinner that I found out what was actually going on. All of us were talking a little too fast and too loud; I only noticed that Hugo was trying to get our attention when—as I launched myself into another goofy, stumbling childhood reminiscence—Melissa put a hand on my wrist and nodded at him. “Oops,” I said. “Sorry.”