‘Thanks, Tracey. I gotta go.’ I hang up before she can object.
Mrs Adams doesn’t seem too impressed that I’m taking up so much of her time. Scattered across the kitchen are baking ingredients that must all have come together to form whatever fantastic-smelling thing is turning brown in the oven.
I make another call. My mother answers, slightly out of breath, as if she’s just run in from the garden.
‘I’ve been trying to call,’ she says. ‘Your cellphone isn’t switched on.’
“I lost it.’
‘And your home phone is disconnected.’
“I forgot to pay the bill.’
‘Is it true what the papers are saying?’
“I haven’t seen the papers.’
“I should have done more,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘This is my fault. I should have seen what was happening to you ever since the accident. But don’t worry, we’re here to help you now.’
‘It’s not your fault. Anyway the reason I’m calling is I want to borrow a car.’
‘A car?’
Dad hardly uses his, right? And you two can share yours while I’m using it.’
‘What’s wrong with yours? Oh,’ she says, figuring it out. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.’
“I’m not going to wreck it, Mum.’
“I don’t…’
“I need this, okay? I need you guys to trust me.’
‘Of course we trust you. But won’t they have taken your licence off you?’
‘They went easy on me because of my history’ I say, which is a complete lie. My licence has been taken off me. If I get caught driving I’ll be heading straight back to jail. There’ll be fines. It’s the Quentin James factor.
‘I’ll bring it over to you,’ Mum says. “I’m sure Dad won’t mind.’
We both know that he will. I hang up the phone and hand the white pages back to Mrs Adams.
“I wouldn’t be trusting you,’ she says, then she offers me one of the muffins she’s just baked, as if some grandmotherly gene inside her can’t prevent her from reaching out. I grab one before she can change her mind, figuring it’s the healthiest thing I’ve eaten in weeks.
‘You know, Theo, I don’t mean to sound hard on you, not after everything that’s happened, so please, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s never too late to pull yourself together. We’re always next door if you need some help along the way’
I thank her for the use of her phone and for the muffin. She gives me another one to take home with me. If more people were as forgiving and as helpful, maybe we could cut away some of the cancer that has set into the bones of this city.
It’ll take my mother an hour to get here with the car, so I kill some time by going to buy a newspaper. I keep thinking people will notice me, that they’ll know who I am and what I have done, but nobody pays me any attention because my photo isn’t in the paper, only my name. The guy at the shop knows me, though, because I’ve been coming here for years. He looks at me, looks down at the front page, and looks at me again. He seems to search for something to say, and I think all his angry one-liners trip over each other and he ends up saying nothing. He even gives me the right amount of change. I get back home and read the article.
It’s all about the accident. About me. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture. I read the article about Father Julian but it doesn’t reveal anything I don’t already know. At least my name isn’t mentioned here — yet.
I switch on the TV and watch a couple of minutes of the morning news. Father Julian’s murder is the headline, and it looks like it’s going to be a busy day for the media. Casey Horwell gives a report. She talks about the murder weapon being found and she says where, offering my name as if she knew all along what I was capable of, her smirk suggesting she could see this coming even if the police couldn’t. I wonder how in the hell she found out where the weapon was found and who her source is. She talks about Father Julian’s tongue being removed. I get angry just looking at her, and have to turn the TV off or risk throwing the remote at it.
I start to tidy the house and do some more laundry. Then I spend a few minutes in my daughter’s bedroom. The police came through here last night, but they haven’t messed it up, just left things slightly askew. They showed some respect. They searched this room and found nothing except a lonely shrine and evidence of an even lonelier parent. Daxter looks up at me from the bed.