‘And then,’ Josh continues, ‘I think she became fixated on him, on what he was doing, and on us, on his family. I think it was almost like she was watching over all of us. But that night, the first night we met, we got talking. It was really weird. We just kind of opened up to each other. We talked for ages. She had all these issues, about something that happened to her when she was a child. And she had this idea of how she could cure herself. And I said I’d help her. And that was when it all started kind of … going wrong …’
‘Going wrong?’
‘Yes. Kind of really wrong.’
55
Owen’s dad’s house looks just like the house they lived in in Winchmore Hill: post-war, small leaded windows, a front garden, a porch, a stained-glass sunray above the front door. Owen’s never been here before. Just written the address on birthday cards and Christmas cards. He pays the taxi driver and he heads up the path. His dad used to work in the civil service but is retired now.
The doorbell chimes electronically when he presses it. He clears his throat and he waits. A shadow appears through the dimpled glass of the front door. Owen breathes in, hoping it’s his dad and not his dad’s wife. The door opens and yes, it’s his dad. He watches his face splinter into a hundred different pieces, sees it go from surprise, to fear, to horror.
‘Owen, my God, what are you doing here?’
His dad looks older than he remembers. He only retired last year but he seems to have aged five years since then. His hair had once been a mass of different shades of brown and silver and white, but now it’s nearly all white.
‘They let me go,’ he says.
‘The police?’
‘Yes. Just now. They let me go.’
‘So … what? You didn’t do it, then?’
‘No, Dad. No. God. Of course I didn’t do it.’ Owen peers over his father’s shoulder. ‘Can I come in?’
His dad sighs. ‘It’s not really a good time, Owen, to be honest.’
‘Dad, let’s face it, it’s never a good time for you. It never, ever is. But I tell you what, I’ve just spent nearly a week in a police holding cell being interrogated about a crime I had nothing to do with. I’ve had my face slapped all across the front pages of all the papers and been defamed by people who don’t even know me. And now I’ve been exonerated, been told I’m a free man, that I’ve done nothing wrong and allowed out into the world to get on with my life. So maybe, just maybe, now is a good time forme.’
His dad drops his head slightly. When he lifts it again, his eyes look watery. He says, ‘Come on then. But I don’t have long. I’m really very sorry.’
The house is warm. Every wall is painted a different colour. There are neon signs on the walls: ‘GIN THIS WAY’, ‘LOVE’, ‘OUR HOUSE’. A rainbow. A rearing unicorn that changes colour as it rears.
‘Gina loves her colour,’ says his dad, leading him into the front room. This has a small bow window, plantation shutters, pink velvet sofas scattered with cushions embroidered with jungle animals and more slogans. ‘Sit down,’ he says. ‘Please.’
He doesn’t offer Owen a drink. But Owen doesn’t care.
‘Dad,’ he says. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been locked up. About how I got myself into that position. How I am the way I am. You know?’
His dad shrugs. He’s wearing a grey jumper and navy trousers and with his silver hair he looks like a glitch in the relentless colour of the room.
‘You know what I’m talking about, Dad. You know I’ve never been quite right. Since being a little boy. But I’m not a little boy any more. I’m a man. I’m thirty-three. Nearly thirty-four. The worst thing that could ever happen to an innocent man just happened to me, because of the way I am. And you abandoned me. You let me leave your flat that night, eighteen years old, just buried my mother, you let me leave. Why did you let me leave?’
His father shuffles slightly on the pink velvet. ‘It seemed for the best,’ he said. ‘You know. That flat was too small for all of us. We had a young child. You weren’t happy there …’
‘I wasn’t happy there because I was made to feel unwelcome. So unwelcome.’
‘Well, there might be a shred of truth in that. But it wasn’t personal. It was the situation we all found ourselves in. And when Tessie said she’d take you—’
‘You know what Tessie’s like, though, Dad. You know she never liked me. She doesn’t let me in her living room. Did youknow that? I’m not allowed in her living room. And I’m her nephew. Why? Why didn’t you want me?’
‘I told you, Owen. It was nothing personal.’
‘Yes, Dad, yes, it was. It’s all been personal. All of it. Everything that ever happened to me has been personal. Because people don’t like me.’
‘Oh, now, Owen, that’s nonsense. I like you. I like you very much.’
‘Dad. Tell me what happened between you and Mum. Why did you split up? Was it because of me?’