That was it. The weight was too much for the hurriedly assembled collection of twigs and branches. The flood-waters burst through, sweeping everything away. Morgan felt the prickle of tears on his eyelids, brimming behind his lashes. Too late he closed his eyes, squeezed them tight shut but the tears seeped through, fat and hot, trickling down his fat hot cheeks as his legs gave way beneath him.
♦
Murray’s son stood aimlessly with the two caddies some dozen yards off. He looked puzzled and angry, Morgan thought, watching the boy throw stones into the bush. Morgan was sitting propped up against a tree at the edge of the fairway. He wondered if he’d passed out or if his brain had simply refused to record events, so embarrassing had they been — a kind of merciful amnesia to spare him further torments.
Murray stood beside him looking down. ‘All right now?’ he asked considerately.
Morgan scrambled to his feet rubbing his eyes. ‘Christ,’ he said shakily. ‘Sorry I fell to pieces.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But if you knew what I’d been through the last few days you’d be amazed that I can still function normally at all.’
‘Adekunle?’
‘No. Not entirely. Other things as well. I’ll tell you about them some day: they’ll make your hair curl.’ Morgan dusted the grass off his trousers. ‘All things considered, Adekunle’s been quite reasonable under the circumstances.’
Murray handed him his sun-visor. ‘I think we’d better call it a day,’ he said. ‘Head back to the clubhouse.’ Morgan agreed, and they walked off in silence back up the fairway, Murray’s son and the caddies remaining a discreet ten yards behind. Morgan shot a glance at Murray’s face. It was set firm in concentration, his brow lowered in a frown. Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the knots of tension his muscles had twisted themselves into. Paradoxically, he felt better: one problem at least was over — resolved — however unsatisfactorily. He wouldn’t have to bribe Murray again.
‘Look,’ Morgan said, keen to break the silence. ‘I’m sorry. I…I was acting under instructions.’
‘I take it he’s threatening you with something?’
‘God yes. You don’t think I’m his partner, do you?’ Morgan looked offended.
Murray apologized. ‘What has he got on you?’ he asked.
Morgan let out a long breath. ‘I think it’s probably better if I keep that to myself. Let’s just say he knows something that I’d rather my boss didn’t. Nothing criminal,’ he added hastily. ‘More in the scandal line — if you know what I mean.’
‘I see.’ Murray ran a hand through his hair. ‘It sounds like a real mess to me.’ He paused. ‘What would happen to you if Mr Fanshawe found out about whatever this scandal is?’
Morgan shrugged. He told himself it didn’t matter so much now. ‘Oh I don’t know. Disgrace. Sent home. I’ll lose my job for sure. Fanshawe and I aren’t exactly best buddies anyway at the moment.’
Murray didn’t say anything to this and they continued their walk in silence. Back at the clubhouse they paid off the caddies and put their clubs in their cars. Morgan slung his in the back seat. He wasn’t ever going to use his boot again.
He suddenly felt the familiar panic seize his heart as he contemplated the results of Murray reporting him. He had been lying to himself earlier: losing his job did matter — more than anything, and the thought of an ignominious return to Britain made him feel sick. Somehow he had to persuade Murray to go easy; the man seemed to like him, perhaps he’d agree to help if he knew how he really felt. He walked over to Murray’s car and overheard his son ask, ‘Dad, why was that man crying like that?’ and he wished the poisonous little brat would clear off.
‘Alex,’ Morgan called. ‘Can I…can I have a word?’ Murray came over.
‘This is incredibly embarrassing for me,’ Morgan said, ‘But I have to ask. Please don’t report this to anyone.’
‘But I’ve told…’
‘I’m begging you,’ Morgan said earnestly. ‘Please, I will lose my job, you see, and it’s the only thing in my life that means anything to me, that’s any good at all. Please.’
‘What are you asking me to do?’ Murray said. ‘Pretend all this never happened?’
Morgan squirmed. ‘Well…yes.’ But he saw immediately that it wouldn’t be enough. ‘Couldn’t you just forget about making that negative report on the site? You see, if you do veto the project Adekunle will go to Fanshawe anyway. That was the deaclass="underline" I had to stop you from doing that.’
Murray lowered his voice. ‘So in fact you want me to give the all-clear for the hall project. But why should I?’
‘For me,’ Morgan pleaded. ‘Otherwise I’m finished. I mean that. Not just my job. Everything.’
‘Why is this project so important to Adekunle? Is he bidding for the contract through Ussman Danda?’
‘No,’ Morgan said quietly. ‘He owns the land.’
Murray looked up at the sky. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he laughed sardonically, ‘no wonder he’ll pay ten thousand pounds.’
‘That’s still available, by the way,’ Morgan interjected.
‘I’ll forget you said that,’ Murray responded harshly. He paused. ‘You’re asking me to let that hall project go through for your sake alone — so that you can keep your job.’
Morgan looked at the ground. ‘Yes,’ he said ashamedly. ‘I know I’m a bloody fool, that I got myself in this mess but…’
‘No,’ Murray said flatly. ‘I’m sorry, Morgan, but no. I just can’t — won’t — go that far.’
‘But why not?’ Morgan beseeched unreasonably, ‘Why not? What’s so important about the University of Nkongsamba, Adekunle, this country? What does it matter to us — people like us? In the end there’s absolutely nothing we can do; the Adekunles of this world’ll win through eventually. Let them build the bloody hall there.’ He felt like a man seeing the end of his tether twitch beyond his grasp.
‘It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the University of Nkongsamba,’ Murray said patiently.
‘Then why won’t you do this one little thing?’ Morgan asked despairingly. ‘I’ll go down on my knees if you like.’ He felt the familiar sensations of intense Murray-hatred returning. ‘Is it because it’s ‘wrong’?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘You don’t want to do the ‘wrong’ thing, is that it? Can’t you see that life’s just not that simple? Good⁄bad, right⁄wrong. It just doesn’t work that way any more.’ He spread his hands. ‘You’re way out of touch Alex, out on a limb: nobody else is playing by those rules, so why you? Why is it so important for me to lose my job?’
Morgan saw Murray’s jaw muscles tighten. ‘Frankly I don’t give a damn about your job,’ he said in his steely Scottish voice. ‘If you’re a big enough bloody fool to get entangled with people like Adekunle then that’s your problem. As for your simple reading of how my mind works, that’s off-target too. I’m not concerned about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as you put it either; if I’m interested in anything it’s in seeing a bit of fairness in the world, and I just don’t think it’s fair that some greedy bastard like Adekunle should cheat his way into several hundred thousand pounds at other people’s expense. And I’m afraid for your sake that I can’t just sit back and let him get away with it. And now that I’m in a position to see that he doesn’t, nothing’s going to stop me. I won’t worry too much about whether it’s right or wrong but at least I’ll be secure in the knowledge that some justice has been done, that one fat bastard hasn’t had it all his own way. I’m sorry, but I can’t see my letting you keep your job, and thereby allowing the University of Nkongsamba to build a hall of residence on a rubbish dump and provide Adekunle with a small fortune, as being remotely just or fair. It may sound stupid but I couldn’t forgive myself.’