40
Larry couldn’t take his eyes off Joshua. Not, he liked to think, because it was the last time he’d see the boy; but because he hadn’t seen him now for eleven months, and the boy had changed so much in that time.
He looked a good two inches taller, his voice a shade deeper, the look in his eye more thoughtful. Larry thought he could see the first shadow of the man that Joshua would become: kind, thoughtful, caring, but hopefully nobody’s fool. And maybe much of that had come about, that transformation starting so early, because he’d had to shoulder so much more than other boys of his age. The taunts, the different surrogate fathers, careful what he said between and about his real father and them in case it looked like favouritism; difficult, if not impossible, Larry thought, to get that balance right from what he’d read in Josh’s e-mails.
Or maybe that was all just wishful thinking, Larry projecting his thoughts because he knew now that he wouldn’t actually see how Josh turned out.
‘Come here!’ Trying to project too every ounce of love he’d missed giving the boy these past long years, and now the years to come, as he hugged him tight. Not wishing to smother Josh or make him feel too awkward, so letting him go sooner than he’d have liked; he could have stayed hugging Josh all day.
Francine looking on, her eyes glassy with emotion, her voice breaking slightly, ‘Oh, Larry… Larry,’ as she took Josh’s place and they embraced; though this time it was more her hugging Larry, patting his back a couple of times as if he were the child that needed consoling.
Then silence for a moment. Tense, uneasy silence. He’d covered most of the day-to-day, regular stuff by e-mail with Josh over the past few months — though Franny wasn’t to know that — and he and Franny hadn’t spoken for so long now, they hardly knew what to say to each other any more: casual, light stuff seemed too trivial given what he was facing, and the heavier stuff which might remind him of that or, worse still, tackled it directly, seemed just as bad. So they just sat there for a moment, in that silent gap in the middle.
They’d been allowed a cell near Haveling’s office for their final meeting so that they weren’t forced to just clasp fingers through the holes in a glass screen, and semi-privacy: the back of a guard’s head was just visible through the door’s open inspection hatch.
‘I appreciate you coming here today,’ Larry said finally. ‘I understand from Josh’s e-mail it wasn’t that easy. You had to lay it on the line with Frank.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah. Had to tell him straight-out: that’s it, we’re going… no point in arguing. It might be our…’ She broke off then, bit at her lip, realizing the minefield this conversation was going to be, but no other word that she could think of that wouldn’t sound pathetic or contrived. ‘Our lastchance to see you.’ Her eyes glistening heavier, she closed them for a second, as if in apology for having said it.
‘That’s okay.’ Larry reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Whatever the reasoning, I’m just glad to see you both here now.’
She nodded, and after a second finally thought of a subject that was weighty and worthy enough for discussion, Joshua’s schooling, talking about how well he was doing. ‘Straight As in most of his subject, a couple of Bs, and nothing… nothingbelow that. We both got good reason to be proud of him there, Larry.’
Joshua beamed awkwardly, flushing slightly.
Larry nodded, looking away from the boy, back to Francine. ‘Yeah, you’ve done a good job with him there, Franny. Even though often it hasn’t been easy.’ Last chance for him to tell Franny how proud he was of her, keeping a stable home wrapped around Joshua, despite the odds.
Larry talked directly with Joshua for a moment about school, asking him which subjects he preferred, even though he already half-knew from their e-mails back and forth: preferred English and History to Maths and Science. Liked languages too, particularly French. Preferred Tolkein to Rowling, though of recent he’d turned more to some of the older classics: Dumas, Dickens, Lord of the Fliesand Tom Sawyer. ‘Fantasy is okay, but they tell me a bit more about how reallife is. Or was.’
‘That’s good…. that’s good.’ Larry nodded sagely. Practically retelling his own words when he’d first recommended the books in e-mails months back. Josh’s way of telling him that he’d taken the advice and was reading them. Telling him before it was too late.
That trivia barrier broken without them hardly realizing it, Francine talked about her work in the shoe shop, that if she could find another job with the same friendly hours that paid better, she’d take it like a shot. Larry appreciating that in fact it wasn’t that trivial, because the hours were linked to her being able to meet Josh from school. Sacrifice. Larry deciding then to lighten things by telling her about Roddy’s last Crosby routine, Franny holding one hand by her mouth as she laughed, as if she shouldn’t be laughing in a place like this, and especially not at this time; an anxious glance towards the guard outside through the open viewing hatch, worried what he would think. But Larry thinking, it was so good to see her laughing. So good. Hardly in fact able to remember the last time he’d seen her smile or laugh; brief, fragmented flashes of their wedding day and Joshua being born making the years since seem all the more lost, wasted.
Larry hastily pushed the thought away. ‘Though I told Roddy straight that it wasn’t half as funny as seeing him struggle to save the day in front of that crab-faced woman at the BOP hearing. He was back-paddling faster than a duck facing ten Chinese chefs… until that Ayliss guy turned up to save his neck. Or mine, as it so happens.’ Larry shook his head, grimacing. ‘If I miss anything from this place, then it’d be Roddy. And maybe the library a bit, too.’
Ayliss. Saving neck. But as much as they’d all desperately tip-toed around the subject, talking about anything but, suddenly it was back before them. Larry’s death. Only thirty-two hours away now. The shadow of it hanging so close that it was stifling, suffocating. Inescapable. With the mention of Ayliss, Franny’s eyes darting rapidly as if unwilling to accept the inevitability of that shadow, she leapt for what she saw as a possible escape route.
‘I heard that new lawyer of yours, Ayliss, on a radio phone-in a few days back after Candaret turned down your pardon… and he said he wasn’t giving up yet. Not by a long shot. Said that he truly believed you were innocent and in fact had someone visiting the prison over the next few days that would hopefully, once and for all, prove it.’
‘Yeah.’ Larry nodded, smiling dryly. Jac hamming it up as Ayliss, trying to get a doubt bandwagon rolling. Never say die. ‘A psychiatrist.’ Larry explained about Ormdern’s two sessions and what they’d hoped to find either with his old pool game or lack of detail recalled about the Roche house. He shook his head as he finished. ‘But in the end, they didn’t hit on anything. Not enough, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Though apparently Ayliss is still out there, chasing down, from what he tells me, “some vital final leads uncovered from the sessions”.’
Francine reached out and gently clasped one of his hands. ‘So there’s still somehope left. Still someone out there fighting for you.’
He clasped back at her hand, realizing in that moment that, like her smile and laugh, she’d touched him more in this past half hour than she had in eleven years. He grimaced tightly. ‘Franny, I don’t think it’s right to fool ourselves that he’ll suddenly pull a rabbit out the hat. He’s probably saying all that just to make me feel good, keep my hopes up. Candaret said no, and in the end those sessions didn’t dig up anything. I might just have to accept that that’s it.’