‘It’ll do,’ said Roy. ‘Be a good bloke and pop it in the fridge, would you, Geoff?’
Geoff seemed only too pleased to oblige.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ said Ida Banks, handing out the drinks. ‘We can have our own little family party before the rest of our guests arrive. Corinne tells me she’s an accountant, Roy.’
‘That’s right, Mum. Saved me a fortune in taxes.’
Corinne sat on the floor near his feet and rested her head against his thigh. He stroked her hair the way one would a faithful dog. ‘She’s very good with figures, aren’t you, Corinne?’
Corinne blushed. ‘If you say so, Roy.’
She really did seem like a ‘nice’ girl to Banks, and that made him wonder all the more what she was doing with Roy. Not that Roy wasn’t handsome or charming. In fact he possessed both of those attributes in spades. Under his suit, he wore a pale blue silk polo-neck. His hair, not quite so black as Banks’s, was long, over his ears and collar, expensively cut, and he had a small shaving nick near the cleft of his chin. His energetic blue eyes resembled Banks’s, except that they were predatory and calculating, whereas Banks’s were curious and intense.
Banks had thought more than once that his brother Roy fitted the classic definition of the psychopath: he was glib and superficial, egocentric, manipulative, shallow and completely lacking in any feelings of remorse, empathy or guilt. Certainly all his behaviour and his emotional responses were learned, assumed through close observation of others as the best way to get on in the world. Underneath it all, Banks guessed, the only things that mattered to him were his needs, and how he could meet them, and his success, measured, of course, by money and power. Perhaps that was why he had already gone through three wives.
‘Oops, mustn’t forget,’ Roy said, putting his glass down and getting suddenly to his feet. Corinne almost fell over sideways. ‘Sorry, love.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Just got to nip down to the Porsche. Forgot something. Wouldn’t want to leave it out there too long. You never know on an estate like this. Give us a hand, will you, Geoff?’
Geoff, returned from the kitchen, beer in hand, stated that he was only too willing to do anything for Roy, and set his glass down on the table. Corinne smiled shyly as the two of them went out. Banks hadn’t heard her speak yet and wondered what her voice was like, her accent. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked, just to find out.
‘Canterbury,’ she said. ‘Well, I grew up there. After that I went to Manchester University.’
She didn’t have much of a regional accent, Banks learned. She was well spoken, clearly educated, and her voice was pleasant, soft and musical, a little reedy.
‘How long have you known Roy?’
‘About three months.’
‘They’re getting engaged,’ Ida Banks said. ‘So now we’ve really got something to celebrate.’
Corinne blushed.
‘That true?’ Banks asked.
She smiled and nodded. He felt like warning her off. Roy had been married three times and two of his wives had ended up confiding in Banks about what an unfaithful, cruel bastard Roy was. He had never actually hit either of them – so they both swore – but he curtailed their freedom and terrorized them psychologically. The second, a particularly bright neurosurgeon called Maria, ended up seeing a psychiatrist for years after they split up, trying to splice together the frayed strands of her self-esteem. Banks had seen her change – albeit at infrequent intervals – from a secure, confident young doctor into an apologetic, tongue-tied wreck whose hands shook so much she couldn’t thread a needle. The third wife, thank God, had seen the signs before it got too late and left Roy in time.
Roy and Geoff came back carrying large cardboard boxes, which they set down on the living-room floor. ‘Happy anniversary,’ Roy said. ‘Go on. Open them.’
Banks’s parents looked at one another, then his mother got some scissors from the kitchen drawer and came back and knelt by the largest box. Roy and Geoff helped, and soon between them had managed to drag out the computer monitor, processor unit and keyboard.
‘It’s a computer,’ said Ida Banks, clearly at a loss.
‘Now you’ll be able to go on the Internet,’ said Roy. ‘We’ll be able to send each other email.’
‘Will we?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s so… so expensive.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. Everyone should have a computer these days. They’re the future.’
Ida Banks reached out and touched it gingerly, as if it might bite. ‘The future-’
‘We’d better get it out of the way for the time being,’ said Arthur Banks. ‘Our guests will be arriving soon.’
‘Right.’
Between them, Geoff, Roy and Banks took the computer upstairs and set it up on the desk in the spare room.
‘That’ll be nice for them,’ said Geoff.
Banks thought it was the stupidest present he could think of. His parents were in their seventies; they weren’t going to learn how to use a computer. His own present, a particularly moody Yorkshire landscape painting he had found in an antique shop in Richmond, had met with polite praise, but he felt it was probably destined for the back of the wardrobe. The computer, he suspected, would sit at this desk, not even plugged in, just gathering dust. Unless Geoff Salisbury decided to use it.
Just as the three of them started downstairs, the front doorbell rang.
‘Here come the first guests,’ said Geoff. ‘It’s started.’
19
First to arrive were Uncle Frank and Aunt Harriet, and after that Banks began to lose track. Here came relatives he hadn’t seen for years, cousins he never even knew existed. It was only to be expected with both his mother and father coming from large families – six and four respectively – but it was a shock nonetheless.
Geoff took to bartending duties like a fish to water, and Roy worked the room like a politician, all hail-fellow-well-met, as if these people he had probably never seen before meant more to him than his own life. If the truth were known, he had been home even less often than Banks and hardly ever in touch with the more distant relatives.
Arthur Banks seemed bewildered by it all, tired, sticking to his armchair, glass of beer at hand, though Ida got into the party spirit and Banks fancied she even became a little tipsy. Music played quietly in the background, mostly crooners and big bands, though pop entered the mix when someone found an old compilation album. It was pretty much the same stuff as Banks had found in his room, or at least softer stuff from the same period – Cliff Richard, Eden Kane, Frank Ifield, Billy Fury, the Bachelors and the ubiquitous Val Doonican – but it was only for background, wallpaper music.
In a lull after the first few guests had arrived, Banks managed to get Roy alone for a few minutes while a couple of young cousins, similarly bedecked, admired Corinne’s body-piercing,
‘I’ve been wanting a word in your ear,’ Banks said. ‘It’s about that Geoff Salisbury.’
‘What about him? Seems like a decent chap. Takes good care of Mum and Dad.’
‘That’s just it. I think he steals from them.’
‘Oh, come on, Alan. It’s that suspicious copper’s mind of yours working overtime again.’
‘No. It’s more than that.’ Banks told him about the short change.
‘Could have been any reason for that,’ Roy said. ‘A genuine mistake. You don’t always have to think the worst of people, you know.’
‘He’s got their PIN number. They give him their Abbeylink card.’
‘He takes care of their finances. For crying out loud, somebody’s got to do it. I mean it’s not as if you’re around much, is it?’
Banks realized he was fighting a losing battle. Roy didn’t want to believe that Geoff was anything other than a godsend, and he would resist any evidence to the contrary. ‘He’s got a criminal record,’ Banks went on nevertheless, pissing against the wind. ‘Swindling old folk out of their life savings.’