“Ben, there’s no need to... I mean, I don’t want you to think—”
“Don’t bother to get up.”
She still followed them into the hallway, smiling anxiously. “Are you sure you won’t stay for dessert?”
“I don’t think so, Maggie.” He opened the door and went out before she could say anything else. His Golf was parked further up the street. He hoisted Jacob up and carried him, even though it wasn’t far.
He felt he wanted to cry. He thought about Maggie again and let himself feel angry instead.
He set Jacob down when he reached the car. As he unlocked it there was a shout He turned to see Colin hurrying from his BMW. There was no sign of Maggie.
“Where’re you going?” Colin asked, breathlessly.
“Jacob’s tired, so we’re going home.”
“Home? I thought you wanted to talk.” He took hold of Ben’s arm. “Come on, you can have a quick drink—”
“It’s okay, I’ll give you a ring.”
Colin let his hand fall. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just want to get Jacob home, that’s all.”
They looked at each other. Colin glanced towards the house. He seemed to sag slightly, then drew himself up. “If you’re in a rush let’s talk in the car.”
Jacob played with a puzzle in the back while they talked.
Ben described the meeting with Quilley. When he’d finished Colin kneaded the bridge of his nose. The flesh of his face was pale and puffy. His scalp showed through his thinning hair. He looks middle-aged, Ben thought, with a slight shock.
“I’m sorry, Ben. If I’d any idea he’d pull something like this I’d never have recommended him.”
“You weren’t to know.” But he still felt resentment, unjustified or not.
“I know it doesn’t help but I’ll see to it he doesn’t get any more work from our firm. I’ll put the word out to other people as well. It’s just a pity you didn’t tell him you’d got his name from us. I don’t think he’d have tried anything if he’d known.”
“I’m more worried about what I’m going to do now than what I should have done.”
“I can call him, if you like. Tell him we represent you. That might make him think twice before he does anything else.”
“Are you sure you want to get your firm involved?” Colin didn’t say anything, but Ben could see he wasn’t.
“I don’t have any choice, do I?” he went on. “I’ve got to assume it’s all going to come out.”
“You don’t know for sure there’s anything to come out.”
“Oh, come off it.” Colin looked at Jacob playing on the back seat. He gave a sigh. “Okay, then. The next thing to do is to get some advice. I can ask around, see if anyone knows a good family law solicitor. The number of divorces our clients go through I shouldn’t think that’ll be a problem.” He gave Ben a sheepish glance. “I’ll make sure it’s someone reliable this time.”
The streetlights had come on, although it wasn’t dark. Ben looked at the weak yellow glows. “You don’t think I should go straight to the police?”
“Christ, no. If you do they’ll be all over you. You could wind up being held on a kidnapping or aiding-and-abetting charge and with Jacob put in care before you know what’s happening. You need legal representation before anything else.” He paused. “The question of custody’s going to be tricky enough as it is.”
Ben was aware that Colin was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. In the rearview mirror he could see Jacob’s face, unconcerned. He felt an urge to hug him.
“What I can’t stop thinking about,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, “is how the other poor bastard must feel. You know who I mean. It’s been over six years. We’re sitting here, calmly discussing what we should do, and he’s sitting somewhere not knowing if his son’s alive or dead. I keep thinking about what he must have gone through, and what happened to his wife, and... fuck, I don’t know...” He broke off and turned to stare out of the side window.
Colin was quiet for a while, giving him a chance to recover.
“You’ve got to think about yourself, Ben,” he said gently. “And Jacob. I’m sorry for this guy too, but it doesn’t alter the fact that you’re in a vulnerable situation. If this does all come out you’re going to have to prove you knew nothing about it until now. You’re going to have to decide fairly soon what you’re going to do, and to do that you need expert legal advice.”
“I know.” Ben cleared his throat and nodded. “I know you’re right, and I will, but...” He realised he’d already come to a decision. “I’d like to see him first.”
“Oh, now look, Ben—”
“I don’t mean I want to meet him. I just want to see where he lives, what he looks like. Try and get some idea of what sort of a man he is. I can’t decide anything until I know that.”
He expected an argument, but Colin was silent.
“When?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought that far. “Tomorrow morning, perhaps.”
Colin passed a hand over his face and shook his head. But whatever objections he had he kept to himself. “I’ll come with you,” he said.
Chapter seven
It took almost as long to get out of London as it did to get to the town itself. There was another Tube strike, and the roads were clogged with slow-moving snakes of traffic. The air was unbreathable. It was a close, muggy morning but they kept the window up, preferring the heat to the atmosphere of exhaust fumes.
They had taken Ben’s Golf. Colin had objected to travelling in what he called ‘a biscuit tin’, but couldn’t deny that his black BMW would look conspicuous in a scrapyard. Ben guessed it was the thought of what might happen to it there that finally convinced him.
Once on the M1 Ben made good time to the turnoff.
The main suburban sprawl was quickly left behind, but the countryside was still marred with blotches of industry, man-made cankers of brick and metal amongst the green. Some of the fields they passed still had yellow snatches of rape clinging to them, and then suddenly there was a brown patch of houses and they were in Tunford.
It was a new town, or at least had been in the 1950s. The brave new face of postwar housing development now looked ramshackle and depressed. They went along the high street, a short stretch of squat, dun-coloured shops, until they left the town again on the other side. Ben turned the car round in a lay-by littered with plastic bottles and tin cans and headed back for the town centre.
“What’s the address?” Colin opened the folder the detective had given Ben.
“Forty-one Primrose Lane.” The shops came into view again. Prefabricated semi-detached houses ran off to either side. “Do you think there’ll still be primroses there?” Ben asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.
“If there are they’ll be under the tarmac. Shall we try the next turning?”
Since they didn’t know where Primrose Lane was, one street was as good as another. They had no map of the town, and didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by asking for directions. Not that there were many people about to ask. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the empty streets at random. On one they passed a mongrel dog shitting on the pavement.
“Welcome to Tunford,” Colin said.
Primrose Lane was at the edge of the town, running parallel with the fields beyond. They drove down it slowly, counting house numbers.
Colin pointed. “There.”
The house was set behind a four-foot-high wire mesh and concrete post fence. The neighbouring properties were run down, with shaggy lawns and unkempt flowerbeds, and the garden in front of 41 was heaped with rusting piles of metal. Car wings, doors and bumpers, engine parts and motors were stacked haphazardly, grown through with uncut grass and weeds.