Opening a drawer in his desk, Giles pulled out a muesli bar, the remnants of previous good intention. He inspected the wrapper before wrinkling his nose and throwing it back where he found it. His round brown eyes returned to the screen. Today the boy had killed a monkey and no one knew why. Giles’ notes recorded a belief that the boy had manipulated a situation that would allow him to do this. But he had then cried, and that provided a second puzzle. Giles’ eyes scanned what he’d written, altering the odd word here and there. The boy had chosen to communicate, which challenged the growing idea that he was suffering from some kind of syndrome preventing him from connecting.
But try as he might, Giles repeatedly did what he had been doing all evening, what had been keeping him from finishing his task. Rather than checking thoroughly he again found himself rushing through the words in order to once more read the final report on the test. Why didn’t he just pack up the laptop and take it home, he wondered? Why sit here staring at it when he could be doing the same thing with a tumbler of whisky in his hand and his feet up? Was it simply that the boy was here too? It felt like slipping professionalism. He ignored the small voice telling him that he and professionalism had long since parted company.
The test that held his interest had started badly, for the boy had become upset after realising some of his skin was being removed. Initially he had accepted the anaesthetic injections despite the number, then his face had crumpled in distress once the dermatologist began taking what was needed. But it had been worth it. It was always worth it if it meant a result. All skin cells taken looked normal. They were as would be expected if taken from any healthy young human, both the cells taken from brown skin and from near black. As with anyone, melanin pigments determined the balance of his skin tone. Very early on Giles had observed that the boy was not tattooed, but here it was in technical detail and summarised in plain language. The boy’s stripes were natural.
*
It was the wrong day for intrusions of any sort and far too early for visitors. Giles felt irritated by the interruption. It had been a long week and after a late night in the office he had planned to do nothing with what was left of the weekend but sit and read the paper and have lunch at his favourite pub; the longing for steak and ale pie had not gone away. Already the weather was idyllic, just as summer should be, and perfect for a glass of Old English ale, even better for watching the river meander by. The first ring of the doorbell he chose to ignore, but then a minute or so later it rang again, and then, quite rudely he thought, the interloper tried a third time.
Hurriedly wiping shaving foam from a sparse chin, he tied his robe and marched down the stairs just as a fourth ring sounded. Becoming livid now, he snatched open the door expecting to see either a boy scout eager to make money smearing greasy marks over his already clean car, or suit clad Evangelicals intending to convert those whose lack of faith was laid bare by their presence at home on the Sabbath morning. What he saw made his heart deliver a single booming beat into his throat.
‘Hello Giles. Hope we didn’t disturb you,’ Felix Malone smiled.
At first he did not know what to say. Instincts told him to shut the door but the dark haired man standing next to Felix looked every bit as intimidating as Felix himself. He felt they would probably barge in regardless.
‘Felix,’ he said, finding composure, ‘this is indeed a surprise.’
‘Isn’t it? This is my son Patrick, Bee’s father. Patrick, meet Giles Patterson. We were in the area and thought we would drop in, for old times sake, if you know what I mean. Hope you don’t mind? Is the kettle on?’
‘Ah. How… good of you. Do come in.’ Giles stood back and allowed them through into the hall, feeling they were pushing by despite the invitation. With a private flush he thought back to the beach, wishing now he had not been quite so eager for revenge.
Giles had not really known that people like Felix existed, at least, not before meeting the man himself. He knew there were bad people and bullies for he’d met many whilst struggling through grammar school, and adult versions appeared everywhere in the months spent planning and executing the rescue. He also knew there were leaders and followers, heroes and cowards, corruptible people ten a penny, but this man was something else. Felix was ordinary and smart with a worrisome combination of scruples and courage. A principled champion was the last thing Giles needed in his life. He was not sure if he could learn to handle such a person and sensed that whether he learned to or not, he might never shake the man off.
Giles perceived hostility oozing from Patrick as they walked along the hall, and the hard, cool glare turned his way said it all. Patrick’s frame of mind was so obvious that Felix signalled for his son to stop. No doubt the man had heard all there was to tell, thought Giles, and assumed his dislike without knowing the facts.
Leading them through into a sitting room, the back of which opened up into a generous conservatory, Giles graciously offered seats near a window facing substantial manicured gardens. There was no reason, he decided, for one not to be a cordial host in one’s own home, particularly in the light of such uncertain circumstances.
‘I’ll make myself decent and then bring us all tea. Do make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.’
*
When Giles returned he found the men as he had left them, although they had in fact picked over various ornaments and pictures with interest, returning to their seats only on hearing footsteps. Dressed formally and carrying a silver tray of porcelain cups and an exotic looking teapot, a small plate of fancy biscuits neatly arranged in concentric circles, he looked more butler than host.
‘So. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Giles’ voice was unusually polite. Steadily he poured the tea, ‘Clearly you gentlemen weren’t “in the area”, and any number of people could have told you where I live. So let’s cut to the chase, as they say. Milk, anyone?’
‘Yes please.’ Felix said.
‘And you are here because…?’
‘Because I want to know about the boy.’
‘What boy?’
‘You know what boy.’
‘Do I?’
‘Pulau Tua.’
‘No. Not any clearer I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t fuck about, Giles,’ Felix suddenly snapped.
‘You haven’t been in my house for more than ten minutes and already you are using profanities. Your father could do with some lessons in civility, Patrick. He seems to let his language slip very easily. I do hope your daughter didn’t return home soiled by her grandfather’s coarse manner. Sugar?’
‘Three. And I’ll speak any way I choose.’ Felix took a biscuit.
‘Maybe so, but please remember this is my home.’ Giles spooned sugar with the utmost composure, unsettled by the tense atmosphere but determined not to crumble. He knew from experience that Felix was more than capable of hurting him but guessed he would probably rather negotiate amicably, for that’s what older men did. Usually. As for Patrick, it was hard to tell. ‘I can’t help you.’
Thanking Giles for the tea and taking the cup, Felix spoke quietly, ‘Look, what has happened has happened. I am not trying to take the boy back. There’s nothing for him anyway, nothing at all. But I want to hear what’s been happening. To know for myself that he is all right...’
Patrick cut in, ‘And Bee’s worried, too. She’s just a kid. She’s been sleepless and…’
Giles spoke over the top, ‘I really don’t know what you are talking about.’
A tired breath left Patrick, the sound of someone fed up with an event even before it has begun. ‘Listen to me Giles. The drama is over as far as you are concerned. No one is planning to steal the boy away, but you can’t pretend that it didn’t happen. However much you protest, we know you have him.’
‘Actually you have only the word of an old man and a child.’
‘The word of my father and my daughter, yes, and of two others. Be real. Sitting there denying it makes you seem stupid. They just want t
o know he is okay.’
‘I can’t help you.’
‘For God’s sake. Can’t you see that we all have a part in this?’ Patrick grumbled.
‘Do we? And where were you hiding, Patrick, under a shell? I don’t recall seeing you on Pulau Tua, my boy.’
‘Now hold on a minute… thanks to you, my daughter…’
‘Thanks to me? Thanks to your father!’
Felix interrupted, ‘Stop. I… we… just want to know what have you done with him? I mean, wherever he is now, you’ve what? Tested him? Plugged him into the mains, watched him go mad? What?’
‘Utterly ridiculous,’ said Giles, insulted.
‘Is it? How would you know, if you haven’t seen him? And how can I know, if you won’t tell me? You committed a crime, Giles, with witnesses. But have you had a visit from the police? No. Has any report been made? No. So you can see, we really are here only to check on him. Nothing more. If I could have come sooner I would have, but… well… let’s just say someone discouraged a certain person from divulging your address, and since she wouldn’t help, I had to find you myself, which hasn’t been as easy as you seem to believe. And then… well… never mind that… We are here and want answers. That’s all that matters at this point.’
Giles sipped his tea, eyes averted from both men. ‘I have no idea what you expect from me.’
‘Nothing. We just want to know he’s okay,’ Felix answered.
Falling into a long silence, Giles held his cup and saucer neatly in his lap. For a while his visitors watched him. Eventually, after considering his limited options, Giles raised his meagre eyebrows and nodded a little. ‘And what if I do have news of him?’
‘Then great. We’d like to see him, please.’ Felix rocked back into the seat, staring.
‘Hmm. I’d say that’s a step further than just finding out if he is alright, as you claimed.’ Felix said nothing, so Giles continued, ‘what if I do know something? What if I told you the boy is perfectly healthy. Would that satisfy you?’
Patrick’s response was instant, ‘So you have still got him? You bastard!’
‘In the family, is it? There is no need to be so rude.’
Back pressed deep into the chair, knees splayed, Felix eyed Giles, ‘So why deny it?’ Next to him Patrick remained where he had landed, perched uneasily on the edge of a plush cushion.
Giles’ head waggled from side to side, as if weighing things up. ‘I have his best interests at heart, of course. Always have had.’ It was a statement, in part, meant to antagonise, for though he was anxious, Giles also felt he had endured enough. He watched as Felix signalled for Patrick not to rise to the bait. ‘He is fit and well… but a little… well…’
‘A little what?’
‘A little… Well I shall say it in layman’s terms. A little depressed, Felix.’
‘Depressed? In what way? I mean, I understand why, but what exactly is he doing?’ Felix leaned forward and placed his cup and saucer on the tray.
‘All the classic signs. Reduced appetite, difficulty sleeping…’
‘Would it help to see a friendly face, do you think?’
Giles chortled. ‘Ah. So hearing news of the boy really isn’t enough for you. I am afraid what you are proposing will only draw attention and we already have enough difficulty fending off nosy reporters as it is. Nothing dramatic in the papers yet, as I am sure you are aware, but it’s only a matter of time. It won’t be long. If I can slow that process down then I shall.’
‘Rubbish. We could slip in and see him without anyone knowing. Jesus, man, you managed to get him into the country easily enough.’
The response Giles offered sounded limp and meaningless, a small sigh suggesting he could not be bothered to reply properly. But inside, Felix’s words had cut deep. It had not been easy. It had taken money and friends and favours from both low and high places. The entire event constituted one of the most horrific experiences of Giles’ life. He gathered his thoughts for a moment, and after reviewing every angle decided there was no way back.
‘So?’ prompted Felix.
‘So,’ repeated Giles. ‘The boy has been cooperating in a most unexpected manner,’ he spoke slowly, picking his words carefully, ‘one might say he has shown aptitude for adaptation. But recently something upset him and ever since then… well… he’s seemed depressed. I really can’t think how else to phrase it so you will understand. And now he has started showing some… odd behaviours.’ Giles thought of the macaque and her head dangling lifelessly in the boy’s hand.
‘So are you suggesting that we shouldn’t see him? That we might make things worse?’ asked Patrick, clearly suspicious.
Feeling Felix’s sharp eyes scrutinising his face, Giles smiled, ‘Actually, quite the opposite.’ He looked to the men, enjoying the fact that now a different sort of attention focussed upon him. ‘Let me be completely straight with you…’
‘Go on.’ Felix shuffled forwards in his seat, so close to the edge that he was barely on it.
‘Seeing you again has given body to an idea I had for an experiment...’
‘Experiment?’ Patrick exclaimed. ‘Now hang on…’
‘To be frank, it was a half thought, an unexplored, passing notion that I considered might prove useful one day, but that I also knew might never have any use whatsoever. His depression raised it again in my mind. And now you coming here… well… I suspect perhaps there is worth in it, after all.
‘You see, it could prove helpful for the boy to interact – that was my original thought. And now I can see how that idea might be developed; how we might tease it out, so to speak. I can now see he should interact with someone met before, albeit briefly met. It would be useful to observe how he reacts to a little company, how he is with a person not in a white coat but someone who seems more real, say a person closer to his own age. It could turn things around. But more than that, it might lift his melancholy.’
The direction was clear and Patrick was swift to respond with a loud and steadfast no.
‘Not so concerned for his welfare now, are you? Or hers, for that matter, I thought you said your daughter was worried?’
‘She is, but I don’t like where you’re going with it, that’s all. She’s only ten.’
‘And a half.’
‘Dad!’
‘Sorry.’
‘And after all you put her through, Giles. You must be mad to think I’d allow her to be anywhere near a man like you ever again!’
‘I put her through? Your father, dear boy. Blame your father, not me.’
‘You don’t stop, do you?’
Waving open hands, Felix spoke calmly. ‘Let Giles finish, Paddy. Please. Go on, Giles. You were saying it might help for him to see Bee. I get the impression we’re looking at some kind of deal?’
‘Thank you, Felix.’ Giles paused thoughtfully, ‘Indeed. I will let you meet the boy, regularly if you like, but on the condition that Bee spends time with him. She’ll be quite safe and given events on the island she should be able to empathise in a very positive way.’ Again the image of a broken neck popped into his head.
‘How so?’ said Patrick with undisguised dislike.
‘Simply, if she comes to my laboratory at Whitegate it could help him enormously. I have related my concerns regarding his mental health and I am not sure what else I can say to you. Of course, I cannot deny that it could be very useful from my perspective; the interaction of children is fascinating and always so revealing.’ Giles smiled. ‘They are the beating heart of society, after all.’
‘Hmm. Interesting proposition,’ said Felix. ‘I have one question for you. Not to do with Bee visiting, but how you’ve handled everything. Why not have him live in a house, in a home? Why so clinical?’
Giles watched with private amusement as the increasingly irate Patrick threw a foul glance at his father, aware that questions of any sort suggested acceptance. This question could also be interpreted as an invitation.
‘I’m serio
us,’ Felix continued, ‘he must come from a family, so why not let him be part of one? Surely you would gain more insight that way?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Dad. Does it matter if the boy this man kidnapped gives him insight or not! Bloody hell! That’s not why we came! Don’t get sucked in.’ He pointed at Giles. ‘And I am telling you now, she’s not going anywhere.’
‘Don’t get flustered Patrick. I couldn’t let the boy out if I wanted too. It’s too much of a risk. He is undergoing medical evaluation and an inoculation programme, and I have no idea what he would do in such liberated circumstances. I am not sure he would even see it as the family environment your father imagines. Besides which, I wouldn’t want him injured or lost. He’s too precious a commodity for that.
‘Commodity?’ Felix gasped.
‘Yes, commodity. An unfortunate word. But we both know nothing is free in this life.’
‘We do.’ Felix’s voice trailed.
‘Do stop being so sentimental, man.’ Giles poured himself more tea, ‘Let me ask you this, old boy, if you could instantly halt the loss of the rainforests and thus avoid world catastrophe simply by keeping your granddaughter under lock and key, what would you do?’
‘We’ve had this discussion, Giles. Your interests and mine do not compare.’
‘But your answer?’
‘Dad? What’s he talking about?’
‘The greater good, Pad. But our man here is talking bollocks. You could never justify what you did, Giles, or at least how you did it. What good will it do the world? And what good will it do him?’
‘Fortunately I do not need to justify myself to you.’ Giles frowned, resisting the urge to point out that he had saved the child from loneliness and more likely from death. ‘Perhaps we should return to the matter in hand. We do seem to be dragging ourselves back to old arguments.’