Death Trip. Lee Weeks

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       21

      ‘I just want to know, that’s all.’

      Mann was waiting for his mother to answer. He made her sit whilst they talked. It was all too easy for her to avoid it otherwise. She sat opposite him in the lounge on the white, French furniture, ornate, never meant to be comfortable. It was nothing like they used to have. She had got rid of all of that. Behind her were photos of Mann with his father on the sideboard in silver frames. Molly had moved into the small flat after Deming died and the furniture from the big house had been culled, but still the room seemed overcrowded and the furniture out of keeping in its new surroundings. Then, Mann hadn’t understood why she had to downscale quite so much; now he did. The whole area had an air of ‘seen better times’ about it. As much as Mann kept nagging her, Molly never once spent the money she had sitting in the bank. Now he knew why.

      She did not look at her son. He didn’t mind waiting. He was used to waiting for her to say what it was that was bothering her. He knew this was her least favourite scenario, being forced into talking about a subject she’d rather never mention.

      Mann sipped his tea and watched her. Her shoulders were narrow and stiff. Her hair was wound in a silver and pewter coil, and secured with an antique tortoiseshell clasp. She was getting thinner in her old age, but still upright as she sat perched on the edge of the chaise longue, as if there was a rod up her back, but the flesh on her arms was thinned and freckled with the sun damage. Her hands were long and graceful but papery thin. Mann put his cup down on the lace doily on one of a set of three mahogany side tables, and he sat back in the narrow, tall-backed armchair. Ginger, the cat, came to sit in front of Molly, waiting for a sign that it was allowed to jump onto her lap, waiting for her to sit back and make space. Molly put her cup down and gave an exaggerated sigh.

      ‘I don’t see what the point is in unearthing all these things about your father. He was a man like any other. He had his faults and his virtues. Why do we have to do it now?’

      Mann looked at her; he could see she was trembling. He felt sorry for her and he spoke gently. ‘Because it affects us now. Because, if they are not dealt with, secrets have a habit of reappearing, don’t they? Nothing stays hidden forever.’

      ‘It should have done. Why did we have to know about it? What business is it of ours? Your father made a mistake.’ She was getting prickly. Ginger sensed it and backed off. ‘We shouldn’t let it ruin our lives. He has been dead for nineteen years. You spend too much time thinking about things like how he died. Who ordered his death? You waste your energy on things that cannot be answered and, even if they could, it would make no difference, it would not bring him back. You should stop thinking about these things, son, and move on. Put them behind you.’

      ‘I won’t give up the search for Dad’s killer, Mum, I can’t do that. I live with the image of his death cemented in my brain. But I realise now that I hardly even knew him. Now it turns out that he had secrets that affect us all and they might explain his death. I need to know them. I have a right to know them—everything, good and bad.’

      Mann paused for a minute. He knew he was on tricky ground. If he pushed his mother too hard he would never get her to cooperate. She was better at building walls than any construction worker. She had turned her attention out towards the balcony where a bird had come to feed from the bird table. ‘Mum, I know it’s hard for you but it’s too late to undo what’s done. I don’t know about you but I would rather not sit around and wait for that to unfold. I’m not too keen on surprises.’ He saw her shoulders rise and fall and he knew she was trying hard to be calm. ‘There СКАЧАТЬ