Chapter 61 Damon
Damon
I’ve been sitting in a KFC restaurant for the best part of the afternoon but have yet to order anything from the menu.
It’s close to the DIY store where Dad works, and I’m waiting for him to finish his shift.
When he finally passes the window, I scramble to get my coat and bag and leave without losing sight of him.
My plan was to confront him in the street, where he can’t hide behind a security guard as before.
Where there are witnesses. Instead, curiosity gets the better of me and I follow him.
I maintain a safe distance for close to half an hour until we reach a row of terraced houses.
I’m unfamiliar with Basingstoke, but I get the impression he doesn’t live in the best part of town.
His front door and window face directly on to an area of litter-strewn greenery.
Still, I’m sure it’s better than his view was from a prison cell window.
He lets himself in and switches on a light as the door closes.
I remain where I am, by a tatty playpark, ignoring the curious gaze of a pack of young people roaming the area on BMXs.
I try to rehearse the conversation I need to have with him, but I don’t really know why I’m bothering.
I’m not expecting much from him. I’m only here because of a promise I made to Melissa to press him for the facts of our family’s past. I was tempted not to bother: to keep myself safe and lie to her.
But after all she’s put on the line for me, she deserves more than that.
My heart thrums as I approach his front door with its flaking yellow paint.
I don’t know what to expect, but maybe this time if I don’t provoke him, we can at least have a conversation.
There’s no bell, so I pluck up the courage to knock once, twice, then a third time.
Eventually he answers, every bit as surprised to see me at his home as he was at his work.
He recoils ever so slightly before regaining his composure and puffing out his chest. Without saying anything, he begins to close the door on me.
‘We can do this out here if you like,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Do your neighbours know who they’re living next door to?’
He hesitates, then reluctantly allows me inside.
I follow him along a gloomy hallway where I’m half expecting him to suddenly turn around and pin me up against a wall.
Instead, he leads the way into a lounge.
It stinks of stale tobacco in here. There’s an old black leather sofa, and next to it an armchair with three stacked cushions to offer extra height.
In the corner of the room is a small circular dining table and two chairs.
A half-full ashtray lies in the centre with the remnants of charred roll-ups.
There’s a television that predates flatscreens with the six o’clock news on mute.
I wonder if this is where he lived before he was jailed, because it doesn’t appear to have been updated in years.
‘Why are you here?’ he asks, keeping his tone measured and the volume to a minimum.
‘There’s more to your story than you’re telling me,’ I reply.
‘I don’t think Daisy Barber was the only person you killed.
I think Callum Baird keeps coming to me because you killed him too.
’ I know the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway.
‘The third kid was my brother Bobby. Is he dead, too, because of you?’
‘No! Of course he’s not.’
‘He comes to me like the others.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I told you before, I hallucinate them. All day, every day. In fact, he’s behind you right now being held by Mum.’
My dad turns quickly, but of course he sees nothing. This time neither do I. I just wanted to catch him off guard. He turns back to me and puffs his chest out again, but his eyes give him away. He’s either scared of what he thinks I’m seeing, or of his own son’s madness.
‘You need help,’ he says.
‘You don’t know the first thing about what I need. Because if you did, you’d tell me the truth. What did you do to Callum and Bobby?’
‘I’d never have hurt Bobby. You boys were the only good things in my life and I loved you both. And your mum,’ he adds in a sudden moment of emotional vulnerability.
‘But you killed Callum, didn’t you.’ I don’t pose it as a question but as a statement of fact. It’s almost imperceptible, but I think he nods his head. Or am I imagining it? Was it only a casual movement? ‘How many others are buried inside me waiting for me to find them?’
‘None.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘And I don’t care.’ He takes a step forward, the sliver of sensitivity he allowed me to witness now swallowed by his shadow self. ‘Now are you going to leave by yourself, or am I going to drag you out of here?’
But I’m not yet ready to back down, no matter the consequences.