Five years. His daughter was a stranger. Brook bit down on the melancholy.
‘So is that your car outside?’
‘Yep. Mum bought it for getting round Manchester.’
‘Does she know you’re here?’ Brook saw Terri’s back stiffen as she paused to consider her reply.
‘No.’
Brook nodded behind her back. Amy would never forgive him. Not content with destroying her first marriage through his obsessive hunt for The Reaper, Brook had done the same to her second, denouncing her new husband, the late Tony Harvey-Ellis, as a sexual abuser of their only daughter. ‘Give her my. . best wishes when you see her.’ Terri turned round as though about to break some terrible news. He added gently, ‘But only if you want to tell her you’ve seen me.’ She smiled with relief and turned back to the stove. ‘You’re enjoying university?’
‘Loving it, Dad.’
‘And how do you like. .?’
‘American Literature.’
‘I know, I know,’ protested Brook. ‘All that Norman Mailer and Truman Capote.’
‘Those old dinosaurs. It’s all Jonathan Franzen and Amy Tan these days.’
‘No place for the flawed old men, eh?’ said Brook.
‘I wouldn’t say that, Dad.’ Terri began to serve Brook’s meal. ‘I mean, Mailer’s a pig, no question. But if you get past the misogyny and the drinking, there’s a lot of elegiac, ravaged poetry in the man. Do you know what I mean?’
Brook smiled at her. He realised he hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d seen her face. ‘Yes, I do. This looks good.’
‘I’m expecting you to eat it all.’
‘Don’t worry. This is likely to be the last home-cooked meal I’ll get for a while.’
‘Oh, no it’s not. I’m staying for a couple of weeks. I mean if that’s okay,’ she added hastily.
‘A couple of weeks? Does the university allow you time off?’ said Brook, tucking in with gusto.
‘I’ve got a dissertation to do so I need some peace and some space, Dad. Can I stay?’
‘I’d love you to stay,’ said Brook, before a frown invaded his features. ‘I. . er don’t know how much time. .’
‘Dad. Don’t worry. I’ll be busy, and I’m sure you’ve got a hot case to crack.’
‘Two,’ replied Brook as he chewed.
‘That’s settled then. How’s the Bolognese?’
Brook ladled another large spoonful into his mouth. ‘It’s the finest I’ve ever had, Terri.’
‘That bad, eh?’ she joked and plucked a second glass from a cardboard box of four then poured herself a large glass of wine.
‘You brought wine glasses?’
‘Housewarming present. I prefer not to drink out of jam jars.’ She looked at him with a hint of a tease. ‘I’ll put them in the
He spoke ruefully back at her through a mouthful of pasta. ‘You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?’
‘Dad, you’ve got a pint glass, a whisky tumbler and two jam jars to drink from. And one of them still has a label on. How easy should I make it?’
Brook laughed. ‘In my defence, I’ve only been in the house for four years and there haven’t been many,’ he looked away, ‘well. .’
‘They’re called women, Dad. I’m told they make good companions.’ She fumbled in her handbag and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, unable to meet his eye.
Brook sensed she was ready for him so said nothing, but his face gave the game away.
‘I’m twenty years old now. I can make my own mistakes.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
‘But you can’t smoke in the house, Terri. That’s a rule.’ He finished his last forkful of pasta and gathered up his wine glass. ‘Bring your glass and a coat. I’ll show you why I bought this place.’
A minute later, father and daughter sat on the garden bench pulling lovingly on their cigarettes and looking up at the soft cottonwool of the Milky Way. For two people who hadn’t conversed in five years, it was odd that no words were needed.
‘It’s great here, Dad,’ she finally said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘I wish I’d come sooner.’
Brook smiled in the darkness. ‘You’re here now. That’s all that counts.’ Then a thought occurred. ‘You were a teenager.’ Brook felt the rise in tension within her and realised she might be expecting a conversation about their last meeting. But it was worse than that. After missing her entire childhood and most of her teenage years, he was thinking about the case. He shook his head. What kind of father was he?
‘Apparently,’ she finally said.
Time to change the subject. ‘Whose picture did you have on your wall?’ he said before he could stop himself. He felt her looking at him. ‘You know, actors, rock stars.’
‘Why?’
‘No, tell me.’
Brook hesitated. ‘A girl disappeared — two, actually. But I’m trying to get a feeling for this particular girl. Adele. She reminds me of you. Smart and beautiful.’
Brook heard the breath of her grin leave her mouth.
A moment’s thought later. ‘Leonardo Di Caprio. Brad Pitt. Johnny Depp.’
‘Are any of those dead?’
‘No, but I had a Jimi Hendrix poster. He OD-ed in 1970.’
‘Twenty years before you were born.’
‘Does that matter?’
‘I don’t know. I’m asking you.’
‘Who was this girl into?’
‘James Dean, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain.’
‘Jim Morrison was a poet as well as a singer.’
‘She writes poetry,’ said Brook.
‘What’s that like?’
‘We can’t find any. We think she has it with her. But what does it mean, having all these dead guys on your wall?’
‘Ah well,’ said Terri. ‘There’s love and then there’s perfect love.’
‘Perfect love?’
‘Sure. Perfect love is pure, immortal. It’s wonderful — but to have it, one of you has to be dead.’ The shadow of remembrance passed over her expression for a moment.
‘Like Romeo and Juliet.’
‘In a way, but they both died so it’s different.’
‘What does that mean?’
Terri took out two more cigarettes and passed one to her father. ‘It means that girls of a certain age are inevitably attracted to bad boys because they represent danger and an escape from the humdrum reality of their lives. But with a dead guy you idolise from afar, you can form a perfect and pure relationship.’
‘Go on,’ said Brook.
‘Well, the relationship is chaste for one thing. But that only increases the erotic possibilities — since they can never have bad sex. All the sex is idealised in the mind so it’s always wonderful.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It is. And, of course, the dead guy is always yours. He can never get married or desert you — no other girl in the universe can claim him.’
Brook nodded. ‘So she can never be rejected by her dead lover.’
