Ascension Day

blonde hair hinting at depth and fire beneath. And Jean-Marie had been right — he did like her, she was far from the spoilt rich brat he’d feared. Though ‘cute’ was without doubt too lightweight, didn’t embrace her strong savvy streak. Jac wondered for a moment that if she didn’t have a boyfriend and if he didn’t have his thoughts filled with the girl next door — since setting the date, he’d kept running through mental scenarios of how it might go — whether anything might have developed between them.

But they were past that point now, and almost two hours later when they’d exchanged more likes and wants and stories about family and work and put half the world to rights — she was again reaching that hand across the table, this time to set in stone how their relationship would be in the future.

‘Friends?’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, friends.’

She said that she’d like to see him again and he nodded.

‘Yes, I’d like that too.’ Though with the main reason for them continuing to see each other gone, he doubted that either of them would keep to it.

Although, two consolations, Jac thought: he’d had an enjoyable evening when he’d feared originally it might be a nightmare, and in part it would be like a dry-run for his date the night after next, would help ease his nerves.

But it wasn’t, and it didn’t.

Watching the reaction in Francine Durrant’s eyes as Jac explained his dilemma with her husband was like viewing one of those old-fashioned, jolting-frame movies: pain, regret, fear, sadness, smiles and triumph — though the last were rarer, fleeting seconds, and always tinged with irony, as if they had no place amongst such an overriding swamp of regret and sadness. The past thirteen years of her life with Durrant condensed into a rapid succession of flicker-frames mirrored through her eyes.

The home she shared with her partner was a small wood-framed bungalow in a sector of the Upper Ninth Ward close to Bywater clinging to middle-classdom by its fingernails, with half-derelict project complexes and shotgun houses only three blocks away. Green-painted shutters and a mass of terracotta-potted-plants on its front veranda assisted that clinging; though perhaps it was just to brighten its facade and make it more homely.

Since the one photo Jac had seen of Francine in Durrant’s file, taken at their wedding, she’d aged well. Maybe she’d gone up a dress size from an eight to a ten, with a few faint lines now around her eyes, and her wavy hair was tinged lighter and redder now, stronger contrast against her coffee-light-on-the-cream skin tone — but otherwise, little change; except perhaps that her open smile from then was now far tighter, more constrained. Although possibly that had more to do with his visit and the subject being discussed. Maybe as soon as he left, her old easy smile would return.

As he got to the part about the e-mails from their son, Joshua, her mouth became tighter still and she could hardly bear for him to see her reaction any more. She looked down and away, chewing at her bottom lip. When he finally finished, she was slow in looking back up at him.

‘And who told you all of this? Larry himself?’

‘No, he was pretty close-mouthed and defensive when I started asking about family. It came from his close prison buddy, Roddy Rodriguez.’

She smiled crookedly. ‘Figures. He was pretty close-mouthed during our marriage, too. Rarely told me what he was up to.’ The darker flicker-frames were quickly back again. ‘…Including that night he was at the Roche woman’s house.’

Jac reached a hand towards her, but fell a few inches short of actual physical contact. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Durrant. I know how difficult this is for you. And if there was any other way of doing this without coming here to see you, believe me…’

‘It’s okay.’ She forced the smile back after a second, but it was more laconic and bitter now. ‘That was actually one of the biggest sources of argument between us, you know: Larry’s reluctance to communicate openly — along with the drink, the drugs, the shooting pool and card nights when I suspected he was with other women and I would start phoning round his friends.’ She shook her head. ‘The “Stone Mountain” they used to call him when he was boxing. Not because he was particularly big, he was just light-heavyweight, or could take a lot of punches — but because he never said much. Never gave away what he was feeling inside.’ She clamped one hand to her breast. ‘And maybe that’s okay when you’re preparing for a boxing match and want to appear like a lump of stone, immovable, to your opponent — but let me tell you, Mr McElroy, it’s pretty hard to take day in, day out in a marriage.’

‘I know. I understand,’ Jac said, although he had little idea. He was keen to get her back on track. Not just because the more maudlin she became, wallowing in her husband’s failings, the harder it might be to gain her co- operation — but because of time: twenty-five, thirty minutes before her partner came home, she’d said. Unless he could keep her away from Memory Lane, he’d never get what he wanted in time. He took a fresh breath. ‘It isn’t my intention to get young Joshua into trouble here — but did you know about the e-mails he was sending to his father in prison?’

She cast her eyes down for a second, as if weighing up the implications of her answer. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. Or rather my partner did — he was first to discover them on the computer and told me.’

‘And was it you that stopped Joshua sending more e-mails, or did he decide to stop of his own accord?’

She forced a pained smile. ‘More of a mutual decision, really. Between me, my partner Frank, and Joshua.’

‘I see.’ Jac could just imagine what say Joshua had on the issue with the combined weight of his mother and stepfather ganged up against him.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Francine said, catching his look. ‘And at times there’s been issues between Frank and Joshua — particularly where Larry was thought to have had an influence. But this is one occasion where I was right behind Frank. We might try at times to treat Josh like the little man of the house, but he’s still only twelve, Mr McElroy.’ She met his eyes challengingly for a moment before looking down. ‘E-mails back and forth, back and forth… right up until… until.’ Her voice cracked slightly and she bit at her lip as she looked up again. ‘How long is it now that my Larry has left? Thirty-six, thirty-seven days? Just enough time for Josh to get close again to his father, huh? Real close. Close enough for him to really feel and know just what’s happening to him. Can you imagine how that’s going to crush the boy? The first time he’s really got close to his father, and the next minute…’ Francine snapped her fingers. ‘He’s gone. Is that what you want, Mr McElroy?’

‘No, no.’ Jac shook his head. ‘That’s what we’re trying to avoid. That’s the whole point of this clemency plea now. To hopefully get the Governor to commute the sentence.’

‘And what if you don’t succeed, Mr McElroy? And we let young Josh get sucked into this in the hope of keeping his father alive — only for it to fail. And, job well done, he gets close enough to give his father real hope to want to live again. That closeness and hope, that’s all going to get to the boy, too.’ Francine grimaced tautly. ‘Make him do this, and the loss of his father is going to hit him like a freight train.’

‘It’s going to hit the boy hard anyway, Mrs Durrant.’

She snorted. ‘Yeah, but it’s going to be ten times harder if we get Josh close and build up his hopes that his father might actually live.’

When Jac had phoned Francine Durrant earlier, she’d initially refused to see him, saying that she had a new man and new life now. ‘And that old life always drags us back, makes our new life more difficult to get on with. Even more so from my new partner’s point of view — he won’t stand for it for a minute.’ He’d had to push hard to get the meeting, tell her about her husband’s death-wish and its apparent link to lack of contact with Joshua. ‘So while I understand your resentment, if it goes as far as actually wanting to see Larry die — then, fine, don’t see me.’ Hearing Francine Durrant’s heavy sigh, her conscience wrestling with the demons that had no doubt already ripped her apart during these past eleven years — Jac had felt guilty using the sledgehammer approach. But now, he realized, it might take more of the same to finally shift her stance.

‘I take your point, Mrs Durrant. It’s not ideal to have Josh get close at this juncture. But then probably anything he does at this stage is going to be far from ideal. If he cuts himself off from his father and has little contact — do you think he’s going to feel any better?’ Jac’s eyes searched hers for a moment before she looked down. Possible concession. ‘Probably not. In fact, he might even feel worse — knowing that he purposely kept his distance and had no contact in those vital final weeks of his father’s life.’