‘Let’s just get on with this.’ Blake sat on the join between the cushions on the sofa and aimed his knees at ten and two. ‘Shall we?’
Karen waited for Blake’s wife to decide for herself, then settled, when Stephanie shook her head, on the armchair beside her.
‘I was hoping,’ Karen said, impartially alternating eye contact, ‘for a little background. I invited you here because I thought, by talking to you, I might glean some insight into—’
But she need not have bothered with the rehearsals.
‘I have a living to earn,’ Blake interrupted. ‘Steph here has soaps to watch. What is it you want us to tell you?’
‘Well,’ Karen said, ‘I’m not sure exactly. Which is why I thought it important that we should talk. The three of us.’ She endeavoured, with a look, to include Stephanie.
‘Talk. Always bloody talk. That’s all any of you lot seem to do.’
‘Us lot, Mr Blake? Who do you mean exactly?’
Blake flicked a hand. ‘Curtice. Social services. The do-gooders from that charity that keeps bugging us, behaving like we’re the bloody victims. And doctors. Don’t get me started on doctors. God knows we’ve seen enough of them over the years to know they’re all full of piss and air.’
Karen said nothing. She watched.
‘This isn’t easy, you know.’ Blake’s tone was a challenge. ‘The waiting. The moving out, the moving in. The so-called bloody protection. And Steph here – she’s completely messed up about Daniel.’
Blake did not look at his wife but Karen did.
‘I’m upset,’ Stephanie said. ‘That’s all Vince means. It’s Danny, obviously, but it’s other things too.’
‘She means her mates.
‘And you, Mr Blake? Are you upset?’
‘Course I am. But he’s not my son, is he? It’s different, isn’t it? I don’t feel so constantly bloody guilty all the time. That’s Steph’s trouble. She’s acting like she’s the one who killed that girl, like it’s her fault Daniel—’
‘Vince. Don’t.’
Blake gave Karen a look: you see what I mean? He patted himself down and located his packet of cigarettes.
‘I’d like, if I may,’ said Karen after a pause, ‘to discuss Daniel’s home life. His childhood. I’d like to establish a little background.’
‘What’s the point?’ said Blake. ‘He’s not mad, he’s not retarded – that’s what you told Curtice. He’s just screwed up. Right? So he pleads guilty. What choice does he have? How is talking about his childhood gonna change anything?’
‘You want to help him, Mr Blake, don’t you? You want Daniel to understand why he did what he did?’
‘He has to be guilty first. That’s what I read. No one can help him till he tells them he’s guilty.’ Blake turned aside, his voice dwindling into a mutter. ‘Which, the way I see it, he already has.’ He turned back to face Karen. He held up his cigarettes. ‘You’re gonna tell me I can’t smoke in here, aren’t you?’
Karen winced. ‘Sorry.’
Blake gave a sniff. He tucked the packet of cigarettes back into his shirt pocket.
‘We want to help.’
Karen turned to face Stephanie.
‘Of course we want to help. We just don’t see how we can. That’s part of the problem. That’s the reason we’re finding this so hard.’
Karen nodded. ‘I understand. I really do. We all want what’s best for Daniel and the information you give me should help us establish exactly what that might be.’
‘Why are you asking?’ said Blake. ‘That’s what I want to know. What did Daniel tell you? I mean, if he’s trying to sell you some sob story, blame everything that’s happened on Steph…’
‘Not at all. That’s not at all why I invited you here. When I met with Daniel he was scared, above all. He was confused. He seemed to struggle with his family history and I thought maybe you could help me fill in some of the blanks.’ Karen hesitated, then added, ‘The truth is, I would not, in normal circumstances, be meeting with you both. But Leo and I go back a while and… well… I was hoping, I will admit, to be involved with Daniel’s rehabilitation. Depending on the outcome of the case, of course.’
Blake snorted. ‘So you’re looking for a gig. That’s what this is about. You’re looking for freaks to dissect, to write about in some study.’
‘I want to help, Mr Blake. Vincent. May I call you Vincent? I’m genuinely only interested in doing what I can to help your stepson.’
Again Blake sniffed. He made a face that implied it did not matter now what Karen said: he had her number.
It was Stephanie who broke the silence. ‘How can we help? What is it that you want to know?’
Karen regarded each of them in turn. She spoke to Blake. ‘What you said before, about Daniel blaming your wife. What did you mean by that?’
‘What? Nothing. It’s what kids do, isn’t it? It’s what everyone does, all the bloody time. It’s Mummy’s fault. It’s Daddy’s. It’s anyone’s fault but my own.’ Blake looked at his wife looking blankly back at him. ‘Back me up, Steph, for Christ’s sake. You of all people know exactly what I’m talking about.’
Stephanie’s jaw tightened.
‘You think he blames you for something?’ Karen, this time, addressed Stephanie. It was Blake, nevertheless, who answered.
‘I just said. Didn’t I? It’s what kids do. It’s what everyone does. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ He began muttering again, something about something being exactly the type of thing he was talking about.
Karen watched him for a moment. She sighed. ‘You can smoke, Vincent. It’s fine. I’ll open a window.’ She offered Blake a smile.
His eyes narrowed. He wrapped his arms across his chest and reclined on the sofa. Karen looked to her lap.
‘Can I?’
Karen raised her head. Stephanie pointed to her handbag.
‘Of course,’ said Karen. ‘Go ahead.’ She stood and moved to the window and struggled with the sash until it was ajar. She checked around her, then crossed to her desk and tipped some pens from a mug. She set the empty mug on the arm of Stephanie’s chair, and one of the pens and a notepad beside her own seat. Stephanie exhaled towards the window but the draught nudged the smoke back the way it came.
‘You were asking about Daniel’s childhood,’ said Stephanie once Karen was seated. ‘About his home life.’
Blake was glaring at his wife, at the cigarette dangling from her hand.
‘That’s right,’ Karen said. ‘I wondered…’ She coughed. Stephanie moved her hand, her cigarette, across her body. ‘I wondered about the kind of things he might have been exposed to,’ Karen continued. ‘This isn’t about blame, you understand. I’m not here to judge anyone. But, well…’ She swallowed. ‘Violence, for instance. Physical harm. Vincent is your second husband, Stephanie. May I ask why your first marriage ended?’
‘It ended cos Frank walked out on her. That’s why it ended. Steph would still be clinging to that loser if he hadn’t shaken her off.’
Karen waited for Stephanie to answer.
‘He didn’t hit me, if that’s what you mean.’ Stephanie focused on her cigarette, tapping it repeatedly over the makeshift ashtray even though the ash had already fallen.
‘And Daniel? What was his relationship like with Daniel?’
Stephanie shrugged. She ground out her cigarette awkwardly against the inside of the mug and started fishing right away for another. ‘Normal,’ she said. ‘I suppose. Not like television normal, like kicking a ball to each other in the park, but normal in the neighbourhood we lived in.’
‘Did he ever hit Daniel? Or…’
‘No. I mean, not really. He’d give him a tap now and then, I suppose. Mostly when he deserved it. He was a drinker so sometimes he hit him harder than he meant to but he never hurt him. Not properly. He was always
