carried with him all along.
Ellie was lost. Daniel was too. In failing one, Leo had sacrificed them both.
23
24
The morning, on any other day, would have seemed a blessing. The sun sat bold in a cloudless sky, softening the breeze and warming the colours of the breaking season. A new beginning, was how a churchman had put it in his thought for the day: ‘The morning after the nightmare before.’ And it was indeed as though the city, the country, sensed it had been purged; rinsed clean of something distasteful.
The effect, mercifully, did not seep beyond the doors of the detention centre. The mood within seemed more closely to match Leo’s own, though partly this may have been down to the pall Leo knew he carried with him. He saw it – had seen it since Ellie had been taken – cast back at him by everyone he encountered. He only had to enter a room and the light within would immediately seem to dim.
He waited beside the security desk, the two guards on the other side of the counter conspicuously evading a collision of eyes. They were intimidated, Leo realised. By his presence. By the absence his presence brought home.
He coughed and one of the security guards squirmed.
‘Mr Curtice.’
Leo raised his head. Bobby had appeared through a doorway. He edged closer, looking the way Leo felt whenever he was forced into conversation with one of his daughter’s classmates.
Had felt.
‘I wasn’t expecting you. Did you call? Nobody mentioned…’ Bobby exchanged glances with the men on the desk, who said, without speaking, don’t look at me.
‘No,’ Leo said. ‘Sorry. I should have. I wasn’t sure I was coming, to be honest. Not until I got here.’ Which did nothing to set anyone at ease.
‘Daniel is… I mean, I assume that’s why you’re…’
‘Will he see me?’
‘I think… I think he was expecting you sooner.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. But will he see me now?’
Bobby winced. ‘Look, Mr Curtice. Leo. I don’t know whether that’s such a good idea.’
‘Please,’ Leo said. ‘I’d like to talk to him.’
Bobby started to shake his head but Leo spoke before the gesture could gather momentum.
‘Please. Just ask him. Can’t you? I only want to explain. That’s all. Please.’
Once again Bobby looked towards his colleagues. Expressionless, curious, they peered back; and Bobby, eventually, sighed.
‘Wait here.’
It was a mistake. That much was clear from the outset.
Daniel had agreed to see him but not in his room. There was significance, clearly, in the stipulation, no doubt less obscure to a twelve-year-old mind than to Leo’s. When Leo entered the visitation room, however, all ambiguity fell away. He was not welcome. Whatever he had come here to say, Daniel was not interested in hearing it.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Daniel. Listen. I know I’m probably the last person you—’
‘Leave me alone! Do you hear? That’s all I’ve got to say. That’s the only reason I told them to let you in.’ He was on his feet, his hands feeble-looking bundles at his side. He turned to Garrie, who was guarding the whitewashed wall at the back of the room. ‘You can kick him out now. We’re done.’
Garrie moved but only fractionally.
‘Wait.’ Leo held up a hand. ‘Please. I’m only asking for a minute. That’s all. Just one more minute.’
‘You lied. I hate you. Your mate too. You’re all liars!’
Daniel’s words made Leo flinch. Not the part about him being a liar: he had expected that. It was, rather, the boy’s expression of hate that struck him. Ellie had once told Leo the same thing – months ago, now; a lifetime, it felt like – and it cut, this time, just as precisely.
‘You’re right,’ Leo said. ‘I let you down.’ Daniel was standing beside the table and Leo edged to within touching distance of the adjacent chair. It was the only thing between them in a room that was for the most part empty space. ‘But I didn’t lie, Daniel. Even Terry: he didn’t lie. We were wrong, that’s all. We were both wrong.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Daniel backed slightly away. ‘You said you’d help me!’
‘I wanted to! We both did. I thought I could but…’ But what? But no one could have? How to convey to a twelve-year-old that hate, often, trumps humanity? That justice, sometimes, is blind, deaf, dumb. ‘I was wrong,’ Leo said. He reached a hand and Daniel permitted it to settle on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m really desperately sorry.’
The boy jerked away, lashing out at Leo’s arm. There were tears budding in Daniel’s eyes.
‘Why did you go? If you’re so sorry, why did you leave me in the first place?’
Leo, for a moment, floundered. He didn’t know. He had assumed that Daniel would know.
‘Did Terry not tell you?’
Daniel shook his head, more than was necessary to convey an answer. His mind, in that instant, seemed as ragged as his appearance implied. His clothes were dishevelled, his eyes raw and his hair a pillow-chafed mess. All, probably, much like Leo’s.
‘He said you were on leave or something. On holiday!’
‘What? No!’ Again Leo reached, to stop Daniel edging back, but the boy shrugged him off. ‘It was my daughter. She was… She needed me. She needed my help.’
‘So did I!’
‘I know but Ellie, she…’ You killed her, Daniel. Me and you together. ‘I would have been here. I promise. I tried but…’ But it would have made no difference. It would have been longer, harder, the disappointment all the greater. But the outcome would have been the same.
Leo let his head drop. He tucked his fingers into his hair.
‘Did you see?’ said Daniel, after a moment. ‘The papers. I’m in all of them! That’s what they told me. Every one of them.’
Slowly, Leo nodded. He slid a hand across his mouth. ‘I know,’ he said. He recovered himself; tried to. ‘But listen to me. Daniel? Are you listening?’
The boy made a noise: why should I listen to you? But he fell silent.
‘It will pass. I promise you. The coverage, the outcry, everything you’re feeling now: things will settle down. I prom—’
‘Stop! I don’t wanna hear your promising! All you ever do is promise and it always turns out to be a lie!’
Which was unfair. He had never promised, not once. He said he would try, that was all.
He had never said the words. That was the only difference. The promise had been inferred.
‘Have they… You know they’ll protect you, don’t you? And later… after… You’ll have a new start. A new
