Chapter Twenty-One
Friday
The house felt different without Jeremythere. Aside from his physical presence, there was something clearlymissing. Quite what that something was, Morton wasn’t sure. He’dtaken the plane as planned, back to Cyprus, back to his maddening vocation inthe military. Morton was still having trouble reconciling that particularcareer choice with his gay brother.
‘God, look atthe time,’ Juliette said, thrusting her finger towards the clock above thefireplace.
‘Damn it,’Morton said. They were supposed to collect his father from hospitalfifteen minutes ago. The house needed to be perfect for him. Everything in its place. It also needed not to look like they’d beensquatting there for the last couple of weeks, news of which he’d yet to breakto his father. Morton had to give Jeremy his due, he’d certainly gone totown in cleaning and tidying the house in preparation for his arrival. He’d make someone a lovely husband one day. And vice versahopefully. There was just one last thing to do. ‘I’ll be twominutes.’ Morton hurried up the stairs, grabbed the new pair of NationalTrust binoculars that he’d purchased from Mote Ridge and pulled open his father’swardrobe. In his clumsy haste, and having only minimal movement in hisfingers, Morton upset the box of junk in which he was trying to insert thebinoculars.
‘Bloody hell,’he muttered. Why now, of all times? His father was going tobe in a foul mood as it was. ‘Can you give me a hand, please?’ he called.
When Julietteentered the room, he stood back and allowed her to scoop up all of the rubbishand put it back inside the box, including the National Trust binoculars.
‘Stop!’ Mortonyelled, with unnecessary drama.
Juliette lookedperplexed. ‘What?’ She looked down at the scrap of torn newspaper;yellowed, crinkled, dated December 1973, and knew instantly.
It was anarchetypal e-fit criminal: swept over dark hair, menacing, deathly eyes, thickblack moustache and long sideburns.
His real, bonefide biological father.
Say hello toDaddy.
Theyscrutinised the photo. The face that peered out bore no atavisticresemblance to Morton, of that he was sure. Definitely not the kind ofphoto he’d be putting in his wallet anytime soon.
Juliette readthe story beneath accompanying the e-fit. ‘This is the suspect whompolice want to talk to after a teenage girl was raped last weekend. Thecasually-dressed man lured his victim to a secluded spot in the town centreafter befriending her during the evening of Saturday 15thDecember. The attack occurred around 10 p.m. close to the Bell andWhistle pub. Detectives are appealing to the public to help catch the sexpredator.’ She finished reading and looked at Morton. He knew thatshe was staring at him but he couldn’t take his eyes off the e-fit.
His father.
No! Nothis father; his father was in hospital waiting for him to collect him, moaningand groaning to the nurse and doctors no doubt about how incapable he was.
‘What do youwant me to do?’ Juliette asked uncertainly, the piece of paper hanging limplyin her hand.
‘Put it allback,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and bring Dad home.’
Biography:
NathanDylan Goodwin was born and raised in Hastings, East Sussex. Schooled in thetown, he then completed a Bachelor of Arts degree in Radio, Film andTelevision, followed by a Master of Arts Degree in Creative Writing atCanterbury Christ Church University. He has completed a number of successfullocal history books about Hastings; other interests include reading, writing,film, photography, genealogy and travelling.
Books byNathan Dylan Goodwin:
Non-fiction:
Hastings at War 1939-1945 (2005)
Hastings Wartime Memories and Photographs (2008)
Hastings & St Leonards Through Time (2010)
Around Battle Through Time (2012)
Fiction(The Forensic Genealogist series):
Hidingthe Past (2013)
TheLost Ancestor (2014)
TheOrange Lilies (2014)– A Morton Farrier novella
Furtherinformation:
www.nathandylangoodwin.com
Follow me onTwitter: @nathangoodwin76
Like me onFacebook: www.facebook.com/nathandylangoodwin
