Believing the Lie

in the company of Alatea Fairclough.

“What d’you mean ‘nothing’?” had been Zed’s demand.

She’d said the woman — Lucy Keverne was her name — and Alatea had gone to see a specialist at the university about “female troubles.” They were Lucy’s “female troubles,” evidently, and Alatea had accompanied her as a friend.

“Shit,” he’d muttered. “That’s bloody nowhere, isn’t it?”

“It does put us back to square one,” she replied.

No, he thought. It put her back to square one. It put him in danger of losing his job.

He found that he wanted to talk to Yaffa. She was wise, and if anyone was going to be able to suggest how he could get himself out of this mess and onto a story that Rodney Aronson would find a suitable return for the money invested by The Source, it was going to be Yaffa.

So he rang her. When he heard her voice, he felt nearly overcome with relief. He said, “Morning, darling.”

She said, “Zed, hello,” and, “Mama Benjamin, it’s our lovely man ringing,” to tell him Susanna was somewhere nearby. “I miss you, dearest.” And she laughed at something Susanna said in the distance. She said, “Mama Benjamin tells me to stop trying to ensnare her son. He is an uncatchable bachelor, she tells me. Is that true?”

“Not if you’re trying to do the catching,” he replied. “I’ve never had bait I wanted to bite so badly.”

“You wicked boy!” And to the side, “No, no, Mama Benjamin. I will absolutely not tell you what your son is saying. I will say that he’s making me a bit faint, though.” And to Zed, “You are, you know. I’m quite light-headed.”

“Well, good thing it’s not your head I’m interested in.”

She laughed. Then she said in a completely altered voice, “Ah. She’s gone into the loo. We’re safe. How are you, Zed?”

He found he wasn’t ready for the shift from Yaffa the Putative Lover to Yaffa the Co-conspirator. He said, “Missing you, Yaf. I wish you were with me.”

“Let me help you from a distance. I’m happy to do that.”

For an insane moment, Zed thought she was actually suggesting phone sex, and in his present state, that would have been a welcome diversion. But then she said, “Are you close to the information you need? You must be worried about the story.”

That brought him round, cold water on his ardour. He said with a groan, “That bloody story.” He told her where he was with it. He told her everything, as he’d been doing all along. And as she’d been doing all along, she listened. He concluded with, “So there’s sod-all to report on. I could massage the facts and write that Scotland Yard’s up here investigating Nick Fairclough due to the untimely and suspicious death of his cousin, who happened to hold the purse strings of Fairclough Industries, and we all know what that means, don’t we, gentle readers? But the truth of the matter happens to be that Scotland Yard look like they’re investigating Alatea Fairclough and getting about as far with her as I’ve got with her husband. We’re in the same position, the Met and I. The only difference is this detective can toddle back to London and give the high-ups the all-clear, but if I return without a story, I’m done for.” He heard his tone as he concluded and he said hastily, “Sorry. I’m whingeing a bit.”

“Zed, you can whinge all you need to.”

“Ta, Yaf. You’re… well you’re just how you are.”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Thank you, I think. Now let us put our heads together. When one door closes, another opens.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning perhaps it’s time you did what you were intended to do. You’re a poet, Zed, not a tabloid journalist. Remaining one is going to bleed your soul of its creative power. It’s time for you to write your poetry.”

“No one supports himself on his poetry.” Zed laughed self-derisively. “Look at me. I’m twenty-five years old and I’m living with my mum. I can’t even support myself as a reporter, for the love of God.”

“Ah, Zed. Don’t talk this way. You need only someone to believe in you. I believe in you.”

“Bloody lot of good that does me. You’re going back to Tel Aviv.”

There was a silence at the other end. Into it came the indication of another phone call to Zed’s mobile. He said, “Yaffa? You still there?”

“Oh yes. I’m here,” she said.

The other call was insistent. Rodney, probably. It was close to the time he had to face the music. He said, “Yaffa, I’ve got another call. I probably should — ”

“I don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I don’t even need to. You think about that, Zed.” Then she rang off.

For a moment he stared at nothing at all. Then he took the other call.

It was the Scotland Yard detective. She said, “I’m going to speak to this woman in Lancaster again. There’s more here than meets the eye. It’s time you and I worked together to twist her arm.”

BARROW-IN-FURNESS AND GRANGE-OVER-SANDS CUMBRIA

One of the last people Manette expected to see turn up on the premises of Fairclough Industries was Kaveh Mehran. As far as she could recall, he’d never been there before. Ian had certainly never taken him round for formal introductions, and Kaveh hadn’t come on his own expecting to be introduced. Nearly everyone knew, of course, that Ian had walked out on his marriage because of a young man. But that was the extent of it. So when Kaveh was shown into her office, she blinked in confusion before she realised he’d probably come to collect Ian’s personal belongings. It needed to be done and no one had yet thought about doing it.

His reason for showing up at the firm, however, turned out to be somewhat different. Tim was missing. He’d jumped out of Kaveh’s car on the previous morning on the way to school, and he’d not returned home last night.

Manette said, “Did something happen? Why did he jump out of your car? Did he go to school? Did you phone the school?”

The school, Kaveh said, had phoned the house yesterday. Tim was absent, and when one of the day pupils didn’t turn up, the school rang the home because… well, because of the sort of school it was, if Manette knew what he meant.

Well, of course she bloody knew what he meant. The whole family knew what Margaret Fox School was all about. It was hardly a secret.

Kaveh then said that he’d driven the route from Bryanbarrow to Margaret Fox School that morning to see if Tim was, perhaps, hitchhiking there. On the way, he’d stopped in Great Urswick on the chance that Tim had gone to Manette’s home to spend the night or was holed up somewhere on her property without her knowledge. He’d stopped at the school next. And now he was here. Could Tim be here?

“Here?” Manette asked. “D’you mean in the factory? Of course he’s not here. What would he be doing here?”

“Have you seen him at all? Has he phoned? For obvious reasons, I haven’t checked with Niamh.” Kaveh had the grace to look uncomfortable, but Manette knew there was something rather large and important that he wasn’t saying.

“I’ve not heard from him. And he’s not been in Great Urswick. Why’d he jump out of your car?”

Kaveh looked over his shoulder, as if he wanted to close the door to her office. This alone made Manette gird herself for something she wasn’t going to want to hear.

He said, “I think he overheard a conversation I was having with George Cowley.”

“The farmer? What on earth…?”

“It was about the future, the farm. I expect you know Cowley’s wanted the farm for himself.”