‘Yeah. You can have the old Datsun, I’ve just had it fixed up. Take it when you go if you want. I can give you all the papers. I’ll get some petrol for you this afternoon. Is that okay? It’s all I can do, Luce. It should take you some way away from here. I don’t know how far.’
‘No, that’s good. Don’t worry.’
‘I’ll talk to Mel about Dad for you,’ he said.
They did not seem to know what else to say to each other. As they sat in silence, there was a knock on the back door.
‘That’s the quacktor,’ Stevie said, ‘he said he’d be early.’
‘Can I take the paper?’
‘Yeah, take it with you when you go,’ he said, not looking at her.
‘Yeah, I will,’ she said, ‘I’ll get rid of it for you.’
Stephen ushered the doctor, a man of about thirty-five, into the kitchen just as Lucy was gathering up her packets of cigarettes.
‘Good morning,’ he said, glancing at them. ‘They’re very bad for you, you know. You don’t want to end up like your father.’
Who gives a shit, Lucy thought, looking at him in disbelief. She did not bother to reply and walked out.
In her room, Lucy turned the newspaper pages, looking over the reproductions of her website, photographs of Greg, pictures of the scene of the shooting. She read paragraphs which described her in ways she did not recognise as herself. She was not cruel, she felt this deeply.
What were the magic words that would make the newspaper people and the radio announcers understand what she had really tried to do?
These thoughts occupied her until she came across a photograph in the paper, not of herself or Greg, but of someone she nonetheless recognised. A face that she knew well but from a different place. She sat looking at it for some moments before opening up her computer, logging on and going out onto the Net. After she found what she was looking for, she felt what was almost a sense of relief, a final letting go of everything. As Greg had said to her often enough, nothing matters.
Are you out there, Turtle?
Lucy did not type anything for a few moments.
I’m here, I’m always here for you. Or I was. Turtle, you said that you never lied to me. That you never have and you never will.
I saw a picture in the paper today. It’s the policeman who’s looking for me. And I thought, I know who that is. That’s your father, isn’t it?
I know who he is because I’ve looked at his picture, all your family’s pictures. I used to look at them for hours and think, Gee, I wish they were mine. You said he really looked after you. You said he loved you. And I thought, wouldn’t that be nice. People who did that. And then I read the paper today and there he is. You never said that’s what he did. You never said he was a pig.
So when you’re telling me that I should go to the police, you’re saying that because it’s good for him. He gets what he wants. And you’re doing that for him. I don’t know if it’s any good for me, but it’s good for him.
I don’t believe you. You tell lies like everyone else. People tell you lies and then they laugh at you behind your back. And you’re a liar, Turtle. You lie like everyone else does. You just lie. Lie like a dog.
Do you know what they’re saying about me in the paper? That I’m a really cruel person. I like killing people. I like seeing blood. They had this poll — they asked people what they thought should happen to me and all these people said they thought I ought to be shot too.
Every day I think about what I did. I didn’t do it for fun. I did it because I had to. Is that what your father thinks I am?
There was a brief hesitation.
What difference does that make? You’ve been telling me one thing, and maybe you’ve been telling him something else as well, and all the time you’ve got some other reason for what you’re saying to both of us.
No. Where I go and what I do, that’s my choice. And if I end up dead, so what? No one’s going to care. You’re deciding things for me and you can’t do that.
Nothing that’s possible, but that doesn’t matter. I wanted to say goodbye, that’s all.
I almost listened to you. But you were lying to me.
She was gone, closing down, logging out. She was floating in space, there was nothing to anchor her, only the next step, the next action.
She picked up the phone and rang Graeme. As she did, she thought that he had no power over her any more, the next action was just whatever game the two of them were playing at the time. He answered his phone almost immediately.
‘Hi, Graeme,’ she said. ‘Are you okay to talk?’
‘Lucy. Yes, I am. Where have you been? You’ve kept me waiting.
I’ve been here with Greg for hours.’
‘We’re all waiting for something. Last time I talked to you, you were waiting for the end of the world, weren’t you? How are you?’
‘I am fine, Lucy. I am very well indeed and I’m very glad to hear you are in such good spirits. I’ve got someone here you want to talk to. Just as you’ve asked.’
There was shuffling as the phone was passed over.
‘Hi, Luce.’
‘Hi there, Greg. How are you?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yeah, I am, Luce,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of okay at the moment.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not? You said it was sort of okay.’
‘Yeah. But only sort of. I’ve got to go now.’
‘No. I — ’
The preacher came back on. Lucy listened to his voice with irritation. ‘It’s time we got together,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a car but there’s a couple of things I’ve got to do here. Tomorrow at the latest. Tomorrow night. Okay?’
