Phin nods. ‘I wanted to be close,’ he says to Libby, ‘for when you came back.’
Another Persian cat appears on the terrace. This one is horribly overweight and has bulging eyes. ‘Ah,’ says Phin, ‘here he is. Mr Attention-seeker. He’s heard I have visitors.’ He scoops up the gigantic cat and rests it on his lap. ‘This is Dick. I called him that because it was the only way I could make sure I got some.’
Libby laughs and takes a sip of wine. In another realm, this would constitute a brilliant night out: two handsome men, a warm summer’s night, a glamorous terrace overlooking the Thames, a glass of cold white wine. But in this realm, everything feels warped and vaguely threatening. Even the cats.
‘So,’ says Miller, ‘if you’re going to tell us everything about what really happened in Cheyne Walk, will it be off the record? Or can I be a journalist?’
‘You can be whatever you like.’
‘Can I record you?’ Miller reaches for his phone in his back pocket.
‘Sure,’ says Phin, his fingers raking through the thick fur on the cat’s back. ‘Why not? Nothing to lose any more. Go for it.’
Miller fiddles with his phone for a while. Libby notices his hands shaking slightly, betraying his excitement. She takes another large sip of wine, to calm her own nerves. Then Miller lays his phone on the table and asks, ‘So. You say I got everything wrong in my article. Can we start there?’
‘Certainly.’ The fat cat jumps down from Phin’s lap and he absent-mindedly brushes hairs from his trouser legs with the sides of his hands.
‘So, when I was researching the article, I came upon a man called David Thomsen. Thomsen with an E.’
‘Yes,’ says Phin. ‘My father.’
Libby sees a kind of triumphant relief flood across Miller’s face. He exhales and says, ‘And your mother – Sally?’
‘Yes, Sally is my mother.’
‘And Clemency …?’
‘My sister, yes.’
‘And the third body …’
‘Was my father.’ Phin nods. ‘Spot on. Such a shame you didn’t work all that out before you wrote your article.’
‘Well, I kind of did. But I couldn’t find any of you. I searched for months, without a trace. So, what happened to you all?’
‘Well, I know what happened to me. But I’m afraid I have no idea what happened to my mother and Clemency.’
‘You haven’t stayed in touch?’
‘Far from it. I haven’t seen them since I was a teenager. As far as I’m aware my mother lives in Cornwall and I’m going to assume that my sister does too.’ He shrugs and picks up his wine glass. ‘Penreath,’ he says.
Miller throws him a quizzical look.
‘I’m pretty sure she lives in Penreath.’
‘Oh,’ says Miller. ‘That’s great, thank you.’
‘You are very welcome,’ he replies. Then he rubs his hands together and says, ‘Ask me something else! Ask me what really happened on the night that everybody died.’
Miller smiles grimly and says, ‘OK. So, what really happened then? On the night that everyone died?’
Phin looks at both of them, mischievously, then leans in so that his mouth is directly over the microphone on Miller’s phone and says, ‘Well, for a start, it wasn’t suicide. It was murder.’
37
CHELSEA, 1991
Phin was gone for a week. I could hardly bear the pointlessness of everything without him around. With him in the house, every journey to the kitchen was ripe with the possibility of seeing his face, every morning began with the thought of potential encounters. Without him I was in a dark house full of strangers.
And then, a week later, I heard the front door slam and voices rising from the hallway, and there was Phin, Sally behind him, talking in urgent tones to David, who stood with his arms folded across his stomach.
‘I did not tell him to come. For God’s sake. That’s the last thing I would have done. It’s bad enough me overstaying my welcome at Toni’s. Let alone my teenage son.’
David said, ‘Why didn’t you call?’
‘He told me you knew he was coming! How was I supposed to know? And I called you now, didn’t I?’
‘I thought he’d been killed. We’ve been worried sick.’
‘We? Who the fuck is “we”?’
‘Us,’ said David. ‘All of us. And please don’t use that language in our home.’
‘Phin tells me you hit him.’
‘Oh, I did not hit him. For God’s sake. It was a slap.’
‘You slapped him?’
‘Good God, Sal, you have no idea, no idea at all what it’s like living with this child. He’s rude. He steals. He takes drugs. He disrespects the other housemates …’
Sally put her hand up between them. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘He’s a teenager. He’s a good kid, but he’s a teenager. It comes with the territory.’
‘Well, that might be true in your slightly pathetic view of the world. But the rest of the world would disagree. There’s no excuse for any of it. I would never have dreamed of behaving in such a way when I was his age. It’s diabolical.’
I saw Sally’s hand grip Phin’s shoulder. I saw her cheeks hollow. Then she said, ‘I’m looking at a flat tomorrow. In Hammersmith. Two bedrooms. We can start splitting access to the children.’
David looked sceptical. ‘How are you going to pay for it?’
‘I’ve been working, and saving.’
‘Well, we’ll see. But seriously, I don’t think Phin’s safe in your care. You’re too soft on him.’
‘I am not soft, David, I am loving. You might want to try it sometime.’
Sally stayed for a couple of hours. The atmosphere was toxic. Birdie didn’t come down from her room, but I heard her ostentatiously coughing and sighing and pacing. When Sally finally left, Birdie swept down the stairs and threw herself into David’s arms and whispered melodramatically, ‘Are you OK, my darling?’
David nodded stoically. ‘I’m fine.’
And then, looking straight at Phin, he narrowed his eyes and said the words that signalled the beginning of the nightmare real.
He said, ‘Things are going to change around here. You mark my words.’
The first thing that changed was that Phin was locked into his bedroom whenever David or Birdie were unable to monitor him. Somehow the adults colluded to persuade us that this was normal, explicable, sane, even. It’s for his own safety was the mantra.
He was allowed out to shower, to tend the garden, to help in the kitchen, for fiddle lessons, meals and exercise classes.
Since we already spent most of our free time in our rooms, this didn’t at first feel quite as sinister as it looks written down like this. It’s very odd, looking back, how accepting children can be of the oddest scenarios. But still, seeing it now, in black and white, it really is quite shocking.
I was sitting cross-legged on my bed one day shortly after Phin returned with his mother. I was reading a book that he’d lent me a few weeks earlier. I jumped at the sight of him because it was late evening and I’d assumed his door would be locked for the night.
‘How …?’ I began.
‘Justin brought me up after dinner,’ he said. ‘Accidently on purpose forgot to turn the lock properly.’
‘Good old Justin,’ I said. ‘What are you going to do? You won’t run away, will you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No point now. My mum’s moving into the flat next week and then I’m going to live with her. All this shit will be over.’
I felt as if he’d punched me in the throat. My voice cracked as I replied, ‘But your dad – will he let you?’
‘I don’t give a fuck whether he lets me or not. I’ll be sixteen in December. I want to live with my mum. There’s not much he can do about it.’
‘And what about Clemency?’
‘She’ll come too.’
‘Do you think your dad and Birdie will move out, too? Once you and Clemency are gone?’
He laughed harshly. ‘Er. No. No way. He’s here now. Feet under the table. Got everything going his way.’
A small silence drew out between us. Then Phin said, ‘Remember that night? When we went up on the roof? When we took the acid?’
I nodded effusively. How could I forget?
‘You know there’s another one. Still up there?’
‘Another …?’
‘Tab. Another tab of acid. The guy at Kensington Market gave me two. We only had one.’
I let this fact percolate within me for a moment.
‘Are you saying …?’
‘I guess. I mean, they all think I’m safely locked up. The girls are asleep. No one will come up now. You could go down and tell everyone you’re going to bed, then bring up a glass of water. I’ll wait here.’
Of course I did precisely as I was told.
We grabbed a blanket and put on jumpers. I went first through the hatch, Phin passed me the water and then followed up behind me. It was July but the air was damp and cool. Phin located the little bag where he’d left it in a plant pot. I didn’t really want to take it. I hoped that it had somehow lost its toxicity during the many months it had sat out there, subject to the elements. I hoped that a sudden gust of wind would blow it away. Or that Phin would put it back and say, ‘We don’t need that. We have each other.’
We brushed some dead leaves from the plastic chairs and sat side by side.