Chapter 43
The opening night of The Arboretum Affair was an outstanding success. Ali, as Tina, Queen of the Sylphs, led her army of fleet-footed sylphs into battle against a hoard of marauding trolls. Jake had never been interested in mythical creatures when he was a child but this lack of knowledge did not prevent him believing that sylphs wore more than strategically placed leaves when they were flitting between trees. He was so shocked to see Ali naked on stage, or as naked as made no difference, that he lost all sense of the play within the first few minutes. During the interval the woman next to him explained that the misshapen trees represented the threatened universe, the trolls rampaging through the woods were ruthless developers and the sylphs symbolised the transient nature of innocence.
Backstage in her dressing room, after multiple encores, Ali was ecstatic. Up close he realised that the sylphs were covered in flesh-coloured netting woven with a filigree of woodland plants but this did nothing to lessen his shock. He hated Ali’s artistic director on sight. This hatred was subjective and based on the fact that Mark Brewer was wearing a tuxedo while his daughter – who used to scream like a barn owl if anyone accidently opened the door of the bathroom while she was occupying it – was dressed in a body stocking.
To his relief, Ali emerged from the theatre fully clothed.
‘We’re going to Milly’s to celebrate.’ Christine, her flatmate and one of the sylphs, linked Jake’s arm. ‘You must come with us.’
‘Is that what you want?’ he asked Ali.
‘Suit yourself, Dad.’ She shrugged and walked ahead with her director. Had she sensed Jake’s disapproval despite his best efforts to sound enthusiastic about her performance?
In Milly’s, a basement nightclub close to the theatre, champagne corks popped as Mark Brewer toasted the success of The Arboretum Affair.
‘What’s wrong, Ali?’ He sat beside her. ‘Are you angry with me about something?’
‘Tell me your honest opinion of the play,’ she said.
‘You were brilliant, darling.’
‘I know that. I’m asking you about Mark’s play.’
Unmitigated bilge, he wanted to say but, wisely, kept this opinion to himself. ‘It was different… interesting.’
‘I knew you hated it.’
‘I don’t hate it. It’s just…’ He hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Go on, Dad. Say it.’
‘Why can’t the sylphs wear tunics or frocks?’
Her fine, dark eyebrows lifted in an arch she had inherited from her grandmother. ‘Why not a burka? Would that satisfy you? God! You’re so old-fashioned. Your girlfriend was far more complimentary when she came backstage after the preview last night.’
‘My what?’
‘You heard.’ She tossed her black hair over her shoulders and glowered at him. ‘She apologised because she couldn’t come tonight. Apparently, you were hoping to introduce us. How could you have even considered bringing her with you tonight of all nights?’
He put the champagne glass down on the table, afraid the slender stem would snap in his hand. ‘What else did she say?’
‘That I’d beautiful fingers. Expressive, like a musician’s.’ She turned her hands over and stared at them. ‘I know you have to move on, Dad. But I’m not ready to meet Mum’s replacement… and certainly not on a special occasion like this. Tell her to stay out of my life.’
‘She’s not in my life, Ali. She was for a while but not now.’
‘Are you telling me she was lying?’
‘Yes. She’s angry with me. This is her way of hitting back.’
‘I don’t understand. She was so friendly. Why would she pretend like that?’ Ali’s forehead puckered, her annoyance giving way to anxiety.
‘I’ve no idea what goes on in her head.’
‘She’s not some weird stalker… is she?’
The music was too loud. Jake was used to volume but this was forcing him to shout about something so personal it hurt his throat. He hugged Ali. How fragile she suddenly seemed.
‘Nothing as dramatic as that.’ He had to control his rage and reassure her. ‘But if she ever contacts you again… I know she won’t… but if she does you must let me know immediately.’
‘Is she the reason Mum went away so suddenly?’
‘This is your night, Ali, and not the time or place to talk about it. She’ll be back soon…’
He was interrupted by Mark Brewer, who stooped across the table and held out his hand to Ali.
‘You’ll have to excuse us, Jake,’ he said. ‘We all want a share of your beautiful daughter tonight. I’d like to introduce Alysia to some friends who flew from New York to be with us for the opening.’
High heels added to Ali’s height and she walked with confidence towards the group, aware but indifferent to the fact that she was the centre of attention. Unable to cope with the exuberance of the sylphs and trolls, Jake said his goodbyes and left the nightclub. Mik Abel had offered him his London apartment for the night. Tomorrow he was meeting a tour manager, who was organising Shard’s forthcoming UK tour.
He rang Karin. Her voice mail came on, a husky message that teased the caller with a promise of immediate contact.
‘I’m reporting you to the police if you dare to go near any member of my family again,’ he said.
She was probably listening, smiling as she deleted his message.
It was dark the following night when he emerged from Dublin airport and hailed a taxi to take him to Sea Aster. In the distance, a train, riding high and silently over the viaduct, reflected a seam of gold on the water. Then it was gone and the estuary continued its dark journey towards the sea.
The outside security light switched as he walked towards the entrance to his apartment. He tensed as he was about to unlock the door, puzzled by a repetitive clunking sound that did not belong to the estuary. The wind fanned the smell of dead seaweed over the wall and the overhanging branches poked black fingers into the night. Broken glass crunched underfoot as he hurried towards his van. The front window was shattered, the seats slashed. Deep cuts in the leather, the stuffing sprouting like mottled toadstools. One of the back doors swung in the wind and it was the clunk of steel against steel that had alerted him. He slammed the door and walked around to the side of the van. Someone had dragged keys or a knife along the paintwork, scratching repeatedly through the centre of the distinctive Shard sign.
He checked each room in his apartment as he waited for the guards to arrive. Everything was as he had left it. He opened the fridge, searched for something handy to cook. Fish fingers in the freezer section, kid’s food, exactly what he needed. He grilled the fish fingers and carried the plate into the breakfast room. The sky was starless and the curved window flung his reflection back at him, as it did on the night he said goodbye to Karin Moylan.
The squad car arrived. Kids, the guards said. High as kites, probably. Jake was lucky. They offered him cold comfort. Usually, in situations like this, those little thugs went joy-riding in the stolen vehicle until it was time to burn it out.
Chapter 44
Nadine
The lights of London cross-stitch the night in gold as the plane begins a slow descent into Heathrow. My great adventure is over. Ali is waiting in Arrivals. We spot each other in the same instant and, suddenly, I’m ambushed by tears. I feel as if I’ve been holding them back forever. I don’t know why I’m crying or, perhaps, there’s so many reasons I’m unable to distinguish one from the other. Ali is in my arms, crying too, as we hug each other. Giddy with excitement she swipes her tears away and I notice the man standing beside her.
‘Mum, this is Mark Brewer.’ She sings his name, her cheeks glowing. ‘Mark, meet my intrepid mother.’