The Things You Didn't See(18)

‘Go away, Jet!’

‘I can keep him another night,’ Godwin suggests, with some distaste, ‘if it would help?’

‘Yes, please,’ I say. I can’t cope with the dog, not now.

‘Poor Maya,’ Godwin repeats. His beady eyes repulse me. He’s hungry for more detail. ‘Was it an accident in the kitchen? I believe that’s the most lethal place.’

Just then, the back door opens and Dad walks in, bringing with him another harsh gust of cold air and the woody stench of Golden Rush tobacco. Jet is overjoyed to see his master, and bounds towards him. Dad staggers back, looks so pathetic and sad that I want to hug him until I remind myself that we’ve never been a family for physical affection. He seems older, thinner – is it possible to lose body mass overnight? He strokes his dog, then blinks in unhappy surprise at our guest.

‘I heard you took Jet for the night. Thanks.’

‘I’ll take him for another night, so you can focus on what you need to do.’ Godwin stands and grasps Dad’s hand, pumping it heartily, though I can see no returning strength from Dad. ‘It’s no trouble, Hector, really. I’m so sorry to hear Maya’s in hospital.’

He’s a repulsive man and I want him gone. I try to keep still, lest I say or do something I shouldn’t.

Dad drops his bad hand to his side and staggers around the kitchen like a sleepwalker, landing heavily on the wooden bench under the window. Jet’s still delighted to see him after a night’s absence and he pets the dog without seeming to see him.

Whatever I feel, whatever I look like, Dad is worse. It’s like staring into the mirror in a fairy tale that only reveals the ugly and painful. His hair, grey and sparse, is sticking out at crazy angles and I remember how he usually Brylcreems it flat each morning. His ashen face is unshaven. But it’s his eyes that disturb me the most. I used to think his eyes were grey, like mine, but now I see they’re the colour of dust, the colour of nothing. Any life there is extinct.

Daniel places a glass of the green juice in front of me. ‘Well, Mr Godwin,’ he says with crisp politeness, ‘many thanks for agreeing to look after Jet, that’s a real help. But we’re actually quite busy.’

It’s true: Dad and I have to get to the hospital.

‘Oh, of course.’ To my relief, Godwin gets up and pulls on his coat. It’s one of those green waxy ones that gentlemen farmers wear, though he is neither. ‘I’ll take the dog for a walk, and he’ll be at mine until you want to collect him. Please give my best wishes to Maya when you see her.’

Dad stares at Jet, who is munching on a newspaper at his feet. ‘It wouldn’t mean anything. She’s not conscious.’

Godwin has that eager look in his eyes again, hungry for information, and I remember how he was in the classroom, forcing pupils to stand on their chairs if they got facts wrong. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that, Hector. What actually happened?’

He just can’t stop himself, it seems, from interrogating Dad. The ground is wobbling beneath my feet. Must be the drugs, stronger than I thought.

‘She tried to kill herself,’ says Daniel, as if finally facing the fact that this man will persist until he knows. ‘Of course, she was raised on the farm, so she knew all about guns and how to handle them. She shot herself with Hector’s rifle.’

‘Oh my goodness, but that’s terrible!’ Godwin barely catches breath before adding, ‘What does that mean with regards to her decision yesterday to sell to the Port Authority? Did she even sign a contract? If she wasn’t of sound mind, it’s surely null and void anyway?’

Of course – he was there at the shoot. I can see how much more important saving the land is than your survival and for a creeping second, I imagine him holding a gun to your head. I need him to disappear or I’ll not be responsible for my actions. Daniel seems to know this, or perhaps he feels the same, because he practically chucks the man out of the back door.

‘Thanks again for having the dog – we’ll be in touch. But we need to be left alone now.’

When he’s gone, I turn on Daniel, unable to keep my rage inside. ‘Why did you tell him that? What you said wasn’t even true! Mum never used a gun!’

‘Plus, the whole fucking village will know by noon,’ says Dad, wiping his left hand over his brow, where beads of sweat have appeared. ‘And he’s bound to call Alfie Avon. It’ll be front-page news this evening.’

‘Maybe that’s a good thing, Hector,’ says Daniel, gently. ‘Much as I hate to give Alfie Avon any fodder, at least if he reports that Maya shot herself it will stop people speculating.’

‘But everyone will think Mum is mentally ill,’ I say from my spot at the table, the green juice clamped in my hand like it’s the solution. I know how devastating that label is: it’s like having something stolen from you, something you can never get back. Daniel moves so he’s close to me, touches my shoulder which has risen up with tension, trying to calm me.

‘It’s better if it comes from us. You know how people in Kenley gossip.’

‘And they know she was depressed after you was born,’ says Dad, grudgingly. ‘It’s why Janet moved in, to help her cope with you.’

I can’t believe he’s dragging up the past like this. ‘Dad, her parents had both died, she’d just taken on the responsibility of the farm, and she had a baby all within a year. So, yes, she had postnatal depression. But that was over three decades ago! She wasn’t depressed on Friday. In fact, she seemed very sure of everything she said. Why are you refusing to see what’s obvious: Mum didn’t shoot herself. Whoever did is wandering around, getting away with it.’