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‘Max,’ he croaks, now.
‘I … It was obvious he wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t even have lasted long enough for an ambulance. And he was in so much pain. I thought it was for the best. That deer you hit, in our old car. Remember how you said it was kinder to … to …’
He twitches, seems to veer from that thought.
The milkman finishes loading his crate and walks up the street towards them. Max seizes Joseph’s shoulder and pulls him level with the dashboard. Moments later, footsteps pass the passenger door.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Max whispers. ‘But I’m not a killer, Dad. I’m not. It was a kindness, what I did. Just like you and that deer.’
Joseph closes his eyes despite the darkness. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Doesn’t know how to react. Max understands the difference between an injured deer and an injured human being, of course he does. He understands you don’t treat them the same way, apply the same brutal logic.
Claire, he thinks, finally invoking the name that appears on his lips each time he wakes. As always, it brings pain so exquisite his body contorts to withstand it.
Joseph clenches his teeth, bites down on his guilt.Claire, he pleads, eviscerating himself.What do I do? This isn’t our boy, this isn’t. When did I stop paying attention?
A personality change as stark as this should have been obvious for a while, should have been observable in a thousand different ways, but Joseph appears to have been blind to it – because for far too long his eyes have been firmly closed.
For two years after Claire’s death, he’d lived in a state ofpurgatory, of permanent torture, his guilt too enormous to address, his only focus Max. Then he’d met Erin. Within months she’d become the centre of his world. He’d abandoned his guilt entirely, immersing himself in the elixir of new love, but in the process he’d also abandoned his son. Max, cast adrift, had withdrawn from the world around him.
Then had come marriage, and a new family home. Trying to make it all work, Joseph had spent more time establishing a relationship with Tilly than he had on Max.
He’d hoped, as everything settled down, he’d feel less torn. But that hadn’t really happened. Thank God Erin had spotted Max’s isolation. With love and patience she’d rejuvenated him. Tilly, too, had played her part. That had been Joseph’s wake-up call.
This last year, determined to rebuild, he’s poured all his focus into his son. But in doing so he’s distanced himself from Erin, with predictable consequences for their relationship.
He’s been a weathervane blown by guilt, each pivot causing further heartache. Worst of all, his efforts with Max might have come too late to make a difference.
His late wife doesn’t answer his call, as he’d known she wouldn’t. Perhaps that, in itself, is her message: this is his responsibility to fix. But before he can even think about trying to put his son back together, he has an even more pressing crisis to tackle. Because Max’s latest revelation means the calculus has fundamentally changed. And Joseph’s earlier options have all but disappeared.
He hears the milkman return to the float. The whine of a motor. He sees a brief wash of headlights and wonders if the vehicle is equipped with a dashcam – and if it’ll record the car’s registration plate.
Max releases his shoulder. They sit up straight in their seats. Joseph can’t seem to breathe without shuddering. ‘Keys,’ he says.
Max passes them over. ‘Where’re we going?’
‘Just don’t say anything for a while. OK?’ Joseph tells him. ‘Please, just let me think.’
He pulls out of Berrylands Road and heads east. All the while, Max’s words replay in his head:He was in so much pain. I thought it was for the best.
No one in their right mind believes that. No one.
Up ahead, he sees the twenty-four-hour BP garage and instinctively checks the Honda’s fuel gauge. When he looks up, he realizes two things simultaneously: he’s drifted across the road’s white centreline and a police patrol car has rolled off the BP forecourt, signalling to turn right towards him.
Joseph corrects with a flick of the wheel. The Honda rocks back into its lane. As he passes the patrol car he gets a close-up view of its occupants and makes fleeting eye contact with the driver – a sharp-faced male a decade or so younger than himself. The officer in the passenger seat is older and fleshier, focused on opening a sandwich box.
Joseph glances in his rear-view mirror, willing the other vehicle to follow its indicated route. Instead it turns left, falling in step behind them.
He locks his arms, grips the steering wheel with trembling hands and tries to prevent the car from weaving.
‘Dad,’ Max mutters.
‘I know.’
Behind them the headlights grow closer, a pair of hunting eyes. Joseph checks his speed. He hasn’t seen a sign, can’t remember if this is a thirty zone or a forty. Or possibly even a twenty. Too slow and it’ll look suspicious. Too fast and he’ll get pulled for speeding.
The road swings left and right. The white eyes in the rear-view mirror swell as if with hunger. Then, shocking even in their silence, a rack of flashing blue ones joins them.
Teeth clenched, Joseph lifts his foot from the accelerator.He steers towards the kerb, gently touches the brakes. Behind him, accompanied by a howl of rubber, the lights swing away into darkness.