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Joseph puffs his cheeks, blows air. And can’t help voicing what he’s thinking, brutal though it is. ‘You’re meant to be starting medical school in a month.’
‘I know.’
‘They’ll run an enhanced DBS check before you start.’
‘Yeah. And if anything comes up, out of the door you go. No second chances.’
Joseph rocks back in his seat. Max’s childhood passion for medicine grew exponentially after his mother’s death. In recent years he’s volunteered in hospitals and surgeries, attended conferences. He’s grilled countless doctors and specialists, has thrown himself into his studies with a commitment bordering on obsessional, all in the hope of ensuring other families avoid the same devastating loss.
How could he possibly have caused the very thing he’s been working so hard to prevent? How could the universe have permitted such brutal irony?
‘What was your plan?’
‘I came back here to clean myself up, think it over.’
Joseph recalls the bottle of whisky, the empty snifter. He closes his eyes, recalling his earlier promise:This conversation – everything we talk about – remains strictly between me and you. And I mean for ever. No one else will ever know, not even Erin. I give you my word on that. From there, if it’s bad, we figure a way out. Together.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Max watching him. That same cornered-animal expression. ‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘Jesus.’
He goes around the table, puts his arms around his son, squeezes him so tightly it becomes something more than an embrace. He smells the boy’s hair, his sweat. ‘As if we needed this,’ he whispers. ‘As if we needed it.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.’
‘Did anyone else see?’
‘No.’
‘You’re absolutely sure?’
‘Hundred per cent.’
Joseph takes a breath, sighs it out. He’s still holding Maxfar too tightly, but his son seems immune to the discomfort. At last, he forces himself to disentangle. When he stands, he feels fresh blood seep from his abdomen and winces.
‘Dad, we really should take a look at that. It may need stitches or glue.’
‘It’s fine. The person you hit. Did you recognize them?’
Max shakes his head. And Joseph wonders if he just spotted the first flicker of dishonesty in his son’s eyes.
‘A stranger?’ he presses.
‘I guess.’
‘You guess?’
The boy grimaces, as if he just swallowed a mouthful of bile. ‘It was pretty bad. It could have been Tilly and I doubt I’d have recognized her.’
Joseph puts out a hand to the worktop. That Max would choose his stepsister for the comparison is more than a little chilling, particularly as they’re so close. ‘It was a woman?’
‘A guy.’
‘Where did this happen?’
‘One of the roads that cuts through Jack-O’-Lantern Woods.’
‘What were you doing out there?’
‘Taking a short-cut.’