‘Your friend again. You know that lawyer’s letter and restraining order you just got?’
‘ What? Who is this?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Nel-M knew they’d been sent from scuttlebutt at ‘Pinkies’, with Alaysha confiding in a couple of friends. ‘Just take it that I’m someone who’s got your interests at heart, and want you to know what a fool you’re being played for. Because that boyfriend I mentioned the other day — Jac McElroy — he’s a lawyer working for the same firm that sent the letter and arranged the restraining order.’
‘You’re joking?’ Incredulous, still slightly breathless.
‘No fucking joke about it, man. And they organized it all just to get you off the scene — so he could get in there like the slimy jack-rabbit he is and take your place.’
‘ Shit! I don’t believe it… I’ll fucking — ’
‘But that’s not the best part.’ The touch paper lit — Nel-M could heard the bubbling acid-anger in Strelloff’s voice — hopefully this final bucket of petrol would get the flames sky high. ‘He lives right next door to her. Probably even heard you screwing her through the walls, and thought — I want somma that. So that’s where he is now, right now— you safely roped and tied by a restraining order while he’s in yourplace in her bed, fucking her stupid.’
‘What? He’s there now… this minute?’
‘Yeah… this fucking minute, as we speak. Probably already at the point where she’s screaming his name out loud: Jac… Jac! Oh… oh… Jac!’ Nel-M chuckled. ‘You hurry, maybe you’ll get there just in time for the money shot.’
Nel-M hung up and looked at his watch. Twenty-five minutes for Strelloff to get over from his place in Chalmette. Correct that, seventeen or eighteen with the speed he’d be driving.
‘When my father died, I had trouble coming to terms with it. As a lot of people do with something like that.’ Jac waved one hand above his wine glass towards Alaysha. ‘But more than that, I felt he’d been cheated: he was only fifty-four, had many good years left, he’d been a good person with a kind heart, brought his family up well… so why him, God? Why him?’
Alaysha simply nodded, didn’t speak. She could tell that this was a difficult, heartfelt subject for Jac to broach, so had suddenly stopped clearing their plates from the dinner she’d prepared, not wanting to make anynoise at that moment. She could see Jac struggling with his thoughts, shadows alternating in his eyes like fast-drifting clouds as he tried to sift them into order.
‘The main problem was, they didn’t discover it was cancer until late. Because of my father’s business problems, their first thought was that it was ulcers rather than stomach cancer. By the time they got to it, it had probably been there for three or four years. It had worked its way too deep, had reached his pancreas. There wasn’t a lot they could do.’ Jac shrugged, but Alaysha could see that it was like trying to flip off a ten-ton weight. His shoulders moved, but the burden stayed there. ‘And shortly after my father had the prognosis, knew that there wasn’t much hope left, his old friend from Glasgow, Archie Teale, came down to see him. Archie had kept contact with my father and visited a fair few times over the years, but we weren’t sure this time whether my mother had phoned him, or it was some invisible thread between old, close friends to tell Archie that something was wrong with my father. Certainly my father wouldn’t have phoned Archie to spill his woes, not his style — but the subject did soon get round to that.’
Jac smiled tightly. ‘Though even when it did, typical of my father, he wasn’t worried about himself, but more about how his family would cope with him gone. Particularly because of the financial situation, with things not going so well.’ Jac held one palm out. ‘Archie had been an accountant most of his life, and perhaps my father thought he might have some useful financial advice. Archie gave a few tips there, perhaps delayed the inevitable a year or two more, but it was his moral advice, his advice on lifethat I’m sure my father — and certainly I — remembered most. Because it appeared that Archie had visited at that juncture for a reason of his own.’
Jac took a sip of wine, a heavy sip, and Alaysha could tell that he was getting to the difficult part. His eyes were slightly glassy, moist, but there was a faint light in them too, as if there was some sort of warped-logic joy amongst the pain of his father’s death.
‘Archie had just had a heart attack, and had been diagnosed by his doctor with congestive heart disease. He might last a year or two, he might last six or seven — but the thing was, like my father, he wasn’t going to make old bones. I remember vividly the two of them sitting on the back terrace at Rochefort, with Archie raising a glass and smiling dryly. “It’s going to be a race between you and I, Adam, to see who goes first.” But what stood out most in my mind was what Archie said a bit later, after the coffees had turned to whiskies and they’d finished most of a bottle between them and reminisced and put half the world to rights. Archie leant forward at one point, gripping my father’s arm across the table as my father became more maudlin, lamenting about the mess he’d made of things. “Don’t you ever think that way! Ever! Because that’s the one difference between what’s happening to you and to me, Adam — you’ve livedbefore you died!”
‘And as my father’s eyebrows knitted, over another half-tumblerful of scotch each, Archie explained: he himself had been careful all his life, counted his pennies, but in the end, what good had that done him? He reminded my father that each time he’d come down to see him, they’d gone out to the marina at Arcachon and looked at the sail boats there. That had been Archie’s dream: retire, get a place not far from my father’s, and spend the rest of his days sailing. Now, even with his retirement pulled forward to fifty-five, it looked touch-and-go whether he’d make it. And even if he did, how many years sailing would he have? Maybe only a year or two, three if he was lucky. Whereas, he said to my father — you’ve livedyour life, done what you want from age thirty and bollocks to the rest. Given your wife and son and little girl a damn good life at the same time. Watched them grow good and straight and tall amongst the sunshine and vines. “So don’t you ever regret any of that, Adam. Because, unlike me, you’ve livedyour life. You’ve lived before you died.”’
Jac bit at his bottom lip, the tears closer then, Alaysha saw; but he seemed eager to continue, as if afraid that he might break down before he got it all out.
‘Archie lasted only a year after my father.’ Jac closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head. ‘But when you asked the other day, what made me fight so hard on Durrant’s behalf — not long after, that’s what finally hit me, those words: “Lived before he died”…’ Jac shrugged, grimacing tautly. ‘Because if you think about Larry Durrant’s life, such as it is: his boxing career going down in flames before it hardly started, turning to petty crime to supplement his income; then just when he’s newly married and got a son on the way — just when his life looks like it might be back on track for once — he lands himself on Libreville’s death row. And on top a car accident that’s scrambled his brain, so that he can’t even remember half his life from back then — can’t say with any certainty whether he actually committed the murder or not.’ Jac’s voice had risen with anger and exasperation, and he took a quick breath, calming himself again. ‘If you think about all of that — if the term “not living before you died” fitted anyone, it fits Larry Durrant. And the fact that he might be innocent makes it all the harder to take. Almost unbearable.’
‘I know. I know.’ Alaysha reached out and gently touched one of Jac’s hands on the table. With the talk about his father, the pain and loss she’d seen in his eyes when they first met she now better understood. But then an awkward silence fell, a pregnant pause that felt as if perhaps she should fill it with her own story. And the signals were all there — illness, sacrifice and risk-taking for family— of what that story should be.