‘Maybe,’ said Paul.
Blair realised he wanted to open the door, not smash it into the kid’s face. Switching from hard to soft – actually softening his voice – he said ‘OK. So why?’
‘Everyone else was doing it: decided to try it.’ Paul was still reluctant, biting the words out.
‘So if anyone else laid down on the Parkway, you’d do it too, to see what it was like?’
Beside his brother John gave a small laugh. Blair hoped the child was laughing with him and not against him. Just as he hoped the roadway analogy wasn’t getting a bit thin.
‘Course not,’ said Paul.
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Lot of difference.’
‘Feel good, when you were stealing? And when you were smoking? Good enough to want to go on doing it until the time when a cop didn’t wait to see you were a kid and didn’t have a gun and blew you away? Or was that the next move, after you’d set yourself up as a dealer, get hold of a Saturday Night Special and become a real hotshot?’ Blair was aware of Ruth turning away, unable to face the onslaught.
‘Didn’t think about it.’
‘What did you think about? Did you think about your mother and breaking her heart? Or me, who loves you? Or John, who looks up to you?’ Blair realised he was risking repetition but he wanted to get more reaction than this out of the kid.
‘When did you think of me!’ blurted the boy.
It had been a long time coming but Blair was glad it finally had. ‘Who are the others, Paul?’ he said.
‘Others?’
‘Arrested with you.’
‘Jimmy Cohn,’ set out the boy, doubtfully. ‘David Hoover… Frank Snaith… Billie Carter.’
‘So tell me about Jimmy Cohn and David Hoover and Frank Snaith and Billie Carter. How many of their parents are divorced?’
‘David Hoover’s,’ said Paul at once.
‘But not Jimmy Cohn and Frank Snaith and Billie Carter?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s their cop-out?’
‘Don’t understand,’ said the boy, who did.
‘It won’t do, Paul,’ said Blair. ‘Don’t try to use what happened between your mother and me as the excuse and expect me and your mother and every counsellor and social worker to sit wringing their hands and sympathising with what a raw deal you got. OK, I’m demanding you to be honest with me so I’ll be honest with you, as far as that honesty need go to be honest. You did get a bad shake. So did your mother. So did John. And I’ve never stopped thinking of you. Or your mother. Or John. Or being aware of what I did and feeling sorry for the way it happened. But it did happen. There’s nothing any of us can do now, to turn the clock back. Life isn’t like that, a place for second chances. Not often anyhow. And don’t try to con me or anyone else by pretending that this was some half-assed attempt to bring your mother and me back together, because I’m not buying that either. You didn’t think of anyone when you stole and robbed and smoked grass and shoved shit up your nose. You just thought about yourself. You made yourself a self-pity blanket and wrapped yourself up in it and decided there was no one else in the world more important than Paul Edward Blair.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have sworn and maybe he’d gone on too long but he hoped some of it was getting through.
Ruth managed to look back into the room. Eddie was being far harsher than she had expected – far harsher than she imagined the juvenile officer would want him to be – but a lot of it needed saying. What had he meant by there not often being an opportunity for second chances? Would he have talked about their getting back together, if he hadn’t obviously thought about it? She stopped herself, guiltily. She and Eddie were not what they were talking about, not directly anyway.
‘You haven’t said much, Paul,’ encouraged his father.
‘Nothing to say,’ said the boy.
‘That’s a kid’s reply,’ said Blair. ‘You a kid?’
‘No,’ said Paul.
‘No what?’ pressured Blair.
Momentarily Paul didn’t comprehend. Then he said ‘No, sir.’
‘So when are you going to stop behaving like one? When are you going to start thinking of someone other than yourself?’
The boy made another of his animal head swings. Or was it something like being punch-drunk? wondered Blair. He’d hit the kid hard.
‘I’ve been out of the country for a long time,’ said Blair. ‘Expressions change but do you know the expression I remember to describe people like you, Paul? It was punk. And before that it was jerk. They meant the same, really. They described people who were small-time but thought they were big-time and went around screwing up their own lives and the lives of a lot of people all around them. I’m not going to let you do that. To yourself. Or anyone else. We’re going to talk it through and we’re going to bring out all the problems – imagined or otherwise – and we’re going to solve them, imagined or otherwise. And you’re going to grow up and stop thinking you need special favours and special treatment.’
Ruth interceded, deciding it had gone on long enough, getting the long-ago offered sodas and Blair took the hint and stopped. Realistically acknowledging that to attempt any sort of family gathering on the first night would be impossible she fed the boys first and put them to bed and Blair stood once more at the bedroom door and watched while she kissed them goodnight but didn’t try to kiss them himself because he knew Paul would resent it and John might be confused and he didn’t want either reaction.
She had steaks and he cooked them outside, remembering his promise to Ann and afterwards he and Ruth sat in the living room where the confrontation had taken place and Blair said, ‘I’m not sure I did it right.’
‘I’m not, either,’ she said. She moved quickly to explain what sounded like criticism but wasn’t. ‘Not that I think you said anything wrong. I just don’t know how it should have been done. Who the hell does?’
‘He used to be a bright kid, able to express himself!’ said Blair, disbelievingly. He looked at his watch, working out the time difference. It was too late to call Ann now.
‘You have to go somewhere?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘It’s good having you here,’ she risked. ‘I agree with everything you said, about the divorce and not being an excuse or a reason or anything like that, but I could never have spoken to them like that. Women can’t kick ass; not this woman, anyway.’
‘We just agreed that we’re not sure kicking ass was the right way.’
Shit, she thought, disappointed at his response. ‘You haven’t said how long you can stay,’ she said.
‘As long as it takes,’ he said. It was an exaggeration and he’d better call Langley tomorrow and see someone to make it possible. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to run out on them again, not until everything was sorted out. And call Ann, too. He hoped she was all right.
Brinkman went back over everything, examining all the clues and all the indicators and then he arranged a meeting with Mark Harrison and offered more from his period as interpreter – glad he’d held something back to bargain with – in the hope of getting from the Canadian some hint of what he might haved missed or overlooked which had taken Blair back to Washington. And found nothing. He’d spent too long ahead of the pack, with the plaintive cries behind him and decided he didn’t like being back there among them, with someone else out in front. He considered making some social approach to Ann before the planned birthday celebrations; not that she would have known anything positive, of course, because that wasn’t the way things were done but there might be a hint of a nuance that would be sufficient to show him where to look. But he decided against it. If she told Blair – which she undoubtedly would – then it would show he was anxious; using the friendship, in fact. Better to wait. It wasn’t long. He’d make it a good celebration, though.