Chapter 13 Chapter Twelve

If it was the right time, it would only take half an hour to drive there, but now is the wrong time.It was rush hour, and the cars on the M26 crawled slowly like suspicious bugs, clinging selfishly to the bumper of the car in front, lest other vehicles would get in.He'll know if he's getting close to Sevenoaks, because the cars in that area seem bigger and cleaner, in a way, like his father, sleek, clean, and powerful enough to run right over you without stopping. Thomas hated Sevenoaks.They moved there six years ago, when Dad was at the peak of his career and the money was pouring in like a river.He came home every night, looking more and more smug.Thomas still remembers launching Filak and buying a new closet of better-fitting clothes to hide his bump.

It seemed inconceivable that he had hanged himself.He's not the type to reflect on his own character.None of this would have been a public scandal were it not for his contempt for investors.You can't fool an honest man, he said. Moira had changed when they moved to Sevenoaks.Thomas never understood why.He was just a kid then.He doesn't question their dynamic, but he feels as if the father is undermining the vitality of his mother's life, and the more lively and interesting the father is, the more languid the mother becomes, a battered victim.She stopped going to company parties, company holidays, company wives solidarity days.She started taking medicine, which made her lips dry and burnt.Thomas remembered her dry tongue crackling in her mouth, making harsh, unpleasant noises.Her eyes were less expressive, and even the blinking had slowed, as if once closed, she wasn't sure she wanted to open it again.

Thomas grabbed the armrest under the window with both hands, and looked out the window firmly.He could feel Mary's presence burning his back, he could feel the vague indifference of Jamie, mother's surrogate, in the front driver's seat.Thomas stared at the car window, at the pale outline of himself on the glass, with its round eyes and silly fish mouth, and the Sevenoaks watermark logo behind it.The gentle hills are small and flat, and the big and luxurious houses are rolled back along the road and hidden behind the trees. Moira did not object when she moved into Sevenoaks, although her husband never consulted with her before buying the mansion.She was far away from old friends, old neighbors, and all the shops in North London.She - it could be her or it could be him - told them: The new place is awesome because we'll have acres of land to ourselves, surrounded by high fences, top-of-the-line security throughout, and we'll be It has electric shutters, a back room and a safe.

They moved, and Thomas was sent to boarding school before he even discovered how amazing it was to have a back room.Nor did Moira protest the fact that he was being sent to boarding.But when it was Ella's turn, she fought for her daughter, insisting that Ella stay at the local school until after she was 12.Thomas asked her why she fought for Ella and ignored him.She looked guilty, with tears in her eyes, her tongue freed from her parched palate, and said, "Boys are different;" and that was all she said.Boys are different. Moira didn't look empty in the papers, she actually looked pretty, and a few boys had said so.She has always been thin, and her father often pays for her hair to be done, dyed, and styled.But even in the papers, as she hurried through the airport and drove past protesters waiting at the gate, even then he could see the emptiness inside her.She was an empty shell left behind when he left, and there was no one there.

They were approaching the borderline, and the car was moving forward a little with the other large vans, and Jamie gave them an early signal to let them know he was going out at the next intersection.The sky is dark, the fields are strips of upturned soil that has not yet been sown, and there may be nothing in this vast land except this gravel and asphalt road and the cars on it. He could feel what Mary wanted to say next to him. She opened and closed her mouth, remaining silent.She must be worried about her job, they must all be worried.The family would certainly not be able to afford to have all the staff stay.He wondered, if he met Mary who was no longer working for them, would she be any different?He knew she had something on her mind, but he didn't say it, everyone did.Jamie is likely to still be the same, exactly the same.Quiet, cheerful, a little empty.That's what Moira loved about Jamie.She likes him because, like her, he has nothing in his heart.

Jamie turned the corner and went straight up the road to the gate, the new gate, a mock-Victorian, his father's favorite imitations.Jamie stopped at the door, pressed the button, and the door slowly opened inward, giving Thomas time to see all the graffiti on the wall. "Liar!" said one.Thomas had seen that line before, in newspaper cartoons. "Damn banker!" said another.It's ridiculous that he never worked for a bank!Other than that, the rest of the protests appear to have been very modest.There was a bouquet of cheap flowers, probably from a supermarket, placed by the door on a wooden cross.It is known that he committed suicide.

Passing through this gate, the car is no longer exposed to the mountain wind, and enters a long arcade made of old trees. These twisted old trees stretch their teeth and claws, looming in the darkness.The glass roof of the swimming pool looked dirty and Thomas could see dead leaves on it. This is a nasty house, asymmetrical, synthetic resin workmanship, heavy roof, meant to look like a domineering country house, but because it's so big, it looks like a sports center, with Big corridors, big rooms.The house had been bought cheaply by his father from a bankrupt who was eager to cash in on it to minimize his losses.When I bought it, the place still smelled of the Great Panic.Moira has redone the house.With a raspy, dry mouth, she ordered the painters to paint the house a frost-beaten blue-and-white, a Swedish style that didn't match its Vossey exterior at all.Thomas's place is filled with slender-legged tables and white chairs, and there are strings of hearts painted on the walls.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Mary finally thought of something to say, "We are all very sorry for your father." She looked at the back of his head, expecting a response, but Thomas was motionless, looking at his father's lawn. The house was built high up, not on a steep hill like the one at Thornton Hall, but high up from the ground.In front of the house is a balustraded terrace with steps down to the top of a gently sloping lawn.Thomas turned to the lawn, his mind blank.He was supposed to get out of the car by now, but he was motionless, his muscles slack, and he was afraid to let go of the armrest.

"Should I go down and see if your mother's in there?" See if she's in there?She won't even be outside.She's gone.An empty home.Looking at the lawn, he realized his eyes were dry and wide open, as if they had been shot.He could barely breathe. Mary took his silence as an affirmative, got out of the car, and thumped up the steps leading to the door. Thomas' eyes rested on the lawn.Father loved the lawn, the feel of it, the shape of it, the way it trickled down, as if it would go on forever, and it belonged to him.When they first moved in, Thomas and Ella wanted to play on it, run and roll on it, but Moira wouldn't let it, she said it was your father's, he owned it, it wasn't for you to play with.

It belonged to him and no one else, and not even Ella was allowed to run or trample on it, and the gardener would be fired if he made the slightest mistake.Thomas' nose was pressed against the window, and he pressed so hard that it hurt, and he looked out at the lawn, pushing harder against the pane until his nose clicked, and then he saw the heel crush a Nose, seeing the inside of the broken nose and the glaring white cartilage, and the perfect round blood-colored foam coming out of it, Squeak lay on the ground, looking up at him, with bright red blood flowing from his mouth, smiling in the dark ...

"Are you all right, Tommy?" Jamie turned from the driver's seat, showing a quarter of his face in a faintly embarrassed smile. Thomas let go of the armrest, stretched his forearms around Jamie's throat, and dragged him toward the rear passenger seat, suffocating him.