Free Skin and Bones by Tom Bale Page B

keys and leave the house. She over-revved the
Citroën and the wheels squealed as they fought for grip.
    Six hours ago he'd been lying in bed, contemplating a weekend of
relaxation and marital harmony. Now he might have lost both his
father and his marriage. What was next?
    He stood up. He knew exactly what was next.
    As a rule they didn't keep much alcohol in the house. Red wine,
mostly, which Nina drank, and sometimes a bottle of white. Beer was
a no-no, and had been for more than four years. Four years, three
months and ten days, in fact.
    Spirits were also barred, but there was a bottle of good malt which
Nina had won in a raffle at Christmas and not yet given away. That
would do for starters.
    Two cars tailed them back to London, and when they turned into
Cadogan Place there was a TV van and a group of people waiting
outside the house. George had expected as much. He wasn't a particularly
high-profile figure, but from time to time he featured in the
financial pages. For an event of this magnitude, that was probably
more than sufficient to single him out for attention. Vanessa gave a
cry of alarm when she spotted them.
    'We won't stop,' he assured her. True to his word, he almost ploughed
into them as he passed the house. Vanessa twisted away from the
lenses, covering her face with her hands. He quite understood her
reaction, but knew it would only encourage the use of the photos. It
made them look guilty of something.
    Oblivious to their own safety, the reporters pursued them along the
street, hurling questions as they ran.
    'What did you see in Chilton?'
    'Will you give us your reaction to the massacre?'
    'What did the police tell you, Mr Matheson?'
    He ignored them all. Kept that same steely gaze and drove on until
he found somewhere to park. He kept telling himself that later he
would allow himself some time to reflect. He sensed that his life had
changed beyond recognition: the ramifications of this were impossible
to predict.
    It came as a greater shock to realise, an hour or more after they
were safely ensconced in their respective refuges – she in her bedroom,
he in his study – that he had given no reaction, nor barely any thought,
to Vanessa's news.
    Weeks. She had only weeks to live.
    Alone in his study, toying with a brandy, he tried to imagine himself
a widower. He had known it would happen. The initial diagnosis had
been about as bleak as they come. What he had never imagined was
that he'd have to combine it with this . . . devastation.
    People might look to him, he realised. Despite everything, it caused
a tiny swelling in his heart. He might be called upon to give a lead.
    Ironic, really, considering that until now he'd been depicted as the
would-be destroyer of Chilton's perfection.
    But it might take weeks, perhaps months for the dust to settle. And
in the meantime . . . everything would be in limbo. His life would
be in limbo.
    The tears came without warning, a hot rush suddenly there on his
cheeks, and a single deep sob that convulsed his chest. His life was
over. Destroyed.
    Afterwards he didn't feel better, as everyone always predicted if 'you
just let it out'. He felt worse. Utterly wretched and exhausted, and
wishing he could drop dead right there and be spared all the trials
that now lay ahead of him, as unavoidable as night after day.
    Starting now, he decided.
    Starting with Kendrick.
    The phone was picked up on the third ring. 'Yes?'
    'It's George Matheson.'
    'What a nice surprise.' The sly amusement made George furious.
It was bad enough that he couldn't speak to Kendrick directly. Having
to go through Vilner, of all people, was nothing short of humiliating.
    'I assume you've seen the news?'
    'Watching it now,' Vilner said. 'I told myself, someone had better
have a bloody good reason to drag me away from it.' He laughed. 'I
guess you qualify.'
    'I need to see Kendrick as soon as possible. I'm sure he'll want to
discuss the . . . implications.'
    Another throaty laugh. 'Implications?' he