Free Father and Son by John Barlow Page B

was never convicted of anything.”
    “Strange, isn’t it?” John says, lowering himself all the way back
down into the armchair. “Tony Ray! The name still makes people smile, after all
these years. The loveable rogue, crafty criminal, loved his mum , all
that crap. Pathetic, isn’t it?”
    Holt takes his mug, wrapping his hands around it and holding it
close to his chest.
    “Let’s get one thing straight, shall we? I’m not the same person as
my father. I have my own beliefs, and I do things my way. When it comes to my job
at the home, that’s separate. When your dad arrived he was assigned to me
because I’m a trained physiotherapist. I get the patents who still have some
mobility. I can help them. In my work I don’t judge. Full stop.”
    “Still, seeing Dad in that state day after day. Frailty of the flesh
and all that. Must make you think he got what he deserved. In the end.”
    Holt shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Look, we don’t do vigils
outside the Gaiety Bar any more. We try and help people, that’s all.”
    “And my dad?”
    “I try and help him as well. Believe me, the irony of Minister
Holt’s son looking after Tony Ray ran its course long ago. Your dad gets the
best care there is. And if you really want to know, I’m pretty fond of him.”
    John takes a sip of tea, just out of curiosity. He recognises the taste,
strong and dusty, the brand they used to advertise with chimpanzees. To think
people still drink this shit. He puts it down.
    “Roberto, he was called. Roberto Swales. Is there anything you can
tell me?”
    Holt inhales the steam from his mug, rocks backwards and forwards a
fraction in his chair.
    “The first thing he said to me…”
    “When?”
    “A few weeks ago. Three, perhaps, no more than that. The very first
thing. He introduced himself, told me who he worked for. Said he had nothing to
do with the Ministry getting burned down, that he was sorry it happened.”
    “He came to tell you that?”
    Holt sighs. “Am I going to be making a statement about all this down
at Millgarth?”
    “You mean are you gonna get dragged into my world?”
    Holt nods, sheepish. A little too sheepish.
    “First off,” John says, “it’s not actually my world. Second, the
police’ll hear nothing about this from me. Rob was an old friend of the family.
I loved the bloke when I was a kid, we all did. This isn’t going anywhere, not
from me. I promise you that.”
    “Apart from to Lanny Bride?” Holt says. Just the hint of a smile. “I
bet he’s going to hear about it.”
    John ignores him. “Tell me, why was Roberto really here?”
    “Because he was ashamed about the life he’d had.”
    “Simple as that?”
    “Stuff in his past. A long time ago, something he’d been involved
in.”
    “Did he say what?”
    “No. I think he would have done, in time. But I decided not to ask.
He needed to talk to someone, let out the feelings of remorse.”
    “Well, he was no angel. Could’ve been anything. How much remorse?”
    “Who am I to judge? Enough for it to mean something, enough for him
to come here, of all places.”
    “Symbolic, was it, choosing to come to see you?”
    “He might have been meaning to come for a while, years even, just
took him a while to pluck up the courage.”
    John imagines Roberto in his well-appointed city-centre flat,
sitting alone late at night with a bottle of Scotch and wondering what happened
to his life. Sixty years old, no family, no kids, and his curriculum vitae runs
to a couple of scarred knuckles and a job looking after a dodgy bar.
    “Are you all right?” Holt says.
    John looks up, realises his breathing is unsteady, his fists balled
tight.
    “I’m fine. The question is, why now?”
    “I don’t now. He seemed vulnerable.”
    “Scared?”
    “For a man like that it’s hard to say.” Holt pauses, runs his tongue
over his teeth. “I got the feeling that he wanted to make peace with himself.”
    “When did you last see him?”
    “A few days