Free The Truth by Michael Palin Page B

that hit Mabbut hard.
    ‘No, I won’t. Thank you.’
    He pushed back his chair and stood up. Aware he’d done so rather too quickly, Mabbut took care placing it neatly beneath the table. Anything to avoid looking at Krystyna.
    Rex too stood, and held out his hand.
    ‘I’m glad we’ve met.’
    Mabbut nodded. He wanted to speak, but found himself unable to. The two men shook hands and Mabbut turned, his eyes passing over Krystyna’s without engaging. He located the exit and walked down the mirrored corridor that led him to the entrance. He pulled hard at the heavy black door, like a man trying to escape a fire. Only when he pushed did the door swing open and release him into the street.
    And it was there, on the corner of Furness Gardens and Fulham Road, that a tsunami of self-pity swept over him. Tears came: pathetic, unbidden and unstoppable. Two special constables strolled by and, seeing him, looked quickly away.
    The 43 bus dropped him on the corner of Lodge Street, a five-minute walk from the house.
    Mabbut fumbled for his keys – far too many on the ring – and pushed open the front door. The hallway was dark, but he could see a sliver of light beneath the kitchen door and hear voices. He switched on the hall light and clattered about a bit hanging his coat up, but he still made Jay and Shiraj jump apart when he entered the kitchen. It seemed innocent enough. They were just close, not doing anything.
    Jay was all brittle brightness.
    ‘Hello, Dad. We’ve just made some food.’
    ‘Sausages?’
    Shiraj looked at Jay, concerned until he saw her break into a smile.
    ‘I promise, Dad, I’ll get some tomorrow. Great big thick, beefy-venison-pork-sage, everything you like. But you can cook them.’
    ‘Can’t wait.’
    ‘Have something now. Shiraj has made carrot and yogurt soup, and it’s delicious.’
    ‘No, I’ve already eaten,’ Mabbut lied. ‘And I’ve some work to do.’
    He looked from Jay to Shiraj. Shiraj put his hand to his heart.
    ‘Thank you, sir, for allowing me into your home.’
    Mabbut nodded.
    ‘Goodnight, all.’
    ‘Dad?’
    Jay’s voice made him jump. He was at his writing table, in a halo of halogen, bent over his work, miles away from the world.
    ‘Hi, love. How are you?’
    She came across to him. He felt her arms resting lightly on his shoulder.
    ‘I’m fine. How are you?’
    Without turning, he reached for her hand.
    ‘I saw your mother tonight.’
    ‘I know. She called.’
    ‘Met him. Tyrannosaurus Rex.’
    ‘And what did you think?’
    ‘I liked him . . . yes, I liked him.’
    Then something gave again, and for the second time that evening emotion got the better of him.
    ‘I liked him, Jay. That’s the bloody trouble! I liked him.’
    Mabbut raised both hands up to hers.
    ‘Oh, shit!’
    ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I really am.’
    ‘Don’t be sorry. She’s happy. He’s a nice guy. You’re happy. He’s a nice guy. I’ll get over it.’
    It took him two or three deep breaths before he regained control.
    His daughter squeezed his shoulders, and they were silent for a while. When he’d composed himself Mabbut leant forward and adjusted the screen in front of him.
    ‘This your novel, Dad?’
    ‘No, no. It’s just some info on someone.’
    Jay peered at the screen.
    ‘Hamish Melville.’
    ‘You know him?’
    ‘Of course, Dad. I’m not completely stupid.’
    ‘I thought he’d be a little out of your age range.’
    ‘Melville? He was a hero at school. Fighting the big boys. Siding with the locals. Tramping off into the middle of nowhere. He won a Year Six debate for who they’d most like to see running the country. Why are you looking him up?’
    ‘Someone . . . someone’s asked me to write a book about him.’
    ‘ A book about Hamish Melville? ’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Wow! That’s fantastic, Dad. Are they going to pay you?’
    ‘Oh yes. Quite a lot.’
    ‘Are you going to do it?’
    Mabbut leant back, rubbed his eyes and stared at the screen.
    ‘I don’t