The Blame Game. C.J. Cooke

leans back, maps my face with a look of concern. ‘You don’t have to worry about us, you know. I shouldn’t have said anything about the telescope. I was probably just being paranoid after …’

      She trails off.

      ‘After what?’

      She looks down. When she meets my gaze again there’s hardness in her eyes. And something else. Frustration.

      ‘I need to ask something,’ she says, folding her arms. ‘And I need you for once not to avoid the question.’

      ‘OK.’

      She takes a deep breath, readies herself. ‘The day you attacked Josh’s dad …’

      ‘I didn’t attack him,’ I start to say. ‘It was a disagreement …’

      She raises a hand, signalling that I’m to shut up. ‘When you attacked him, you said you were looking out for Reuben. I still don’t know what you meant by that.’

      I don’t want to talk about this. I look around, searching for an exit, a distraction. Unless I’m prepared to swim back to land there’s nowhere for me to go. We’re at least fifteen miles from land and even I’m not that strong.

      ‘I was protecting him,’ I say at last.

      ‘Protecting him from what, exactly?’

      ‘Look, the birthday party wasn’t at a climbing centre,’ I say, anxious to close this up once and for all. ‘Josh’s dad was taking the boys climbing up the Simonside Hills …’

      ‘And?’

      I’m starting to feel angry. What has this got to do with what happened at the birthday party? ‘And I could see Reuben was nervous about it. Look, I told you. It was wrong of Josh’s father to …’

      ‘To what?’

      I look up, catch her eyes. She’s challenging me.

      ‘To … to put Reuben in a position where he had to choose between his friend and feeling safe.’

      She screws up her face. ‘But why …’

      ‘… and trust me, I did everything to stop it from becoming a scene. You weren’t there. Reuben was freaking out, I could see it in his eyes. And the guy kept talking over him. Even made him start to gear up.’

      I see her wince.

      ‘Josh’s dad wasn’t taking no for an answer. OK, so maybe slugging him was a bit over the mark but I did what I had to …’

      She lifts her eyes to mine, an eyebrow cocked. ‘A little over the mark? You knocked him unconscious.’

      ‘It was an unlucky punch,’ I say, and I can feel a hot ripple of fire in my stomach. I try to swallow it down but it’s insistent. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?’

      She looks hurt, which wasn’t my intention, so I reach out and put my hand on hers.

      We stand together in mutually wounded silence. We want the same thing, but we go about it in completely different ways. I’m the head of the home, the bad cop. Helen’s still pissed off because it’s meant Reuben losing his one and only friend, Josh. Nice lad. Like Reuben, Josh is autistic. We’ve waited years for Reuben to make friends. Years without a single birthday party invitation or play date. Finally, he goes out and gets a pal and I wreck it all by busting his dad’s face.

      But I did what I had to do. And everything has a price, doesn’t it?

      And then, there they are, about ten feet from the boat. Whales, as long as buses. Helen spots them and runs to the cabin to alert the kids. By the time they emerge the captain has cut the engine. Sas squeals and jumps up and down at the sight of them while Reuben claps his hands and shouts ‘Magic!’ The captain tells me in concerned tones that humpbacks out here, especially at this time of year, is a bad sign. They could be sick or dying. Of course I don’t mention any of this to the kids. We are close enough to see the barnacles studding their backs, long white lines etched along their bellies, their mouths scissoring the water. A way out to sea another whale bursts out of the water, landing with a huge splash and the peace sign of his tail as he dives below.

      ‘Look how happy they are, Dad!’ Saskia shouts, and I agree with her, because sometimes love means telling lies.

      ‘Michael. Michael! Wake up!’

      ‘What? What’s wrong?’

      I sit upright, my head buzzing. I can’t believe I fell asleep. The window squares off a lapis lazuli sky speckled with a million stars and a silvery moon. Helen is out of bed, bending over me as I pull back the sheet.

      ‘I think someone’s outside,’ she says. ‘I heard footsteps in the back garden and when I went to …’

      I’m already up on my feet, pulling on a pair of shorts.

      ‘I thought it was an animal, at first,’ Helen says. ‘But I saw a man.’

      ‘How sure are you?’

      She bites her lip. ‘Pretty sure.’

      ‘Stay here,’ I whisper quickly. ‘Keep everything locked behind me.’

      In the kitchen I search quickly for something weapon-like – a baseball bat, ideally – but the cupboards yield only a rolling pin and a meat knife. I plumb for the latter and open the side door. Suddenly Helen is there, holding my arm, tears wobbling in her eyes.

      ‘Why don’t we phone Kyle?’ she says. ‘Or I can look for the tour operator …’

      ‘And what are they going to do? It’s two in the morning …’

      ‘I know, but … I shouldn’t … I shouldn’t have woken you …’

      I peck her on the forehead. ‘Stay here. I won’t be long.’

      I step outside and wait until I hear the click of the door locking behind me. The dark is impenetrable, the only light coming from the moon and the stars. The garden is swallowed by night. No Coke-thieving monkeys to be seen.

      I hear a noise to my right. Quick, stealthy strides headed towards the road. I move towards the sound, squinting. I can’t see anything. The footsteps stop, and I hold my breath.

      But then, movement on the hill that leads up to the road where our rental car is parked. It’s difficult to see, but I can just make out someone or something moving briskly up the bank.

      ‘Hey!’ I shout, and the figure moves quickly. My heart is racing. I hold the knife in front of me and go after him.

       4

       Helen

      30th August 2017

      I’m wool-headed this morning after last night’s escapades. Not nearly as sexy as it sounds. I woke up to use the loo around two in the morning and heard noises outside. I went to check and saw a man moving around in the garden. At least, I think I did. I was so sure last night and now I’m not. I feel so guilty. I woke Michael and he went after him. He was gone for over an hour. The longest hour of my life. When I saw him coming in through the door I almost collapsed with relief. He was sweaty and out of breath, but not injured.

      ‘Did you find him?’ I said, my voice trembling. I found myself looking him over for signs of blood.

      He set the torch back in the block on the kitchen bench. ‘No. It was too dark.’

      ‘Didn’t you take a knife? Where is it?’

      He sank into a chair by the table and wiped his face. ‘Dropped it.’

      I waited for something more – where he’d been, details of a confrontation