I’ve been arrested by the truth police. I need you to come get me.
‘I have to make a phone call,’ I tell Mitch, stepping into the corridor. Evie answers on the second ring.
‘What have you done?’ I ask.
‘Why do you assume it’s me?’ she replies belligerently. ‘It might not be my fault.’
‘What is it then?’
‘The deputy principal wants to see you.’
‘Why?’
Evie starts to answer but is instructed by somebody to hand over the phone. She does so reluctantly, yelling, ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ before the handset is with someone else, the deputy principal.
I’ve met Richard Thorndyke before. He’s one of those tall, square-shouldered types with a crushing handshake and a brusque manner. He might be ex-military, or an army reservist. When I applied to enrol Evie at the college, she didn’t meet the entry requirements, but I promised Mr Thorndyke that she was very bright, and she’d get to class and be no trouble. Famous last words.
‘Dr Haven, I’m sorry to bother you, but Evie has upset some of the students and faculty. Under our short-term exclusion policy, she is being asked to stay home for the next week.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She expressed opinions that were deemed to be racist and triggered other students.’
‘I did not,’ interjects Evie.
‘We are very inclusive at the college and aim to provide a safe and nurturing environment where people can feel free to express their opinions without being harassed or made to feel uncomfortable.’
‘I understand.’
‘I want to make sure her behaviour isn’t repeated. Perhaps we should consider a multi-agency assessment.’
‘She will write a letter of apology.’
‘Like hell I will!’ says Evie.
‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,’ I say. ‘I’ll come and pick her up.’
Mitch is still waiting in my office where he’s managed to put all the tissues back in the box.
‘Are you any good at odd jobs?’ I ask. ‘Gardening? Painting?’
‘Yeah.’
I write my address on the back of a business card. ‘Come around tomorrow. Early as you like. Wear old clothes.’
He looks at the card. ‘That’s all I own.’
13
Cyrus
‘He’s a fascist,’ says Evie, who is sulking in the passenger seat. She has unlaced her boots and put her socked feet on the dashboard, which annoys me, but I let it go. For most of the drive she’s been quiet. Her silences can sometimes last for days and be so inexplicable and impenetrable that I can’t find out what I’ve done, or not done.
‘You can’t call people fascists because you don’t like what they’re saying.’
‘What if they are fascists?’
‘You have to respect other people’s opinions.’
‘They don’t respect mine. They laugh at me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘Whenever I’m in trouble, you immediately say, “What have you done, Evie?” You never think that I might be right and they’re wrong.’
We’re driving around the edge of Wollaton Park where the trees are a blaze of red and orange leaves.
Evie opens a new line of defence. ‘You told me that I’d make friends. You said I’d become more independent, and confident. You said school would offer me all these new opportunities and I’d be doing what I love. Well, I haven’t made friends and I don’t love it.’
‘I thought it might help you break out of your shell,’ I say.
‘I like my shell.’
‘And find a new direction.’
‘Why do I need a new direction?’
‘To expand your career choices.’
‘I don’t want a career.’
‘What are you going to do with your life?’
‘I’m going to be a professional nihilist.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘So am I. Worry about your own life.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You’re single. You have nightmares. Your brother is a nutcase. You lift weights like you want to punish yourself. You’re the shrink who can’t find a cure for what’s wrong with him.’
‘This isn’t about me.’
‘It never is.’
The car is stopped at a set of traffic lights. Evie’s fingers are hovering near the handle as though she’s contemplating an escape. We are silent for a while. I’m angry, but also regretful. I shouldn’t get into these arguments with Evie. I forget how young she is – and how damaged.
When we reach the house, she jumps out of the car and goes inside without waiting for me. She’ll be in the back garden playing with Poppy, the only creature in her life who seems incapable of disappointing her. I would like to be another one, but I’m caught between being her friend and her protector.
14
Evie
Some strange guy is mowing the lawn. He’s wearing jeans and a checked shirt and a red woollen hat that makes him look like a gnome.
‘Who is he?’ I ask.
‘Someone who needs the work,’ says Cyrus.
‘But I’m supposed to mow the lawn.’
‘Really?’
Only Cyrus could put that much sarcasm into a single word or turn a question into a statement. We’re in the kitchen, looking out the window, as the mower guy does the edges of the garden. He’s mid-thirties and walks with a limp.
‘His name is Mitch,’ says Cyrus. ‘He’ll be doing some odd jobs around the place. He can fix up the side gate and paint the window frames and maybe sort out your bedroom door.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘He’s been in jail.’
‘For what?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It matters to me.’
‘He was convicted of sexual assault.’
‘And you want him fixing my bedroom door?’
‘You said it was sticking – and he’s served his time.’
Mitch notices us watching him and stops the mower. He makes a drinking motion with his hand.
‘Make him drink from the hose,’ I say, feeling anxious.
‘He won’t bite.’
‘That’s not what I’m afraid of.’
Mitch comes to the door. His boots are caked in grass clippings. He slips them off. There are holes in his socks. Cyrus introduces us. Mitch nods shyly.
‘Are you going to rape me?’ I ask.
‘Evie!’ scolds Cyrus, who glares at me. He starts apologising to Mitch, saying I should be ashamed for asking a question like that, but it’s the only question that matters because I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying.
Mitch is holding his hat in both hands. ‘I’m no threat, Evie. I didn’t hurt anyone.’
Cyrus is looking at me, waiting for me to apologise. I suddenly wonder if this is a set-up. Mitch fills his glass again and is drinking. I move out of earshot, and whisper to Cyrus, ‘How can both of you be telling the truth?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You said he was a rapist.’
‘He was convicted of sexual assault.’