Jen had given him a knowing smile when he said he was popping over to his dad’s before work. ‘He’s still your dad,’ she said softly, before kissing him goodbye. But when he arrived there was no answer, just Mavis, the housekeeper, on her way out. ‘He’s at the golf club,’ she’d said. ‘He won’t be back until later.’
Theo had held up his backpack. ‘I’ve got food for him,’ he lied. ‘Don’t worry, you go and I’ll let myself out.’
‘You’re a good son,’ she said, patting his cheek fondly, then scuttling off down the driveway to catch her bus.
Now, standing in his father’s study, he feels like the worst son in the world. Even as a kid he knew never to come in here without his dad’s permission. It was off limits and a fate worse than death if he ever dared defy his father’s orders. Not that he ever did. He hadn’t been interested as a boy: it was full of his father’s boring work stuff and ugly golfing trophies. But now … now his heart beats with anticipation. His dad refuses to tell him anything, yet he knows this room must be a vault for his many secrets.
Theo glances around the study, at the wood panelling on the walls, the built-in shelves and display cabinet, the desk with its dark green padded insert. Where to start? What to look for? It smells in here, a musky expensive scent mixed with polished wood. It’s ludicrous, really, but Theo’s always felt his dad just smells important.
He goes to the built-in bookshelves on the far wall, behind the desk. Underneath the shelves on either side there is a set of cupboard doors. The same cupboards his dad had been rummaging through last week when he was in one of his tempers. Theo bends down and pulls open one of the doors. Neatly stacked is a pile of Lever Arch folders. He pulls one out and skims through the pages; it looks like old tax accounts. He shoves them back, making sure to keep them in the right order. He’s certain that’s the kind of thing his dad would notice. He tries the other cupboard but it’s locked. Damn it. He didn’t even think about that. Why would his dad lock it unless it was something he didn’t want anybody seeing? Mavis isn’t even allowed in here to clean. He tries the desk drawers instead. Surprisingly they aren’t locked but they contain nothing exciting, just some receipts held together with a bulldog clip, a pack of Bic pens, a fancy fountain pen, some certificates from the golf club and a bottle of pills. He picks them up, examining the label. Blood-pressure medication. He didn’t even know his dad had high blood pressure. He replaces the bottle. There must be something, he thinks, his eye going again to the locked cupboard. He has to get in there, whatever the consequences. He opens the desk drawer again and finds two large paperclips, which he bends into a V, shoving the end of one into the lock. He’d tried this once, with a bunch of mates, years ago at school to get into the display cabinet that held all the sporting medals: they’d wanted to play a prank on one of the rugby team. He remembers having to push down on the end of one, while jiggling the other. ‘Come on, you piece of shit, open,’ he says through clenched teeth. Finally he hears a pop and feels a release and the cupboard springs open. He sits back on his heels, shocked that he’s actually managed to do it.
And then his heart falls. The cupboard is empty. All that effort and his dad has locked a fucking empty cupboard. He looks around as though this is some prank and his dad is at the door laughing at him. But no, he’s alone. Why would his dad lock an empty cupboard? Unless, he thinks, gathering his thoughts, his dad has moved whatever was in there to somewhere more secure. He peers into the cupboard, gently pushing on the shelves within. The bottom one creaks under his hand. He inspects it more closely: it’s loose, more like a panel than a shelf. He pushes it and the top comes off, revealing a sort of hidden section underneath. Theo’s heart pounds. Something’s there: a small pile of newspaper cuttings with a black A4 flexible folder placed on top. He reaches for the cuttings. They are all dated from 2004 and are from local newspapers about his mum’s accident. He understands why his dad might want to keep them, but why hide them? Perhaps he just forgot about them, he thinks, putting them back.
Then he turns to the folder. It has clear plastic sleeves. He flicks through it. Each of the fifteen-odd sleeves has a photograph loose at the bottom. Nothing more than that. He takes out the first. It’s in colour, muted autumnal tones, and is of a woman around his age, and it looks like she’s unaware the photo has been taken. She’s heavily pregnant. By the style of her hair and clothes it looks to be from the late 1960s or early 1970s. He turns the photograph over, expecting maybe a date or a name, but it’s blank. He flicks through the rest of the folder and it’s the same: photographs of women, taken unawares. But nothing else. The latest photo looks more recent. Maybe ten years ago, fifteen at a push. Definitely the twenty-first century. Why has his dad got a folder of these random women?