Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

By the time he turned into the home stretch he was feeling slightly calmer. A feeling that vanished, giving ground to a great swoosh of alarm the moment he saw parked cars, nose to tail, both sides and the whole length of Cordwainer Road. He hesitated but was driven forwards by angry hooting from behind. At the corner was a red-and-white-striped hut used by workmen drilling the road and narrowing it to single traffic only. No space there then. He turned into Elmstone Road – hopeless. Harbiedown Road the same, plus skips. Desperate he finally left the car blocking a garage heavily inscribed “Positively No Parking.”

Polly opened the door and stared at her father in amazement. Sweating, panting, holding his side against an agonising stitch, Mallory could hardly speak.

“Dad?” She reached out and helped him inside. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“Run…Running.”

“What for?”

“I’m all right.” She was struggling to support the full weight of him. “Honestly.”

“Why were you running?”

“Worried.” Mallory leaned against the stair banisters, feeling weak at the knees with anxiety. He released a single, rasping exhalation that really hurt. His breathing gradually became less laboured. “You sounded so…”

“Oh, Dad.” She put her arms around him again. They swayed clumsily for a moment and almost overbalanced. “Here, come and sit down.”

The sitting room, which he had been wildly seeing as half destroyed or at least intensely chaotic, looked just as usual. Weak rays from the afternoon sun spilled over the furniture, showing up the dust. Touching a vase of dying roses. Mallory made for the settee and Polly helped him as though he was an invalid.

“I’ll make you a drink—”

“No, no! Tell me Polly, for God’s sake.”

Mallory gazed at her intently. There was no trace of tears. He was touched that she’d washed and dried her face and made an effort to overcome her distress. Now she appeared calmer than he was. But even as he watched her eyes darkened, her lips drooped and began to tremble. She clamped them together so forcefully they all but vanished. Mallory reached out and took her hand.

“Just tell me, Poll.”

So she told him. About how she had got drawn into playing the market with a group of sharky people who she thought were friends. And how she won and won and then lost and lost. And how she had a chance to recoup everything and make lots more because there was a whisper everywhere that this new dot.com company were going to be the next big thing. Anguished at being excluded from this marvellous opportunity, when she was offered a loan by the group’s banker she jumped at it. He was sure the whisper was true and he was always right.

“Honestly, Dad, this guy’s not even thirty and he’s so rich and he started with nothing. He drew up a contract. I signed and things were OK for a few weeks – not great but the shares seemed pretty stable – then everything just collapsed overnight and I lost the lot.

“That was when I read the small print. Twenty-five per cent compound interest because I had no collateral. That was three months ago and the interest’s already nearly as high as the debt. He…um…did suggest another way out but I just couldn’t do it. He’s like a slug – so slimily foul, so greasy—”

“Of course you mustn’t do anything like that!” Black rage welled up in Mallory. Hatred for the unknown man, a longing to grab him by the throat and squeeze and shake and throttle and choke. Christ! What a bastard.

“Daddy, you’re hurting.”

“Sorry.” He released her hand. “Sorry, love.”

“So it’s just piling up and up and up. He’s like those vicious sharks on housing estates. Borrow five quid, turn around three times, you owe five hundred.”

“How much did you borrow, Polly?”

“Ten.”

“Ten thousand ?” Polly hung her head. Her hair fell forward, a thick mat of dark curls.

“And how much does this debt stand at now?”

“Nearly sixteen.”

“This is unbelievable.” Mallory carefully drew in his breath and exhaled a long despairing sigh. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

“Like who?”

“Doesn’t the LSE have an advice—”

“I don’t need advice,” screamed Polly. “I need fucking money!” She burst into tears, covered her face with her hands and rocked slowly backwards and forwards.

“Oh God.”

“I thought you’d understand.” Her voice was muffled. Flat and dull as if the argument had been wrestled with for hours already and they had already worn it out. “I thought you’d help me.”

“I do—I will. I only wish you’d come to me before.”

“Couldn’t. Not with what you were going through.”

“The thought of you carrying a burden like this all by yourself…”

Mallory suddenly remembered the argument, weeks ago now, about Polly’s flat. The row that had been interrupted by Benny’s telephone call and the news of Carey’s death. This must have been what the money was for. He remembered Kate’s caution; her wary sceptism. And she had been right. Even just acknowledging this made him feel disloyal to Polly.

“So that’s why, when Aunt Carey left me all those shares I went wild with relief. But you do see, Dad, waiting another ten months’ll be just crippling. Hardly any of it will be left.” Polly gazed directly at her father, eyes swimming with un-shed tears. “You’ve known Dennis all your life. If you asked him, as a special favour, to bend the rules just this once, I’m sure he would.”

“Polly—”

“I wouldn’t expect it all – just enough to cover the debt.”

“There’s no need to ask Dennis.”

“I don’t understand.” Polly spoke with simple bewilderment. She held Mallory’s gaze, her own, clear and shining. She had been preparing for this moment ever since discovering, in Dennis’s office, who actually had control of her legacy.

“Your bequest is part of the Lawson estate. Which has all been transferred to me.”

“I can’t…what?” Polly looked incredulous, her pretty mouth wide open. Then she was laughing and crying all at once. Flinging her arms around his neck, soaking his jacket with tears. “Then everything’s all right.”

Mallory awkwardly patted her hair. After a while Polly sat back, wiped her face on her shirt and stared at him with great seriousness. She frowned, then squared her shoulders as if coming to a decision.

“I did it for you, Dad.”

“What?”

“You were locked up in that hideous place like someone in a madhouse. It was so cruel. I watched it killing you. And all because there was no money.”

“It’s over now.”

“Once when I came round you looked so manic. You stared at me as if you didn’t know who I was. Do you remember that?”

Dumbly Mallory shook his head.

“I was afraid you’d do something desperate. And I couldn’t have borne that. I just couldn’t.” She clenched her fists, banging them hard on the arms of the chair. “They make obscene money, those arseholes. On the turn of a card. And I thought, why shouldn’t my dad have some of it?”

“Oh, Polly.” Choked with emotion Mallory could hardly get his words out. So much was tumbling through his mind. Admiration for his daughter, for her courage in carrying all this in silence. Sick loathing for the unknown man who had dared, dared to try to blackmail Polly into having sex with him. But, most overwhelmingly of all, joy and gratitude at this demonstration of how much his daughter loved him. Of course he had always loved her. Most parents love their children, it comes with the territory. And they, thought Mallory, love us when they’re small. They must, for we are their life-lines. But when they are grown up and have no sensible reason to love you yet love you still then, my God, then aren’t we the lucky ones?