Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

‘I would have thought that was pretty obvious under the circumstances,’ I responded, not even entirely sure what I meant by the remark.

But Michael Shaw seemed to think about it for a moment or two. Then his belligerence fell away a little. His shoulders dropped and his voice was quieter when he next spoke.

‘Well, you’ve really gone and upset our Sue now, haven’t you?’ he said.

‘It seems to me you’ve already done that yourself,’ I countered.

I felt a cold fury enveloping me. I rose to my feet and squared up to him. He towered above me. I’d guessed he was a big man when I’d first encountered him sitting in his Range Rover, and he certainly was big. I thought he was probably six foot four, or even five. Taller than Robert certainly, and far broader. I didn’t care.

‘After all, you’re the one who forced her to have an abortion, aren’t you?’ I yelled at him. ‘It was you who made my son’s fifteen-year-old girlfriend abort his baby. You, you bastard. And it’s quite likely you’re responsible for my son’s death too, as well as the death of his unborn child. You went to see him on the day he died. What did you say to him? What did you do to make my son want to kill himself? Or maybe I should be asking what you did to make it look as if he’d killed himself? I think you could have killed my son. Perhaps you’re a murderer. You evil, evil bastard.’

My level of hysteria now left Sue Shaw’s earlier outburst in the starting stalls. I was boiling with rage and despair. I was in a frenzy that was quite off the planet.

Michael Shaw, big as he was, looked as if he’d been poleaxed. He sat down with a bump on the edge of the sofa, long legs akimbo, thick arms hanging loosely.

‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Whoa. I didn’t murder anyone. I didn’t hurt your son. I never even saw him...’

‘You lying evil bastard—’ I began again.

This time he shouted over me.

‘Will you just listen to me, Mrs Anderson. I went to your house, but I didn’t see your son because he was dead when I arrived. The front door was on the latch. I thought the boy was avoiding me. I was angry, all right, yes. I stormed right through the place looking for him. And when I found him, in his room up at the top, well, there he was, hanging by the neck. I took off back home, trying not to touch anything, left the door on the latch again, wiped the handle with a tissue. I don’t know what I was thinking about—’

‘So why didn’t you call the police?’ I asked, my voice still raised. ‘If that’s how it was, and you found a dead body, the body of my son, why the hell didn’t you call the police?’

Shaw shrugged. ‘I — uh, I realized how it would look, I suppose. I just didn’t think. I just wanted to get out of the place, back to my daughter.’

‘Oh yes,’ I continued at full pitch. ‘The fifteen-year-old girl you then made have an abortion. An abortion at that age, for Christ’s sake!’

‘No, no,’ said Shaw emphatically. ‘My God, where did you get that idea from? What sort of a man do you think I am? I didn’t make her have an abortion.’

‘Well, she’s not pregnant any more is she? And she’s just told me it was your fault, you bastard. You utter bastard.’

‘Mrs Anderson,’ the woman with Shaw, whom I’d already assumed to be his wife, blonde and pretty like Sue, but shorter, indeed not much taller than me, stepped forward and spoke for the first time, ‘I’m Sue’s mum. And you really must calm down and listen to me. Sue hasn’t had an abortion. She suffered a miscarriage on the night of your son’s funeral. She was only just pregnant, of course, but that made no difference. The poor love’s been beside herself ever since. We can’t do a thing with her, to be honest. She blames her father because they had a such terrible row when she came back from Robbie’s funeral. He’d forbidden her from going, you see. Sometimes, well...’

She glanced quickly towards Michael Shaw, who was sitting staring down at his feet.

‘My Mikey’s a wonderful family man but he doesn’t always think things through,’ she continued.

And that was what I was afraid of, I thought. But I made myself stay silent, albeit with some difficulty. I needed to hear the rest of this.

Mrs Shaw glanced towards her husband. He took up the story.

‘I blame myself too, if you want to know,’ he said. ‘I felt it was the boy’s fault my girl got pregnant. We blokes do. Him being dead didn’t change that. And I didn’t want our Sue to have anything to do with the lad’s family, with your family. I thought she’d get mixed up with the suicide thing, that fingers would be pointed at her. Her life was suddenly in enough of a mess. So much promise. I was afraid it was all going to be ruined, and I didn’t know what to do about it. When I realized she’d disobeyed me and gone to the funeral, I was hopping mad. We had a right shouting match, Sue and me, when she got back. Then, well, she just collapsed. And that was that. She lost the baby later that night.’

There was total silence in the room. I felt weak and drained. I sat down again in one of the leather armchairs and Mrs Shaw sat on the other. We were all sitting now.

I struggled to control my breathing.

‘I don’t know what to believe,’ I said.

‘It’s the truth, all of it,’ said Susannah Shaw.

‘You don’t know that,’ I snapped back, recovering some of my spark. ‘You weren’t with your husband when he drove to my home to confront my son, were you? You weren’t with him when he claims to have found my Robbie already dead, were you?’

‘No, I wasn’t with him,’ said Mrs Shaw mildly. ‘But I know my Mikey. He’s telling the truth. He has a temper, but he’s not a bad man. He’d never have hurt your son, not really, no more than he would hurt our Sue.’

I clenched my fists to stop my hands shaking. The revelations of the last few minutes had completely bowled me over. I wasn’t angry any more. In a way I was deflated. I didn’t know what to do or say next.

‘I think the police had better decide that, don’t you?’ I said eventually. ‘Obviously I shall pass on what you’ve both told me.’

Mr and Mrs Shaw exchanged glances again.

‘You must do what you feel you must,’ said Mrs Shaw. ‘But I promise you that the results of any police investigation will be exactly as my husband has told you.’

‘He discovered a dead body and failed to report it,’ I said. ‘I don’t have any choice.’

Mr Shaw lowered his head and stared at his feet again. Mrs Shaw stood up. ‘Go and put the kettle on, Mikey,’ she said. ‘I’ll pop upstairs and see to our Sue.’

I should have left then, I suppose. But I didn’t. It was as if I hadn’t the energy to do so. I was running on empty. Michael Shaw obediently began to do his wife’s bidding. I sat and waited while he clattered about in the kitchen next door and his wife got on with whatever seeing to Sue entailed.

The big man returned balancing an incongruously delicate china tea set on a tray: teapot, matching milk jug, sugar bowl, and proper cups and saucers.

He poured and passed me a cup, milk already in. I added sugar in spite of disliking sugar in my tea. If there was just a chance that there really was any substance to the old adage I had always been so scornful of, that sweet tea was good for shock, then this time I really had to give it a go, because I was quite numb with shock yet again. And I had to drive home.

Mrs Shaw returned as I was forcing down the first sickly mouthful. Michael looked at her enquiringly.

‘She’ll be all right. She’s calmed down. Gone on her computer. Best leave her alone for a bit.’

Michael Shaw nodded. His wife stepped towards me, with surely genuine compassion in eyes that were so like her daughter’s.