The man nodded, ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He carried a briefcase that was far too smart for his clothes.
‘I could tell you were,’ said Max. ‘Are you going to arrest someone?’
The policeman ignored the question. ‘Mr Mercer?’ he said. I nodded, and he nodded at me again. He told me his name, and his rank. I immediately forgot both.
‘You got a minute?’
‘I was going to take Max to school.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Max. ‘I can just go.’
‘I’d like to speak to your son actually, if that’s all right. With your permission, and in your presence.’
No.
‘My name’s Max,’ said Max.
I looked at Max. You want to do this? He nodded at me.
‘OK,’ I said.
‘You’re giving your consent?’
‘I am,’ I said, ‘yes.’
‘Me too,’ said Max.
The policeman explained that this was not an interview, although he had recently been certified in interviewing children. He gave me a sheet of paper about what we could expect from the police and how to make a complaint if we were unhappy. Then he took out a notebook. I handed the paper to Max, who read it carefully.
First sign, I thought. First sign that this is taking a wrong turn and I end it and ask him to leave. He’s eleven.
I brought a chair in from the kitchen for the policeman. Max and I sat on the sofa. The policeman asked me where Millicent was, and I told him she was out. He asked me where she worked, and I said that she worked from home. He asked me where she was again. I said I wasn’t sure.
He made a note in his notebook.
‘She often goes out,’ said Max. ‘Dad never knows where she is.’
‘Max,’ I said.
‘Well, you don’t.’
The policeman made a note of this too.
‘Mum values her freedom .’
The policeman made yet another note. Then he took out a small pile of printed forms on to which he began to write.
‘How old are you, Max?’
‘Eleven.’
‘And is Max Mercer your full name?’
‘Yes. I don’t have a middle name.’
‘And you’re a boy, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
They exchanged a smile; I realised that the policeman was simply nervous.
‘Can I sit beside you?’ said Max. ‘Just while you’re doing the form?’
The policeman looked at me.
‘If that’s OK with your dad.’
‘Sure,’ I said. I asked him if he wanted a coffee; he asked for a glass of water instead. I went through to the kitchen. Was he nervous, I wondered. Or are you playing nice cop?
‘I’m white British,’ I heard Max say, ‘even though British isn’t a race but the human race is. We’re not religious or anything. And my first language is English, so I don’t need an interpreter.’
He was reading from the form, I guessed, checking off the categories: so proud, so anxious to show how grown-up he could be. ‘For my orientation you can put straight.’
‘That’s really for older children,’ I heard the policeman say.
‘But can’t you just put straight?’
‘All right, Max. Straight.’
I came back in with the water. The policeman got up and sat opposite us again in the kitchen chair, writing careful notes as his telephone recorded Max’s words.
‘What were you doing before you found the neighbour, Max?’
‘Not much. Like reading and homework and stuff. I’m not allowed an Xbox or anything. And Mum was out, and Dad was working. He lets me borrow his phone, though.’
The policeman sent me an enquiring look. Then he made another note. I was wrong. It wasn’t nervousness; it was something else. There was a shrewdness to him that I hadn’t noticed at first, and that I didn’t much like. ‘We’re good parents,’ I wanted to say to him. ‘We love him unconditionally. We set boundaries.’ Don’t judge us.
He was good at speaking to children, though: I had to give him that. Max told him everything. That we had been looking for our cat, that the cat had led us into the neighbour’s house, that the back door had been open, and that the cat had disappeared up the stairs.
‘Is it better to say erection , or can I say boner ?’ said Max.
‘Just say whichever you feel more comfortable saying,’ said the policeman.
‘But what should I say in court?’
‘I don’t think you’re going to have to speak in court,’ said the policeman. ‘That’s very unlikely.’
‘What would you say, though?’
The policeman laughed gently. ‘Probably erection. It’s the official word.’
‘OK.’ Max smiled a wide smile. ‘Erection.’ Then he became serious again; he made himself taller and stiffer, an adult in miniature. ‘Anyway, even though Dad tried to stop me seeing, I saw that the neighbour had an erection.’
I hadn’t tried to stop Max from seeing, though. At least I didn’t think I had. I was suddenly unsure. Perhaps I had.
‘I’m sorry, Max,’ said the policeman. ‘That must have been upsetting for you.’
‘You don’t mean the erection. You mean the dead body.’
‘Yes,’ said the policeman.
‘It was OK,’ said Max. ‘I mean, it wasn’t nice, but it was OK. Have you seen a dead body before?’
‘No,’ said the policeman, ‘only pictures.’
‘Isn’t it your job?’
‘We all have slightly different jobs,’ he said.
‘How long have you been a policeman?’
‘Couple of years,’ he said.
I had been wondering whether to send Max upstairs to his bedroom, or to ask whether I could drop Max at school and then come back. Of course, Max could have walked to school by himself, but I wanted to walk by my son’s side, to see him safely there, to make sure he was OK after the questions from the police.
The policeman didn’t need to speak to me. He had other children he had to speak to. Formal interviews.
‘Dark stuff,’ he said, and a troubled look clouded his features.
‘What dark stuff?’ said Max.
The policeman checked himself again. He stood up, put the forms in his briefcase, and handed me a card, told me his colleagues would be in touch to speak to me.
‘What dark stuff?’ said Max again.
‘Not all parents love their children the way your dad loves you, Max.’
As we left the house Max slipped his fingers through mine. Little Max, my only-begotten son . He hardly ever held my hand these days.
‘Dad,’ said Max, ‘Dad, Ravion Stamp had to go to the police station, and they filmed it and everything. And his dad wasn’t allowed to be there.’
‘That isn’t going to happen to you,’ I said.
‘But what if they arrest you?’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘But Ravion’s dad …’
Jason Stamp had violently assaulted his son. Ravion had testified by video link. I wasn’t sure how much Max knew about the case.
‘That won’t happen to us, Max. I promise you.’
‘But how could that man know that you love me?’ he said.
‘He could see it.’
‘How?’
‘OK, he was just guessing.’
‘You are so an noy ing, Dad,’ he said. But he leaned in to me and wrapped his arms around me for a moment. My beautiful, clever son. My only-begotten. Whose first word was cat and whose seventh was fuck ; whose forty-fourth word was a close approximation of motherfucker .
Forget the swearing, though. We fed Max, we clothed him, we sang him to sleep at night. We set clear boundaries, and applied rules as fairly as we could. Our house was full of love. We are the classic good-enough parents.
Millicent and Max would bath together; I would hear their shrieks of laughter from halfway down the street. Listen to that: that’s the sound of my little tribe. Listen to that and tell me it’s not real.
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