The Trawlerman, стр. 64
‘This is your kind of penance, you mean?’
‘I don’t really go for the religious thing, but yes, in a way.’
He thought for a minute. ‘Find another way. I don’t want to be part of this.’
‘Think of it as a favour. I won’t tell anyone what you did. Just do this and I’m gone from your life.’
‘You want to give me thirteen thousand pounds, and for me to give it to him?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘For me. Just as a last favour.’
He finished his glass; squinted at her. ‘If I was to do that, it wouldn’t prove anything at all. Just that I’d pretended to be someone who knew where his money was.’
‘There’s nothing at all linking you to the money, for better or worse. But he’d believe it was you because you are from the golf club. You knew Ayman. I believe it’s you. He would too.’
He shrugged. ‘He’s not stupid.’
‘No. He’s not. But I think he’d actually believe it. The thing about Bill is that unlike me, he always thinks the best of people.’ She picked up his glass. ‘Let me get you another one while you think about it.’
She returned to the bar and got him another drink.
‘If I do it,’ he said when she sat down again, ‘you never come back to this club again.’
‘What if I suddenly discover the joys of golf?’
‘Not here. Ever.’
She nodded. ‘OK. Deal.’
‘No electronic transfer. Cash only. Nothing you can turn around and try to pin on me.’
‘I can’t just go to the bank and take out thirteen thousand in cash.’
‘Find a way. And I don’t want you bringing the money to my house.’
‘You’re quite paranoid, aren’t you?’
‘And I’m not coming to yours, either.’
Again, she nodded. ‘You sure about this?’
‘Not really. So where can we meet? Somewhere quiet where nobody’s going to see me.’
She nodded. ‘Agreed. Do you know a place called Boat Lane?’ she asked. And she described the place in exact detail.
On her way out, she took a twenty-pound note and placed it in the yellow charity box on the table; the one that Ayman Younis must have put there. When she left the room she was sure she could hear him laughing, but didn’t dare look back because she wouldn’t know what she would do if she did.
— You say you’ve changed in the last few weeks. In what way?
— I’m about to do something that would have been unthinkable to my old self.
— Is that good?
— You tell me. I’ve never felt less certain of something in my life. I’m letting someone who I believe has committed a terrible crime get away with it.
— How terrible? You know you probably shouldn’t tell me. If you tell me about a crime, I’m not obliged to keep that confidential.
— Don’t sound so nervous. I’ll spare you the details. Remember I told you about that man I sent to prison?
— The one who likes birds?
— He’s a good man. Best man I’ve ever known, really. He always looked out for Zoë, from the moment we knew each other. I let him down before by doing what I thought was right. I know he was very hurt by that. I want to do something good for him, but I don’t think the old me would have ever done something like this.
— I can’t pretend to understand what you’re telling me, but I do know that at the heart of this is empathy. You care very much about what happens to this man. Empathy is good.
— Maybe you think so in your profession. In mine, I’ve never been convinced. If empathy means we only do good to the people we know, what good is that? Know what? I’m actually kind of sick of empathy. Empathy for one person means we value them over the people we can’t see. We’re just looking out for our friends and family. That’s like the mafia. I don’t want empathy. I want some rationality, for a change.
— Rationality isn’t going to help you. If you’re feeling that kind of empathy for this man, maybe it’s like that part of you that you’ve kept under the skin for so long that’s coming alive again.
— Maybe. I’m not so sure I like it, though. I miss my old, cold-hearted self who knew how she felt about everything and knew exactly what she was supposed to do. Why are you laughing?
It was raining when Curly delivered the car to her door. ‘It’s a classic,’ he said.
‘I bet it absolutely soaks up petrol,’ complained Zoë.
A twenty-seven-year-old gold Mercedes estate. ‘I like it, though. I can see myself in a car like that.’
‘I said we should get an electric car.’
‘It’s what we can afford. We’re going to have to tighten our belts a little, one way or another. Is that rust?’ Alex peered at the sills.
‘It’s a bargain, that’s what it is,’ said Curly.
‘I don’t see why we need a car at all, Mum.’
Curly handed her mother the heavy old key. ‘Don’t worry, Zoë. We’re just taking it for a test drive, love. I somehow doubt your mother is going to like this one.’
‘We’ll be back in a couple of hours.’
‘Don’t I get a say on which car we buy?’
‘No,’ said Alex, getting into the leather driver’s seat. She put the car into gear and moved away, turning the big wipers on to clear the rain from the windscreen. As she passed the new lighthouse, the wheel dipped into a pothole, and the sump cracked against the concrete track.
‘Careful,’ said Curly. ‘I hate to see a car like this treated badly.’
After that, they drove, north, neither saying anything.
She dropped Curly at his house. It was already evening by the time she turned off a lane in woods just outside Ashford and drove