Lost in Manchester - 28. Showdown. April 2010. Adam

Adam and Ryan fell back onto the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, and panting from the exertion of the last fourteen minutes. Adam’s face was flushed pink, and Ryan was whispering expletives between heavy breaths.

“Fuck…FUCK!...That…was so…fucking…hot”.

Adam had a grin across his face that was reaching for his ears. He waited a few seconds for his breathing to calm. “I told you it feels awesome that way up.”

“You know you have to stay here and fuck all day now” Ryan said, turning his naked body towards Adam. It looked like he was ready to go again. The boy was insatiable.

“Mmm, you know I would”, he said, staying on his back and stretching his arms behind his head, enjoying the afterglow like the feeling of summer sun on his face. “But the boys are coming to get me at 10.”

“Screw ‘em, they can go hunt out Paul on their own.”

Adam shook his head. “Come on” he said starting to sit up, “I need to shift my ass.”

Ryan grabbed his arm tightly, curled up his body to anchor himself to the bed, and held on tight.

“Seriously” Adam laughed, “I do need to get ready.”

“Seriously mister” Ryan said, his face emerging from underneath Adam’s arm, “we need to spend all day fucking”

Adam gave him a teacher death-stare, half in jest, but with enough truth to be clear it was time to stop.

“Nope” Ryan persisted.

Adam ended up half tickling, half wrestling with his boyfriend to free himself, eventually pushing Ryan firmly back, and landing awkwardly on his feet outside the bed. Ryan lay like a wounded animal on top of the sheets.

“Fine. If you want to hang out with a bunch of ugly fucking tory boys” he muttered.

“I don’t want to. But we have to find Paul.”

Ryan curled his lip up. “Fuck him. Stay with me. You won’t find him anyway. I don’t know why you’re bothering.”

“You remember this is the guy that left me with five thousand pounds of debt?”

Ryan raised his eyebrows for a fight. “Oh, and that’s more than I’m worth to you is it?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed, waiting on the smile to reveal this was a joke, but it didn’t come.

“Yes. It is. I’m going to go get a shower”.

 

They successfully navigated their way out of Manchester and were well on their way southbound on the M6, Simon behind the wheel, Adam in the passenger seat and the hyena in the back.

“So when I come off at this next junction, do I want the A5182 or the B5038?” Simon asked.

Adam looked at him. “I, seriously, have no idea.”

“Don’t you read maps?” Simon said, picking up the A to Z off the dashboard and thrusting it at Adam.

“Um, no. I live in the centre of a city.”

The hyena grabbed the map from Adam’s hand.

“Alright, where in Shrewsbury are we heading to?”

Silence rang round the car.

“Great” Simon said. “No-one fucking checked where the address was?”

“It’s on my phone” Adam said, grabbing it out.

“Ok, the turning’s coming up” Simon said urgently. “Is it left or right?”

Adam grabbed the map back. “Alright, hang on.”

“I really can’t hang on. The turning’s coming up.”

“Shit, erm, Shrewsbury, so if we follow this red road up…”

“Ok, I’m going left”

Adam’s finger stopped at the junction. “No, right.”

The car veered across to the right lane, dust flying up as they cut across the white lines. A van behind them flashed its lights in irritation.

 

There was a silence for a few seconds before the hyena picked up their earlier conversation.

“Ok, so what if Paul’s parents turn us away?”

“Then we keep going” Simon replied. “They can’t avoid us forever.”

“Ok, and what if he denies everything we say?”

Adam shrugged “We’ve got to tell them everything and show them the proof we’ve got.”

“That’s all we can do” Simon agreed.

“Ok”. He paused. “And what if he answers the door?” the hyena asked.

Simon looked across at Adam, and Adam to the back seat. None of them knew quite how that might go.

The noon news was coming onto the radio as the three of them pulled up outside the address written in the top right corner of the CV in Adam’s hand.

“Number 89. This is it.”

Simon, guided his sporting green VW Golf into a space across the road from the small terraced house on the generic modern estate, and turned off the engine. They all looked over to the building across the road. There was no sign of life.

“Somehow I thought it would be bigger” Adam said.

Simon made an assenting sound.

“Shit, he might only be about 20 metres away from us right now” Mark said quietly.

“So, you want me to do the talking at first?” Simon asked, taking on the role of big brother.

The others nodded, and they got out of the car. He led the way down a narrow slab path, cutting across a small front lawn, and gave two knocks at the white upvc door. Adam stood behind him, and Mark at the back.

A man quickly answered, pulling the door half open. He was tall, maybe 6’4, broad and with dark hair and a beard. He looked to be in his late 50s, and would probably have been very strong a few years ago. He wasn’t overbearing though, the opposite if anything. He looked humble and keen to help three strangers on his doorstep.

“Hi” Simon said, more warmly than Adam had expected. “We’d like to speak to you about Paul”.

Simon was going in on the front foot, cutting off any opportunity for wavering or denying knowledge of Paul. He had been thinking about that opening line.

The man looked uncertain for a second. Did he know already why they were here? Was he weighing up whether he could get away with saying Paul didn’t live here?

“I’m afraid he’s away in London this weekend” the man said. “Can I pass on a message?”

Adam felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. He realised how unprepared he would have been to see Paul. Simon didn’t flinch.

“Actually, we’re here to talk to you about him. We’re friends from Manchester, but we’ve had some problems…”

The man looked cautious, and it seemed his grip tightened on the handle of the front door, like he didn’t want anybody else in the house to hear the conversation.

“…money problems” Simon concluded.

The man stared at Simon a couple of seconds, then his eyes briefly seemed to cloud over. He seemed to be struggling to decide what to do next.

“Please, we’ve travelled down from Manchester this morning to speak to you” Adam chipped in. “It’s important that you hear what we’ve got to tell you”.

The man paused, but then relented and pulled the door open.

“Very well then. You’d better come in”.

 

In the cosy lounge of the terraced house at 89 Laburnum Close, Simon, Adam and Mark sat in an uncomfortable line on the chintzy beige sofa, each balancing a china cup of tea in their hands. Paul’s stepfather, Tony, sat solemnly on a matching armchair across from them, as Paul’s mother, a lively, gregarious lady with thick curly black hair fussed around offering them shortbread biscuits.

“So, Mrs Griffiths, about Paul…” Simon began, trying to cut through the fog of hospitality that was suffocating their mission.

“Call me Anna, please. It’s so lovely to meet Paul’s friends finally, I can’t tell you. Mark, here take one of these. So you must be the politician, and the one with the funny laugh I think Paul said? And Simon in the middle, the deputy head teacher I think? And Adam, the lecturer at the university at the end. Did I get that right?”

The three of them looked at each other with the same creeping recognition. Their lives had received the embellishment treatment.

“Oh this is fabulous. Honestly, I can’t imagine how you youngsters get such senior jobs…”, she paused, “…or who you must sleeping with!”

“Did you get the letter I sent to you?” Adam asked, cutting through the performance he recognised well from her offspring.

She turned to him.

“No dear.”

“I wrote to you about a lot of money that he owes me, and about money that he also owes to some of the others.”

“Well, why would you tell me dear? He pays off his own debts. Honestly, it doesn’t matter how much you earn, there always seems to be more to spend it on doesn’t there? He’s just like me. It won’t be a problem though.”

“I’m not so sure”. Adam said, and pulled out the bills from his back pocket, passing them across to her. These are all bills he’s left unpaid. I’ve been paying him money each month for them, and he’s just been pocketing it. He also hasn’t paid for his rent on our flat for the last six months”.

She was finally done fussing, so took the papers off Adam and sat down on the final armchair next to Tony, who was sitting quietly, letting her do the talking. She didn’t even look at the papers.

“Well I’m sorry dear but you’ll have to speak to Paul, I’m afraid I don’t know which bills he has and hasn’t paid. But he earns more than the two of us put together, so he won’t have a problem paying for anything he owes”. She smiled sweetly.

“There’s more I’m afraid” Mark said.

Anna turned to him.

“I’m sorry dear?”

“Your son stole money from the young Conservatives bank account” Simon said, sternly.

Anna laughed.

“Nonsense. Paul loves his politics. Goodness, the things he’s told me about going along to functions, meeting Kenneth Clarke MP and sharing a cigar as they talked about the tobacco industry. He gives a lot of his income to the party too. There must have been a mix up.”

Simon pulled out the accounts from his bag. The regular monthly withdrawals to Paul’s account could not have been more plain.

Anna reviewed them, and for the first time, looked confounded.

“Well i’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. I’ll give him a call” she pulled out her mobile phone.

“No.” Simon said quickly.

“What dear?”

“Please don’t call him yet. Tell us first, does this all honestly come as a complete surprise? I mean, think about it. Has he borrowed any money from either of you lately?”

“No, why should he? He doesn’t need my money”. She didn’t even consider the question.

“Except he disappeared this weekend with your credit card” Tony said, speaking for the first time since they arrived.

“Oh shush Tony.”

Simon’s gaze darted to Tony.

“Has he been using it?”

“It’s nothing” Anna interceded. “There’s a perfectly good reason for it, I’m sure.”

“Anna” Adam said, “I think you need to take seriously the fact that…”

“Actually I think you can call me Mrs Griffiths again please”

She picked up her mobile again, and started to type.

“Don’t text him Mrs Griffiths, please” Simon said. “Let us finish.”

“Sent” she said, looking up. “We’ll soon clear this up, he probably needed to borrow it for work”.

“You know he doesn’t work for United Tobacco Mrs Griffiths” Adam said.

“Well, for another two weeks he does” she said, as if correcting Adam’s grammar.

“No” Simon said. “He doesn’t…”

“What happens in two weeks?” Mark asked.

“He has a new job. Head of legal services for a firm down here”. She seemed pleased of the chance to return to speaking proudly of her son, instead of defending him.

“He never worked for United Tobacco” Simon concluded.

“He’s been lying to us all” Adam confirmed.

Anna looked from one face to the other, and then started to smile. “This is a set up isn’t it?” She turned to Tony. “This is you? Come on.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, shrugged and shook his head, indicating that if so, then he knew nothing of it.

A solemn silence passed around the room.

“I wish it was” Mark said. “But we called the company. He’s never worked there. No-one of that name has ever worked there”.

Anna turned to Tony, then back to them.

“Well this is ridiculous. I know where my son works. He tells me every week about the cases he’s working on, the battles he’s had to fight in New York with idiot American lawyers. I’ve seen magazine articles written about him with his photo at the top of the article. Now why would they have written those articles if he didn’t work there?”

The three looked at each other. They weren’t making any headway.

Anna suddenly looked a little fearful. “I think you must be fantasists, the three of you”. She stood up. “Look, I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here, but I think it’s time for you to go now”.

 

 

Before Anna could shoo them out, a brown-haired girl wandered into the room. She must have been in her early twenties, and with enough of Paul’s features to identify her as his sister.

“What’s going on?” she asked casually.

“These are some people that your brother knows from Manchester, but they’re leaving dear.”

“Oh right, is one of you the investor guy? I’ve been trying to get an update of how my money’s doing.”

“No love, I don’t think so” Anna said. “Anyway, they’re just going.”

“What investor?” Mark asked.

“Paul helped get my divorce settlement invested. It’s going to turn eight thousand pounds into ten over two years”

“You see, this is the kind of man by son is” Anna said, almost spitting it at the three of them, still sitting resolutely in a line on the sofa.

“Have they made the investment yet?” Mark asked, his voice and his face betraying the same sick feeling that Adam felt in his stomach.

“Yeah, I transferred the money a couple of months ago, why?”

“And have you got the paperwork?”

The girl looked surprised by the intensity of his questions.

“No. Paul’s dealing with it.”

“So you’ve seen no paperwork?” Simon asked.

“No. Mum, what’s with these guys?”

“Mrs Griffiths, you need to listen to us” Adam said again, even more intently.

“Come on” Simon added, “first disappearing with our money, then your credit card, and now this divorce money too.”

Anna looked uncertain, and Adam thought for a second she was beginning to hear them. The next second her mobile buzzed and she lifted it to read a message. She emitted a short gasp, then turned the screen for Tony to read.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“You” she said threateningly, raising a finger towards the sofa. “You…devils. Coming here to poison a mother against her own son. God! And I’ve had to force out of him something he didn’t want to tell us. Something he wanted to protect us from.”

“What?” Mark asked, at a loss for what Paul might have written that could have had this effect.

“Well now I know the truth at least”. She turned a sub-zero stare at the three of them. “He borrowed the credit card because he needed it to pay for treatment”. She glanced again at the message. “Treatments that cost £2,000 a time. My son has AIDS.”

 

Her voice silenced the room for a few seconds, before the three of them on the sofa exchanged sceptical looks.

“Mrs Griffiths, he doesn’t have AIDS” Simon said confidently.

“Just leave” she replied through gritted teeth.

“He’s right” Mark agreed. “Treatment for that would be free, and you wouldn’t need to go to London.”

“And we would absolutely know if he had AIDS” Simon said.

“We also know he’s lied before about having a terminal illness” Adam agreed. “We’ve spoken to friends who told us he’s claimed before that he has cancer”.

“Cancer?” Anna cried, clearly anguished.

“Why are you making all this shit up about Paul?” his sister asked.

“I wish we could prove to you what we’re saying is true” Mark said, softly.

Anna turned on him. “You’ve got no proof because it’s all vile lies. You’ve come here to stir things up. You probably knew he was ill already. Or maybe you’re trying to scam us somehow. Well that’s a joke. I’m a teaching assistant and he’s a builder”, she indicated vaguely to Tony, “so we haven’t got two pounds to rub together. Or maybe you’re jealous of him, and spiteful. Somebody more funny and charming and successful than you are. I don’t know. But I know my boy, and I know he works for United Tobacco, and I know he’s leaving for a new job – his offer letter is right there on the mantelpiece, and he’s rich, and clever and has a wonderful life ahead of him, so you can all pack your bags and get out of my house”.

The three of them sat looking at the mantelpiece.

“What are you looking at?” Anna demanded.

Adam stood up and walked across, picking up the front letter addressed to Paul.

“Is this the letter?”

Anna came across and snatched it from him. “Get your hands off it. It only came through today. He’s going to open it when he gets back tomorrow.”

“Open the letter” Simon said.

“What?”

“That’s the proof” Adam said. “It’s been sitting right there all afternoon, looking at us.”

“No” Anna said defensively.

“Why would we lie about all of this?” Simon asked. “Open the letter. Then you’ll know”

She turned to Tony, who shrugged. “Then you’d know, I suppose.”

She scowled at him, and held the letter close to her chest.

Paul’s sister, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed off, grabbed the envelope from her mum’s hand and ripped it open.

“No Tara…”

She pulled the letter out, and scanned the front page.

“Fuck.”

“Tara…” Anna said, and Tara passed the letter to her.

She scanned down the page.

“But… they’ve made a mistake”. She looked up at Adam and the others. “This doesn’t prove anything. You probably planted this.”

Tony came across, looked at the letter, and put an arm around her.

“Anna…”

“Shush Tony.”

“We can’t bury our heads in the sand love”

“I’ll bury you in the bloody sand.”

“Mrs Griffiths” Simon said, reaching the end of his tether, “you know that he never went to university. You know he didn’t even get an A at A Level Law. Your son is the fantasist. He’s lied to us all, and he’s stolen from us all.”

She collapsed backwards onto the armchair and stared at the letter.

Tony stepped forward.

“Lads, it’s maybe best to leave this with us for now yeah? I think we’re going to need some time.”

“Why would he lie to me?” Anna said to herself. She seemed half in a trance.

“He lied to us all Mrs Griffiths” Mark said. His eyes looked even closer to tears than hers.

She glanced up at him, distracted. “But you’re not his mother.”

“Look, we need to speak to him, and sort this out” Tony said, shepherding them from the sofa. “Don’t worry about your money, we’ll make sure you’re not out of pocket. Come through and give us your contact numbers”.

They followed him out to the hall, leaving Anna with tears welling in her eyes.

They filed out of the house, and Tony thanked each of them as they left. It felt like completely the wrong thing for him to be saying.

“Don’t confront him on the phone” Mark said on his way out. “Make sure you get him home first. God knows what he might do otherwise”.

Adam took a last glance across to Anna, perching on the armchair, staring at the letter which revealed that her son’s new job was not the six-figure head of legal services job he had described to her in no doubt excruciating detail, but instead a £21,000 a year legal secretary job.

There were tears rolling silently down her cheek and he heard her utter a few words to nobody in particular.

“It had seemed like being such a sunny day too.”