Behaving Badly Read online

  ‘So what did you do when he left?’

  ‘I sat in the car for about an hour, just crying. Then I went to see my mum.’

  ‘You didn’t tell her, did you?’

  ‘No. She saw I was upset, but she assumed it was about Alexander and I didn’t disabuse her of that. My dad was there too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They were having lunch.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘I know,’ I said as my sobs subsided. ‘All very civilized. But they’ve got this mad idea for the llamas—it’s totally nuts.’

  ‘What is it?’

  I wiped my eyes. ‘It’s so crazy, I’m too embarrassed to tell you—anyway, they were busy discussing that. I stayed for about an hour then drove back to London.’

  ‘And there was no message from David?’

  ‘No. But I knew that there wouldn’t be.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  What am I going to do? ‘I wish I knew, Daisy. I feel so awful.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I just want to convince David that I’m telling the truth. But that’s going to be impossible, as he now believes I’m manipulative and deceitful—both of which I have been.’

  ‘Only because you had to be.’

  ‘I know. But he clearly thinks I’m like that all the time.’

  ‘If he knew you well, he’d know that you’re not.’

  ‘But that’s precisely the problem. He’s known me less than two months. I couldn’t tell him the truth before, Daisy. I tried to, but I couldn’t, and now I’ve got myself in this terrible mess. He also said that he thought my feelings for him weren’t genuine, that it was guilt, not love.’

  I heard Daisy hesitate. ‘Is there any truth in that?’

  ‘No. I fell in love with him, because I fell in love with him. Love doesn’t grow out of a bad conscience—resentment does.’

  ‘That’s true. And presumably he wanted to know who Jimmy was?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t tell him. However vile Jimmy is, it felt…wrong. And in any case, Jimmy is irrelevant to me in all this.’

  ‘But he’s not irrelevant to David.’

  I sighed. ‘I know. But there’s no way round it. David also wanted to know why Jimmy did it—of course—and I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t, because I don’t actually know myself.’

  ‘Then I really think you’ve got to find out. Because if you could at least tell David that much, it would help him. He must feel so dreadful, Miranda.’

  ‘He does. He feels terrible. In fact he cried, Daisy. He cried.’ I felt my throat ache.

  ‘Well… I’m not surprised. It’s all been thrown up for him again, but he still doesn’t have closure. So he has all the pain of revisiting it, without any resolution—plus the awful knowledge that you were involved. You’ve got to find out why Jimmy did it,’ she reiterated.

  ‘How am I going to do that?’

  ‘Well…ask.’

  ‘What? Ask Jimmy? Just like that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’ll never tell me. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘So is not telling you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that you could, well…threaten him. Couldn’t you?’

  I stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Look, Miranda, Jimmy may or may not be a bad man—but sixteen years ago, he did a very bad thing. And as he involved you in it, he at least owes you an explanation. I suggest you demand to see him—then tell him that you’ve confessed to David.’

  ‘He’ll go absolutely apeshit.’

  ‘He will. He’s relied on your silence all this time—and now you’ve broken it. But tell him that you haven’t actually given David his name. Then say that you won’t do so—if—and only if—he agrees to explain why he did it.’

  ‘But that’s blackmail, Daisy.’

  ‘Yes!!’

  That evening I wrote a letter to David, repeating everything I’d said to him in Brighton. Then, once I’d posted it, I decided that I would do as Daisy advised. I’d go and see Jimmy—the next day. I wouldn’t ring him in advance—I’d just go to the House of Commons—the public have access—and I’d wait in the lobby for as long as it took. Parliament might be in summer recess, but the MPs were still working, and Jimmy was ambitious—he wouldn’t slouch. But what if he was away? I looked at his website. It said that he would be on holiday in Scotland for two weeks, from the sixteenth of August, so he probably would be there, clearing his desk. But what about Herman? I couldn’t take him, and I couldn’t leave him for hours, so I phoned Daisy and she agreed to have him at work.

  ‘I’m in early tomorrow, so bring him at nine. I’m so glad you’re doing this, Miranda,’ she added. ‘It isn’t just David who needs to know—you need to know too.’

  Yes, I thought miserably. I do.

  The following morning I got up early, dressed smartly, then walked over the bridge with Herman and got the tube to Tottenham Court Road.

  Daisy met me at reception.

  ‘God you look pale. Haven’t you slept?’ I shook my head. I handed Herman to her, then she gave me something.

  ‘Put this in your bag,’ she said quietly. ‘I think you’ll find it handy. It’s very easy to operate—and it’s discreet.’

  I felt my jaw slacken. ‘Isn’t it illegal?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure,’ she whispered. ‘But I know that sending people letter-bombs is! Jimmy may refuse to see you,’ she went on. ‘But if he agrees, then I just thought it would be useful to have the conversation on record. As for persuading him to tell you, just think of him as a difficult, domineering dog who you’re going to bring to heel. Take a rolled-up newspaper with you if necessary. Best of luck!’ Then she hugged me and I left.

  I got the tube to Charing Cross then walked down Whitehall towards Westminster. As I saw Big Ben, and heard it chime the half hour, my heart-rate began to increase. I felt sick with fear, and I was miserable about David, but I had to do this—for him. I made my way through the knots of tourists to St Stephen’s entrance, my knees shaking. As I expected, security was tight.

  ‘Who are you visiting?’ asked the security guard at the door.

  ‘James Mulholland.’

  ‘And is he expecting you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied.

  ‘Please empty your pockets and put your bag on the moving belt.’

  As I passed through the metal detector, I could see the tiny tape recorder quite clearly on the screen, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone; they probably assumed I was a hack. Then I picked up my bag and walked down the cool, flagstone corridor, past Westminster Hall, to Central Lobby.

  ‘I’d like to see James Mulholland,’ I said, as confidently as I could, though my knees were trembling.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ the attendant asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what’s your name?’ I told him. ‘Please wait.’ He dialled the extension, but there was no reply. ‘It’s on answerphone at the moment. Please take a seat and I’ll try again in a few minutes.’

  After a quarter of an hour, I went up to the desk while the attendant tried Jimmy’s line again, and this time he got a reply.

  ‘His private secretary says she has no record of your meet ing.’

  ‘May I speak to her please?’ He passed me the phone.

  ‘Mr Mulholland won’t be here until ten thirty,’ she explained. ‘But in any case, I don’t have a note of you in the diary. May I ask what this is about?’

  ‘It’s about… Sussex University,’ I said. ‘Mr Mulholland must have forgotten to mention it to you, but if you say that Miranda Sweet would like to speak to him, urgently, about the biochemistry department at Sussex University, then I think that’ll ring a few bells.’

  ‘Well I will, but he’s quite busy today. If he decides he has time to see you, I’ll ring down.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I breathed a sigh of relief.

  As I waited, I
glanced round the octagonal lobby with its ornate vaulted ceiling. There were groups of foreign students, and workmen polishing the mosaic floor. By ten forty-five there’d been no word. Then at ten past eleven I heard my name.

  ‘Miss Sweet,’ the attendant repeated as I rushed up to the desk. ‘Kindly write your name and details here, and then you’ll be taken to Mr Mulholland’s office.’ My hand shaking slightly, I wrote my name in the register, then followed another attendant down a long green-carpeted corridor, then up three flights of steps, until I was standing outside a heavy oak door with Jimmy’s name on it. I knocked and entered.

  His secretary, a pleasant looking woman of about fifty, was sitting at a desk in the outer office. Just visible in the inner one was Jimmy. He was on the phone.

  ‘Yes,’ I heard him say. ‘I agree it should be added to the National Curriculum. Of course.’ Now, having registered my presence, he politely wound up the conversation. As he walked towards me he looked calm and self-possessed, with his slightly swaggering walk, but there was that distinct flicker of anxiety I’d seen before.

  ‘Hello, Miranda,’ he said pleasantly. ‘How nice to see you. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Yes please.’ I glanced round the room. There were files marked ‘A Level’, ‘GCSE’, ‘Examination Boards’, and ‘Standards’. There were a couple of nice landscapes, an elegant carriage clock, and the same wedding photo I’d seen at the house.

  ‘I’d like a coffee too please, Sarah,’ he said to his secretary. ‘In fact,’ he added as she poured it. ‘I wonder if you could possibly do me a huge favour and get me a sandwich—I missed breakfast this morning.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said as she handed me a cup. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Anything really. I don’t mind.’ He handed her a ten-pound note, then invited me to sit in the deep red leather armchair which faced his desk. He waited until the door had shut, then his expression hardened. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s this about?’ I put down the coffee. I didn’t want it.

  ‘I’ve told David White,’ Jimmy’s grey eyes widened momentarily, then his mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘I’ve told him,’ I repeated. ‘He knows.’

  ‘You. Stupid. Little. Cow,’ he said quietly. He shook his head in shock and outrage. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’

  ‘For the simple reason that I’ve felt awful about it for sixteen years.’

  ‘But you should have left it alone! I told you that at the fete!’

  ‘I know you did, but I don’t take orders from you. And I wanted to try and put it right—I always have done—so I decided to try and find David.’

  ‘You went and looked for him?’ he said, dumbfounded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mean, you’ve deliberately stirred all this up again, when it was long dead and buried?’

  ‘It wasn’t dead and buried for me.’

  ‘But don’t you realize the damage you could cause to yourself—and to me—if this ever gets out?’

  I nodded. ‘Oh yes. I realize that very well.’

  He got up and walked over to the window. I could see the muscles in his jaw tense and flex as he peered through the slats in the Venetian blind. ‘Do you want money, Miranda? Is that it?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Don’t be obscene.’

  He turned and stared at me. ‘Then what do you want? I mean, what is your real purpose in raking all this up again—quite unnecessarily—unless it’s to try and destroy me?’

  ‘That’s not the reason at all. I just want justice for David. His life was shattered that day—thanks to you. And every time he looks at his hands, he’s reminded of what happened.’

  There was a moment’s silence, in which I saw Jimmy swallow. ‘And did you give him my name?’ I just looked at him, making him wait, enjoying his anxiety. ‘Did you?’ he repeated. He gave me a defiant glare, but he shifted slightly from foot to foot.

  ‘No.’ His face seemed almost to collapse with relief. ‘He asked me, of course, but I decided, for now, not to tell him.’

  ‘Well don’t! Just keep your trap shut, like I said!’

  ‘What I did tell him,’ I went on quite calmly, ‘was that although I delivered the video, I didn’t have the faintest idea what it really was. And that’s perfectly true, isn’t it?’ There was another silence.

  ‘Yes,’ he conceded. ‘That’s true.’ I was aware of the vibrations of the tiny tape recorder and prayed that it was working properly.

  ‘You tricked me into participating in a criminal act which could have resulted in the death of either David, or his father, or his mother, or brother, and I am now going to ask you why. And if you refuse to tell me, then I promise you I will tell David your real name, and exactly who you are. You’ve got about three minutes until your secretary gets back, Jimmy, so I suggest you start right now.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me Jimmy—my name is James,’ he snapped. ‘And I’m going to call security and have you slung out.’

  ‘If you do, I’ll go to the press.’

  ‘They won’t be able to print it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ll slap a libel suit on them—that’s why. I can easily afford it, Miranda—and I’ll win.’

  ‘But you’ll be tainted, Jimmy. Imagine the headlines. They’ll stick to you for the rest of your life.’

  ‘It’ll be your word against mine. The word of a woman who was infatuated with me—and who was, moreover, well known to the police at that time for her little adventures on the animal rights front. No one will believe you, Miranda,’ he added smoothly. ‘You’ll only end up destroying yourself. I’ve kept all your letters, by the way.’

  My heart sank. ‘I thought you might have done.’

  ‘Well, I guessed—accurately, as it turns out—that you’d make trouble for me one day. Those letters prove how obsessed with me you were.’

  ‘Yes. I was. To my shame.’

  ‘And now that you’ve met me again, and discovered that I’m very successful, and yes, very happily married, you’ve decided to take your revenge. That’s how you’ll look by the time my QC’s finished with you. Like a bitter, scorned woman, out to destroy a decent man.’

  ‘I don’t care how I’ll look. I only care about David knowing the truth. So I just want you to tell me. And if you don’t, I’ll ring him on my mobile, right now, and give him your name.’ I got the phone out of my bag. ‘Once he knows your identity, he’ll be perfectly entitled to go to the police, and you may then find yourself at the centre of a highly publicized civil case. David is entitled to compensation from you for his injured hands, and he may well seek it.’

  Jimmy’s face had gone grey. ‘You’ll be tarnished too,’ he muttered. ‘Your TV career will be over.’

  ‘I know. But that’s the risk I’ve taken.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand,’ he whined. ‘Why the hell would you want to go and look for the guy?’

  ‘I’ve already explained: because I no longer wanted to live with the guilt. And if you don’t tell me why you targeted Derek White in the next two minutes, Jimmy, I’ll ring David’s number.’

  ‘I’ve told you my name is James,’ he hissed. ‘James Mulholland—got that?’

  ‘I’m sorry. But it’s hard for me to remember, because when I knew you, you were plain Jimmy Smith. More importantly, you were the animal rights campaigner who deplored violence. Although…now I think about it… I remember what you used to say. You used to say that violence was unacceptable because it “attracted bad publicity for the animal rights movement”—not, interestingly, because it was wrong. Even so, I had no idea you were capable of what you did that day. Perhaps you’d even done it before.’

  ‘No,’ he said sullenly. He sat down again. ‘I hadn’t.’

  ‘So why did you do it then?’ I saw the muscle at the side of his mouth flex and jump. ‘Why did you try to kill Derek White?’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to kill him,’ he moaned, his head sinking
slightly. ‘I just…’ he shrugged, ‘…wanted to give him a bit of a…shock. He’d been such a bastard to me, after all.’

  ‘Had he?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said angrily. ‘He had.’

  I felt goose-bumps begin to raise themselves on my arms as I sensed the truth coming, at last. ‘So what had he done then?’ I asked softly, almost sympathetically.

  ‘Oh, plenty of things,’ he replied. ‘Plenty,’ he repeated, between clenched teeth. He shook his head again. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, I would have…’ He stopped himself, then drew in a long breath through his nose.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for him—what?’ There was silence for a moment, during which I was aware of the steady ticking of the clock.

  ‘He had it in for me,’ Jimmy went on sourly. ‘He really had it in for me.’ Now, he seemed almost to forget I was there, as the bitter memories came flooding back. ‘White never liked me—in fact, he hated me. He made that clear from the start.’

  ‘You were one of his students?’ I asked. ‘I never knew that.’

  He nodded. ‘I was in his microbiology set. And whatever I did was never good enough,’ he spat. ‘However hard I worked, I got low grades. Then, in my last year, he fucked me over. He fucked me right over. Why? Because he didn’t like me. I should have complained. Because if it hadn’t been for that, I would have been perfectly okay; I would have got a…’ He suddenly seemed to collect himself.

  ‘You would have got a what?’

  ‘Oh, never you mind,’ he muttered. ‘But the point is, I didn’t mean to do him any serious harm. I only wanted to make him jump. It was just…a firework,’ he went on. ‘A firework with a bit of sodium nitrate. But I’d obviously got the strength wrong. Then I heard what had happened, and, yes, it was…’ he shrugged, ‘…regrettable.’

  I laughed. ‘You sound like Gerry Adams.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.’

  ‘David White had to have a total of thirteen operations on his hands—five on his left one and eight on his right. He had to leave Cambridge, where he was studying medicine, early. He had flashbacks for years. He will bear the physical and emotional scars of what you did to him for the rest of his life.’