Troll Page 29

  ‘I wonder,’ said Hector, ‘if you recognize this set-up?’

  ‘Dad?’ Sophie, beseeching him. Fortune didn’t answer her, instead said to Hector, ‘Your mother.’

  ‘My mother. Who killed herself. Hanged herself, when I was young.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t remember a lot. The only thing I do remember is her saying, “It’s your father’s fault.”’

  ‘Dad?’

  Again, Fortune ignored her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am very sorry.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,’ said Hector. He turned to Sophie. ‘You see, he’s my father. Your father is also my father. He led my mother to hang herself, and after that my life became …’ He stopped, searching for the correct word. ‘Hideous.’

  Sophie frowned and said, once again, ‘Dad?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie,’ said Fortune. ‘I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry for everything.’

  ‘So,’ said Hector. ‘Would you like to hear the rules?’

  ‘What rules?’ said Fortune.

  ‘Of the Game,’ said Hector. ‘Every game has rules. We can all agree on that, I hope.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘And so here are mine. I cannot touch you. I cannot touch you, and I never could. I can kill you, but I’m not allowed to touch you. Those are my rules.’

  ‘Dad, don’t listen to him. Don’t listen.’ Sophie sobbed, said again in desperation, ‘Please don’t listen to him.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Fortune to the troll. ‘And?’

  ‘And that’s it. There are no other rules. Simplicity is always preferable.’

  ‘Please, Dad. Please. Whatever he says, don’t listen.’

  ‘So what now?’ said Fortune, trying to tune his daughter out, trying to concentrate on what the troll was saying.

  ‘Now?’ said Hector. He put a hand in his pocket and took out a coin. ‘Now we play.’

  Fortune thought of Foster, and of what he’d said. They’d toss a coin, at the beginning. That was the worst. Heads, you lost. Tails, you lost worse.

  ‘Dad, please, please don’t do this. Don’t do what he wants. Please.’

  ‘If you play, your daughter might live. She might, she has a chance. If you don’t play, then she dies.’

  ‘What’s the game?’ said Fortune.

  ‘Dad. Dad, no, please.’

  ‘I toss the coin. Heads, Sophie dies. Tails, you take her place.’

  Fortune didn’t answer, and there was silence except for Sophie’s sobs. Then Hector smiled brightly. ‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘From the start, the first comment I posted on your daughter’s blog, to here. All planned. And it worked.’

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ said Fortune, doing his best to sound underwhelmed, impatient, unimpressed, trying to hide his fear, fight the rising panic.

  ‘Dad.’ Sophie had got her voice under control and spoke slowly, carefully, concentrating on the words. ‘Dad, do not do what he wants. That way he wins. It’s all he wants, to control people, to beat them. Don’t do it.’

  ‘To clarify,’ said Fortune. ‘You toss a coin, and if it’s tails, it’s me up there?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’ Hector seemed surprised. ‘Like that?’

  ‘Like that,’ said Fortune.

  ‘I thought …’ said Hector. ‘I’d given you hours. Hours.’

  ‘I don’t need hours,’ said Fortune. ‘Go on. Toss the coin.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Toss the coin.’

  Sophie screamed, a sound of rage and frustration. ‘Dad, no, no, don’t do this. Don’t let him win.’

  Fortune looked up at his daughter. ‘There’s no winning. It’s what he doesn’t understand. There’s only losing. Sophie? Listen to me. Nobody wins. We all lose.’

  ‘Dad.’ She said it with a simple grief, the word shaped by love, love she still held for her inadequate father, despite all his failures and omissions.

  Fortune swallowed, blinked and said, ‘I love you, Sophie.’ He turned to Hector. ‘Toss the coin.’

  Hector flicked the coin with his thumb and let it fall. He bent down to look at it. Fortune bent too. He could hear his daughter crying. The coin had landed on tails. Tails. Fortune prayed, hoped with everything he had, that his son would keep his word. That he would play by the rules.

  ‘Well,’ said Hector. ‘It looks like it’s your lucky day.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘You live.’

  ‘No no no,’ said Sophie, shaking her head, the rope above her swinging wildly. ‘Dad, no. No.’

  ‘You’ll leave her alone?’ Fortune said.

  ‘I promise.’ Hector smiled, put his hand on his heart. ‘Hope to die.’ He walked to Sophie, reached above her and loosened the noose, pulling it back over her head. She stood there for a moment, then quickly stepped down and ran to Fortune, putting her arms around him, her face pressing into the soft space beside his shoulder. He held her, stroked her hair, felt her warmth against him. Why had he never done this before? Why had he never comforted her after a relationship break-up? Told her it didn’t matter, that he loved her, would always love her? Why had he never done that simple thing, met her insecurities and doubts and difficulties with love, rather than detachment? And now it was too late, far too late.

  He blinked, blinked again and again, trying to pull breath inside his lungs, his chest tight, but this time with emotion, a feeling he understood as heartbreak. He took his daughter’s shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length and looking at her small face.

  ‘You need to go,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t go.’

  ‘You have to.’

  ‘I won’t leave you, Dad.’

  ‘I came to find you,’ said Fortune. ‘I came to find you for a reason, and this is it. Now, please. You have to go.’

  ‘Dad. Please.’

  He looked at his daughter, at her grief and despair. It wouldn’t last. Not for ever. It would pass. Eventually, all this would pass and she would smile and laugh and her eyes would sparkle beautifully. He turned to the troll, his son, Hector, and said, ‘You need to take her away.’

  Hector put an arm around Sophie’s shoulders. She tried to fight him off, but he was strong, very strong, and there was nothing she could do. She screamed, but Hector pulled her away towards the door.

  ‘You promise?’ said Fortune, above the noise of his daughter’s screams.

  ‘I promise,’ said Hector. He nodded at Fortune, a nod of understanding, a nod that told Fortune he could count on him, on his son. Then he forced Sophie around and pushed her out of the Games Room, closing the door behind him. Fortune could hear her screams through the door, but they slowly faded, faded away until they were gone, and he couldn’t hear her any more. Would never hear her again.

  He put a hand on the back of the chair and a foot on the seat and slowly stepped up, one foot, then the other. He reached up and put the noose around his neck and pulled it tight. He looked at the lamp, at its red shade, the incongruous tassels. The rings on the walls, the black-painted bricks. He took a moment to settle himself, to restore his calm and focus. Concentrate on the task at hand. Don’t think, act.

  He felt the rope rub against his neck. What a waste, he thought. What an appalling, inexcusable, abject failure you have been. Weak and lazy and selfish, so, so selfish. And nobody to blame but yourself. He sighed and shook his head. Oh well. It is what it is. Deal with it.

  He took a breath, one more, then took a step forward, off the chair, into the unknown black void. But as he did, feeling the rope tighten against his Adam’s apple, he also felt in his heart a warm and unexpected explosion of joy, at his daughter, at her strength and character and the life she still had left to discover. He knew, knew beyond doubt, that she’d make a better job of her life than he ever had of his. That she’d get more out of it, find more enjoyment, more pleasure, more love. And wasn’t that what it wa
s all about? Being a father? Fortune felt that at last he understood, really understood, and felt immeasurably richer for this knowledge, however late it had come. Creating and sustaining a life, and helping that life to flourish. Wasn’t that what being a father, ultimately, was all about?

  fifty-eight

  Dear Dad

  For such a long time, I haven’t known what to say to you. From when I was ten, maybe. Maybe twelve. For years, years and years. So much time, so much time lost and wasted.

  Since you did what you did for me, too, I haven’t known what to say. Thank you? That isn’t enough. Not nearly enough. What you did for me was gigantic, overwhelming, heroic, and I am in awe of you for it.

  You told me then that nobody wins, that everybody loses. And I guess in a way you were right. Hector Emmerson was true to his word and let me go. Then he disappeared. And you’re gone.

  For a long time I didn’t know if I would ever be the same again, if I would ever recover. I’ve had counselling, I’ve had medication, I’ve joined groups and spoken to other survivors of kidnappings.

  And you know what? It didn’t last. Not for ever. It passed, eventually. And you said there could be no winners, but I feel that I have won something. I have won you back, won back my father. Won back that feeling I had, so long ago.

  I once wrote you another letter, but I never showed it to you and I am so glad that I didn’t. This is the letter I would want you to read. In that letter, I told you about that time when I was young, and I got onto the Tube, and I lost you. And at the very next station I waited, and sure enough, there you were. And I was never scared, because I knew that you would come and find me, and you did.

  I never believed you would come and find me again, that you would save me from the troll. But you did. You did, and I won back that feeling, that feeling I had on the platform. That my dad, that you, would always be there for me.

  So perhaps I did win. At least a little. It’s now been four years since it happened, and now I know what I want to say to you. All I want to say is thank you, Dad. And I love you, so, so much.

  Your daughter,

  Sophie