Frame-Up (30 page)

I set the alarm for seven and turn off the bedside lamp, hoping that
sleep will conquer me promptly. Something keeps nagging at the back of
my mind, but I can’t put a finger to it. A question that calls for an answer.
It eludes me. I have the sense of slipping into unconsciousness when I see
it again. Why did Gary give Carlo Garland’s address? Hardly to do Carlo
a favor. Surely he knew that Garland wouldn’t be pleased. What was his
ulterior motive? I cannot think of a good reason, except that this was the
easiest way to get rid of Carlo.

Saturday, 8
^th
November, 10:30
a.m.

My father calls.

"Are you making progress? Have you found out anything?"

"Yes, I know who pulled that fraud, and it’s now a question of how to
prove it, of how to get the right evidence to convince the police."

"Good, but if you have no evidence, how can you be sure you have the
right person?"

"I have conclusive evidence, but I can’t use it."

"Why?"

"Oh, dad, I’d rather not tell you. It will only upset you." That’s
definitely the wrong thing to say, but it’s already out.

"Is Carlo involved? The signature on that document is C. Walker,
Carlo’s signature. His signature is very much like yours. The scoundrel.
Doing this to his own sister, and you have always stood up for him."

"Please, dad, he had no idea what it was for. He simply put a signature
on a document and got a thousand pounds for it. He didn’t know who
Garland is, and he needed the money —"

"— to get drugs, wasn’t it?"

"I don’t know. But I don’t want to use his testimony to nail Garland."
I want to bite my tongue of for letting slip that name. "So I’ll send Carlo
to Montagnola."

"Garland, your ex-boss did it and then accused you?"

"Yes, dad, but please don’t do anything. I’m at a very critical stage and
may have all the evidence I need by Monday."

"All right, I trust you. It may though be better to confide in Crawford
and let him sort things out."

"If Garland even gets a whiff that I am after him, he will destroy the
evidence."

"How do you know he hasn’t done so yet?"

"He is very meticulous about having everything properly documented,
particular financial transactions. So I’m confident he has it safely stored
somewhere."

"Cecilia, just don’t do anything illegal, please."

What can I answer? So I simply say: "Dad, I love you."

Next I call Silvio. He first apologizes for the previous night, or was it
early this morning?

"Please, Ceci, don’t abandon me now."

"Silvio, I won’t, but you have to be sure that it’s finished between you
and your wife. She is the mother of your daughter."

"She gave birth to her, but that’s all. She has never shown any interest
in Teresa. Ceci, I know it’s over with her, has been over for the last four
years."

"So, what does she want from you then?"

"I don’t know yet. She hinted that she wanted to give it a new start
with me, but she has done that before. A month or so before she
disappeared for good she left us for a week and then came back."

"Have you considered that she may want to trap you by getting
pregnant?"

"I doubt that. She hated every minute while she was carrying Teresa."

"Don’t be so sure. She may be willing to suffer another pregnancy just
to trap you. Did you give in to her last night when she wanted you to fuck
her?" There, it’s out. Why did I voice it? I feel cheap.

"Oh, you heard that? Sorry. No, I didn’t."

I’m glad, but something drives me on to probe further. "She’s a
gorgeous woman."

"I don’t think I could have. I was too disgusted. She looked so cheap."

So, my image of her naked on the bed wasn’t that far fetched. Poor
Silvio. "Does she want money? I mean, would she agree to a divorce if
you gave her a sizable sum of money?"

"Probably, but I don’t have a hundred thousand Euros to throw away.
She might even want more than that."

"Look, Silvio, she has little to nothing in terms of bargaining position.
She abandoned you and her child for four years."

"She threatened in one of her rages that she will take Teresa away from
me."

"No judge will award her custody." I try to sound convincing, although
I’m far from certain about it. "You make it clear to her that either she
takes a small sum, such as twenty thousand, and agrees to the divorce and
you having sole custody of Teresa, or else you’re going to fight her in
court. She probably can’t even afford a lawyer."

"Oh, you don’t know her. She’ll get herself a decent lawyer and pay
him in kind."

"Silvio, you will have to find out what she is after, and then deal with
it from there."

"I know, but it’s not that easy. She’s slippery. Ceci, I want to see you.
Can I come over now?"

"No, my brother is here and I have to take him to Heathrow before
lunch. Until then, I can’t let him out of my sight. I’ll be back at my place
by four thirty."

"May I come then?"

"Yes, I’d like that."

Saturday, 11:15
a.m.

Carlo’s flight to Milan is scheduled to take off from Heathrow at 12:20.
I park the van in the short-term parking area an hour before.

Carlo woke up past nine. He was irritable for most of the morning —
a clear sign that he was craving for drugs — pacing back and forth in the
living room while the radio was blaring rap. Occasionally he stood at
equal distance from both speakers, nodding his head and mouthing the
words, before resuming his pacing like a caged animal.

On the drive to the airport, he made several backhanded compliments
about the van. I accompany him to the check-in counter. His sports bag
is small and light enough to go as cabin baggage. We wait together
outside security until the boarding call, both of us silent, and only then do
I give him a bit of pocket money, two fifty-euro notes and two fifty-Swiss
frank notes. The less time he has to change his mind about going to
mother, as he promised several times already, each time raising my
suspicions that he may try to abscond before boarding the plane, the
better. He hugs and kisses me and then passes through security. Before he
disappears from sight, he waves once more. I return to the van with an
uneasy mind. Deep down I have this niggling worry that he will play one
of his tricks on me.

On the way back, I make a detour to Croydon and drop by at Sally’s
home, just in case she is in. I’ve not heard from her since the football
match. Both Sally and her mother are at home. Sally is mixing the
ingredients to bake a cake, closely supervised by her mother. I join them
in the kitchen.

"How are things at school?" I ask.

"Sally got top marks for her English essay," replies her mother. "Your
first time, isn’t it, Sally?"

"Yes," the girl answers, blushing.

"It’s a great feeling to get a good mark, isn’t it? It always was an
incentive for me to do well again. What was the theme?"

Sally lowers her gaze, her ears turning bright red. It is her mother who
answers: "What makes a true friend? That was it, wasn’t it, Sally?"

Again, she nods, but doesn’t answer my questioning look. Once more,
her mother speaks: "I know Sally will be embarrassed, but I have to say
it. She wrote about you, how she met you and how you helped her and
what she learned from that."

"Oh, Sally, I’m very touched that you did this and I’m glad you see me
as a friend. Come, give me a hug."

"But I’ll make you all floury," she replies, hopeful, yet hesitating.

"Then people will think that my boyfriend is a baker."

She grins and we hug. When she tries to brush the flour off my
cardigan, she leaves more traces behind.

"And how is it going with your father?"

"Fine. I think he was proud that I got top marks."

"Both of you are trying hard, aren’t you?" quips Mrs. Harper. "It’s not
easy to break old ways."

Again Sally only nods, casting a quick glance at me.

"But it’s worth it, Sally. It will strengthen your character, and you will
be proud and glad when you succeed. Do you discuss things you do at
school with him, as I suggested, to engage him?"

"Yes, I did a couple of times."

"And was it good?"

"Oh, his views are so different from what the teacher tells us."

"But that’s instructive too. You see, there is rarely just one single
correct view about something. Different people see things differently.
And it opens your horizon to see different viewpoints and then think
about them and form your own opinion."

"But it’s confusing. The teacher says what she tells us is correct, and
father claims to be right too. They can’t both be right, can they?"

"Yes, both can be right from their own perspective. This may be
confusing at first."

"I don’t understand."

"I’ll give you an example. A beggar walks along the street and sees a
dirty five-pound note in the gutter. He will happily pick it up. For him a
five-pound note is a small fortune. If a billionaire walks along that street
and sees a dirty five-pound note in the gutter, he may simply walk past.
It may not be worth his while to bend down and get his fingers dirty. For
him, a five-pound note isn’t worth much; he may earn that much every
time he takes a breath. So you see, the same thing is viewed differently
because the beggar and the billionaire view the world differently. And
both are right from their own perspective, both are acting in a consistent
manner with their view of the world. The same is true for many other
things. So both your father and the teacher can be right from their own
perspective."

"So how can I then know what’s right and what’s wrong?"

"For many things, there’s no right or wrong; there are just different
opinions or ways of seeing it. So, you’ll have to form your own opinion
about them. That’s what’s exciting, what makes you a unique person,
rather than just a follower of other people’s views. For other things,
especially in the sciences, like mathematics and physics, there is
widespread agreement on what is correct. And for still other things the
question to ask is a bit different. You have to ask: Is it morally right or
wrong? There are acts that are morally wrong and that cannot be justified
no matter what the perspective. For example, hitting a child cannot be
justified by claiming the bible says ‘do not spare the rod’ or something
along that line, or by claiming it’s a parent’s right to discipline a child by
hitting her, or ‘I lost my temper because the child provoked me’. The
same as it’s morally wrong to kill somebody or steal what’s not yours."

"But if it’s in self-defense, is it still morally wrong?"

"Very good, Sally. Now you see that even things that involve moral
judgment are not cast in concrete. If your only way to avoid being killed
yourself or maimed is to kill the aggressor, then morally you have the
right to do it. Even for stealing, the answer may not be straightforward.
Is it morally wrong for a mother to steal a bread to feed her starving child
if this is the only way to get food? The law says yes and in past centuries
people were hung or transported to a penal colony overseas for stealing
a loaf of bread, but many if not most law-abiding people may still think
the mother did right."

"Oh, I wish you were my teacher," Sally exclaims.

"I want to get together with you again and then we can talk about
many things. You can learn from me, and I can learn from you about how
young people think nowadays."

Sally’s mother protests: "How can you say that, Cecilia? You talk as
if you were an old woman."

"Twelve years is almost half your life when you’re 26, but hardly
worth talking about when you are sixty. So you see again, the perspective
makes the difference."

Having made a promise, I know myself well enough to realize that I
need to make a commitment, or else the promise may fall by the wayside.
"Have you ever been to the National Gallery?"