1
The doorbell rang downstairs, but Luke Warner ignored it. His mother could go. It would be for her anyway, another well-wisher.
Luke returned to his father’s things. The desk was a mess of papers, magazines, CDs and other junk. An old coffee cup sat by a KitKat wrapper, the remains of the drink congealed in a treacly mess in the bottom of the cup. A newspaper half-covered the laptop, headlines announcing last month’s anti-immigration riot in Dover.
Luke sat down on the swivel chair and swung his feet.
All this junk.
He should feel more than this.
His father was dead and he knew he should feel more.
Luke heard footstseps on the stairs, and then a rumble of low voices. He pressed pause on the game of Tetris he had just started on the laptop.
He spun the chair a half-turn as the door to his father’s study opened and his mother’s head appeared.
“Luke,” she said. She’d been crying again, the smudged mascara giving her panda eyes.
“Hmm?”
“This is Mr Mahmood. He worked with your father.”
She stepped into the room and a short, gaunt man with silver flecks through his black hair followed her. He dipped his head towards Luke and said, “My condolences.”
“Mr Mahmood has come to get some Ministry documents your father was working on.”
Luke flipped the laptop closed on his knees and gestured to the desk. “Everything’s there,” he said. Then he waved at the heaped papers on the floor, and added, “Or there.” Filing had never been his father’s thing.
Luke stood, tucking the laptop under his arm. “Can I help?” he asked.
Mr Mahmood shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you at a time like this. Just leave me to it and I will take care of your father’s papers.”
Luke shrugged and left the room. Along the corridor, up three steps, and through the door, and he was back in his own room. He kicked the door shut behind him and landed belly first on the bed, laptop at his side. He didn’t like that this man had barged in to go through his father’s papers. He didn’t like that it had made his mother cry again.
He turned onto his side and opened the laptop. It was his now. His mother had said so. Alfie already had one, so it was only reasonable.
For a few minutes Luke caught up with what Alice and Beth and the others had been up to online. Alice’s status was so Alice: Always looking on the bright side.
Just then, as if she’d been waiting for him to come online, a chat window opened up from Alice.
Alice says: hey there luuuuuuuuuke
u gud?!
She’d changed her profile picture to one of her face with Einstein’s frizzy hair Photoshopped on top.
Luke says: all good thanks
you?
Alice says: k
thinkin town praps? alfie and gagn there - jus txted
Luke says: nah not me. stuff to do here
Alice says: yeah yeah
The computer’s desktop was a clutter of files, folders and shortcuts, just like his father’s real desk. While he chatted with Alice, Luke started to go through the debris. He’d promised his mother he’d clean up the laptop before he started to use it.
Some of the files were old photos. One showed Luke and Alfie on the seafront at Brighton. That was from a couple of years ago, shortly after Luke’s fourteenth birthday. They’d stayed in a shabby guesthouse a couple of streets back from the beach, all peeling wallpaper and lumpy mattresses, Luke sharing a room and a double bed with his older brother. That was the last time they’d been on a family holiday, although an overnight stop in Brighton barely even qualified as a holiday really. His father had been away on business more and more over the last three or four years, and Luke’s parents had argued that it was difficult to all get away at the same time. Luke had been convinced his parents were pretty much separated, but hadn’t seen fit to tell him and Alfie yet.
Alice says: so wassup?
Luke closed the photo. Quickly, he opened the family network he and Alfie had set up and dragged the photo into a new folder.
Luke says: just sorting thru dad’s stuff
or at least i *was* until some nobwipe from dad’s work turned up to go thru his papers
Alice says: ??
Luke says: he’s there now in the study
mum’s been crying again
Alice says: hugz dude
bear hugz
While they chatted, Luke had deleted more of the junk from the computer’s desktop. Now, he came to a folder called “delete this”. He clicked on it, and pressed delete. When the dialogue box asked him if he was sure he wanted to remove the folder and all its contents he paused with the pointer over the “Yes” button.
Why would his father create a folder called “delete this”? Why not just, well, delete stuff? It seemed a very organised thing to do, to have a temporary space to hold things until you were really sure they could be removed... Luke thought of the papers all over the desk and floor of the study. His father had never been the most organised of people. So why do this? It was almost as if he had been hiding something in full view.
Luke clicked “No”.
Inside the folder there were 43 word-processed files, all small, each named by date. Luke sorted through them. The oldest was labelled the previous April; the newest was labelled June, but the year was six years into the future.
Luke opened the first file.
There was only one line of text:
Holidays: Late snow. J&L flight cancelled. Be home.
Last Easter, Luke’s mother – presumably the “J” of the text, for Julie – had booked flights for her and Luke to go up and visit her parents in Aberdeen, while Alfie was away at Scout camp. Luke’s father had been off on a work trip, again. By the time Luke and his mother had reached the airport the weather had closed in and every flight on the departures board had the word “CANCELLED” against it. When they eventually reached home, the Lexus had been pulled up in the drive, the fire lit, a leg of lamb in the oven. Somehow, Luke’s father had got home and prepared for their return, as if he had known they would be back.
Luke closed the file. He couldn’t work out if it was a diary entry or a note to remind his father to get home. When the weather had turned he must have checked the flights online and seen that they were cancelled.
Alice says: u ok duuuude?
Luke wished people would stop asking him that. He was okay. That was the worst part. Only a few days ago his father had been killed when a suicide bomber had targeted a Home Office dinner in London and Luke was okay.
Luke says: am good
Then, after a pause:
Luke says: too good maybe
know what i mean?
Alice says: no dude u lost me
Luke says: arent i supposed to feel more than this?
Alice says: u seem pretty miserbl 2 me ;-)
Luke says: :-p
Alice says: yr dad was nvr there dude
Luke says: yeah
he was a dad-shaped hole
They both stayed quiet for a short time.
It was true. In the last few years, Luke’s father had been more of a gap in the family than an actual presence. But now, in death, he shaped everything. Luke knew he should feel more but in truth he just wanted his life back again.
Alice says: u cool?
That question again.
Luke says: am cool
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Hmm?” Luke said.
The door opened and Mr Mahmood’s head appeared.
“Luke. May I ask? Is that your father’s computer that you have there?”
Luke nodded.
“Ah... I thought when I saw you with it before that it must be yours.”
“It is. Well... it is now.”
“Ah. That laptop, then, is the property of the Home Office. It was provided to your father for work purposes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take it away.”
“But...!”
Alice says: u’ve gn quiet dude. wassup?
Mr Mahmood took a step into the room. “I am sorry, Luke. But there may be files of a sensitive nature on there. I will have to take it back.”
Luke sighed. “Just let me close this chat down,” he said.
Luke says: got to go
nobwipe wants the computer!!
He closed the window and then paused as he saw the “delete this” folder on the desktop. Quickly, he dragged a copy into his folder on the family network along with the photos he’d wanted to save, and then he shut the laptop down.
“Maybe I’ll be able to get it back for you,” said Mr Mahmood. “Once it’s been cleaned up. Would you like that?”
“Whatever,” said Luke, lying back on his bed and turning away. Whatever.