surprised,” she said. “Like he’s a fucking saint or something.”
“Not a saint,” I said. “But David is a great man. A fair man. And he’s not judgmental, I’ve never found him to be judgmental once, not in twenty years.” I held up my hands. “I’m perplexed. I know the story, and I know they’re always tougher in real life, when you’re the one living them, but this, this hate, I struggle to match the venom to the man. Genuinely.”
“He judges alright,” she sneered. “Believe me. You’ve just never seen it.”
I sighed, and thought through my options, figured honesty was the best policy. It usually is.
“David Faverley can’t be judgmental,” I said. “It simply isn’t in his character.”
“So you think.”
“So I know,” I continued. “And I know that, because if it was in David Faverley’s nature to be judgmental, if he viewed people through some bigoted, egocentric, self-righteous view of the world, he’d definitely, not in a million fucking years, never ever have employed a loser like me.”
“A loser?” I laughed, because it seemed so ridiculous. “You’re not a loser, Carl. You wouldn’t even know how to be a loser. Look at you.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Your father saw something in me when nobody else would cast me a second glance. He took a risk on a kid with nothing but a big old chip on his shoulder, and he was patient, and kind, and he persisted and tried, and put the effort in until I became something more.”
“I’m sure you’re being overly harsh on yourself.” I was sure, too. Very sure. But he shook his head.
“A stint in juvenile detention. Petty theft. Carjacking. Vandalism.” He paused. “Fighting. Fights I knew I’d lose. Fights I fought anyway, just because I was on the edge and didn’t know how else to express myself.” He clasped his hands together on the table top. “I had nothing. A couple of ex foster parents who’d already got the next kid in line by the time I left. Some friends not worth shit.”
I swallowed, throat dry. “What did you do?”
He looked right at me. “I grew up, a little, just enough to know I had to get out. So I set myself up with a couple of tools, a bucket, anything I could get my hands on. Legitimately get my hands on.” He smiled at some distant memory. “I washed your dad’s car. He was at a junction in Gloucester one day, in his sparkling BMW, and I approached his window and asked him if I could clean his bumpers while he was waiting. He said no at first, but I was persistent, told him there was mud down there, that it would dry on and be a bitch to take off later. Told him I’d do a good job at a fair price, and then asked him again.”
“And he said yes?”
He smiled. “He said yes. He pulled his car in at the car park up the street and he waited while I cleaned it. He said to give him the whole works, no expense spared, but the car was clean apart from the bumpers, and I told him so, charged him less when he offered me the cash, because I hadn’t earned it. He asked me where I was from and where I was going, and I shrugged and told him I didn’t know where I was going but I was from a block of flats just round the corner.”
“And what? He gave you a job?”
“He gave me an opportunity in life where everyone else put the boot in. He gave me his business card and asked me to go to his office. He said he could do with people around him who are honest, and hardworking, and hungry for a chance to do better.” He looked at the ceiling. “That was me.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
“Whatever issues you’ve had with your father, Katie, I’ve never seen anything to indicate he’s a prick. Not a single thing in twenty years, not in the way you’ve said he is.”
“He fucked my mum when she was his secretary,” I said. “Got her knocked up and fired her and ruined her life. And then he didn’t want to know her, or me. Not until he rolled up when I was ten years old, wanting another little trophy to show off at corporate event day, most likely, a little blonde kid to tag along with his proper children. Now do you get it?