Date: Sat, 26 Feb 2005 10:34:21 -0000
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: the-decent-inn-18

Matt and Paul sat behind newspapers in the hotel lobby, the soft light and
groupings of tall plants and chairs helped lose them amongst the scenery.
  'I still think a false moustache would have been a good idea, especially
as I feel even sillier hiding behind a potted plant.'  Paul was nervous, as
he had every right to be.  It was nine in the morning.  Rachel would be
ringing through from the hospital to Andy's father's cell phone any moment.
She would pretend to be a station nurse on Andy's ward; the doctor would be
wanting to see Mr Peacher with his son together as soon as possible.  It
was a serious and delicate matter that had arisen from Andy's latest scan.
He shouldn't worry but he should get to the ward as soon as he could, he
had to see them both together.
  At nine ten Richard Peacher, on schedule, strode through the lobby into
the sunlight, his coat flapping.  His car had drawn up outside.  He was
gone.
  Matt smiled at Paul, 'We probably have no more than half an hour, my son.
You up for it?'  Paul swallowed hard and nodded.  He went to the reception
and asked to place a call to the Peacher suite.  Matt watched him muttering
into the phone.  He was being Charles Fettiman, known to a certain set of
students as Chuck Fettiman.  He was a friend of Mrs Peacher's nephew, Jimmy
Rosso, and if she had a few minutes there's things that needed discussing
which would be to their mutual benefit.  He really must insist that she
made some time for him, otherwise maybe he would be talking instead to the
city police.
  'She's not beyond fear,' Matt had said, 'even if she's beyond shame.  We
know she knows about Chuck, and the part he'd played in Andy's downfall.
Also, if they'd ever met, it wouldn't have been for long, so a little
imposture might get by.'  She had barely talked to Paul before.  He could
do a passable American accent, passable at least over a phone.  She would
see Chuck.  As her plotting had got more involved, and her lies more
complicated, she must have begun to fear that she had slipped up and left
herself exposed.  The visit from "Chuck" was one she might have feared and
half expected.  Jimmy couldn't have kept his mouth shut, and must have
mentioned for who it was he was working.
  Three minutes later Matt knocked at the suite door.  He was almost ready
to run, and felt like a desperate kid knocking on a ferocious neighbour's
door to ask for his ball back.  Only his love for Andy kept him there.  It
opened and the Stepmom looked surprised and faintly annoyed to see him.
That gave Matt a much-needed boost of confidence.
  'Matthew.  I didn't know you had been asked to call here.  I'm afraid my
husband is out, and I have another appointment just now.  Could you call
back?'
  'Sorry, Mrs Peacher, it's a little bit urgent.'
  She looked past his shoulder, 'Matthew, I'm really sorry but I must
insist you come back, I'm expecting ...'
  'You're expecting Chuck Fettiman perhaps?'
  'What?'  She stood back, her eyes widening.
  'He can't make it, I'm afraid.  I believe he's out of town at the moment.
A long way out of town.  Perhaps I should come in and explain it to you?'
  He pushed past her, unresisting.  He took a seat without being asked.
His native courage was overcoming his nerves.  In the meantime she had
rallied.
  'Look, Matthew, this isn't very convenient.  Richard is at the hospital.
There's been a development with Andy, and we're all very worried.  I would
have thought you'd want to be there.'
  'No, Mrs Peacher, here is exactly where I want to be.  Now tell me, how
do you know a known drug-dealer like Fettiman?'
  'I'm sorry, this is becoming tiresome.  I know no such man.'
  'Appearances to the contrary, Mrs Peacher.  You just took a call from
him.  He certainly knows you, as a close friend of your nephew, Mr Rosso.'
She started.  Matt placed a pocket audio player on the table.
  'Listen to this conversation between Mr Rosso and Mr Fettiman, Mrs
Peacher.  Then perhaps you'll know why I'm here.'
  The slurred voices echoed through the lounge.  The self-congratulatory
bombast of Rosso, counterpointed by the crude and sinister sneers of
Fettiman.  The downfall of Andy was gloated over, and the squalid
stratagems were laughed at.  Mrs Peacher was rivetted despite herself
... and fearful.  Yes, there was no doubt.  Her nerve was shaken.  Love for
Andy flamed in Matt's heart, and something of that flame glowed deep in his
dark eyes, as she reluctantly met them.
  '"Leathery old cow".  Tsk.  How inelegant of your nephew, Mrs Peacher.
What have you done to forfeit the boy's respect?'  Her eyes glittered back
at him, as hard and black as coal.
  'This signifies nothing.  I have no idea what you're trying to insinuate,
but I can assure you if you're attempting blackmail, you're wasting your
time.  My husband will know how to deal with you.'
  'OK, Mrs Peacher, bring him on.  I have one or two other items that might
interest him.  Let me play on.'  The measured tones of a BBC personality
rang through the room.  'I wonder do you remember the day, and indeed the
date, this was taped.
  The Stepmom looked astounded, 'How in God's name did you ...?'
  'Get hold of that rather revealing interview?  Mrs Peacher, I am not by
nature a suspicious person, but the catalogue of disasters that befell my
Andy stopped seeming accidental a long time ago, and then I began to apply
the principle of cui bono ...  know it?  You'd be amazed at what a little
industry can turn up.'  Matt dropped some typed papers on the table.  The
gamble was about to begin.  '... Here, for instance is a series of memos
from the vice-chancellor of my university, filed after your meeting, in
which he records that you made some surprising claims on your husband's
behalf.  But your husband knew nothing of that visit did he?  Not only
that, but it seems that the vice-chancellor's internal investigations
revealed no leak from the university to the local press.  So where did it
come from Mrs Peacher?  I think we both know.  It would only take a little
digging to confirm it, I suspect.  The dear vice-chancellor is no friend of
yours after the legal action over Andy: he would be happy to help.  And
talking about your husband, I imagine he may be back fairly soon, so let's
wait for him and discuss the edifice these little building blocks of mine
can build.'
  No longer elegant and composed, the Stepmom glared at him, but seemed
uncertain of what to say.  His gamble had paid off.  Knocked backwards by
what she had already heard, she was willing to believe any claim he might
make.  She did not reach for the innocuous memoranda on the table, which
were in fact a collection of printouts, and a notice from Registry on
university notepaper about his graduation hire of gowns.  He'd shoved it
into his bag as he had packed hastily in England.
  'How much?  What'll it cost to keep you quiet?'
  The squalid offer of a bribe gave Matt the first surge of triumph.  She
was defeated, she was as good as admitting it all.  'I have to say, Mrs
Peacher, you have just made another mistake.  Why do you assume that my
price is money?  No, I want a favour; actually, a couple of favours.  It's
time you made up some of the damage you've done my Andy.  This is what you
are going to do ...'
  Ten minutes later, while Matt was finishing off his terms to the Stepmom,
and she was still glaring at him, Richard Peacher appeared in the lounge.
  'Damn thing, Ellie.  I get to the hospital, and Andy's asleep and there's
no doctor.  The call was made in error, would you believe, or so they
thought.  No one was sure where it had come from.  Matthew?  Why're you
here?'
  'Mrs Peacher asked me round, sir.  She said she had things to discuss
with me.'
  He looked bewildered, 'Ellie?'  The Stepmom had regained her composure.
  'Richard.  I've been thinking over the situation with Andy.  I'm not sure
the idea of that lockdown center in Montana is such a good one after all.'
  'I did say ...'
  'We need to get back to the lawyers.  I think that there are
alternatives.  The main thing is to get Andy out of this place and back
with Matthew.  If Matthew could be persuaded, we should get them back
living together.  They're good for each other.'
  'Isn't that ...?'
  'Well now I'm agreeing with you,' she snapped.  'There's the new house in
France, the one in Poitou-Charente.  That might be a good temporary refuge
for them, and then Andy could go back to England maybe.  The press won't be
so keen to target him after what you did, and the risk would be less.  They
should move around.  Andy's addiction won't be able to find a supplier if
they're on the road.  And perhaps it's time to initiate that trust fund for
Andy too. I know I was resisting it, but maybe once he has sorted himself
out, it could give him some purpose.'
  Matt feigned surprise.  'Why, Mrs Peacher, that's exactly what I would
have suggested.  I'm sure that would be Andy's best chance.  Maybe we could
find a focus for him, get him out of his own miseries, give him a purpose
to work for.'
  Richard Peacher looked surprised in his turn.  His wife seems to have
achieved several u-turns in the course of one morning.  'If that's what you
think, dear, I'm happy to agree with you.  Good.  I'll get things moving.'
He wandered over to the window, flipped his cell phone and began a
conversation with his legal advisers.
  Matt looked directly into the eyes of the Stepmom.  She glared back at
him, but for the moment, was powerless.
  'Don't ever forget, Mrs Peacher, that I have this dossier.  You'll never
be able to explain it away.  If you keep your malice to yourself, you'll
not hear anything ever about it again.  Your children and your husband are
your affair.  Your homes and your causes are all your own.  Though I have
to say that I think you should at least let Andy see the twins from time to
time.  He loves them.  You might try and stop poisoning Peter against his
brother, if it's not too late.  He may need Andy one day.  And don't meddle
in the settlement of the Peacher estate.  Leave it to your husband.  He's a
good man and a wise one, if he's left alone.  But something tells me that
you haven't the sense to admit that to yourself.'
  She hissed, 'All I've done, is for him and my children.  What do you
think I've gained for myself out of it all, only pain and this
humiliation.'
  'If you'd been a different woman, you might have gained another devoted
child.  Andy is nothing but kind, loving and generous, as I have every
reason to know.  But you made your choices.  That's for you to live with
and explain when the time comes.'
  Matt stood up.  He offered her his hand sweetly, and she had no choice
but to take it.  Richard Peacher waved absently at him as he left, closing
the door behind him with a small grin of triumph.
  Paul and Rachel were waiting in the lobby as he left the lift, whistling.
He put his arms around their shoulders and walked them out the door to
Rachel's car, telling them about the armistice he'd negotiated.
  'To the hospital, my dears.  We have some blinkers to lift off a beloved
friend.  And maybe he'll be the better for it.'
  'Matt, you're more than a little bit amazing.'
  'Not at all.  Without you, my friends, we'd still be in deep shit.  You
got brains Paulie, and you're a good match with Rachel here.'  They smiled
at each other across him.

 'So, you're telling me that all this shit, all this tragedy, all this
agony was orchestrated by that mega-cow, my stepmother!'  Andy's small ears
had gone that bright red that they achieved only on the rare occasions of
his genuine wrath.
  'All to drive you to madness and despair, yes.  I even think she had
hopes of pushing you one day into topping yourself.'
  'Why?  What had I ever done to her?'
  'You existed.  You were an obstacle.  I'm even willing to bet that she
saw you as a rival for your dad's affections.  She's consumed absolutely
with jealousy, Andy.  It's made her nuts.  You stand in the way of total
control over her world, so you must be removed and the way cleared for her
own childen to inherit it.'
  Andy accomplished the feat of looking astounded, while lying back in a
hospital bed. Eventually he managed, 'I'll fucking kill her.  She more or
less murdered that kid in the car.  If she'd not meddled with me, none of
this tragedy would have happened.  I'd still be playing soccer in the park
with you and Paulie on Saturdays.'
  'Er, playing soccer with me', interjected Paul, 'Matt just stood there so
we could bounce balls off him.  Y'know our Matt ... brains, beauty and two
left feet.  And 'scuse me, but I'd not have met me Ray-ray if I'd not come
here, so I can't share in that generalised condemnation.'
  Andy subsided, his mouth hanging open.  He rallied.  'My dad's got to
know.  He's married to a black widow.  It's horrible.  She'll stick him
with a knife or something.'
  'We thought of that, Andy.  But I'm not sure we could prove it all to
him.  The proof we've got is circumstantial.  We used her own fears to put
one over on her; she invented the evidence to convict herself.  We couldn't
do it with him.'
  'So I have to smile in the face of this Medusa, and kiss her on the
cheek, and pretend she's the greatest thing on earth.'
  'Yes, and don't think you're the first boy in this situation.  This sort
of scheming must have been going on daily in the courts of Europe two
centuries ago.  Yet they all did minuets together, went riding in the park
and had their smiling family portraits painted.  It's power and money, my
love.  Thank God you seem to be innoculated against it.  Look at your
brother Peter.  Something tells me that it's got to him already, and he's
only thirteen.'
  'Yes,' said Paul, 'and luckily too, my liege, you have us loyal serfs to
protect your back.'
  Andy looked around at them.  He winced as he pulled out the catheter,
climbed painfully out of bed, wearing just a pair of old pyjama bottoms
that sagged low on his waist, and solemnly embraced each of them in turn.
  'I don't deserve you guys, I really don't.'
  'Now that,' said Matt, 'is where you go completely wrong.  You do deserve
us.  Who gave you the right to decide what you're worth?  It's us who
decide that.  You're worth everything to your friends.  We need you, and I
... you know I couldn't live without you.'
  'Poor bloody Phil, what can we do about his pain; what about the family
whose boy I killed?  No help for them is there?'
  'Beyond prayer, none.  But I'm not willing to give up on prayer.  Paulie
and Rachel answered mine for me.'
  Paul interrupted, 'Now that all is revealed, me and Rachel want to go and
consummate this highly-charged and emotional morning by a round of
passionate sex, it that's OK with you two queers.'
  'And you complain about us,' said Matt.
  'Bye for now.'  Paul and Rachel left, they heard her scolding him loudly
down the corridor.  Andy sat back on his bed.
  'Could I mention at this point that - apart from the bad bruising - you
look devastatingly sexy in pyjama bottoms, with your sweet little toes
poking out.'
  Andy smiled painfully as he manoeuvered himself back into bed, 'Always
joking, my Matt.  You've given me back my life.  You've done a noble thing
for which there's no repayment.  What can I ever do for you?'
  'Just be with me, Andy.  That's all I want out of life now.  And if it's
gift exchange that bothers you, don't forget how you gave yourself to me
that October morning a world ago and changed my life; that was a gift that
no one really deserves, and it entitled you to all I have in payment.  I
just want you, Andy.  But don't be worried, you can have a day off from it
once a week, in case it gets too cloying.  I'm nothing if not reasonable.'
  Andy sat staring at him through the bruises with a look that Matt might
have, if he had dared, interpreted as something approaching adoration.  He
was not sure that anyone deserved a look like that from another human
being, and it made him uncomfortable.  Andy finally said, 'Where do we go
now?'
  'Hopefully, your dad can cut a deal to get you released from bail, and
then we can leave this awful place and head ...  To tell the truth, Andy, I
think you should decide where we go.  It's your pain and your burden, so
the choice of relief should be yours too.  Name it, and we'll head there.
Your call.  Yours alone.'

An hour later, the room was full of lawyers and Matt was squeezed out as
they took depositions and made endless calls.
  The state's attorney general was unwilling to let Andy go, in the light
of the fatality.  So Richard Peacher made the trip to see the family of the
dead boy.  He came back tight-lipped saying it was the hardest thing he had
done in all his life.  But the parents had said that having lost their son,
they had no desire that he should lose his.  The lawyers and insurers came
to a rapid settlement, and the attorney general found that he had been
outflanked.  A plea-bargain led to Andy accepting a driving ban, a two-
year suspended sentence and a massive fine.
  He made a laborious trip in a suit to court, and two days later was
released from bail and the hospital.  Matt and his father walked out with
him, Matt carrying his bag.  Richard Peacher himself drove them down the
hill to a beautiful guest house Matt had found in Salonica: a grand
Victorian house with an American Gothick corner tower.
   Richard took his son in his arms at the door, and embraced him as he
gave him into Matt's care.  For the first time since he was a small boy,
Andy kissed his father.  Richard looked deeply moved.  They waved as he
drove away.
  Inside, the rooms were full of carved wood and the heavy scent of African
vanilla from the potpourri jars.  It was run by a Mrs Petersen.  They sat
in the biggest suite looking out on the tree-lined street.
  'How come it feels like I've been let out of prison?'
  'Funnily enough, I feel the same way too.  Er, no chance of sex is
there?'
  'You've seen my bruises. Forget it.  Also we haven't had the test results
back yet.  Who knows what I picked up from Phil?  I was too depressed to
care about protection.  Talking of dreams, Matt.  I think I want to go back
to Finkle Road, maybe not for long, but I've missed it.'
  'Great idea. Fully endorse it.  Your dad said we could have the big jet.
It's at the county airport.  We can go tomorrow or the day after, whenever
we get the results.  What about Paulie and Rachel?'
  'I don't know.  Perhaps they'll come, or perhaps they'll carry on rutting
to Olympic standard.  It's up to them.'
  'I think Paulie might come.  A ride in a private jet would be too
tempting.  I'll tell him the drinks are free.'