“Shit, Foley.”
“I have never hated you so much in my life.” She’d gone to bed with Drum and glossed over the humongous issue of his existence. “What am I going to do? I’m in love with him.”
Nat sighed and that was it for sympathy. “I’ll get you some names. Referrals. I don’t know. I’ll ask around. You can’t kiss this better, Foley. Hang in there. Call me later.”
Nat ended the call, but Foley had no time to rethink her day, Drum was back, ringing the front gate buzzer. She went down the stairs to let him in, opening the front door to discover not Drum, but a small tidy man in a very classy suit and frameless glasses. He was too immaculate to be Seventh Day Adventist, collecting for charity, or wanting her to switch electricity provider.
She pulled the robe closed at her throat. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Alan Drummond, I’m looking for my son, Patrick.”
Foley felt cold wash through her that had nothing to do with the outdoor temperature or her state of virtual undress.
The man held his hand out. He didn’t look anything like Drum, she had the urge to ask for ID. She shook his hand. “He’s not here right now. I’m Foley Barnes. I’m.” Shit, fill in the blanks: naked under this robe, sleeping with your son, was once responsible for evicting him, in love with him. “I’m a friend of Drum’s.”
“Oh, that’s what he’s calling himself.” Alan Drummond closed his eyes, relief in his expression. He put his hand out to steady himself on the doorframe. “Will he be long? I can wait in the car.”
What would Drum want? Should she let his father, the man he built NCR with, the man who sacked him, into the house?
“I don’t want to interrupt. But I haven’t known how to find Trick. I didn’t know about this house. He had a penthouse in the city. There was a story this morning’s paper and I thought—look, I’m sorry.” He turned to go. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Don’t.” She had to do something to help Drum. How wrong could it be to start with his family? “Was this address in paper?” She held the door open and Drum’s dad walked through, taking in the grand foyer and the staircase.
“The street name was. I’ve doorknocked every house. I couldn’t find that cave this morning. I thought he might be there. I can hardly believe it. My son,” Alan’s voice wavered, he coughed, “living in a cave. This is my fault, you know. I pushed him too hard. I didn’t realise he was so affected. I thought he’d get past the stress and he’d be better. He was seeing a therapist, but he’s worse than I imagined. All this time I thought he was travelling, or holed up somewhere enjoying himself. I had no idea it’d gotten like this. Who did you say you were again? You’re not? He didn’t? I’m sorry, I need to sit down. I think I need a glass of water.”
Foley led the clearly shaken Alan Drummond to the kitchen.
“Trick is living here then. What happened to the furniture? Have you just moved in?”
She poured him a glass of water. “Drum only uses this place occasionally. He regards the cave as his home.”
“Oh my God.” Alan held on to the island benchtop and Foley wished she could offer him a seat. She didn’t know if she should feel compassion for him, or wary contempt.
“I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing letting you in, Mr Drummond. I don’t know if Drum will want you here.”
Alan nodded. “You’re right. He may not be happy to see me.”
“I care for your son and I don’t claim to understand everything that happened, but I know he was deeply impacted. I want what’s best for him. The problem is I’m not sure what that is.”
“He must’ve quit therapy. He shut himself off. I didn’t know. But I couldn’t be more surprised. Who did you say you were again?”
“I’m Foley Barnes and I’m in love with your son, but I didn’t know who he was until last night. In a way, I’m as surprised as you are.”
Alan took a big gulp of breath and let it out noisily. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed. His nickname wasn’t Trick for nothing. When he was a kid he was always inventing adventures. He was so independent, but I perhaps I did leave him alone too often. He was mature, capable, but the therapy I had suggested I wasn’t there enough for him, that for some reason, a grown man, he still needs my approval. I can’t pretend to understand it.”
Alan looked her right in the eyes, and that was a gesture that was all Drum when he’d stopped trying to avoid her. “It’s true. I left him with his grandparents and a neighbour, and he was such a smart kid he ran circles around them. He thinks he’s disappointed me.”
“He thinks you’ve disappointed him.”
“Eh.” Alan blinked in surprise, then his face crumpled. “I had no
choice but to sack him. He had to understand that. I don’t know what he’s told you, but Circa has been evaluated by every independent body, every regulatory group out there and it’s safe, it meets the standards for acceptable use. That’s something Trick made sure of. But he was never satisfied, he blew it all out of proportion, he—”
“Got death threats.”
“Yes, but those—” Alan turned away, abruptly. “He said I didn’t understand and I don’t, I don’t. Trick was so clever, so strong. And he could be ruthless too. Nothing got in his way, that’s how we built a business from nothing in fifteen years, that’s fast for the industry, but he never cut corners. He never lost focus. He worked hard, he played hard. He could do anything he set his mind to. Type A personality and all that. But I don’t know how he got so broken and I don’t understand, I simply don’t understand, why he did this. Why he just can’t buck up?”
Foley jaw was clenched tight, her fists were furled. She’d made a huge mistake and she’d never felt like whaling into someone before. Alan Drummond obviously thought his son was Superman and wasn’t prepared to admit to the existence of kryptonite. She wanted to slap him, kick him, punch him.