Read Online The Pink and the Grey by Anthony Camber - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Camber
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gate with a narrow cattle grid, its dark paint peeling off with the passage of thousands of bikes and feet. This was Midsummer Common, dozens of acres of grassland criss-crossed by paths, and with Narnia-like street lamps at the intersections. It was currently occupied by a herd of cows somewhere away in the mist. Only in Cambridge.
The river was getting closer. We skirted the eastern edge of the common, on a path curving slowly to the right as the common narrowed, and then took a fork aimed directly towards one of the footbridges over the Cam. We’d be passing not far from many of the college boathouses across the river, where some of the fittest and most lycra-hugging arseholes of their generation trained and rowed. Not that I used to walk along the footpath occasionally on the off-chance, of course, and never with my long lens.
“So what happened?” I asked, hoping he’d unwound a little.
There was no let up in his anger. “What happened? What always happened. Businesses were ruined. Lives were ruined. There was a cascading effect.” He mimed tumbling over and over. “I was young at the time, protected. It is only recently that I learned the whole truth. The board sacked my father, of course. They could do little else against the publicity, day after day after day. He tried to clear his name. No chance of that. Your editor and his friends kept on and on with the story despite the lack of evidence. They grabbed at anything to destroy him. They dug up an old girlfriend and made people think they were having an affair. Nudge-nudge, no smoke without fire. Those stories. Bitter, vicious lies.”
I nodded. He needed to get this out.
“It was relentless, and groundless, and devastating. The family, my family suffered greatly. The pressure. The constant cameras, the intrusion. At our windows, at the front door, on the bonnet of the car. It was a witch hunt. I used to have nightmares, all banging and flashes and arguments and tears, whirling around.”
He stopped for a moment, and looked at me, and took a breath, and became quiet again. “My elder sister took an overdose. Luckily we found her in time. In fact, I found her — she was supposed to be babysitting me while our parents were out talking to solicitors. And the stress of it all, well, ultimately, it ended my parents’ marriage.”
Well, that put a great big fucking downer on the evening, right there.
“So you see,” he said with a cold smile, “I’m not a great fan of Geoff Burnett.”
It was my turn to be silent.
He finished the story, slowly, quietly. “And afterwards, well, my father was reinstated eventually because he had done nothing wrong, of course. But it could never be what it had been before. It was not long before he left that company and started something new, not so corrupted with memories I suppose. Something quite successful, which is good. I grew up with my mother, as did my sister.”
“How is she now?”
“Fine. Both are fine. My sister is married, with a little girl. My mother says she is far too busy now for marriage.” He let out a short, sad grunt. His foot connected with a pebble, deliberately or not I couldn’t tell, and it skittered along the path and escaped into the grass.
I made the right noises but I wasn’t sure what I was expected to say — what I could say. I could hardly apologise on behalf of all journalists — or even just Geoff, had I wanted to — for any wrongdoing perpetrated by others while I was playing kiss-chase. And that’s assuming everything Seb had told me was true.
“Listen, I’m sorry, but—”
“What’s it got to do with you?”
“Crudely, yeah.” I gave him a sympathetic smile.
We were approaching a footbridge, which arced low over the Cam to slice through the boathouses on the other side. At the steps, Seb stopped and turned to me. “We were a happy, contented family until Geoff Burnett came along. I would very much like to organise a little payback. I want you to
The river was getting closer. We skirted the eastern edge of the common, on a path curving slowly to the right as the common narrowed, and then took a fork aimed directly towards one of the footbridges over the Cam. We’d be passing not far from many of the college boathouses across the river, where some of the fittest and most lycra-hugging arseholes of their generation trained and rowed. Not that I used to walk along the footpath occasionally on the off-chance, of course, and never with my long lens.
“So what happened?” I asked, hoping he’d unwound a little.
There was no let up in his anger. “What happened? What always happened. Businesses were ruined. Lives were ruined. There was a cascading effect.” He mimed tumbling over and over. “I was young at the time, protected. It is only recently that I learned the whole truth. The board sacked my father, of course. They could do little else against the publicity, day after day after day. He tried to clear his name. No chance of that. Your editor and his friends kept on and on with the story despite the lack of evidence. They grabbed at anything to destroy him. They dug up an old girlfriend and made people think they were having an affair. Nudge-nudge, no smoke without fire. Those stories. Bitter, vicious lies.”
I nodded. He needed to get this out.
“It was relentless, and groundless, and devastating. The family, my family suffered greatly. The pressure. The constant cameras, the intrusion. At our windows, at the front door, on the bonnet of the car. It was a witch hunt. I used to have nightmares, all banging and flashes and arguments and tears, whirling around.”
He stopped for a moment, and looked at me, and took a breath, and became quiet again. “My elder sister took an overdose. Luckily we found her in time. In fact, I found her — she was supposed to be babysitting me while our parents were out talking to solicitors. And the stress of it all, well, ultimately, it ended my parents’ marriage.”
Well, that put a great big fucking downer on the evening, right there.
“So you see,” he said with a cold smile, “I’m not a great fan of Geoff Burnett.”
It was my turn to be silent.
He finished the story, slowly, quietly. “And afterwards, well, my father was reinstated eventually because he had done nothing wrong, of course. But it could never be what it had been before. It was not long before he left that company and started something new, not so corrupted with memories I suppose. Something quite successful, which is good. I grew up with my mother, as did my sister.”
“How is she now?”
“Fine. Both are fine. My sister is married, with a little girl. My mother says she is far too busy now for marriage.” He let out a short, sad grunt. His foot connected with a pebble, deliberately or not I couldn’t tell, and it skittered along the path and escaped into the grass.
I made the right noises but I wasn’t sure what I was expected to say — what I could say. I could hardly apologise on behalf of all journalists — or even just Geoff, had I wanted to — for any wrongdoing perpetrated by others while I was playing kiss-chase. And that’s assuming everything Seb had told me was true.
“Listen, I’m sorry, but—”
“What’s it got to do with you?”
“Crudely, yeah.” I gave him a sympathetic smile.
We were approaching a footbridge, which arced low over the Cam to slice through the boathouses on the other side. At the steps, Seb stopped and turned to me. “We were a happy, contented family until Geoff Burnett came along. I would very much like to organise a little payback. I want you to
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