she hung herself. Why did she do that?â
âI donât know. Letâs forget this now, shall we?â
âPeople donât just hang themselves. There had to be a reason for her to do such an extreme thing.â
âI donât want to talk about this, Angel.â
âDid she leave a note?â
âLife isnât like the movies. No, she didnât leave a note.â
âAnd there wasnât a hint of what had gone wrong in her life?â
âLook, she left no note, she said nothing, she had no fucking reason to kill herself, but she didâshe hung herself and she left me alone. Satisfied? Now letâs move on.â
Angel took one long last drag of her cigarette and stubbed it meticulously in the glass ashtray, making sure nothing was left burning, and then she lay back and stared at the ceiling. âYou blame her, donât you?â
âWhat? What the fuck are you talking about?â
âYouâve no idea what went wrong for her, you donât understand, so instead of facing up to the hard questions, you just blame her for leaving you alone. How self-centred is that?â
âYou know nothing about my wife, or about me. Donât presume to understand.â
She got out of bed and gathered her scattered clothes, remaining silent until she reached the bathroom door. âI understand all right, Jack. I understand completely. And, whatâs worse, Iâm right but you canât even admit it.â
âThatâs enough.â
âDid you ever stop to think that perhaps, just perhaps, her death did have something to do with you? Stop blaming her, look in the mirror.â She shut the bathroom door.
âToo bloody right I blame her,â I shouted at the closed door. âItâs her bloody fault for leaving me alone.â
What a relief once sheâd gone. Donât get me wrong, I appreciated her time, but I could have done without the free self-help session. And worse, she had forced the impending return to New Zealand to the front of my mind. So many demons awaited me at home, Iâd need feet as well as hands to count them. Perhaps there was a way out. Iâd avoided going back twice before, so maybe there was a chance again.
Bebe was with me just a minute after Angel left. Iâm sure he waited just down the corridor so he could get to me immediately. He always had a key for my room, but had yet to enter when I still had a girl with me. Perhaps he bugged the room: Iâd put nothing past Taikon. He was clutching newspapers, laptop and a notebook. We discussed the dayâs schedule as I washed and dressed and read the papers together as we always did. The tabloids had had some fun with my comments of the night before. Bebe muttered as he read, making the occasional note, but when finished he told me he was still sure the committee was on side. He had also spoken to those who mattered at Taikon, including George, who I hoped enjoyed his night with Amanda. The message was that they were far from pleased and as expected there would be tightened security, but that was the likely extent of the repercussions.
I tentatively suggested to Bebe that I postpone the trip to New Zealand and concentrate on a more measured response to Driesler, but the company had already discussed and discountedsuch an idea. It was agreed that a return to my home country with all the positive press it would attract far outweighed any other consideration.
âI know itâs going to be hard for you going back, Jack, but itâs time you faced up to what happened.â
âI suppose so.â
There was no stopping it now. I was going home. Shit.
THE TIMES
Editorial
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This newspaper has always supported and admired Jack Mitchell. At a time when science and what we might term normal society are growing further apart, Mitchell has succeeded better than anyone in bridging the gap. The scientific enterprise at times appears