Absolute Truths Read Online Free PDF

best of intentions.
    ‘ The kind’ that pave the road to hell,’ muttered Lyle, shoving Samson’s letter under the locked bedroom door.
    More agonising minutes passed. We went away. We waited. We returned. We banged futilely on the panels. We took it in turns to beg him to let us in. At last, egged on by Lyle and feeling nearly demented with anxiety, I fetched a screwdriver, opened up the lock and forced my way into the room. It was empty. Charley had made a rope of sheets and escaped through the window. The letter was lying unopened on the floor.
    No mere words could describe the sheer horror of the next few hours, so I shall merely record our ordeal as tersely as possible. First of all I hauled up the sheets before they could be spotted by our neighbours. Then we began our search, but enquiries at the station and bus terminal proved fruitless.
    At one stage I was in such despair that I said, ‘Supposing he’s tried to kill himself by jumping into the Cam?’ but Lyle, hiding her terror behind an ice-cool façade, answered: ‘If he leapt into the river he’d make damn sure there were plenty of people around to haul him out.’
    We returned home to sweat blood and plot our next move, but we could think of nothing to do except wait by the telephone. It seemed too soon to notify the police. However as the hours passed and no contrite call came I was obliged to notify the headmaster that Charley would not be returning to school that evening. I was tempted to lie by saying he was ill, but I knew I had to tell a story which bore some resemblance to the truth in case the absence lasted some time, so I said that Charley had run away after a family disagreement. When the headmaster had recovered from his astonishment he was so kind that I had difficulty in sustaining the conversation, but I did say I would take his advice to call the police.
    More appalling conversations followed. The policemen dearly felt they were being troubled unnecessarily and said they were sure Charley would turn up, probably sooner rather than later. No sooner had they departed than a neighbour dropped in, saw the uneaten birthday cake in the kitchen and demanded an explanation. The grapevine began to hum. The local paper got hold of the story. Garish headlines screamed: ‘PROFESSOR’S SON VANISHES, SUICIDE OR SNATCH?’ We fobbed off our friends’ enthralled enquiries by saying we needed to keep the telephone line open, but some of them still insisted on calling in to commiserate with us. The schadenfreude generated by a clergyman’s son who goes off the rails is massive indeed.
    I was just thinking how very pleasant it would be to spend a week in the nearest mental hospital, far from this repulsively mad ding crowd, when Jon rang from his home near Starbridge and said: ‘He’s here. He’s unharmed. Be sure you bring the letter when you come to fetch him.’
    I drove through the night with the letter in my breast pocket, and when I reached Jon’s home the next morning I found Charley sitting on the steps of the porch as he waited for me. Halting the c ar I jumped out and rushed over to him and when he muttered: ‘You didn’t have to drive through the night,’ I shouted: ‘What the hell else did you expect me to do?’ — not the mildest of replies, but I was almost passing out with relief. At that point Charley broke down and began to whimper, but I grabbed him and held him so tightly that both of us were unable to do more than struggle for breath. Eventually Jon appeared and announced, rather in the manner of a tactful butler, that breakfast was available in the dining-room.
    When Charley and I were alone together he told me he had completed the long journey by walking and by thumbing lifts. Having little money he had slept under hedges and survived on a diet of Mars bars. ‘The whole journey was hell,’ he concluded morosely, ‘but I wanted to see Father Darrow. I thought he’d know about everything and I’m sure he does, but he