by Graham Hamer
Ian stepped forward and grabbed Scott's throat with his left hand. Ron Scott wrenched at his arm, but Ian was far too powerful for the shorter man. Scott gurgled, unable to talk, as Ian drew back his right arm and unleashed it onto the aquiline nose in front of him. The accountant's blood spurted over both of them and, as Ian released his grip from around the other man's throat, Scott collapsed on the floor with an ear-piercing wail.
Ian clasped his right hand inside his left. He turned to Tweedle who now stood behind the chair. “When the thieving little tosser has stopped crying,” he snarled, “tell him not to play with the big boys until he grows up.” He stormed from the office.
It was half-an-hour later by the time that Nancy had held a cold compress to his hand for long enough to remove the worst of the swelling. Ian had recounted the full details of his encounter. To Ian’s surprise, she had seemed very understanding when he had been obliged to include particulars of Dave's peccadillo with Suzy, and she had pledged to keep the information secret. She had smiled at his description of Tweedle's 'hot head' impression and given a satisfied grunt of agreement when he had told her the reason for his bruised knuckles. Her ephemeral good humour disappeared, however, when he told her how Tweedle had retained control of their home.
“Oh Jesus,” she said, holding her head between her hands. “Is this thing going to get any worse? I don't know how much more I can take.”
Ian placed his hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away. “I think it's too late for that now, don't you?”
He ran his undamaged hand through his hair, the hurt showing in his eyes. “I guess all this isn't making things any easier between us, is it?”
“No, Ian. It's not. We had some good times when Pete was young but, for the last few years, we've only been — well, sort of functioning together, haven't we. And now, because of the business, we're not even functioning at all.”
He touched her hand. “Friends?”
Standing up, she walked to the window, her back to him. “Marriage is about more than just friendship,” she said. Her voice had a hard edge to it. “Now is not the time to talk about it, but we're going to have to talk very soon and make some decisions.”
Ian stood to join her but she kept him at bay with a gesture. In lieu of any comforting words they lapsed into an uneasy silence.
“So,” he said, “do I tell Tweedle we'll go along with his nasty little scheme?”
Nancy continued staring through the window at the rolling hills in the distance. “I don't think we've got any choice, but it must all be tied up with the proper transfer of the land. Tell him to be in William's office tomorrow afternoon to sign an agreement. I'll go and see William in the morning and explain what we're doing. If Tweedle's not happy to sign, then to hell with him, let's give him a fight.”
“Good thinking. I'll phone Tweedle now, then I'll go and tell all the blokes what's happened. I'm not sure that many of them will want to stay if Tweedle's going to run the show.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I guess I might as well collect my few personal bits from the office while I'm on the site.”
He dialled the site number and waited as he heard the ringing tone at the other end. When there was no reply, he re-dialled, using Tweedle's home number. This time Tweedle's all-too-cheerful stentorian voice answered at the other end.
“Good day, Richard Tweedle speaking.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Listen to me, Tweedle, and listen good. I agree to your suggestion about the equipment and the wages. Phone Wormald-Welch's office in the morning to make an appointment for the afternoon. You'll sign a proper legal obligation, and this time it will be drawn up by our solicitor and properly witnessed and you'll honour every last full stop. If you break the agreement in any way, I'll plant your teeth on the end of my boot and tear your skin off. If ever you ever breathe a word about Dave Kelly's indiscretion I'll rip your bloody head off and shit down the neck. Keep that little crap heap, Scott, out of my reach because I'm not finished with him yet. And finally, if I ever get a chance to cause you some misery, I'll grab the opportunity and laugh as I watch you suffer the same way my wife's suffering now. I hope you rot in hell you evil bastard.” He cracked the telephone receiver against the table, then slammed it into its cradle, imagining what the sound would be like in Tweedle's ear.
Nancy smiled, despite everything, and turned to face him. “Why beat about the bush, Ian? Why not give it to him straight?”
“Wod did 'e say den?” asked Ron Scott, a large, red handkerchief clutched to his nose.
Tweedle held his ear. “All working as planned, Ronald. He wants me to go and sign some agreement with Wormald-Welch tomorrow. I think, out of principle, I'll delay it until some time next week - no point letting them dictate the rules eh? Game, set and match to us, and we didn't even have to use the share certificate scam.” He looked at Scott, whose hands and face were red with blood. “Now, are you going to go to hospital and stop bleeding all over my furniture?”
As Ron Scott drove himself to the hospital, Ian drove himself to Headland View for the last time. After collecting his plan-drawing pens and stencils and his few other personal belongings from his office, he entered the tearoom to collect his stained and chipped mug. It had no value other than sentimental, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Tweedle anything that was personal to him. As always, leaning against the wall in the corner, the old, battered 'fridge reflected the sunlight from its dull metallic door, which he yanked open. He reached inside and took out his box of Earl Grey. Then, as the door began to close, he blocked it with his foot as an open carton of Tweedle's ice tea caught his eye.
His next action wasn't planned. It was sheer impulse, triggered by anger and frustration. It was out of character and it was mean. But it made him feel better and he would smile about it afterwards. Without remorse, he removed the screw top from the ice tea, poured half of it down the sink, undid the fly on his trousers and proceeded to refill the carton. Maybe it didn't repay Tweedle for his pernicious behaviour, but it was the next best thing.
He left the Portacabin for the last time.
* * *
“How much of it do you know?” Ian asked.
“All of it,” Denise said. “Pete told me everything.”
“She's just told Richard to piss off,” Pete said, poking his finger through a hole in his T-shirt. “When she found out what he'd done, she called him a lot of rude names, packed a few bits in an overnight bag, and stormed out. She told him that she'd be back for her things, and that she never wanted to see him again - ever.”
“Yes, well I've wanted to escape for years. The only problem is that I've got nowhere to go.”
Nancy's face brightened. “Of course you have. So long as we have a roof over our heads, you'll have one over yours. You can have the little green bedroom next to ours.”
“But I can't pay you anything, not for a month anyway.”
“That doesn't matter,” Ian said. “Anyway, what happens in a month?”
Denise smiled. “I get paid. I got a letter from William today. I start on Monday as a secretary.”
Pete leaned across and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for telling me, numptie.”
“I've not had time, Pete. Not with everything that's happened today.”
“Well Nancy and I are delighted for you,” Ian said, moving the sheaf of papers from his knee to the floor. “And stop worrying about being Tweedle's daughter. You didn't plan it that way. What have you decided, Pete? Are you going to carry on working for him?”
Pete examined the hole in his T-shirt. “Only for as long as it takes to find another job, Dad.” He looked up. “I can't see any point in both of us being out of work. But don't worry, none of us is going to be putting ourselves out for him. Some of the blokes have already decided to leave without finding anything else, they don't like what Tweedle's done to you and Dave. The rest of us are just going to amble along doing the absolute minimum until something else crops up.”
�
��Good decision,” Ian said. “Has Tweedle been down to Sean's yet?”
“Yes, he came down late this afternoon, after you'd been, and told us all to pack up and get the equipment back to Headland View. We watched him go into the offices first, so I guess he went to talk to Sean. Talking of which, what did Sean say to you earlier when you phoned him?”
“Well, to be honest, I expected him to explode. We've only just got started on the footings and we go bust on him. Quite the opposite, though. He asked me the details of what had happened, then said not to worry and that he'd talk to me about it in the next few days.”
Nancy had appeared deep in thought as Ian and Pete had talked. “Pete, why don't you show Denise her bedroom,” she said. “Your father and I have things to discuss.”
* * *
The spare bedroom felt remote and unfamiliar to Ian. It had been used the week before, when Claire slept there, but it still felt vacuous and hollow. It lacked the feel of the master bedroom. When he turned out the light, he couldn't visualize the details of the room, and the bed was so different, or perhaps it was because he'd been so used to having somebody else in bed with him. His brain cells had called an all-night meeting and he didn't think he was going to get much sleep anyway. The long, troubling day flashed through his mind, over and over. As soon as he got to the bit where Denise told them that she had walked out of Tweedle's house, he found himself back at the beginning with William sitting at the breakfast table going through the figures again. One hundred and seventeen thousand, one hundred and eighty five thousand, thirty thousand - they were just telephone numbers.
Why couldn't he wind the clock back a few months - six would be enough - and start again? Good morning Richard, you owe us some money. If you can't pay, I'll leave and find a job somewhere else and you'll have to sort out the bank yourself. But life was a one-way street; there was no going back. Why couldn't he have been smart enough to see what was happening? How long had Tweedle and Scott been planning it?
Tweedle had cost him his business, his job, his home, and now, it seemed, his marriage. What sort of bastard would do that? He stared dry-eyed into the dark, gripped by sombre but satisfying fantasies of revenge. But even as his drifting mind sought retribution, he knew that he would do nothing. There was nothing he could do – Tweedle was who he was. Somehow, somewhere, if there was any justice on this earth, he would get his come-uppance. But it would almost certainly be someone else who would deliver the fatal blow.
A low rustling noise outside his bedroom door disturbed his sleepless thoughts. He strained to hear, the silent night air hissing on his eardrums. There it was again. Somebody was on the landing. He waited for the familiar sound of the click from the bathroom light pull; hearing, instead, the low snap of a door handle at the other end of the short passage. He jumped out of bed and tiptoed to the bedroom door, easing it open with care. A faint light emanating from the far end of the landing encouraged him to peep around the doorframe.
The door to Pete's bedroom was being gently closed — by a young lady's hand.
He took a step back and closed his own door, anxious not to trespass on their privacy. Returning to his bed, he smiled to himself despite everything. I hope Nancy doesn't hear them, he thought. She can be a bit prudish at times.
MONDAY 29 APRIL
The old grey seal surveyed his domain, wondering who the human was who sat so glumly on the concrete at the base of the sea wall.
Ian didn't want to be there. He wanted to curl up tight in a corner and shut the world out. He'd had enough of sleepless nights, followed by worried days, followed by more sleepless nights. He'd had enough of the acrimonious atmosphere in the house; Nancy walking past him like he didn't exist. He didn't want to go back to life as a bachelor after twenty years with the same person, and he didn't want to surrender without a fight. Yet her mind seemed to be made up and, under present circumstances, it would be difficult to find a persuasive reason for her to stay. His naiveté had cost them their livelihood, their home and almost certainly their marriage. Now with a throbbing head and leaden eyes, he sat on the concrete step watching the small morning waves roll onto the stony beach beneath a clear Spring sky.
Port Soderick was a narrow, uninhabited cove, with just one access. In getting there, Ian had driven past Tweedle's home and had glanced at the dilapidated house through the trees. Anger and loathing had welled up in his stomach at the visible reminder of his adversary, who hadn't even bothered making an appointment to sign the agreement that Wormald-Welch had prepared.
He wondered whether something unpleasant had happened, like rabies or Ebola. It seemed unlikely, since Nancy had phoned William this morning, who had reported that Tweedle had been in contact with him over the weekend and was considering other options. The solicitor had seemed relaxed about it; said that it would all work itself out. But what did he know? What did anyone know about Tweedle's motives? At least the tradesmen had been paid on Friday, all of them now back at Headland View constructing Tweedle's houses in slow motion.
The rhythmic whisper of the gentle swell had taken on a therapeutic effect, purging the headache that had been rummaging behind his eyes. Ian stared back at the seal. Strange to be going diving with all that had happened, but Sean had been very persuasive when he'd phoned. “Things to discuss,” he'd said, “Get you away from your problems for an hour or two.”
But would his mood be different now that he'd had time to reflect on how badly he'd been let down? What would the construction site behind the factory look like now? Building lines hanging limply between the timber profiles. Part-built foundations staring out from their concrete-lined trenches. He had no right to expect any sort of courtesy from Sean - if, indeed, he even bothered to turn up.
The seal disappeared below the surface as the sound of an approaching car broke the silence.
A velvety baritone called out, “So there you are, you old bugger. I saw your car, but I couldn't see you. Thought you'd started without me.”
Ian smiled, relieved. “Hi, Sean. I was just watching the sea and contemplating a little.”
“Things a bit tough eh?”
“You could say that. Listen, about your own work—”
“Forget it for the moment. We're going to relax a bit first. We can talk business between dives.”
An hour later, with their wet equipment lying in the dry spring grass, they lounged on the sea wall. Sean produced an enormous flask of coffee, and a biscuit tin full of goodies – cake, apples and sandwiches. He smiled commodiously as Ian plundered the sandwich section.
“It's hungry work this diving,” Sean said, choosing one of the sandwiches with smoked salmon and mayonnaise that he'd hidden at the bottom.
Ian's mouth was too full to reply.
Sean wolfed the sandwich and found another. He spoke in gentle, comforting tones – the Irish brogue making his I's sound more like Oi's. “Okay, bucko, let's talk business. I took the liberty of speaking to Wormald-Welch last Friday. He and I know each other quite well and do a bit of business together. Anyway, I put a proposal to him that he thought you'd be interested in. I'll tell you now, he gave me all the sordid details of Tweedle's bit of tomfoolery, and he also told me the figures involved. Now don't you go getting upset with him for talking your business, you'll see in a minute that he had your best interests at heart.”
Silence as Ian took another sandwich. He knew it was time for listening, not talking.
“First of all,” Sean continued, “you'll probably be knowing that Tweedle hasn't signed your agreement. That means that nothing's changed from the situation last Wednesday; all the equipment and stock on site still belongs to Snaefell Homes. Sure an' Wormald-Welch is right, your Company can't go on trading while it's insolvent. But you're free to sell anything belonging to the Company to reduce the bank borrowing. Reduce that and you reduce your own personal liabilities. Not a word now, you can interrupt me when I'm finished. I know all about Tweedle and your house boundaries.”
The old sea
l re-emerged and hauled itself out of the water.
“Let me ask you a couple of questions. How much of the stock of materials do you reckon could be used towards building my factory extension?”
Ian stopped chewing. The idea of actually selling the materials hadn't crossed his mind. They were part of the unsigned deal with Tweedle. “There are no trusses or roof tiles, so that's okay,” he said, visualizing the Headland View site. “There's a reasonable quantity of sawn timbers, but they're standard sizes and lengths so could soon be adapted. So far as things like bricks, blocks, cement and so on are concerned, I reckon something like ninety percent of what's on site could be reused at yours. They're going to be rendered over anyway. Why do you ask?”
“So if I bought them off you at cost price - say about twenty-three thousand, you'd not feel swindled?”
“Certainly not, but—”
“Good! Your equipment, I gather, has a book value of thirty thousand against about twenty thousand pounds worth of outstanding loans.”
Ian nodded. He began to understand what Sean was driving at.
“So If I paid you thirty thousand for the lot and you paid off the loans, you'd be able to reduce the bank, and thus your personal liabilities, by the balance - another ten thousand?”
“Well yes, but that's almost certainly not their true market value.”
“That's my problem, Ian. If I can't resell everything at the end of my building project for a fair price, I'll ship it over to one of my dealers in England to sell for me. If I'm content, and you don't feel robbed, then we've got a deal. Yes?”
“ —”
“Good, so we've got your bank down to about one hundred and fifty-two thousand.”
“But—”
“Ah yes, of course, the little problem of Tweedle and your house. Well what would you say if I told you that Mister Tweedle has kindly consented to complete the paperwork on that bit of land, all legal and above board mind, by tomorrow?”