She could see she’d embarrassed him by mentioning money. He’d be earning £45,000 a year, although he’d accepted the job without asking what he’d be paid – a fact that had both surprised and impressed Sarah. She guessed she’d misjudged him by assuming he was lazy. These days she was beginning to see there was a lot more to Ben than she had thought. In fact, she wondered how she’d missed it all those years. His gentle calm. She had put his shyness and reluctance to join in and be part of the family down to him being a little high-minded, judging even.
But the man sitting with her now seemed the very opposite – humble, willing, utterly devoid of affectation or the desire to impress. She wished she could say the same for herself. Trying to appear perfect had been one of the major driving forces of her life – as it had mine.
‘I’m here if you ever need a sounding board,’ she told Ben.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, managing a half smile. ‘It’s good to be able to talk to someone about it.’
Sarah tilted her head as she took in this stranger, my brother, the man who had been a mystery for all those years but she was finally getting to know. She noticed his sculptured looks, so much more obvious now he had got rid of his stubble and stuck to being clean shaven.
Sarah had barely said goodbye to Ben, when there was another knock on her front door. Rosa can’t be here already, she thought, she wasn’t due for another half an hour. But, sure enough, she opened the door to find her formidable friend already pushing past her.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Rosa demanded. ‘I convinced myself you’d committed suicide and I was coming to find a body.’
‘Well, I’m still here,’ Sarah called after Rosa who had by now made her way through to the kitchen where she was removing her coat. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’
‘Oh, don’t be so bloody ridiculous. Just make me a cup of tea can you. I’ve driven like a bat out of hell to get here.’
Sarah realised Rosa had put herself out. She had two very young children who she’d probably had to leave in her elderly mother’s care for the day so she could make the journey from Glasgow to visit.
‘Thank you for coming, Rosa. I know it can’t have been easy getting away.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s a bloody relief just to have an excuse to get out of the house. I left my mother desperately grappling with the TV remote, while Maddie and Esther bounced up and down in front of her screaming for CBeebies, but I felt not even the faintest desire to help. Now give your old friend a hug.’ Rosa outstretched her arms to embrace her former flatmate. ‘And don’t shut me out like that again,’ she jokingly warned Sarah. The two had met at university and had been close ever since. Sarah felt her spirits lift as she relaxed into the company of a friend whose loyalty had never wavered in the near twenty years they had known each other. She even looked the same. Rosa had always carried a bit of padding, and her cheeks were permanently flushed as if duty-bound to match her name, but she had a radiant face and personality Sarah admired and adored.
They sat down with their cups of tea and smiled at each other across the kitchen table, Sarah’s eyes welling up as she was finally able to let down her guard with someone she trusted.
‘I miss him, Rosa.’
‘I know.’
‘And I’m so angry that he’s gone, but I’ve no one to blame but him. He was speeding and lost control of his car, the police said. How could he be so bloody reckless?’
Rosa sat silently, willing her friend to continue. She was no stranger to grief herself, having been forced to deal with her father’s suicide when she was just fifteen. All she had wanted to do then was talk to someone, but there was no one to listen. Her mother was too lost in her own pain and her school friends treated her like a leper for the first few months after his death, afraid that grief was catching. Today she was here to provide nothing more than a pair of ears to a friend she suspected just needed to open up and let it out.
‘You’ve probably guessed I’ve been a bit down.’
Rosa nodded.
‘The pain and sense of injustice that I felt when Harry died was just overwhelming. It still is. I know I have to go on, I just haven’t figured out how.’
‘It’ll take time,’
‘I guess so.’
Rosa watched Sarah fall deeper into her own thoughts, staring into oblivion and biting on her lower lip.
‘I need to tell you something, Rosa. Something that’s been eating me up but which I am scared to say out loud because it’s so horrible.’
‘Just say whatever’s on your mind. That’s why I’m here. You know you can tell me anything.’
Sarah nodded and took a deep breath before continuing.
‘I had a fling with someone just before Harry died.’
Rosa’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘It was completely meaningless. Just a guy from work – Paul – who’d had a crush on me for years and didn’t seem to pay any attention to the fact I was married. He was always coming on to me on work nights out and I’d usually brush him off. Then, just a few weeks before Harry died, Paul and I went to a conference in Birmingham together and I ended up spending the night with him. I guess in some subliminal way I was punishing Harry. It only happened once but I felt horrible. I’d been trying to figure out whether to tell Harry or not… but then...’
She put her head in her hands and started to sob. ‘He died thinking I was a loyal, loving wife, Rosa, when in actual fact I was an unfaithful, selfish bitch.’
Rosa got to her feet and walked round to rest at Sarah’s side. She placed an arm around her shoulder and whispered: ‘Harry died believing the right thing then. You were a loyal, loving wife, you just slipped up and he’ll never know that.’
Sarah raised her head and looked pitifully into her friend’s face. ‘But I know, Rosa. And it’s tearing me apart.’
CHAPTER five
I HADN’T SUSPECTED AN AFFAIR – but then I was way too arrogant to ever think Sarah would cheat on me. I hadn’t been able to provide her with the child she so desperately wanted, and I never really stopped to think about how difficult that must have been for her. I hadn’t always been the most fantastic husband either, especially in the two years leading up to her fling. I wonder whether if she had felt able to confide in me our relationship could have ever recovered? Could I have forgiven her? I feared not. Pride would have prevented me from even thinking about what the reasons for her cheating might have been. I’d have shut her out along with my emotions.
My life was, in truth, all about me. Everything I’d ever strived for had been one big shout for attention: ‘Look at me, look at what I’ve achieved.’ That’s how my business had started – with a small venture I tried my hand at as a student in an effort to impress my father.
Edinburgh University had been chock full of little rich boys and girls who were living in flats bought for them by mummy and daddy. They had been filled with old bits and pieces from home, including vases, paintings, rugs and furniture that their mothers had long gone off. Some of these unloved items were actually pretty valuable. And that’s where I stepped in. I helped these cash-strapped students earn a bit of extra dosh by relieving them of the older furnishings, having agreed to a 50:50 split on whatever I got for them. Those bits and pieces that I reckoned were actually worth a bob or two I’d take to antiques dealers, and the rest I’d flog at my weekly boot sale in the university car park. These sales became legendary, with bargain-hungry customers scrapping over the old tat and the occasional genuine article. It was a perfect marketplace. And it was also the birth of the YourLot empire. Shortly after I left uni, Dad backed me in opening up my own antiques dealership. Then, when internet enterprises really started taking off, I realised I could sell an awful lot more stuff online. To begin with we simply traded antiques, but quickly opened it up to more modern pieces and then – six years ago – took the leap of allowing members to sell their own items via our site. The rest, as they say, is history. I was the eternal optimist, but not even I envisaged
the level of financial success I would reap through the website. YourLot.com became a global phenomenon and I, in turn, a very rich man.
Dad was so proud. My achievements were a favourite topic of conversation for him, with my long-suffering mother taking the brunt of it in the early years. She always listened patiently and smiled encouragingly in my direction, but I could have been a billionaire ten times over and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Material wealth never impressed her. She was only ever interested in our inner wealth; namely the talents she thought my brother had in abundance but never used.
Mum didn’t live to see the height of my success, but she saw the depths of my personal failings. As did Ben. Whenever I was in his presence my achievements became as weightless as air and my determination to prove myself as solid as stone.
Ben took a deep breath as he prepared to enter his first Monday morning team meeting. Pushing the door to the office open, he found three faces staring at him expectantly from their seats behind the meeting table. This time he’d be more assertive he told himself. So he forced himself to look straight into the eyes of his new employees as he entered the room, but in doing so failed to spot the umbrella at his feet which sent him stumbling around the doorway like a circus clown. Once he’d regained his balance he returned his gaze to the three faces in front of him realising pretty quickly that it was too late to salvage his dignity. They were already desperately trying, and failing, to stifle their laughter.
‘I guess that’s what you call an entrance,’ said Ben, managing a smile. At this they all fell about laughing, but at least they were laughing with him, he hoped.
Ben sat down and reminded himself that he had to remain in control. He pressed on with the statement he had planned, clasping his hands tightly as he spoke so they wouldn’t see them shaking.
‘I want to meet as many of the kids as I can this week.’
‘No problem,’ said Dave.
‘I need to spend this week getting to know the place and everything that goes on here. Then, next Monday we’ll talk about how we move forward. If you have any ideas then that will be your opportunity to raise them, and I’ll bring a few of my own too. Everyone okay with that?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Sonja, at last looking at him with something he thought could just pass for respect. He noticed for the first time that behind the tough facade, she actually had a nice, round, kindly face – a face that was comforting to look at.
Ben smiled at his colleagues and hoped this fleeting feeling of belonging might last.
He was about to tell them the meeting was over when Sonja cleared her throat. ‘Ben, we…eh, we’re not quite sure what to do with Harry’s stuff.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Eh… that filing cabinet behind you is full of his paperwork and files. We didn’t want to go through it without talking to you first.’
‘I see,’ said Ben, turning to look at the cabinet in question behind him. ‘Why don’t you give me the key and I’ll go through it this afternoon.’
Sonja’s relief was palpable. Clearly, she wasn’t relishing the idea of working her way through my secrets. Personally, I thought that showed a rather disappointing lack of adventurism, but then I always was a nosey sod. Ben was certainly afraid of what he’d find in a locked cabinet belonging to his heedless twin. And there was a secret within that cabinet, one I longed to be uncovered but would only be done by the most astute of minds. Just as well then, that it was my brother unlocking it.
Ben waited until the staff had left the office before turning to open the filing cabinet with the small key Sonja had handed him moments earlier. He had no idea why he felt so apprehensive when all he was likely to find were a few bits of accountancy work. He pulled open the drawer to see – as he expected – a well-organised row of hanging folders, all carefully named and in alphabetical order: Accounts, Annual Report, Donations, Letters Received, Maintenance, Staff. Ben immediately reached for the Letters file to see what kind of correspondence I had kept. He soon found the file would have been more aptly named Thank Yous, as it contained note after note from young people who we had worked with and/or their parents all eulogising about the centre – and me. I can’t lie.
Ben read a few and smiled before carefully returning the cards and letters to their folder. He worked his way to the back of the cabinet where he noticed a solitary untitled file. He suspected the tag had been knocked off as the folder looked old and slightly worn. Lifting it out of the cabinet, he retrieved from inside four sheets of folded and crumpled paper. He opened the first to discover a stunningly detailed pencil sketch of an elderly man with a bulbous nose who looked like he’d been sinking a few pints over the course of a long afternoon in the pub. The skin was mottled but his eyes were smiling through an alcoholic haze. Ben hastily opened the other sheets and pored over each piece of work; all featured single, character-filled subjects by the same artist who signed only his first name, Luke.
Ben folded each of the sheets of paper carefully and filed them away again, unsure whether they should be kept or thrown in the bin. That was a decision he would save for another day. He knew all about Luke. I had spoken of him several times and he remembered what I’d told him all too clearly; the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.
Sarah perched on the edge of the bath as she waited for the small plastic stick in her hand to reveal her future.
Then she gasped, clasping her hand to her face as it delivered its verdict. ‘Pregnant’.
‘Oh shit,’ she said aloud. Immediately, she thought of all the days and nights she’d spent these last few weeks drowning her sorrows and smoking.
She hadn’t been careful with Paul Davis but never imagined – never really imagined – that she’d be pregnant. She thought the tiredness and nausea she’d been feeling these last few weeks was grief. She had barely noticed missing her period until the fog started to lift and she began piecing her symptoms together.
She dropped the test stick and put her head in her hands. ‘Why now?’ she begged out loud. How the hell was she going to explain this to Ben and Dad?
But as she gripped the edge of the bath, imagining their angry, confused faces, her anguish began to give way to something else. There was a child growing inside her, the very thing she had been longing for, and the one and only person who might just be able to wipe away the ever-present stain of grief from her heart.
And before she knew it, she couldn’t suppress her joy at achieving the very thing she had so desperately wanted – even though the truth would surely devastate my family.
Two days later and Ben was standing to attention in the recreation room waiting to meet the first of a few new recruits, Jason Weir. Ben’s first impression of Jason was that he looked like a guy you wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alley. He wasn’t tall, but he was well built and there was a hardness about him, though he was smartly turned out in jeans and a navy bomber jacket. He tried to take a guess at what career this 20-year-old might be looking to pursue – he’d clearly made an effort with his appearance – but he just wasn’t someone you could easily categorise.
Extending a hand towards the youth, he introduced himself, adding, ‘You must be Jason.’
‘That’s right, aye,’ Jason replied, looking Ben up and down with more than a degree of suspicion before returning the handshake.
‘When did you join the centre?’ Ben asked.
‘Couple of weeks ago.’
‘What is it that you’d like to do?’
‘Just get into something where I can use my talent. I want to make something of myself but I don’t know how to get started,’ he said with unexpected candour. ‘I’ve got no qualifications.’
‘Right,’ Ben replied, already feeling out of his depth. ‘What line of work would you like to get into?’
‘I want to be an artist,’ said Jason, fixing him straight in the eye as if to say – ‘and what you going to do about it?’
Jason must have noticed Ben squint as he processed thi
s last piece of information. He hadn’t seen that one coming. This young man was such a curious mix of rough but polished, from his accent, distinctly Scottish yet clearly spoken, down to his stylish suede ankle boots.
‘Do you draw or paint?’ Ben finally asked.
‘Draw. I’ve got some sketches with me,’ Jason offered, producing a notepad from his pocket. He handed it to Ben who quickly opened it, intrigued to see what Jason would class as art.
Inside he found a series of drawings so detailed they almost looked like black and white photos, but done entirely in ballpoint pen. Ben thought most of the people and animals Jason had drawn were probably based on pictures. He was struck by one of a middle-aged man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, holding a pint and wearing a, ‘come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough’, kind of look on his face. The other was of a child, bawling his eyes out, dressed in a Batman suit that he clearly didn’t want to wear. Each one was so detailed you felt like you were in the picture, not just looking at it. Incredibly, the drawings brought the subjects to life more masterfully than a camera ever could.
Jason without doubt had a serious talent.
‘What do your teachers say about your abilities?’
‘I’ve not really been to school since I was fifteen. They used to say I was quite good.’
‘Quite good,’ said Ben incredulously. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. You are seriously gifted.’
Jason turned an instant shade of purple at this compliment.
‘I’m going to get you the materials you need to produce ten pieces of work, Jason, and when you’re finished we’re going to display them at a special exhibition here at the centre and invite everyone we can possibly think of who could help you.’
Ben thought he could see Jason’s chest physically puff out with pride at this suggestion.
‘No bother,’ he said with the most delighted smile Ben had ever seen. Once Ben became aware of himself again he realised he was beaming too.
From the Outside Page 5