by Tommy Dakar
in the grounds, maybe read a book together. Or watch T.V. Harvey would see what he could do. They left it at that.
In reality Harvey was making an effort. He was striving to come across as the willing but inept step-father when the truth was that he could not bear the child. Not at all. In fact he was beginning to hate him. As far as he could see the boy had no saving graces. He was the very image of his dead father, blonde and beautiful, bright and cheerful. Maybe if he had not resembled the late Sydney Haute so much Harvey could have forgiven him his lineage and taken him a little more to heart. As it was he saw the child as a rival, a constant reminder of things past, a permanent source of jealousy. Because Andrea was not a divorcee, she was a widow. Under normal circumstances she would still have been married to the man she loved, and would have formed a perfectly happy family, with Sydney Jr. as its centrepiece. Her truncated love for her deceased husband now found an unnatural outlet in her son. She adored him. Which meant that the poor boy was pampered and spoilt. Which meant that he was becoming capricious and wilful. Which made Harvey hate him all the more. The kid threw tantrums, respected no-one and nothing, screamed until he had his way. In fact he was starting to become the unbearable child Harvey himself had once been. Little by little Sydney Haute was being turned into a mini dictator. And they expected Harvey to read to him, to hug him, to kiss him goodnight!
As if that was not enough, the whole estate had been left to this obnoxious child, to be inherited on his coming of age. Andrea had been well catered for, it was true, but the real wealth had been placed in the hands of outsiders for the next fourteen years or so. Harvey had acquired certain rights and privileges by marrying Andrea, but the fact remained that Sydney Jr. was the real master of the House. The stone in Harvey’s shoe. But as all this was unmentionable, Harvey kept it to his chest, preferring simply to be absent as much as possible like so many busy professional parents. Let Andrea and that fat Petunia woman take care of the boy, he had better things to do.
Like hounding Ambrose.
Harvey was fascinated by Ambrose. For an intelligent person it is not easy to understand why others learn so slowly, find it so hard to retain basic information. New facts were burnt into Harvey’s brain cells with a branding iron. With Ambrose it was like trying to scratch your name on a bathroom tile, an exercise in stubborn repetition. Eventually, after a thousand attempts, he would grasp the concept, as his father had shown by drilling into him the skills required in electrical wiring, but it was a painfully slow process. Over the years Ambrose had learnt how to carry out a great number of useful jobs, but each time he needed to be taught with patience, his efforts encouraged, his mistakes forgiven and duly corrected. Harvey had no time for that, and lost his temper at the first signs of ineptitude. He told him to strip the paint off the boiler house door, ‘use the blow torch if necessary’. Ambrose burnt not only the doorframe but also his overalls. Harvey docked it out of his wages. Changing sash cords is a job for professionals, but Ambrose was being paid to maintain the premises, so he would just have to learn how to do it. At his first attempt he was bawled out by a furious Harvey. The cost of the reparation was again taken from his monthly salary.
‘What can you do, Ambrose? Apart from annoy me?’
He had wanted to say basic electrics, plumbing, painting, fixing roof tiles and guttering, most builders work and so on, but wisely chose not to reply.
Incredibly to Harvey, it seemed that this learning deficit, this apparent lack of a working memory, also meant that Ambrose rarely bore a grudge. Despite the abuse and the foul manners Harvey displayed whilst in his presence, Ambrose invariably met his boss with a cheery ‘good morning, sir’. Not once had he complained to Harvey’s face, not once had he refused to see through even the most menial task, not once had he tried to make himself invisible at weekends as Harvey knew the others did. Was it that Ambrose had a faulty memory? Was that why he could not learn things properly? Was that the reason why he still behaved towards Harvey with deep respect, as if Harvey were his amiable benefactor? Questions that Harvey was unable to answer.
Looking back it is difficult to tell exactly when Harvey realised that Ambrose could be used to his advantage. Given the available information it is impossible to deduce whether Harvey’s actions were based on instinct or cunning, if the decisions he took were made subconsciously or if they were part of a carefully calculated plan. In hindsight it is a debate between those who claim that what happened is due to the nature of the beast, and those who prefer the conspiracy theory. Either way most would agree that the letter to Ambrose from Harvey’s lawyer was a pivotal point in the tragedy.
Ambrose didn’t receive mail, so it was a huge surprise to everybody when the postman explained that there was a certified letter for Ambrose Ork, and that he would have to sign for it. Joe Stein found him in the back yard sorting out the new recycling bins.
‘A letter for you, Bro, a certified letter. You have to go and sign for it. At the front. ‘
Ambrose looked at him quizzically.
‘Well go on, he’s waiting for you.’
‘For me?’
‘No, for the king of Persia. Put that down and go and get the letter. It’s for you.’
Ambrose felt special then, as if it were his birthday or something. A letter, a certified letter, for him! Who could it be, what could it be? It had to be something special or it would not arrive by certified post. He scurried off as fast as he could so as not to keep the postman waiting.
As soon as the deliverer had left, and in the presence of Joe Stein and sister Pet, he carefully opened the letter, which did not look as if it contained a pleasant surprise. It was from a firm of lawyers in the city, addressed to Mr. Ambrose Ork, and written on very serious and pompous headed paper. Pet and Stein shared nervous glances. Ambrose read it, but he was not really reading it at all. He did not understand most of the language used, or at least not in that way. It was long-winded and deliberately clumsy, as if they were playing a game, hiding the real meaning of the message from him for some strange reason. It certainly did not appear to be friendly, anyway. He handed it to Pet, who had a similar reaction. Mumbo jumbo it sounded to her, though very much in the line of the eviction papers they had been served way back when. It was not to be trusted, so she handed it over to Joe Stein, who knew all about such things. Mr. Stein read it through slowly, more than once. Then he asked both of them to follow him to his office.
There they sat again, once more back in Stein’s office, though this time they were not sweating due to the heat. Mr. Stein shook his head, and when he spoke it was almost in a whisper.
‘This,’
he flicked at the embossed sheet of paper with his fingernails as if it were something despicable,
‘is an official warning, sent to you, Bro, from the boss, Mr. H. Paulson, via these lawyers, acting on his behalf so to speak. Basically it is a complaint. They, he, complains about your work, the quality of your work, your capabilities and so on. It lists a number of incidents... the window repair job......the doorframe...... some wiring in the store room.......with details of costs. It states that you are taking on jobs for which you are not qualified, with special reference to..... just a minute....... hmm electrical installations....and..... blah, blah......You’ll have to watch your step from now on, Bro, he’s got it in for you all right.’
Pet held Stein’s gaze.
‘Did you know anything about this? ‘
It was an accusation that Mr. Stein did not take very well.
‘Of course not! This has taken me by surprise just as much as it has all of us. It is not the procedure, not the way to do things. Not at all. And yes, he should have spoken to me first, I should have been informed. This is not the way. Believe me, I had no idea.’
Pet was convinced, and wanted to apologise for having doubted Stein.
‘What a... bar steward! Get the lawyers to write a letter instead of doing it himself. I thought he was supposed to be a fucking lawyer himself, jumped up little....sh
it. What else does it say? Is he going to sack him?’
‘No, no. At least not yet. It’s not as easy as that, but this is a first step. He’s on to you, Bro, so best be on your best behaviour. This is an official warning, I don’t suppose it’ll stop there.’
‘What do you mean?’
Mr. Stein frowned over his rimless glasses.
‘I mean he won’t stop there. You can’t give him any more cause. He wants you out.’
‘I don’t give him no cause, do I?’
Ambrose pleaded. His sister nodded.
‘If he goes, I go.’
Defiant, loyal Pet.
‘And maybe that’s what he wants, too. Who knows what he wants, he certainly doesn’t consult me. Maybe that’s exactly what he wants, to get rid of us all.’
She hadn’t thought of that. Neither had Joe Stein until that moment.
‘Sneaky little.... What do we do, answer it? Do we need a lawyer? We had a lawyer once, not that it did much good...’
Joe held up his palms as if to say ‘calm, calm’.
‘No. It has been delivered, Bro has signed. Leave it at that. If we start contesting every point it’ll only make things worse. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that. Act as if nothing has happened, o.k.? I’m sorry, Bro.’
Ambrose thanked him for that. Then he left with his sister so that