by Beth Corby
‘. . . forgotten his manners. A gentleman should help a lady out of his car.’
‘You know what he’s like about his Land Rover,’ says Aunty Pam, and Dad grunts in moody agreement.
Grandma Betty opens her mouth to reply, but words fail her as she finally takes in the magnificence of the house. She stares up at it, frowning, her mouth slightly open. Her expression adjusts into a look of haughty unconcern and her mouth snaps shut as the front door swings open.
‘You’ve arrived,’ exclaims a cheerful old man, roughly Grandma Betty’s age, coming out and holding his arms wide in welcome. This must be Great-Uncle Donald. He looks so kind and grandfatherly, and is so clearly pleased to see us despite never having met most of us before, that I can’t help responding with a smile of my own.
Lauren comes over to stand by me. ‘Yummy,’ she mutters, and for one very strange moment I think she’s talking about Uncle Donald. Then I see that her eyes are unashamedly locked onto a man standing just behind him. I crane my neck to see better, and to be fair he is rather gorgeous. He’s about Lauren’s age, dressed in black jeans and a crisp white shirt, and his lazy confidence and slightly over-long hair suggest he’s taking a day off from his rock band. As he steps out from under the portico, his eyes lock onto mine. I quickly look away, but his distrustful and piercing glower sears itself into my thoughts.
‘Who do you think he is?’ I whisper to Lauren, careful to keep my eyes averted.
‘No idea. Friend? Grandson, maybe?’
I check to see if there’s any other family here, but all I see is Grandma Betty’s face etched into lines of deepest loathing as she regards Donald and his haughty friend. Donald’s friend smiles at her, but there’s a hint of a challenge in his eyes and Grandma Betty’s jaw clenches. Just as she’s about to speak, Donald claps his hands together, summoning everyone’s attention.
‘I’m so glad you could all make it – lovely! Do come in, it’s much warmer inside.’ He beckons to us with a charming eagerness, but before we can make our way forward, Grandma Betty turns on him.
‘Still no better than you should be, I see, Donald?’ she booms, with a voice projected straight out of Shakespearean theatre. ‘Toy boys?’ She indicates Donald’s friend. ‘Really!’
My mouth drops open. Lauren lets out a shocked laugh, but then her eyes flick suspiciously between Donald and the young man, and everyone else seems struck dumb. But far from being offended, Donald’s friend hides a smile behind his hand, and Donald regards Grandma Betty with an air of polite bafflement.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he asks.
‘Honestly!’ spits Grandma Betty, and strides into the house, not bothering to introduce us. We all stare after her. God, this is excruciating.
Shaking his head as though to clear it, Great-Uncle Donald steps forward, holding his hand out to Grandpa Albert. ‘Dear chap, how are you?’ he asks mildly.
Grandpa Albert shakes his hand. ‘Very well, thank you. Pleased to see you again after all these years.’
‘And it’s been so many. Betty’s on top form, I see?’ Lauren and I exchange a look.
‘Yes,’ agrees Grandpa Albert, shrugging helplessly. ‘Not quite her usual . . . yes . . .’ He smiles at Donald, perhaps hoping he’ll fill in the rest. ‘This is the family,’ he says, indicating all of us. I smile and give a tiny wave.
Donald nods. ‘So it is, and most welcome. But it’s too cold to meet everyone out here. How about we go inside and have a drink?’
Grandpa Albert nods gratefully and leads the way inside. We all follow, venturing timid ‘hellos’ to Donald and his friend as we pass.
Behind me, and last in the queue, Nicholas holds out his hand, grinning like a crocodile. ‘It’s most excellent to meet you, Great-Uncle Donald,’ he says pompously.
I glance back and just catch Donald’s surprised expression before he returns the handshake. ‘And you,’ he says.
‘This all yours?’ asks Nicholas, indicating the house, and I hurry after the others, hoping to disassociate myself from Nicholas’s mercenary question.
The lovely oak-floored entrance hall with a staircase winding around it is grand in itself, but I blink in awe as I enter the drawing room. Its tall windows let the light stream in, and the furnishings are all soft and tasteful. No one else seems fased by it, though Grandpa Albert is at one window gazing longingly out at the garden. Grandma Betty has made herself at home in an armchair, while everyone else is standing, or else perched uncomfortably on the edges of seats. Nicholas follows me in and makes a beeline for one of the twin sofas. Still standing, I watch Great-Uncle Donald come in. He surveys us kindly, and winks at his friend. Lauren is watching them carefully, so I wonder what she made of that.
‘Dear family, thank you for coming.’ Donald beams at us, and I grin back. ‘I asked you here today because I thought it would be fun to see what has become of you all. And, since I’m sure you are just as curious about me, let’s begin with some introductions. I am, of course, Donald, or Uncle Donald, should you prefer. Please leave off the “Great” – I am “great”, of course, but it’s such a mouthful.’ His eyebrows rise, willing Grandma Betty to share the joke, but she’s a tough crowd. ‘And this is Alec.’ Donald’s friend gives a stern nod, then folds his arms and leans back against the wall, like a school inspector set to observe rather than participate. ‘He is my faithful second-in-command here at The Laurels.’
‘That’s one way to describe him,’ blares Grandma Betty. She’s not going to let this drop.
‘Would you prefer secretary? Or personal assistant? Maybe right-hand man?’ Donald offers, savouring every syllable.
‘I call a spade a spade, as you well know.’
‘How original of you, but he really is my PA,’ says Uncle Donald, and the air almost crackles between them.
‘Just your PA, or also your PA?’ retorts Grandma Betty pointedly, but before Uncle Donald can reply, a waiter and waitress bustle in carrying trays of drinks. Good timing! I’m more than ready for a drink.
‘Ah, refreshments! I’ve always loved a Pimm’s cocktail,’ says Uncle Donald, breaking eye contact with Grandma Betty to make sure we each take a glass. He pauses and I scrabble for something to say, and clearly everyone else is struggling as well because the silence deepens. Uncle Donald sighs as if we’re all disappointing children, and raises his glass. ‘To family,’ he toasts, and I take a big sip. Wow, that’s good. ‘And reunions,’ he adds, and I take another deep swig.
Lauren whispers something to Mum and laughs, breaking the silence and, as everyone starts to talk, Uncle Donald threads his way over to Grandma Betty. Curious, I follow and take a seat on the sofa by Mum so I can listen.
‘Betty, darling, how are you?’ he asks.
‘Oh it’s “Betty darling” now, is it? It’s been half a century, Donald. You disappeared, leaving me to look after our parents – left their funerals before I could speak to you. And now you expect me to . . . what . . . chat? Just what is this . . .’ I turn my head just enough to catch her flapping her free hand at us all ‘. . . party of yours all about?’
I get the feeling this isn’t quite the verbal assassination she had planned, but she’s obviously furious. Uncle Donald perches on the arm of the sofa, next to me.
‘Now then, Betty, don’t be angry. You know why I had to leave, and after that you didn’t want to know me. You were the one who returned my cheques – not that it was your place to do so, considering they were meant for our parents.’
‘We didn’t want your filthy money,’ she hisses. ‘God knows where it came from. I wanted help, someone to take on the burden of responsibility, not your . . .’ she hesitates, ‘. . . money!’ she finishes lamely, but with an immense amount of disgust.
‘Money can buy that kind of help,’ he points out gently.
I lean back casually to get a glimpse of Grandma Betty, who takes a furious sip of her drink, narrowly avoiding taking in a whole slice of orange. ‘It can’t buy dignity!’ Her eyes fall on
me and I lean forward again, busying myself with my phone.
‘Ah, that old chestnut: what price dignity? But why quibble? We both know you were more than capable.’
‘I didn’t have much choice, did I?’
‘Of course you did, but you must always make your point.’
I sneak another look. Grandma Betty’s gaping like a landed halibut, and before she can recover, Uncle Donald gets up, winks at me, and moves on to introduce himself to Dad. Dad, who can’t stand Grandma Betty, welcomes him like a long-lost relative – which, I suppose, he kind of is.
Lauren gets up and strolls over to join them. ‘Hi, I’m Lauren,’ she says, thrusting her hand into Donald’s.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ he says, smiling back at her. ‘So, what do you do, Lauren?’
‘I’m a Recruitment Executive,’ says Lauren grandly, and Dad, after a moment’s hesitation, leaves them to it.
‘It’s a very lucrative business from what I’ve heard?’
‘Yes,’ she agrees, though from what she said in the car, this isn’t the way Lauren wants the conversation to go. ‘And rightly so, because good employees are the foundation of successful businesses. That’s where I come in: helping companies find the right staff to take them forward into the future.’
‘Oh? I’ve met a few people in recruitment in my time,’ says Donald, frowning slightly. ‘From what I understand, it takes a certain . . . zeal.’ That’s one word for it.
Lauren laughs exuberantly. ‘It takes a lot of hard work, that’s for sure. You have to make connections and build relationships with people, but I see what you’re getting at – like in every industry, there are good ones and bad ones.’ Then she adds sweetly, ‘I’m one of the good ones.’
As she starts to describe her work, Grandma Betty bustles up to them. ‘We’re very proud of Lauren,’ she says, interrupting when Lauren pauses for breath. I take a big sip of my drink. ‘Tell Donald about your commission,’ she prompts, and I struggle to swallow.
‘Isn’t it vulgar to talk about money?’ asks Lauren, her smile tightening. ‘What’s important is that we match the right people to the correct jobs, set them up for the future and leave everyone happy.’
‘Oh, I was under the impression that it’s quite a cut-throat industry,’ says Donald.
‘It can be, but I rely on charm and subtle persuasion.’ Lauren smiles coyly.
‘Really?’ he asks, and I have to hide a smile.
‘Of course, and once people realise I’m there to make their dreams come true, everyone’s happy,’ says Lauren, oozing confidence. ‘Think of me as a fairy godmother.’
‘I must say, it sounds like it’s come a long way since the days when you were referred to as head-hunters. No nasty tactics, underhand negotiations, or devastated companies left without key members of staff?’ Lauren’s eyes dart about nervously. ‘Marvellous! Well done!’ he says.
I snort unbecomingly. Grandma Betty turns and I quickly assume an expression of disinterested boredom, but her eyes narrow.
‘This is my other granddaughter, Hannah. Have you met?’ I start at my name and flinch, wishing Grandma Betty wasn’t the one introducing me.
‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,’ says Donald, turning to me.
I stand up a little too hurriedly and my drink slops over the rim of my glass. The hand I hold out to him is a little wet. ‘Sorry,’ I say as he shakes it.
Grandma Betty frowns at me. ‘Hannah took history, then changed to art history. And now she’s finishing up an English degree.’ I try to smile, but I know what’s coming next. ‘Not quite sure how that will help, but she’ll be the most qualified of all of us by the time she’s done – ha ha.’ I hold very still, waiting for the rest. ‘Apart from Nicholas, of course. Yes, it’s a shame arts subjects aren’t more useful, but there we are. She can always teach.’
‘But poor Hannah’s teaching interview went terribly,’ says Lauren, pouting in mock sympathy. I glare at her.
‘Did it?’ asks Nicholas, scenting blood and coming to join us.
Everyone’s eyes are on me, burning with curiosity, except for Donald’s PA, whose expression is one of cold indifference. Why is there never a cataclysmic, ground-opening event when you need one?
‘Yes, it wasn’t my best day,’ I say, trying to sound like it doesn’t bother me at all.
‘How did you put it?’ asks Lauren mercilessly. ‘A disaster from beginning to end? And didn’t you mention Hitler or something?’ She laughs, putting a sisterly hand on my shoulder. There are times when I wish I knew the Vulcan nerve pinch.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t recommend doing that,’ I agree quietly, pretending it’s funny, but I can’t quite meet Donald’s gaze, and my hands are shaking.
‘Honestly!’ says Grandma Betty, shaking her head. ‘There are some things you wouldn’t think needed spelling out.’
‘No,’ agrees Nicholas, and they’re all laughing. I shove my fists in my pockets so no one can see my white knuckles, but I meet Donald’s eye for a split second and I’m pretty sure he’s twigged how I’m feeling.
‘And this is my grandson, Nicholas,’ says Grandma Betty, thankfully shifting the spotlight. ‘He’s always been incredibly intelligent: top in school, head boy, excellent A levels, and qualified as one of the high-flyers in his year in Medicine. Now he works at a hospital healing people. Can there be a nobler calling?’ Grandma Betty asks reverently, and I edge my way out of their circle as, full of false modesty, Nicholas admits it’s all true.
‘Do you like it?’ asks Uncle Donald as I slide myself down onto the sofa again.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asks Nicholas, completely wrong-footed by Donald’s benign and yet unusual question.
‘I just wondered if you like it? Do you like working in a hospital “healing people”? Not a germaphobe or anything?’
Nicholas looks confused. ‘Yes . . . I mean no. Well . . . I have benefitted a great deal from my time there,’ he says, regaining his composure, and wrangling his train of thought back on track. ‘But it’s not where I see myself in five years’ time.’
Donald raises an eyebrow. ‘No?’
Nicholas smiles his best granny-charmer smile. ‘Actually, I’ve recently been given the chance to join two university friends in setting up a brand new private clinic.’
Wow. The room falls silent. This must be news to everyone. Lauren gives up trying to be a part of their conversation and plonks herself down next to me, defeated.
‘Really?’ prompts Uncle Donald. ‘That sounds interesting?’
‘Yes, it’s very exciting,’ smarms Nicholas, exuding his usual confidence once again. ‘The clinic will have the very best facilities and clientele, with the customer interface being truly twenty-first century in its approach. It’ll have all the best diagnostic tools and state-of-the-art treatment. Healthcare is changing,’ he explains, and I can tell he’s rehearsed this pitch until he’s word-perfect. ‘NHS waiting lists are lengthening, and people have a right to expect a better standard of service. And if you can pay for it – why not?’ He nods sanctimoniously. ‘It’s an excellent opportunity both career-wise and patient-wise. For our shareholders, it’s a superb business proposition, expecting to offer a substantial return on any money invested. It’s a win-win situation.’
He’s advertising so brazenly, I almost hear a ‘ting’ and see a star sparkle on his teeth. I try to catch Uncle Donald’s eye, desperate to communicate I’m not in on this, but he’s not looking my way. I glance involuntarily at Donald’s PA – I mean Alec – whose frown has deepened dangerously; his mouth is now a hard line.
‘Sounds wonderful. Could I invest?’ asks Donald eagerly. I glance at Alec in alarm, expecting him to step in, but instead of intervening he leans back against the bookcase with an amused smirk on his face. Have I missed something?
Nicholas smiles. ‘Oh yes, absolutely.’
‘And if I invested, would you be my personal physician?’
‘Not me, no. My specialism i
s not your area, but James and Rupert are excellent doctors – some of the best in the country. You’d be in excellent hands.’
Donald assumes a demeanour of polite interest. ‘So, what is your area, exactly?’
‘I’m a gynaecologist,’ says Nicholas, and I suppress my usual shudder at the excruciating thought of him being anywhere near my . . . area.
‘A gynaecologist?’ muses Donald, his expression brightening. ‘Well, I know there’s a need for them, dear boy, but what a frightful job. From what I’ve heard, women dread their visits, and what about girlfriends? What do they make of your work? Must make things very difficult in the bedroom . . . or are you gay?’ he adds thoughtfully.
‘I’m not gay!’ splutters Nicholas, and I let out a snort of laughter. Honestly, I could kiss Uncle Donald!
‘Calm down, nothing wrong with it,’ soothes Uncle Donald, giving me an alarmed sideways glance as he reaches to pat Nicholas’s arm.
Nicholas flinches. ‘I’m not gay,’ he repeats in a much deeper voice. ‘And I don’t have a problem with women. Ask anyone.’ He turns, appealing to the rest of us, but how the hell would I know?
‘But don’t girls cross their legs when they find out what you do?’ persists Donald. ‘If the roles were reversed, it would put me right off! How do you get a date?’
‘I have no trouble at all. I’m quite the catch!’ protests Nicholas, and Uncle Donald starts laughing. ‘I am!’ Donald laughs harder. ‘Tell him,’ he orders his mum, his voice plaintive now, but Aunty Pam shakes her head helplessly, and Donald hoots in delight.
‘I bet he just says he’s a doctor and flashes his Porsche keys,’ I say to Lauren, just as Donald stops to breathe in unexpectedly, and the room freezes.
Oh God, everyone heard.
Within a fraction of a second Mum shuts her eyes, Aunty Pam, Grandma Betty and Nicholas all turn to stare at me, and Alec’s mouth finally breaks free into a massive grin.
Donald, having taken in some much-needed air, roars with fresh laughter and cries out with glee: ‘I knew there was a reason for the car!’