by Gary P Moss
Tim had left it a couple of months before he asked Sara if she’d like to come to York for a visit. He told her if she wanted to, he’d put her up in a nice hotel he knew right down the road from his flat. Monk Bar Hotel, a decent four-star place, mid-sized and right by the city walls.
It took ten days before he received a reply. It was a long letter. She’d love to come, she said, although she mentioned she was a little anxious. Since her husband had died, she said, she didn’t venture far.
And there was something else. Something embarrassing she was reluctant to share with him. Something she hadn’t told to anyone else. Except for the police.
She explained she’d met a friend, well a person that she’d thought was a friend, through one of those free-to-use dating sites. She explained that she’d never used one before. The man had seemed genuine, well why wouldn’t he? she wrote. He’d taken her to visit his house which was undergoing renovation. They arrived at the place in a nice, expensive car, but they didn’t get out, which she now admits was strange, but she hadn’t thought about it at the time. Swept up in the moment. Even though parts of the roof and house were surrounded by scaffolding, she could see that it would be a fine place once it was finished. He’d turned to her, and told her that he would love it, one day, if they could share it. She’d believed him, if not for love then at least for companionship. They got on well. A couple of weeks later, he’d told her that he was so sorry that they couldn’t meet that weekend as he was frantically trying to acquire a loan as some of his investments had turned out to be less liquid than he thought. He had plenty of money, just that it would be tied up for a week or two, the builders needed paying immediately, and well, he was just sorry he’d have to cancel.
As Tim read on, he knew what was coming next.
She’d lent him the money. Several thousand pounds. She didn’t hear from him again. The house wasn’t his. The car probably wasn’t his either. The police said they thought they knew who he was. They were actively trying to track down her money. She was hopeful. But dreadfully embarrassed and would Tim wait till she was solvent again before they arranged a visit?
He replied straight away. He told her he was sorry to learn what had happened but for her not to worry about money in the meantime. He knew the hotel’s owner, and she wouldn’t have to pay a penny. He’d get a special rate. His treat. He’d have the train tickets sent directly to her house.
This time, her reply was swift.
She said she’d buy a mobile phone, that it was about time she had one, so she could contact him regarding the details of the trip. She already had his number, so she’d call and leave him a message once she’d bought it.
Tim was relieved she was getting a phone. He’d assumed she had a landline but hadn’t mentioned it. He knew he was treading gently, too gently probably, and didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. After all these years, he didn’t want to scare her away. He liked her, and he wanted to get to know her better.
‘So, how’s the search going?’ Andreas sounded displeased with Sara’s lack of progress in locating a new target.
‘It’s harder now, darling, but it will come, don’t worry.’
‘Just try to speed it up. We need to get this wrapped up. I’m building our future here, you know?’
She was annoyed. There was his wife to deal with, too, but he seemed to be able to sweep that issue aside every time Sara spoke with him.
‘I’m trying, Andreas, I really am. What about your wife? Is she hassling you to return to London?’
‘She thinks I’m sorting everything out.’ He laughed though the tone was devoid of humour. ‘I am sorting everything out. Just not in the way she thinks.’
Sara changed the subject. There was no way she could tell him she’d been chatting to the lighthouse keeper. Andreas would ask too many questions, like what assets did he have, where did he live etcetera. In fact, she’d recently learned that Mike had some money stashed away, hidden somewhere within the lighthouse where he now lived full time. He’d sold the cottage years ago but couldn’t remember when. He became confused easily. He eventually admitted to her that he was showing early signs of dementia. He said that he wouldn’t blame her if she ran a mile.
She responded compassionately. She told him that her own parents had suffered from the same condition but had lived with it for many years. And, they’d been happy.
It was a lie, but she thought it sounded real enough.
‘Tim’s invited me to stay in York, at a hotel. He’s paying for everything.’
She held her breath, wondering what Andreas’ reaction would be.
‘And will this trip be worth it?’ He snapped the question at her, causing her to pull the telephone away from her ear and poke her tongue out. ‘Because if it won’t be, it’ll take up time that could be spent finding someone with some money. Sorry, it sounds hard, but time’s passing and I want us to be together. To have a good life in the sun.’
‘The trip will be worth it, Andreas. It will give me the chance to see what he’s got. See if there’s anything to exploit. There usually is, trust me on this, my love.’
He chuckled.
‘Ah, motherly love. Nothing in the world like it.’
Sara pursed her lips. She felt her anger brew. She wanted to scream down the phone, tell him to shut his fat mouth, that she was doing all the work, taking all the risks. But she didn’t.
‘Okay, Andreas. I have to go now, the wind’s picking up. Goodnight, darling.’
‘Seni seviyorum.’ I love you.
‘Love you too,’ she whispered.
She heard a click as the line disconnected. She slammed the telephone onto its cradle.
Two weeks later, Sara booked into the Monk Bar Hotel. She’d travelled up north by train. Tim had booked the tickets online and had them sent to her address as promised. For most of the journey, she’d read a Turkish phrase book. By the time the train had entered Holgate Junction, less than a minute before arriving at York, the book was secreted away in an inside zipped pocket of her travel case. She knew the journey well, had travelled there a few times with her second husband.
Sara retired to her room to change her clothes while Tim waited in the downstairs bar area, nursing a coffee. After the excitement leading up to his mother’s visit, he felt nervous. It was the way Sara had seemed after he’d met her from the train. She was subdued. She lowered her eyes constantly. Perhaps the issue of her missing money occupied her mind. She looked vulnerable, as if she were a little country girl suddenly thrust into a dynamic metropolis where everyone sped around at a hundred miles per hour. It was a role reversal. But, he thought, perhaps the city affected some first-time visitors like that. He was used to the tourist bustle, and he couldn’t expect everyone to accept it like he did. He was at home here. It was his home, after all.
He couldn’t mess this up. This chance to show off his city, to show Sara the sights that would loosen them up, drop some of their natural reserve towards one another. He stood up as she returned. She wore a smart chocolate-brown trouser suit. He complimented her on it. She smiled. It was warm, genuine, and made Tim feel at ease again.
They walked in the sunshine, Tim expertly weaving them through crowds of tourists when necessary. He suggested Betty’s tea rooms, on the corner of St Helen’s Square, close to the Mansion House. He could see she was impressed at his choice.
The restaurant manager passed them onto a smiling waitress in a starched uniform. She led them downstairs to the Oak Room, used in World War Two by pilots from the many neighbouring airfields. It was one of Tim’s favourite places, where over the years, he’d come by himself to read and enjoy some quiet and great tea, and where he’d brought a few girlfriends, too. It never failed to impress, a spot even better than the upstairs restaurant, which, although splendid, he thought that sitting there, especially near a window, was akin to being in an upmarket goldfish bowl, gawked at by passers-by. He supposed some people liked it for that very reason.
The
wood panelling was dark, but the room was adequately lit. It smelled of toasted teacakes. With at least two-thirds of the tables occupied, the atmosphere had a quiet, respectful buzz. There were many conversations going on, but no one shouted or competed to be heard. It wasn’t that sort of place. Tim and Sara tucked into a generous plate of assorted sandwiches and sipped at the English breakfast tea.
He began to relax. Sara turned to him and smiled.
‘This feels like an early birthday treat!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tim said. ‘I didn’t know, well, I don’t suppose I would. When is it?’
‘It’s next Wednesday, but of course you wouldn’t know. Anyway, I stopped counting the years a long while ago. It doesn’t mean much nowadays.’
‘Nonsense. Let’s treat today as your birthday. Do you like wine?’
‘Erm, yes, yes I do!’
When their waitress called by to ask if everything was satisfactory, Tim ordered a bottle of Betty’s Gewurztraminer, their speciality wine, from Alsace.
‘Lots of fruit, it’s one of my favourites. Have you had it before?’
He noticed that her eyes had misted.
‘Is everything all right?
‘Sorry, Tim. I believe I had it once, a long time ago. My second husband enjoyed trying different wines, you see. It brought back memories, that’s all.’
It was Tim’s turn to feel emotional. Even though he’d not known Sara for very long, he couldn’t bear to see her upset.
‘It must be a great loss to you. I’m sorry. We don’t have to have the wine, you know?’
‘No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t get so emotional. It was epilepsy, and very sudden. He’d suffered from it for a long time.’
She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. The wine had arrived. Tim poured them both a glass. Sara raised hers.
‘To us, and to many more birthdays, for both of us,’ she said, smiling now. She looked away. She took a long gulp of the wine.
Chapter Twelve
Sara drained the last of her wine. It was delicious. Tim looked a lot more relaxed. When the waitress arrived with the bill, he took an American Express card from his wallet. The card was gold. He added a tip underneath the total. It was generous, Sara noticed. She also noticed that the Amex wasn’t the only card in his wallet.
His face had a pinkish tinge to it now, not exactly what Sara would have called flush, but nevertheless, a sign that he wasn’t a big drinker. She decided what she’d like to do for the rest of the afternoon. And evening, preferably. It was her birthday, after all. For this weekend’s purposes, anyway. Her birthday wasn’t next Wednesday, or the one after that. It was some months away.
‘So, what would you like to do now?’ Tim asked.
Sara looked him straight in the eye, a devilish twinkle designed to portray some playfulness, a sign that she was over her little emotional episode and was now ready to fully enjoy the rest of the day.
‘You know what I’d love to do? I haven’t been in a pub for such a long time. Would you mind if that’s what we do?’
Tim looked surprised but he agreed immediately.
‘I can pay,’ she said. ‘I’ll just need a cashpoint.’
‘You won’t be paying for anything this weekend, I already told you that. And anyway, how can I refuse such a harmless wish as a pub crawl?’
‘Not a pub crawl,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m not used to it!’
Ten minutes later, they were sitting comfortably in The Mitre public house off Stonegate, a dark wood and copper-topped table pub serving plenty of real ales and not very much food. There appeared to be a large selection of gin on offer. Sara watched as Tim entered his card details into the pub’s electronic merchant reader. He was setting up a bar tab.
Each time Sara offered to replenish their drinks, she asked the barman to make one of them with a double spirit measure. And each time, she gave Tim the stronger drink.
The conversation covered music, art, and history, the latter of which Sara ashamedly professed to know very little about. Safe subjects. No politics or religion. There were some companionable silences. After one of these, Tim asked Sara a question that almost floored her.
‘I never asked my dad, I don’t know why, but perhaps you can help me with this? I’ve a severe phobia to water. Deep water, I mean. Deeper than a bathtub full.’
If Sara had had a mirror to look into, she would have seen the colour drain from her face. She forced herself to look at Tim. He wasn’t looking at her, rather he was staring into space, as if he were daydreaming. She recovered. She broke the spell.
‘I’ve absolutely no idea, Tim. No accidents while you were younger? I mean, there was nothing I can remember.’
‘It’s all right. Just thought I’d ask. It’s been quite debilitating over the years, you know, not being able to join in certain things, go on certain types of holiday. But I’m getting over it. Slowly.’ He grinned, a sheepish grin that looked as if it belonged on a child. ‘I’m taking swimming lessons. Even learning to dive.’
‘Well, that’s great, dear. Do something each day that frightens you, isn’t that what they say?’
You didn’t seem that traumatised when you fell in.
‘I guess so, yes. It seems to be working. Though I don’t know if I’ll ever venture into open water. Way too scary.’ He looked at her, the beginnings of a glassy sheen evident in his eyes. ‘And what’s your greatest fear?’ he asked.
So, you’re becoming bolder with the questions now. Funny how a little drink loosens one up.
She took advantage of the moment.
‘Loneliness. I’ve been on my own for a long time now. It’s not great, actually. Not great for the soul.’
‘What about your husband’s family? Don’t they keep in touch with you, make sure you’re all right?’
She forced emotion into her face, willing her eyes to mist.
‘No, Tim, they aren’t in touch. They were for a time, from a sense of duty I suppose. But I haven’t heard from any of them for years.’
They never believed the story of how he died. Even got the police involved. Idiots. There was no evidence. Sometimes, having one useless hand is a blessing. No strength, poor little weakling.
‘That’s tough. And I’m sorry you had that awful experience with the man who conned you.’
‘My own fault, I suppose. I chose the wrong man. There’s another, you see. A kind man high up in the wilds of Scotland. Whereas the conman, sorry I can’t even bear to say his name, was quick off the mark, this other, gentle soul is patient and kind. Of course, I never told him what had happened. He’d have rightly thought me a complete idiot.’
She had Tim’s full attention now.
‘So, this Scotsman, does he have a house of his own? A real one, I mean?’
One step at a time. Let’s see if you really remember nothing from thirty-five years ago.
‘Yes, he lives by the sea.’
Tim shivered.
‘Not for me thanks. Sorry, just the water thing.’
She ignored it.
‘Have you never been to the coast, Tim? I mean, didn’t your father ever take you?’
‘We went once but I wouldn’t go on the beach. Too close to the water. We never went after that.’
He doesn’t remember.
‘His name’s Michael. But he likes to be called Mike.’
Still nothing.
Tim merely nodded. He carried on sipping his gin.
‘He lives in a converted lighthouse.’
‘Wow, sounds fascinating,’ Tim said. He looked genuinely interested. ‘But would you really consider living in a place like that?’
‘Steady on, I’ve not even met him yet.’ She paused, as if lost in thought. ‘But I really hope to, very soon, in case someone else sweeps him off his feet.’
‘So, what’s stopping you? The thought of you getting burned again?’
‘No, I trust him, Tim. I just know it in my heart that he’s a good man and he’d look afte
r me. Not that I need looking after, not yet.’
‘So, invite him down to see you then.’
‘No, I couldn’t.’
‘Well, there are hotels.’
‘It just wouldn’t be the same, would it? He lives in all this beautiful, wild scenery, and I live, well, you’ve seen it. Dreary suburbia. No, I’ll visit him, as soon as my money’s been returned.’
He has no memory of that day whatsoever.
She smiled, masking the silent fury that raised its head deep within her.
Pity you remembered enough to give a sterling account of it to your father.
Tim looked thoughtful. His mouth was moving, as if he were chewing.
‘Look, Mum.’ She placed her good hand over his, the only intimacy they’d shared apart from the slightly awkward hug at the railway station. She could smell the gin on his breath.
‘I have money. I’ve more than enough, and the building containing my flat is all paid for, all mine. How about I give you some to tide you over, you know until you get your money back. If you get it back.’
Sara hoped that she looked surprised. It was going better than she could have imagined.
‘I couldn’t, Tim. It’s very sweet of you, though.’
‘But you’d be able to meet this gentleman. And it’d be a gift, not a loan.’
‘Well…’
‘But there’s one condition.’
‘Yes?’ she asked. The word came out strangled. She suddenly felt like she was being choked.
‘I come with you, to Scotland. And it’ll have to be in the holidays. Which are soon.’
She took a long, greedy drink, as if she were eating the juniper rather than drinking it.
‘But you can’t! It’s a generous offer and it would help me enormously, but can you imagine, at my age, taking a chaperone to meet a man? And another thing. The lighthouse is not only by the sea, it’s in the sea. You have to walk along a causeway to reach it.’
She felt immense pressure behind her eyes as she implored him to reconsider the terms.