Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1)

by Michael Ross

  “Just doing a bit of spring cleaning. I had to run to the phone.”

  “I wish you’d put some clothes on first.”

  “What…how did…Oh, Daniel!”

  “Ha, ha. Don’t you tire that husband of yours out. I need him to have some energy left for the next six weeks. But enough of all that. Got some great news I could not wait to tell you. On Saturday I move into my new home.”

  “Hey, that’s great news, Danny. I did wonder about all the commuting you would have to do.”

  “No, it’s less than ten miles from the new warehouse. I think you will love it.”

  “So when are you moving all your stuff out of the old flat?”

  “Not given it much thought, but I can probably get all of it into one of our small vans.”

  “Danny, are you serious? When you start packing everything you will start to realise what a stupid comment that is. You will need more than a small van—guaranteed.”

  “You could well be right. I’ll think about it. The reason I rang you was to say why not come over on Saturday? Bring Derek with you, if you haven’t shagged him to death by then.”

  She laughs. “It’s a bit short notice, but that sounds like a good plan. Oh, and Danny—I would like to say that at least I have a sex life which can be poked fun at.”

  She’s gone before I can think of a riposte. Ten minutes later and I’m still struggling, beaten to the punch line by my own sister. I am quite ashamed. One more phone call before I go back out to the yard.

  ***

  “JB Roberts.”

  “DL Pearson here.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Jess. It’s lovely to hear your voice again. I am so sorry about the last couple of days—there was an emergency at work. I guess the next few weeks are going to be rather hectic, but I’ve learnt my lesson, and in future my priorities will be well controlled.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “You sound a bit low. Is everything all right with you?”

  “Yes, it’s just that there is a convention in Paris next week, which is not great news, and someone is going to be there who I would rather not see or deal with.”

  “Oh, that’s not good. I feel bad ringing you now with my good news.”

  “Go on then—it might cheer me up.”

  “Well, Bill rang me and I have been granted the lease for Cotswold Lodge, but also, I can move into the lodge on Saturday.”

  “This Saturday?”

  “Yes. How quick is that?”

  “Danny, that is brilliant news! I am so pleased for you.”

  “I knew you would be.”

  “Hang on a second.” I can hear her rifling through some papers before she comes back on the phone. “I tell you what, this Saturday Gemma and I have planned to go to the mall shopping. How about if we called around in the early evening to see how you are settling in?”

  “That sounds like a fantastic idea. It’s going to be well overcrowded because Chan and Derek are going to be here, but it would be priceless to see you.”

  “Priceless?”

  “I know what the word means, Jess. And I repeat, it would be priceless to see you.”

  “Fair enough. But this time, keep your phone charged up.”

  I have a smile reminiscent of a beaming cherub as I put the phone back down.

  ***

  “Morning, Gemma. Before you do anything else, could you organise me some flights? Out to Paris on Monday evening and back on Thursday evening. I should have done it myself, but I got side-tracked.”

  “Or couldn’t be arsed?”

  “That’s probably closer to the truth. Every time a Paris trip crops up, I keep thinking maybe this one will be the last.”

  “Was it Paul who rang?”

  “Who else?”

  “He has one hell of a thick skin, that’s for sure.”

  “Anyway, onto happier things. Are you still all right for Saturday afternoon?”

  “Of course. Why, has something cropped up?”

  “No. Well, yes I suppose it has. After we’ve been shopping, could you drive us around to Danny’s new house?”

  “The hobbit house?”

  “Yes. Will I be coming back on my own?”

  “No! I thought it would be nice to show you the place and offer him a bit of support. It’s quite a life-changing event for him.”

  “I bet it is. A drive to the seaside, a picnic…and now making his own bed, all in one week. He’ll never keep it up. I’ll pack some Lucozade to take with us.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. My ribs are aching. Now go and sort those damned flights out for me.”

  ***

  I could get quite used to living in a hotel. A hearty breakfast and a three-course dinner to end the day with a couple of glasses of wine, and no dishes to wash or beds to change. I finished my meal by nine-thirty and have moved over to a quiet corner of the lounge when I spot Oliver walking across to the reception desk. I wave him over.

  “Oliver, please come and share a glass of something with me.”

  “A couple of minutes and I will be with you, sir.”

  He comes up carrying what looks like a glass of apple juice.

  “Please call me Danny, or if you’re more comfortable, Daniel. At least when we are out of earshot of other guests.”

  “Certainly, Daniel.”

  “I gather you are going to John Pedlar’s funeral.”

  “I am.”

  “You knew him personally or through business?”

  “Both, but we were good friends. We had mutual problems that held us together.”

  I can hazard a guess at what they were, but I leave some space for Oliver to elaborate if he should so wish.

  “You are obviously a private man, Oliver, and I respect that. I suppose what it is, is that if I am going to be doing quite a lot of business with the Pedlar family, it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit more background on them. Obviously I know that the family is of considerable substance, and Edwin Pedlar strikes me as a thoroughly decent man. But if you could paint a broad picture for me it would be much appreciated.”

  Oliver nods and pushes his glass on to the coffee table and leans back.

  “Mr. Edwin Pedlar, who you have met, is the third generation of a family business which was originally started by his grandfather just after the Second World War. The proximity of this area to Bristol and Bath meant there was need for some rebuilding, and labour was cheap and available. Business thrived and Edwin had two sons: Edwin, the eldest, and John, three years his junior. The grandfather died fifteen years ago and Edwin took over the reins of the company officially, although he had been running the company day-to-day for at least ten years before that.”

  Oliver stops to sip very sparingly at his apple juice, then continues,

  “Edwin was a born businessman by all accounts; the company expanded massively under his leadership.”

  “And John?”

  “John will always be identified as the black sheep of the family.”

  I can tell Oliver is unsure if he should divulge too much information and I certainly do not want him to break any confidences, but much of what he has spoken about would seem to be common knowledge.

  “Your wording seems to suggest that he was not always the black sheep?”

  “I think you have grasped the matter. I would suggest that for the last twenty years, John Pedlar has been anything but a black sheep. He has been a pillar of society, but there was a long period in his life when his behaviour and lifestyle were, in his own words, ‘thoroughly unacceptable.’”

  “Before he was working within Edwin Pedlar and Sons?”

  “Oh yes, the problems were well before then. He has been on the board of directors for all those last twenty years.”

  “But an outsider still?”

  “No, not at all. This was all well before my time but from my observations, Mr. Edwin the elder was genuinely found of his brother, and Mr. Edwin the younger was very close to his uncle, very close indeed.”


  “It sounds as if something that tore them apart actually made them stronger.”

  “I would say that was an accurate assessment, Daniel. Now if you will excuse me, tomorrow would seem to be quite possibly a very long day. Have a good night’s rest, Daniel.”

  “I will, Oliver, and thank you for your time.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Five

  I’m quite impressed with my time keeping of late; another hearty breakfast and I arrive at the site before eight. In the past, I have often looked at security personnel and thought “Would I trust you to look after my piggy bank, mate?” The voice in my head usually screams back “No way!” But the guys employed here come across as very decent people. One of them takes me to the perimeter fence gates and points out how feeble-looking the padlock seems to be.

  “Any kid could force that open without any great effort. I’d change that if I was you, mate.”

  He is right.

  “Where would I get a decent padlock around here?”

  He throws the names of a couple of firms at me, and one of them is close to Jess’s offices, which gives me a thought. “Is there any chance you could come back and cover me for a couple of hours—say, ten-thirty to twelve-thirty?”

  “As long as I’m back in bed by two. I need my beauty sleep.”

  He’s a fairly ugly sight, so it obviously hasn’t worked for him up to now.

  “Great. I’ll drop you some cash when I come back—a bit more than your hourly rate and cash in hand?”

  “That would be great, Guv’nor.” I am tempted to say “call me Danny” but I am suitably attracted to the name Guv’nor.

  I get out my phone and send a text:

  Coffee at 11?

  Jess replies instantly.

  Where? Ice cream parlour? It’s a date.

  Our fourth date—things are heating up.

  ***

  As Edwin Pedlar walks slowly down the aisle of St Mary’s, he is beginning to grasp the full extent of his uncle’s legacy, and his observations as he makes his way to the front pew seem to offer a kind of metaphor for John Pedlar’s life. At the rear of the church are assembled a ragtag collection of individuals, dressed casually, no different than if they were popping down the pub. They are shuffling nervously, heads bowed, uncertain. In the next few rows are people dressed more appropriately in dark suits and dresses, black ties. The front two rows are the elite; the tailored outfits, the immaculate make-up, the red carnations secured in the button holes. If Edwin had a choice he would rather be sitting at the back with the “ruffians.” His father turns around and smiles at him. He has been crying, which makes Edwin Junior think that maybe this is where he should actually be.

  ***

  The traffic is light this morning, so I arrive at the ice cream parlour a few minutes early, but after my disastrous timekeeping for our first date, I am not in the slightest tempted to delay getting to the ice cream parlour. As I turn the corner, I start to feel slightly anxious as how I should greet her. If I’m too affectionate in a public place, it might embarrass her; maybe take her hand and give her a light peck on the cheek? She is standing outside the shop. She walks towards me and kisses me fully on the lips. Wow! I can cope with this. We exchange a few pleasantries and then she asks me what my plans are for my “moving weekend.”

  “I’ve arranged for the security people to cover the site from three pm. I’m going back to the old site, borrow the company van, go to the flat and load what I can into it, and suss out how many trips I will need to make. Thinking about it, I need to buy a smaller three-piece suite to fit into the lodge’s front room. I might have to go furniture shopping.”

  “Oh, if you’re doing that, there is a small manufacturer on our estate about fifty metres from my office. They make some lovely stuff.”

  “Lovely stuff—that sounds perfect. If I’m quick, I’ve got time to call over there now.”

  “Let me come with you. If you like anything, I might be able to wangle you a discount.”

  “I’ve never stopped a girl wangling me in my life. Sounds good to me.”

  She gives me the dirtiest look, but in the nicest possible way—do you know what I mean?

  ***

  The service has been very moving. Edwin’s uncle was a much-loved man, so the large turnout comes as no surprise, but Edwin still feels overawed by the man’s position as a headline act. Most of the people who have spoken up to this point have spoken affectionately, but sombrely, about his uncle. This was not how John Pedlar envisaged his final exit. Edwin walks up to the pulpit, mouthing “I love you” to his father as he passes. He clears his throat to speak.

  “On behalf of my family, we would like to thank everyone who has taken the time and effort to attend my uncle’s funeral. As a young boy, Uncle John was a mythical figure, someone in the family whose name was whispered in hushed tones, so by the time he returned to the family fold, I had built this image in my mind of him as a tramp trailing a scruffy mongrel behind him. The actual Uncle John was quite different—he was interested, attentive and above all, funny. He would constantly pluck this funny little one-word or one-line comment out of thin air. He took my adolescent problems and made them disappear. He helped to make me become a man. I watched this quiet strength at its best when he supported my father after my mother’s passing. He seemed to be ever-present through those dark days and weeks.” Edwin stops, folds up his notes, and puts them in his jacket pocket.

  “That is the end of my eulogy—not because I haven’t a thousand more thoughts about John Edward Pedlar, but because I can tell he’s getting irritated at me right now for not following his instructions. For all of you who would have liked to stand up here and say a few words, this is a chance to honour my uncle with a simple deed. Hold on to your hats, people.” He gives a thumbs-up to someone standing on the far left of the church.

  “Uncle John, as some here will know, was a massive Queen fan. The group, not the person, although he liked her as well, in his own way. John requested that he leave this earthly coil with a bang, so as a final musical piece for this ceremony, he asked us to finish with the song “We Will Rock You.” This involves, as Queen fans know, a stamping of the feet and the clapping of hands, as loud as possible. The Reverend Smith has made it known he is happy for as many rehearsals as it takes for us to make this church roar to the sound of thunder. So to quote uncle John once more: ‘Hold on to your hats, let’s go for a ride!’”

  In a few minutes, two hundred metres away, in the lounge bar of the Rising Cow, the staff turn their heads in the direction of the church and smile, and together raise their glasses.

  ***

  The furniture workshops have a small showroom at the front of their building. I am so glad Jess is with me because I am very much out of my comfort zone.

  “What sort of suite are you looking for?” asks the salesman. Does the guy take me for a genius? What sort of question is that to ask a man?

  “Mm, something that is ready to buy today?”

  The sales guy looks at Jess; she shrugs. I smile rather pathetically. Jess does her best to try and help him out.

  “It needs to be compact,” she explains. “His new living room is not that big.”

  I swear the salesman’s eyes light up at the word “his.” I leap into the fray.

  “I think we would like something comfortable, not too formal, and not too expensive because it might just be a short-term stay.” Did you take note of the word we? Take that, you smarmy Lothario.

  “Mm. I tell you what; if that’s the case, this one here might well fit the bill”—he guides us over to the back corner of the showroom—“depending on where you will be positioning the suite. This one is cheap,” he says as he tilts the sofa forward, “because it’s perfect other than this nasty stain on the lower back edge.”

  Jess makes a loud intake of air, as if a dead body has been exposed lying under the sofa. She has beaten me to the punch and g
oes for the kill.

  “Only ten percent reduction for that hideous mark—are you serious?”

  I like the suite. I can picture it in the lounge at Cotswold Lodge and the stain would actually be permanently out of sight. So what do you think, Lothario; are we a team or what?

  “I could go to twenty-five percent off. Any more and I would have to speak to the boss.”

  Jess says nothing. The salesman takes the hint and heads off to the office.

  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” I ask rather uncertainly.

  “Of course it is. Over to you now—let me see what you’re made of.”

  A challenge, eh? I’m up for that. Ten minutes later we have agreed: half price including delivery tomorrow to Cotswold Lodge; a handshake today and cash tomorrow.

  “I need to get back.” Jess is the first to say it.

  I don’t think she wanted to say it any more than I did, but I have a busy day in front of me.

  “See you tomorrow,” she says.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely.”

  We kiss and hug. Obviously.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  By the time I make it back to the hotel, I not only need a shower, I need to rethink my plan, because otherwise it is going to take me all day shuffling backwards and forwards in the small van, which is totally incapable of transporting my fairly new double bed, bought a few months ago in my “positive period,” which the arrival of Jess in my life has revived. I need that double bed in Cotswold Lodge this weekend! When I get downstairs to the reception area, Edwin is already waiting. He looks drained.

  “Hi, Ed. Do you want to make this quick? I’ve booked myself a table for dinner, but I doubt that is something that interests you at the moment.”

  “Do you know, Danny, the funny thing is I’m famished. There was so much food laid out at the wake, but my mouth was dry and I couldn’t face eating a thing. I’d love to join you, if that was possible.”