by Michael Ross
“Of course it is. Let’s go on through.”
We chill out for a few minutes, going through the menu and ordering. Edwin declines the chance to share a bottle of wine and orders a jug of still water.
“It looks like you’ve had a hard day,” I say.
“It’s not been easy. I’m more than glad that it’s over.”
“You were close to your uncle, I take it?”
“Surprisingly close, considering the first time I met him I was twelve years old.”
“Why was that?”
“A few years ago I would have struggled to answer that, but over time I’ve pieced everything together and I think I have most of the answers.”
It’s up to Ed if he wants to elucidate; I don’t guide him one way or the other.
He smiles over at me and says, “Let me run my eyes over the contracts before the starters arrive.” He goes through them slowly before a waitress arrives with the starters.
“Could you ask Oliver to pop over to our table when he gets a chance, please?” Edwin asks her.
I make no comment. When Oliver arrives, he nods at me.
Edwin says, “Oliver, could you witness this document for us please?”
All three of us sign in the relevant places and Oliver makes his exit.
“He’s a nice guy,” I say.
“One of the best. Lots in common with Uncle John. Lots.”
Again I decide to leave it at that. We exchange a few comments over our main courses. The silences are in no way uncomfortable. There is a calmness about his nature which is somewhat infectious.
“Shall we have a coffee in the lounge?” Ed suggests.
We order a cafetière and find a quiet spot in the corner of the lounge.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about my uncle to you; it’s just that personal matters don’t seem right to discuss in the middle of a dining room.”
I look around us; he has found a spot with no one within hearing distance.
“My uncle was three years younger than my father, and I would guess lived his entire life in my father’s shadow. Dad has never failed at anything in his life. He left university and went straight onto the board of directors of granddad’s company, and he pushed the company forward in gigantic strides. We try and stay low-key, but this is a large company as far as family businesses go.”
“So I gather,” I say with a smile.
“So John was expected to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but he did not even last a term at university. He dropped out and disappeared, for several years I’m guessing. Even now we don’t discuss those missing years within the family. Granddad spent small fortunes trying to track him down and when he did find him, he immediately disowned him.” He draws a breath and sips at his coffee. “He’d been living on the streets anywhere between Manchester and Swansea, which was where he was eventually found. Totally dependent on drugs and alcohol, weighing next to nothing. Incoherent, by all accounts.”
I can see he wants to offload on me, but needs to sip at his coffee to think, to compose himself fully before he goes on.
“My father was furious with his father for keeping this information from him. He told Granddad he was off to Swansea and he would be back whenever he came back. John was still in Swansea, and the homeless community there was quite a small supportive group, so Dad found Uncle John within the first few hours of getting off the train. He says…” Edwin has stopped. His emotions are being stretched.
“Excuse me, Ed, I need to go to the loo. I’ll only be a minute.” I am fascinated by this story, but even not knowing the details, I feel I should grant Uncle John some space and respect. By the time I get back, Ed has ordered another cafetière. He carries on as if we have not had a break.
“When my father tells me the story of his reconnection with his brother—and it has been told a few times recently—I cannot help but get emotional. It says much about who I am.”
I nod.
“When Uncle John saw my father striding towards him at that bridge underpass, he stood up and stumbled towards my father, and they embraced. My father says he held him for at least an hour with no words spoken, just my uncle sobbing away, his body heaving with the effort. Dad says it was as if John had been sat there for years waiting for him to arrive. Dad was glad that John made the first move towards him because Dad doubted he would have recognised him otherwise. We are talking about twenty years ago, and even by then my father was one of the first people to carry a mobile phone. He stood there holding my uncle, and arranged for a taxi and a hotel room without moving from the spot. Next week Dad and I are going back to that very spot. Dad needs to go there and so do I.”
“I understand that.”
“John was in a terrible way. On that first night, he started getting withdrawal symptoms and pleaded with Dad to give him some money for a drink and one last fix. But over the next two weeks Dad stayed firm. He never let John out of his sights for a minute. They developed a routine of walking for an hour along the beach and then spending at least two hours in the library. My father had forgotten how much his younger brother liked to read, but more importantly, John himself had forgotten. In some sort of weird way the reading, with the help of the prescribed methadone, slowly replaced the real stuff. After the first week Dad allowed John a glass of beer as a reward for getting through the day, but Dad quickly realised that was a mistake, and John remained teetotal for the rest of his life.”
“What? Surely it cannot have been that simple?”
“Oh no, not at all. Dad brought him home to live with us. I was moved out of my room, so I started off totally begrudging this old guy my space.”
“Old guy?”
“Yes, he looked ancient to me at the time. Goodness knows how bad he looked when Dad found him.”
“Then what happened?”
“Dad took him back to meet their father, which went surprisingly well—the prodigal son and all that. They gave him a job driving a company van—simple things, delivering and collecting stuff. But John had to be back at the house before six, and he had to produce a receipt for his lunch. My mother was determined that three square meals a day would provide an answer to his problems.”
“The problems which drove him to drop out of the rat race.”
“Yes.”
It occurs to me before I jump to conclusions that I do not even know what John Pedlar looked like. “Have you a photograph of him?”
“Yes, from today’s order of service.”
“Can I see?”
He reaches inside his pocket and passes it over. A lovely gentle face, one of those smiles which draws you in. Shall I say what I am thinking, and if I do, how can I word it? I pass the photo back. “Lovely-looking man, quite dapper. Was he gay?”
Edwin nods. “He began to accept that he was gay at university, and developed a crush on one of his fellow students. The guy treated him like dirt when John approached him casually—nothing too obvious, so he thought. But it threw John’s head into turmoil and he turned inwards, rejecting all thoughts that he might have been a homosexual. It was unthinkable. So he ran from the university into the arms of local drug dealers and quickly descended to the bottom of the food chain.”
“That is so sad. He was born twenty years too early. Maybe he would have found things so much easier nowadays.”
“It took years before he actually accepted it himself. He was gay, but he remained celibate to his dying day. He had more friends in the gay world that anyone I know, but there was nothing that went beyond good social contacts.”
“Such as Oliver?”
“Such as Oliver, who has a steady boyfriend who is a dancer. He’s always away on tour, so Oliver and John spent a lot of time together. They were very close; Oliver is heartbroken.”
“Was it that easy for him to withdraw from the drugs and alcohol?”
“The strange thing is that because it was not easy, it eventually made life easier for him. It gave him a focus. He would get up eve
ry day to face the challenge.”
“In what way?”
“Dad was recommended to this guy in Bristol who had developed this theory that drug and alcohol abuse was linked to an individual’s inability to communicate properly. That there was a direct correlation between those individuals’ inability to articulate and their ability to read. So he got a bit of funding to run a reading group for people with drug and alcohol abuse problems. Dad got John onto the programme and it transformed his brother’s life. Over a period of time, John had taught himself to run his own reading groups. At the same time he had become an important member of Edwin Pedlar and Sons, and Dad convinced Granddad to invite John onto the board. After that, John divided all his time between helping Dad take the company forward and supporting the recovery group, which he converted into a registered charity.”
“Wow—what a great story.”
“It’s not over yet. There is a meeting at the solicitor’s next Wednesday to read his will. He was single, had no real overheads, had a great income in the way of salaries and dividends, and was also very sharp in his own property dealings. I have a strong feeling the charity might be getting a large financial boost on Wednesday.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I’m an executive officer of the charity, and I do not need any more problems to cope with in my life.”
I smile. “Once again, I understand that point of view.”
“It sounds selfish, doesn’t it, but it’s not really. I worry that I won’t be able to do his memory a proper service.”
“If I was you, I’d cross that bridge when you get to it.”
“Yes. I will have to. Anyway, enough about me and my family. Tell me a bit about yourself.”
I give him a brief outline of my life, possibly over-emphasising Jess’s role.
“So on top of everything else, you’ve got to move home all in one day. Best of luck with all that.”
“I know, self-created pressure. The biggest hurdle to overcome is getting the double bed over here.”
“Why?”
“I’ve only got a small van which will take everything else within two trips, but there is no way in the world a double bed is going to fit in there.”
He studies my face for a few seconds.
“Let me help. We’ve got a couple of large vans. One of them has just been serviced, so it’s pretty well immaculate on the inside. I’ve got a few hours free tomorrow. Let’s meet up and I’ll help you load it all up in one go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I need something to take my mind off of things, and a bit of physical work sounds perfect.”
“I tell you what, I’ve got a three-piece suite and some flowers being delivered about noon. If we could meet before nine, we would make it over the bridge and back again in plenty of time for that. Would the early morning suit you?”
“Couldn’t be better. Arsenal are the early kickoff on the telly; that starts at twelve forty-five. Sounds like a perfect plan to me. I must get going now, but I’ll see you at the site about eight-thirty.”
I stand up and we shake hands.
“See you then.”
As he walks away I’m thinking, an Arsenal fan eh? I’m becoming surrounded by them.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
We get a nice early start, and by the time Ed and I get the van packed, I accept the fact that I must have been, in Ed’s words, “half-crazy” to imagine I could have done this on my own. But we manage to get everything into Ed’s van, with still enough time to give the flat a man-clean before we start our return journey.
I am quite interested, so I ask Ed, “Have you got a wife or a regular girlfriend waiting for you at home?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“You’re not…”
“No, not at all. I don’t know what’s up with me; my life seems to be a series of one-night stands. After a while, they all start to look the same in my memory bank. Maybe that’s my problem: I’m looking for someone who’s different, someone who doesn’t exist.”
“So they’ve all been blonde, slim, with long legs.”
Ed thought for a while. “More or less yes, you’re probably right.”
“Seems like not the worst problem in the world to have.”
“It is in a way. I like the idea of someone permanently fighting my corner. I wish you the best of luck with your Jessica; sounds like what I’m looking for.”
“Hey—I saw her first.”
“Is she blond and slim with long legs?”
“No, she is not.”
“Ah—forget it, then.”
We both laugh. We’re men. We skirt around the serious stuff.
We pull up at the Lodge at eleven-thirty and the delivery people with the three-piece suite are already waiting, as is Bill. “Hello, Bill. You did get my message, didn’t you? That I would be here at noon.”
“Yes, I did, Danny. I had plenty of time on my hands and I wanted to ask you a personal question.”
“Of course you can, Bill. Fire away.”
“I was wondering if I could bring Mary up later on today, to have one last look around. I have been carefully considering it, and I think it would be good for her to see the lodge with someone else’s possessions in place. Help her to move on, to accept the future by closing a door on the past.”
“Bill, it would give me the greatest pleasure to meet your lovely lady, regardless of any motive. I would say the later the better if possible, say between four and five. Would that suit you?”
“It will, Danny. We’ll see you later. Oh, by the way, will your Jessica be here?”
“Fingers crossed she will, Bill. See you later.”
I can hear the delivery men taking the three-piece suite out of their van. I open my front door for the first time, feeling incredibly emotional. What a dope.
Ed comes up and whispers in my ear, “It might be worth offering these guys a drink to get the double bed upstairs. It looks like a job for the professionals, if you ask me.”
It turns out to be sound advice—it takes the men ages to manoeuvre the bed into the larger bedroom, via a flight of stairs suitable for a bungalow. But I pay them well for the actual time they spend and they leave, so Ed and I start unpacking his van. We manage about fifteen undisturbed minutes before the florist’s van arrives. My new friend gets out of the van carrying several small vases beautifully decorated with colourful bouquets.
“They are so lovely. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
“No trouble for me—it’s what I do. Have you got ten pounds on you?”
“Yes.”
“Pass it over then.”
I’m not sure why but I pass her a ten-pound note and she returns to the van. She comes back carrying a hessian bag bursting at the seams, and passes it to me.
“You’re a man, so no doubt you’ve got no tea, coffee, milk, or sandwiches to get you through the day. Here you are. The farmhouse cake is on me.”
I give her a big kiss on the cheek before she can avoid me.
“I suppose that girlfriend of yours has left for pastures new by now.”
“Don’t be silly; how could she resist me?”
She makes a face as if she is going to be sick.
“Thank you so much for all this.” I lift the bag of goodies. “Please tell me your name.”
“Ruth Cable. Ruth to my friends. You can call me Mrs. Cable.”
She is funny.
“Ruth, would you like to see Mrs. Collins again? If you do, she is coming here between four and five tonight.”
I’ve caught her unaware, but I can tell the idea appeals to her, so I encourage.
“I think it would be nice for her, as well. You know, memories from the past to comfort her now she has left her home of the last forty years.”
“Do you think?”
“I do think, and you would be more than welcome, although it will definitely be standing room only.”
“I will do m
y best. It’s not a promise but I will do my best.”
She is coming. Full house at Cotswold Lodge. I look to the skies—good, no chance of rain.
***
Because he insists on helping me, Edwin misses the first half of his football match, but listens to it on the radio whilst we are working. The local pub has Sky TV, so he leaves it until as late as he can before driving off in his van. Cotswold Lodge and I are alone together for the first time. I wander around the rooms, taking my time. It needs a fresh lick of paint in places, but I love the property. For the first time, I take a proper look at the garden, and it is so much larger than I realised. Behind the old garden shed, there is what amounts to a small orchard: five or six apple trees, some blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes, and a plum tree. At the base of the plum tree, there are dozens of fallers. I select one and taste it—absolutely delicious. I go back inside, collect Ruth’s bag, and carefully fill it with a couple of pounds of ripe plums. The good life! As I walk back into the house, an apple drops at my feet. How strange. Thank you, God.
I go back into the house and boil the kettle for the first time, and curse that I did not offer Edwin a drink. He has promised to pop back later this afternoon to give me a lift to collect the company van, which is still at the site. I sit down on my new sofa and sip my tea, slightly anxious because I have arranged for everyone to arrive between four and five. I do the maths—there could be almost a dozen people crammed into my hobbit house.
“Can you cope with that?” I am talking to the house—is that a good sign?
***
“Jess, shall we call it a day?” asks Gemma.
“Sorry—what do you mean?”
“I mean, that is at least the third time you have looked at your watch in the last five minutes. You’re not enjoying this, are you?”
“Well I’ve bought what I came here for, and…”
“You want to get to your hobbit house. Am I right?”
Jess drops her heads and swings her right leg from side to side. “Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.”