One Glass Is Never Enough

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  Richard put a brief hand on her knee before he started the engine again. “We’ll find him.”

  Gaynor got back to Greens to find a small riot in the bar and Benjamin flapping about in an apron.

  “I’ve got rather a lot of lunches on the go,” he was saying apologetically to a group of impatient suits.

  Gaynor cast off her jacket and slid behind the bar. “Can I help anybody?”

  There was a clamour of voices. Benjamin beat a retreat to the kitchen. Gaynor switched on her hugest smile as she looked at the clutch of orders he’d stuffed into her hand.

  She hoped Benjamin would be able to produce them without Sarah at his elbow.

  She’d just about got all the drinks served when the buzzer sounded from the kitchen. Gaynor ran down the stairs.

  “What is that?” she enquired, looking at a small, yellow rubbery circle richly garnished with frilly spring onion.

  Benjamin looked downcast. “Sarah usually does the omelettes,” he explained.

  “With more than one egg, I should think,” said Gaynor. “I don’t think I can serve this – can’t you make a bigger one? Three eggs and just flip it over while it’s still…. Look,” she said, seeing the expression of dumb panic that had crossed Benjamin’s face, “I’ll do it.”

  She grabbed an apron and thrust her order pad at Benjamin. “You get up there and calm the masses. And take that up – who was it for?” She nodded at the tray he’d loaded with a panini and a salad nicoise.

  Benjamin looked at her hopelessly. “I’m afraid I have no idea.”

  “Goodness!” said Claire, arriving in the doorway half an hour later, to find Gaynor at the stove. “Never thought I’d see the day…”

  “You nearly didn’t. We almost set the kitchen alight with that chip fryer. Can you help? I haven’t got a clue what to do with scallops and Benjamin’s just taken an order for three of them.”

  Claire shook her head. “They’re not even on the lunchtime menu.” Gaynor handed her the spatula she’d been prodding omelettes with. “I’ll go and sort it.”

  She gathered up the Avocado and Mozzarella Surprise that Benjamin had created in frantic trips to the kitchen and threw her apron into a corner. She carried the salad plate and a bowl of soup upstairs to where an academic type with a silly goatee beard was sitting with his bored wife.

  “Sorry for the delay!” She smiled brightly from one to the other. Goatee was not pacified.

  “This is ridiculous!” he fumed. “We’ve been waiting for over half an hour.” He glowered at Gaynor. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

  Hot, sweaty and frazzled from the rigours of the last hour, she put his plate down a little too hard. “And my business partner’s little boy’s gone missing.”

  “Arsehole,” she said, as she carried empty dishes through the swing door into the kitchen. Claire had confiscated Benjamin’s vegetable knife and put him on washing-up. He looked round from the sink resignedly as Gaynor heaped more plates on the already-tottering pile. “I wonder if Sarah’s called the police,” Gaynor added.

  “Perhaps she’s found him by now,” said Claire, deftly sliding apple pie into dishes.

  Benjamin raised his pink rubber-gloved hands from the suds. Gravely, he said, “In my experience, they won’t do much until he’s been missing for several hours. And all avenues have been exhausted. They know that most children reported missing turn up perfectly safe and sound at a friend’s or relative’s within…”

  “In your experience?” queried Gaynor, surprised

  “It was on Morse last week,” said Benjamin. “There was a case where a twelve-year old girl went missing. Now in fact she’d been murdered but first of all…”

  Footsteps were coming down the stairs.

  “Dishwasher’s stopped!” Claire interrupted sharply. “Leave that stuff to soak and empty it, will you?”

  Sarah appeared in the doorway and shook her head. She looked dreadful.

  “We went to the police station,” she said. “They were really kind. They’re circulating his description and they said try not to worry, most children turn up on their own.”

  Gaynor glanced at Benjamin. She saw Claire do the same. His mouth opened and closed again.

  “Sit down,” said Claire. “We’ll make you a coffee. Would you like a brandy in it? Benjamin, you pop upstairs and …”

  “No, thank you. I’m going upstairs to see Luke.” Sarah pulled her coat more tightly around her, shuddering. “We’ve left Bel at my mother’s. Charlie could go straight up to the flat through the side entrance. I’d better go and wait.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” asked Gaynor, feeling helpless.

  Sarah shook her head. “Oh,” she turned to Claire, suddenly remembering. “The fish pies. I’ve done the base – it’s in the fridge. But the potato…”

  “Don’t worry.” Claire was already pulling the earthenware dishes from the cupboard. “I’ll do it.”

  Sarah nodded, white and exhausted. “Thank you. Was your dog OK?”

  “Yeah, Henry’s fine. He’s been a bit off colour and I was worried he was ill but the vet said –” Claire stopped abruptly. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all that.”

  Gaynor gave Sarah a little push. “Go on, you go upstairs. We’ll be here. Charlie will be back soon and we’ll see him, whichever door he comes in…”

  When Sarah had gone, she said, “Oh God, I simply cannot imagine how she’s feeling.”

  Claire tipped potatoes into the sink. “Poor Sarah. I’ve got no idea about the whole children thing but I know how bad I feel if anything happens to one of the dogs. Charlie will come back, though.” She looked at Gaynor. “Won’t he?”

  “He’d better.” Gaynor picked up a potato peeler. “Shall we take these upstairs in case he comes to the front door?”

  They sat at the back of the bar, a pile of spuds between them. “It’s really not fair of Paul,” said Gaynor, dropping a skinned potato into the large pot of water. “He means the world to Charlie. He should be more reliable. He’s his father. If he says he’s coming, then he should damn well make sure he gets here.”

  Claire was silent. Her long dark hair fell over her face as she carried on intently peeling. Something about the way she kept her head down made Gaynor feel awkward. “Don’t you think?” she added.

  Claire tossed the vegetable away from her into the saucepan and picked up another. “Yes I do think,” she said, tightly. “I’m a hell of a lot older than Charlie and it still hurts me when my parents can’t be bothered.”

  Gaynor gathered up a damp handful of peel and put it in the carrier bag beside her. “Did your dad not come the other day?” she asked carefully.

  Claire gave a contemptuous laugh. “No, he didn’t. And more fool me for thinking he might! He’s always much too busy to leave his own life to ever come and visit a bit of mine.” She stabbed the peeler through the middle of the vegetable in her hand. “ But, you know, I always believe him when he says he will. I run around and get everything ready – wanting him to be impressed – and then of course, the phone call comes. Always from my mother,” she added bitterly. “Never from him. Saying they just can’t manage it after all…”

  She looked at Gaynor, rolling her eyes at herself. “Stupid isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not.” Gaynor got up and went behind the bar to the coffee machine. “My father’s completely crap but it never quite stops one hoping that he might suddenly be different next time. You want one of these?” She held up a coffee cup.

  Claire nodded. “When do you stop caring? I wonder.”

  Gaynor thought of Sam. “I don’t know if you ever do.” She put an espresso down in front of Claire. “And Charlie’s only ten,” she said.

  “Yes.” Claire looked troubled. “Poor Charlie.”

  Upstairs in the flat, Richard put the kettle on. “I’ll go back out again in a minute,” he said. “ I’ll go up and down the High Street in case he’s walking home.”

  “Wher
e from?” cried Sarah, white-faced. “Where can he have been? Oh Richard, where is he?”

  She sat down at the table and put her head in her hands, her fingers pressing against her tear-filled eyes. Richard went and stood next to her, patting awkwardly at her shoulder. “He’ll turn up,” he said uncertainly.

  “All those questions,” Sarah said bleakly. “Like it was really serious. Like they thought something terrible might have happened.”

  “No,” said Richard, still patting her. “Just standard, just doing their job.”

  “Did you see?” Sarah looked up at him, anguished. “Did you see the bit of the form where they had to tick vulnerable or non-vulnerable?”

  Richard shook his head.

  Sarah began to cry. “Vulnerable, they said he was vulnerable.”

  Richard sat down beside her. “It’s because he’s a child,” he said, trying not to look worried. “But he’ll be home soon.”

  He made her a coffee and put his coat back on. “I’ll keep looking,” he said. Sarah nodded silently. She felt sick and cold. It was getting dark outside. She had a vision of Charlie sat on a doorstep, shivering and crying, not knowing how to get home. She closed her eyes as if to block it out but opened them again as she heard Richard say, “Oh!”

  He had opened the outside door that led to the steps down to the street. Sarah sprang up from her chair and saw a tall figure coming towards her. She took one look at the uniform and felt her legs buckle.

  “I wasn’t going to steal it,” said Charlie vehemently. “I was just seeing what it would feel like in my pocket.”

  “He’d been in the shop for sometime,” said the PC who had accepted a cup of tea and made himself comfortable at the kitchen table. “They let him be for a while but then the manager saw him take one of the phones and called us.”

  “I didn’t…” Charlie shouted.

  “Shhh,” Sarah said vaguely, so weak with relief she could barely follow what was being said.

  “All right, son, we’ll leave it now.” The PC looked at Charlie and then turned to Sarah “I’ve got kids myself,” he said. Charlie glowered.

  “Dad said we were going to go there,” he told Sarah when the policeman had left and Richard had tactfully disappeared. “He said we’d go to Phone World and get one today. He said.” He looked up at Sarah, anguished.

  She pulled him towards her, torn between wanting to rail at him for how badly he’d frightened her and still so grateful to see him that she wanted nothing but to cuddle him. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t suppose I’ll ever get one now,” he said.

  “Just buy him one, Mum,” Luke had said wearily earlier. “I don’t care if he gets one before I did. At least it will stop him going on.”

  “But I do,” she’d said. “I care. I care about the principle and I have to particularly care about the money.”

  “Maybe Christmas,” she said now. “I’ll speak to Dad. But you really mustn’t…”

  “I was just looking,” Charlie said doggedly. “I told the man in the shop. I was just holding it. He wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I believe you,” said Sarah.

  “It was a 66X500,” Charlie said, “with a camera. And Dad said…”

  Bloody Paul! Sarah looked at her poor, bewildered middle child, and wondered how much to say. Much as she could cheerfully have taken a blunt instrument to her ex-husband right now, she still felt a perverse loyalty to him. But she could no longer bear Charlie’s endless disappointment. “Dad’s got some problems at the moment,” she said carefully. “He’s not very well, really.”

  Charlie looked at her. “Is he going to die?”

  “No, no he’s not going to die but he’s finding things a bit difficult and that’s why sometimes he can’t come when he says he will and he can’t always buy you the things he’d planned to.”

  Charlie continued to gaze at her. She could see the struggle playing out on his face. He shrugged as though he didn’t care but the hurt and confusion was clear in his eyes.

  “He loves you very much,” she said, “but he’s having some work problems.” Charlie needed to be prepared for Paul to let him down, but looking at the little boy’s expression she knew she must also do all she could to save Paul’s image in his son’s eyes.

  Charlie frowned. “What did you mean he’s not well?”

  She wished she hadn’t mentioned it now. “He’s a bit stressed,” Sarah said lamely.

  But this seemed to satisfy Charlie. He nodded sagely. “Like you get,” he said.

  “I suddenly remembered I had this.” Richard was casual. “They sent me a new one.” He held a box out to Charlie.

  “An upgrade, they told me. But I don’t like it much. It’s got a camera and a radio.” Richard shook his head as if this were a very sorry state of affairs. “And I don’t know how to figure out things like that. I’m a boring old fart,” he added, as Charlie’s eyes widened. “Much prefer my old one. So suppose you use this new one for now?” He glanced at Sarah. “You know, just till your dad gets you a better one?”

  Charlie stood quite still, staring and then his face split into a huge, disbelieving grin. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.

  “We’re going to have to have a budget,” she said briskly, fishing in her pocket for a tissue and blowing her nose. “You can’t use it all day long.”

  Charlie shook his head, eyes shining. “I won’t, Mum. I just want to have one.” He looked up at her joyfully. “And then if I ever run away again you can text me and I’ll tell you where I am.”

  “You’ll never do it again,” she said sternly. “I was very, very worried.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” Richard said to Sarah later as she poured him a drink in the kitchen. “It’s pay-as-you-go and Charlie can clean my car if he wants. Earn his top-ups.”

  Sarah put the tonic bottle down. “Richard, you do not have to go to those lengths. Giving Charlie a phone is the most lovely and generous thing. Please do not put your car at risk, too. Frankly, I wouldn’t let him loose on the litter tray.”

  Richard laughed, suddenly looking bright and playful. Younger. Sexier. Her stomach gave a little flip. “He’s OK,” Richard said.

  Sarah leant forward and kissed his cheek. “You’ve been brilliant today,” she said. “You didn’t really have a spare phone, did you?”

  He put an arm around her. “Got there just before they closed.” He swilled his glass about, chinking the ice-cubes together. “I know I’m a funny sod. I know I’m strange.” He suddenly looked embarrassed as he said gruffly, “But it’s not because I don’t care.”

  18. Chianti

  Heavily fruited with a touch of acid.

  Gaynor sat cross-legged on the sofa in the breakfast room and looked at her Gynae Chart.

  She squinted at the blocked-in bits representing FLOW, which looked like a child’s depiction of the New York skyline. She didn’t seem to have plotted her last period at all. She frowned. She wasn’t sure if she’d even had one. Everything seemed to be all over the place again.

  A bit like her FEELINGS. She chewed at the end of her pen. How best to describe her current state? Weepy? Depressed? No. More emotional . Tearful. Now, through Sam, she’d “learned how to cry again” (Hurrah!), it was all she could do to bloody stop.

  November 15th. Am snivelling idiot. Feel…

  She paused. How did she feel?

  1) Angry with Victor.

  2) In love with Sam.

  3) Guilty about Victor. (Sometimes. After all, I am cheating on him.)

  4) Guilty about Sam. (Often. He doesn’t approve of cheating. He is in love with me and I am still with my husband.)

  5) Sad about my marriage going to pot (it was OK once).

  Gaynor shifted position, brought her feet up under her, sucked the end of her biro a bit more and looked wistfully at her list.

  I wish, she thought, I wish…

  1) I could catch Victor out so I could leave him (after all, I
know he is cheating on me too).

  2) He’d be nicer to me. (’Cos even though I want to leave him, him being vile still makes my stomach churn.)

  3) I could spend more time with Sam. ( It just feels right. Except for problems above.)

  4) I wasn’t so damn horny because neither of them will sleep with me (one ’cos he’s shagging a hippopotamus and the other ’cos he’s on a moral crusade). Grrrr.

  Gaynor put her pen down. What would Mr Bradley-Lawrence make of that? She wished she could just have one set of feelings and hold on to them. When she was with Sam it felt so good. Most of the time. Except that it was so hard to keep her hands off him. When she was close to him she could feel the electric tension between them. She was longing to go to bed with him again and she was pretty sure that if he weren’t so caught up with the ethics of it all, he’d feel the same. Sometimes, when she brushed a hand across his arm or kissed him hello a little too lingeringly, he’d abruptly move away, as if afraid of what might happen.

  When he was down and withdrawn, he hardly even looked at her and it sent a chill through her every time, but then he wouldn’t be depressed if they weren’t in this situation. She hoped.

  When Victor was revolting, she felt very sure of what she was doing – she needed Sam. How could she cope with all this otherwise? Her husband was still disappearing to London for days on end and quite often staying away at weekends too, and continuing to be very slippery and defensive if she tried to delve into what he was doing. He was short-tempered and spent much of the time making it very plain that he’d rather be anywhere other than with her. But then, inexplicably, he would suddenly be lovely, suddenly be the old fun Victor he once was, and apologise for his crabbiness, blame it on work or the universe in an entirely reasonable-sounding way, and she would wonder if she’d got it all wrong and she was doing a terrible thing to both of them.

  “Yes, I do feel angry sometimes,” Sam had said as they sat on rocks along Stone Bay and looked at the wintry sunshine glancing off the grey leaden sea. “I get depressed and angry with the situation. I feel that for both our sakes, I should tell you to go away.”

  “I know,” she’d said, rubbing her gloved fingers together, hunching against the cold wind.