‘Just like that?’
‘More or less.’
‘Yes, but we’re not going to. Janet’s a bit young to be a jet-setter and wee Jonathan’s teeth would make life fractious for everyone around him.’
‘That’s true,’ I conceded. ‘The wee sod bit me the other day. They’re like bloody razors when they’ve just come through.’
She gave me a funny sideways look. ‘Would you really have turned down all that money for the kids and me?’
‘No …’
‘Aah,’ she said, ‘so you were just acting Mr Big.’
‘… I’d have turned it down for me as well,’ I added. ‘I’m not comfortable being public property, Sooz. I never planned for any of this to happen. It just did, and now it’s acquired a momentum of its own. But I can’t stop it; I see that now. What Roscoe said was true, too many people are involved with me right now.’
‘It won’t be for ever, love. In the meantime. .’ She paused in mid-sentence.
A fat middle-aged man in a business suit stepped up to me, right into my face, ignoring her completely. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he began. I did, but he didn’t give me a chance to tell him that. ‘I don’t normally do this sort of thing, Mr Blackstone, but my wife is a huge fan of yours. Could I have your autograph for her?’
His accent was posh Greater London: since I’ve been an actor I’ve become quite good at spotting them. He put down his briefcase and produced a Mont Blanc fountain pen and a diary from an inside pocket of his jacket, giving me a flash of its red lining. This was not clothing that had come off the peg at a discount store.
‘Are there Brownie points in this for you?’ I asked him.
‘Thousands.’
‘Do you need them?’
He blinked, taken aback. ‘Well, you know,’ he chuckled, tamely, ‘it never does any harm.’
‘What’s your secretary’s. . sorry, your wife’s name?’ The speed with which he flushed up told me that I’d hit the mark.
‘Lou-Lou,’ he replied, and spelled it out for me.
I took the pen and the diary, opened it at a blank page for notes, and scribbled, ‘To the lovely Lou-Lou, from your devoted fan, Oz Blackstone.’ I closed it and returned it to him. I made to put the Mont Blanc in my pocket. He flinched but said nothing: I think he’d have let me keep it, if I hadn’t grinned and handed it back to him. ‘Hope it does you some good,’ I told him. ‘Have a nice trip, Mr. .’
‘Potter,’ he said.
‘Accountant?’
He looked sheepish. ‘Well, yes, actually. It’s that obvious?’
‘It’s the suit, mate; that, and the fact that your firm’s name’s embossed in gold on the cover of your diary. I used to be a sort of detective: as I was saying to my wife, sometimes I wish I still was.’
‘Sometimes I wish I was one too. Thank you for your patience, and good luck with your career.’
I was hit by a spur-of-the-moment impulse. ‘Do you have a card, Mr Potter?’
He looked surprised for a second, but then good business instincts kicked in. He produced one from his wallet and handed it over. I saw that his forename was Henry, but I decided not to go there. Instead I asked if I could use his pen again. I noted my private phone number on it, then handed both back.
‘I need to do some very serious financial planning,’ I told him, ‘and I’d rather use London-based advisers than Scots, for a different perspective. I’ve heard good things about your firm, so if you want to tender for the project. . in competition, of course. . have someone give me a call.’
His chest seemed to puff out: I could tell that I’d made his morning for the second time in as many minutes.
‘I will,’ he exclaimed. ‘Thank you very much.’
Susie watched him as he headed for the exit. ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked. ‘Did you feel sorry for taking the piss out of him about his secretary?’
‘Hey, I was entitled to do that. The guy is clearly trying to use me to get his leg over. . or keep it over. No, I meant it: we need to take professional advice on how we should manage our money, and probably inheritance tax advice as well. His firm’s called Clark Gow: they’re a multinational, and I happen to know that they have a very big reputation in the entertainment business.’
‘So have the Mafia.’
We left the airport, with a wave to Mr Potter in the taxi queue, and headed back home.
The three months of family bonding that stretched out before me was a pleasing prospect. Actually, I had more to do in that department than fuss over my kids. There was the matter of my father, as well.
For all of my adult life I had thought of Macintosh Blackstone as best friend as well as parent. And then he had done something extremely stupid, something that had led those who loved him most into serious, life-threatening trouble. I had seen it off, but the rift between us had been immediate and, on my part, long-lasting.
I had barely seen him since then: when wee Jonathan was born Susie and I had taken him across to Anstruther to show him off to Mary, my stepmother, rather than to his grandfather. I can be a ruthless, unforgiving bastard when I have to be, but also, I had begun to concede to myself, when I don’t. For some time, my dad had been on my mind. I was still angry whenever I thought of him and of what he had done, but gradually, I began to wonder whether some of that anger had been directed at myself, for the way in which I had reacted, for the harshness of my judgement of him, and for the sentence of isolation that I had passed.
There was something else too: I missed him. He has always been my sounding-board, and I was honest enough with myself to recognise that a lot of my evolving discontent with fame could have been rationalised by some of his shrewd advice. Susie knew all this, of course, but she also knows me well enough to let me work it out for myself. She didn’t know what had caused the breach, and she never asked. Just as well, for I couldn’t have brought myself to tell her the truth.
Anyway … there I go again … the day after Roscoe’s visit, I loaded my golf clubs into one of our executive toys, Susie’s new Porsche Cayenne (she calls it our ‘family mover’) and told her I would be away for a while. There’s a telepathy between us now: she knew what I was up to.
It was a Friday, so I knew that he’d finish work at lunchtime. For years it’s been his custom to hold a Saturday-morning surgery, to encourage as many people as possible to come for routine dental check-ups. The waiting room was empty when I got there, but I could hear the drill, so I took a seat. Daisy, the nurse-receptionist, heard the doorbell and came through to see who the late and unbooked patient was. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw me sitting there, picking up a nine-month-old copy of Golf World, but I put a finger to my lips and she got the message.
I waited until the sufferer in the chair had gone, and until I could hear the sounds of clearing up. Then the surgery door opened again, and I caught a glimpse of Daisy’s white coat heading somewhere, anywhere, to leave us alone. I stood up and walked through. Mac the Dentist was facing me, unbuttoning his tunic, as I stepped into the big room. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Then I stepped forward and gave him a quick, strong hug. He nodded as I released him, and that was it.
‘So how are you doing?’ he asked me quietly.
‘Don’t you read the tabloids? Haven’t you heard? I’m doing great; I’m the next big thing. Five years in the business and I’m an overnight success.’
‘Yeah, but how the fuck are you?’
‘I’m okay, Dad.’
‘No bad dreams?’
I wondered what made him ask that. ‘Just the one,’ I told him, ‘when wee Jonathan lets me sleep long enough: Jan’s in it, but she isn’t dead, just away visiting her mother.’
‘What’s the bad part?’
‘When I wake up, and she’s still dead. Don’t get me wrong, though. I love Susie like crazy, and the kids too. But it’s still there.’
‘It always will be; I have the same dream about your mother. I don’t think of it as bad,
though, and I don’t feel guilty about it, if that’s worrying you. In fact I look forward to it: it’s only the thought of it stopping that worries me.’
See? I’d been with him for less than a minute and he’d put my mind at rest already. ‘So how the fuck are you?’ I shot back at him.
‘How do I look?’
‘Slightly crumpled, a bit of a curmudgeon, reasonably benign for a dentist, could do with a haircut.’
‘Ah, that’s good. I haven’t changed, then?’
‘Not a bit.’
‘I have on the inside.’ He shot me a strange, apprehensive look. ‘Oz, there’s something I have to ask you, straight out. Those people: what happened to them had nothing to do with you, did it?’
‘Not at all, I promise,’ I replied, then saw the relief surge through him.
‘Thank God for that. I’ve been afraid that was the real reason why you’ve been avoiding me.’
‘No, Dad. I just thought we needed some space, that’s all.’ I’d told him the truth, but not the whole truth. He couldn’t imagine that: I’m pretty sure it would kill him. ‘You up for some golf?’ I went on quickly. ‘Or have you got something lined up already?’
‘Nothing involving anyone else. I was planning to hit a few balls, that’s all.’
‘Okay, hit them with me.’
I had booked an afternoon time at the reasonably new Kingsbarns course. I’d thought about taking my nephews too, but I couldn’t be sure in advance how my dad and I would get along. Besides, while he’s a very tidy golfer, and could turn out to be the best of all of us, Colin’s still only eleven, and the starter might have been a bit dubious about letting him on the course.
We had lunch in the clubhouse before we played. For all that he lived only three or four miles away, my father had never been there before. On the other hand, I’d taken part in a celebrity pro-am there about nine months past.
Until I was thirty, most of my golf was played with my dad. It wasn’t until I started to mix it more that I realised how competitive I really am. My handicap’s come down too, thanks to the practice holes I’ve laid out in the grounds of the Loch Lomond place, but if I’d expected Mac the Dentist to be a pushover I was in for a shock. His game looked better than it had in years, and he took care of me by a tidy three and two.
He was still grinning when we walked out of the changing room and into the bar. ‘Okay,’ I asked at last, as the waiter brought his Belhaven and my diet vanilla Coke, ‘what have you been up to?’
‘I’ve been playing with my grandsons. Jonny’s down to a nine handicap now, and wee Colin’s improving by a shot every couple of months, I’d say. They’ve helped me sharpen up my game. I can’t have them taking the piss out of me, can I?’
‘Mmm. I must get back to taking them out more often myself.’
‘You might find it difficult to get into their diaries. Their mother’s new flame’s been showing an interest in them too.’
‘Mr January, QC,’ I murmured. ‘What do you think of him?’
‘Between you and me, and not to go back to your sister?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m not sure about him yet. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, just. . ach, I don’t know. I preferred that big pal of yours, Darius, whom she saw occasionally, although I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe I’m being hard on this new guy. It’s just that after Alan Sinclair, I don’t want her to make another mistake. He’s so fucking strait-laced, that’s what worries me: he even calls me Macintosh.’
That was rich: half of Anstruther thought that my dad’s first name was just plain Mac.
I laughed. ‘When I met him he asked me straight out what Oz stood for.’
It was his turn to chuckle. ‘Did you tell him?’
‘I told him that I didn’t stand for being called anything but Oz, except by my father, my sister and my wife. What do you call him? Son?’
‘Never! I’ve only got one of them. Actually, I call him Mr January. Your sister doesn’t appreciate that much, but I won’t put on a false front for her. Is he good at what he does, do you know?’
‘I’m told that he is. He specialises in taxation and reparations, but he’s done some time in the Crown Office, so he knows the criminal side as well. That’s the sort of profile an ambitious lawyer should have if he wants to go to the Supreme Court bench. If our Ellie marries the guy, there’s a good chance she’ll end up being Lady January.’
‘So there isn’t a Mrs January anywhere in the background? With a man that age, you wonder.’
‘You are a cynical old bastard, aren’t you?’ I glanced at him. ‘And I take after you, because I asked the same question myself. There was a wife, but she left him ten years ago: ran off with an actor, believe it or not.’
‘Too dull for her, was he?’
‘Thanks, Dad. Primavera ran off with an actor too, remember.’
‘Christ, so she did! Sorry, son.’
‘And a policeman, and a car salesman, and my best friend.’
‘Oh dear; you never told me about those.’
‘Why should I have? You liked her, remember?’
‘So did you. You didn’t treat her very well, though.’
‘It’s the first time you’ve said that to me as well.’
‘Let’s just say that love blinded me to your faults too: over the last year or so, I’ve been able to look at them more objectively.’
‘Touche. The truth is that I didn’t treat anyone too well in those days: Jan most of all.’
‘Maybe not, but she understood. She told Mary that she thought, with you two having been together since you were kids, it was probably a good thing for you to go off and sow some wild oats. She knew you’d come back to her when you were ready.’
‘Hey, it wasn’t just me sowing oats!’
He grinned. ‘She had to make you think that, didn’t she? To keep you a wee bit jealous, like. She was a smart girl, was Jan.’ He seemed to drift away for a second.
I brought him back, sharpish. ‘Are you saying she used Prim, and Alison Goodchild before her?’
‘No, I’m saying that you did. She accepted them, that was all.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you know what Prim’s doing now?’
‘She went back to nursing for a while, I believe: to get her head back together, so I understand. But to be honest, Dad, I don’t want to know. I don’t want her in my life any more, in any way.’
‘That’s a bit hard: you were married to her too, remember, even if it was a disaster.’ He frowned. ‘You’re not still bearing a torch, are you?’
‘Secretly lusting after her, you mean? Dad, there’s no way that I want, or that I need, anything that Primavera Phillips has got.’ I paused. ‘How did we get into this, anyway? Why did you ask about her?’
‘Because she called in to see me.’
‘She did? When did she do that?’
‘About a week ago, as it happens. She said she was just passing by, and looked in on the off-chance.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘Why not?’
‘Prim never does anything on the off-chance. What did you talk about?’
A great hand scratched his chin. I’m a pretty strong guy, but I work at it: so is he and he doesn’t. . apart from yanking teeth, that is. ‘As I remember, she asked how I was doing, and how Mary was, and Ellie and the boys.’
‘Nothing about me?’
‘Not specifically. I did tell her that I had a new grandson, and that your career was coming on in leaps and bounds. That got us into talking about you.’
‘So what did she have to say?’
‘She told me she was sorry that it hadn’t worked out between you, but that, honestly, it was as much her fault as yours.’
‘Big of her.’
‘I thought so at the time, I must say.’
‘If she’s been to see you, why did you ask me what she’s doing now?’
‘Because she’d gone before it occurred to
me to ask her. It was just a flying visit, as she said.’
‘How did she look?’
‘A bit plumper in places than when I saw her last, and her hair was different, but much the same otherwise.’
‘How was her hair different?’
‘It was longer and not so blonde. Now that I think of it, she was dressed differently too. I used to think of her as a shirt-and-jeans person, but when she called in she was wearing, well, designer clothes, I suppose you’d call them. And she had more makeup on than I remember.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘I take it that you mean was she with a bloke? No, she was on her own. She said that she was driving her father’s car: she’d been bored and so she’d decided to go for a run.’
‘You’d buy anything off anyone, wouldn’t you?’ I said. ‘She came to see you, and for no other reason. And with respect, Dad, she didn’t come to find out how you were doing. God, and I called you a cynic earlier on.’
‘Oz,’ he protested, ‘if she was that interested in you, why didn’t she just call you? You’ve had the same mobile number for the last five or six years, and so has she.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because she told me. She said that if I ever wanted to contact her for anything, I could always get her on it.’
‘Are you sure she was telling you that?’
‘There you go again.’
He had a fair point about the mobile number, I suppose, but my suspicions were roused. Experience had taught me that with my ex-wife that was always the safest way to proceed. She had turned up, pumped my dad for information, and given nothing away except a phone number that she must have known would be mentioned to me. But she hadn’t been as smart as she’d thought. She’d told me that whatever she was doing now, it wasn’t nursing.
When she’d got into the habit of wearing her hair short, it was to make it fit easily and quickly under her cap, for she hated pinning it up on top of her head. The makeup style had come from the same era, and for similar reasons. When Susie and I are going out on the razzle, it takes her half an hour to do her face … not that she needs it. Primavera did the same job in five minutes.
I know my dad hadn’t meant to unsettle me, but he had all the same. Long after I had dropped him off back in Anstruther, said, ‘Hello and cheerio,’ to my stepmother, and set off on the road back to the west, I was still thinking about Primavera Phillips Blackstone.
Alarm Call ob-8 Page 3