River Deep

by Rowan Coleman

  ‘It’s probably the whisky,’ she said. ‘It’s probably pickled my lungs, and maybe the ciggies have smoked my liver. Either that or it’s my genes. We’re a long-living family. My Aunty May was a hundred and four when she passed.’ She gave Maggie a quick once-over, the exact kind she used to give her when she was checking she had her school shirt tucked in and had taken her dangly earrings out. Marion had never known what the school dress codes were, and even if she had she wouldn’t have presumed to enforce them. ‘Now, why are you here and not indoors talking things over with your parents?’ Sheila demanded.

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I never talk things over with my parents,’ she said. ‘Dad would say something like, “You know what’s best for you, Maggie, don’t worry about me even though I’ve got high blood pressure and the stress is nearly killing me.” And Mum would say, “life is a river, and we are but leaves carried along by the current” or some such crap, and—’

  Sheila cut across her as they headed into the chemist’s.

  ‘You should show your parents more respect, young lady. All right, they’re not going to win business people of the year, but they are good people. They only want the best for you and Jim. Sometimes I think they’re much too easy on you both. Especially Jim.’

  Maggie made a face of disbelief behind Sheila’s back as she examined a range of lipsticks.

  ‘Don’t you make faces behind my back,’ Sheila said without turning a hair. ‘I mean it. Your parents are my very good friends, and if you ever took the time to get to know them properly you’d realise what good friends they could be for you too.’ She smeared a streak of orange on to the back of her hand.

  ‘Yeah, well, surely a child shouldn’t have to make the effort to get to know her parents, and anyway I do know them! I know them better than anyone!’ Maggie said, a touch petulantly.

  ‘You know them the way you did when you were a child, waiting for them to turn into some TV version of what parents should be. Now you’re an adult you should try to get to know them again, as people. They love you more than anyone else ever will, you know.’

  Maggie somehow doubted it. Maybe her dad did – but her mum? She supposed her mum did love her, but she loved everyone, so it didn’t seem to count.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Maggie said by way of reconciliation. ‘But for me to take on The Fleur? It would be a big step Sheila – a huge one. It wouldn’t be a job I could just give notice on if it didn’t work out.’ Maggie thought of her hopes to be back with Christian again one day soon. If she took on The Fleur then they’d never work together again. ‘I’d be tied to them,’ she said, referring to her family, ‘for the foreseeable future, maybe for ever. It could be kind of … claustrophobic …’ Maggie trailed off as Sheila held up the back of her hand for inspection. It was covered in a rainbow of glistening lipsticks.

  ‘I quite like that browny one,’ Maggie said after a moment’s consideration.

  ‘Well, it could be a bit claustrophobic, yes, if you insist on treating your family like strangers. Or it could be a chance for you to get close to them. It could also be a chance for you to do what you want to do for once, instead of bowing to Christian’s whims all the time. For you to finally get on your own two feet and show the world what you’re made of.’

  Sheila selected the browny-red lipstick and handed it over the counter to the assistant.

  ‘If you’ve got the guts and the gumption to do it, that is.’

  She paid, and pocketed her purchase.

  ‘Maggie, you’re a bright girl. No one knows that more than me. Who was it who used to sit with you when you were doing your maths homework, pretending I was helping you when you were working it all out by yourself!’

  Maggie smiled at the memory of cold afternoons, mugs of sweet tea, toast and Sheila bent earnestly over her exercise book.

  ‘It’s more than they ever did,’ she said.

  ‘ “They” were trying to run a pub,’ Sheila replied. ‘It took a lot of adjustment. You couldn’t see how hard it was for them then. Anyway, you’ve worked your socks off to get where you are now. I don’t think you realise how much you did for Christian, how much he depended on you for Fresh Talent. I bet if you sat down and thought about it, you’d find you know a lot more about running a pub and bar than you think.’

  Maggie imagined herself standing behind the newly refurbished bar of The Fleur greeting Christian with a radiant smile as he walked through the door, awestuck by the improvements and her success.

  ‘Maybe …’ she said, warming to the vision, ‘but Sheila, this is all a bit much to take in. It’s all so fast, coming on top of Christian and me. To find out that you were leaving me all that money and that you want to just give it me now! – it’s incredible. Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to have it? You might have a cousin somewhere, or perhaps you should give it all to the shelter? I bet they could use it.’

  They arrived just short of The Fleur and Sheila stopped dead, causing Maggie to stumble a little as she tried to stop with her.

  ‘I don’t want no cousin I’ve never heard of, let alone met, getting it, and I gave some to the shelter before. Maybe that would be the noble thing to do, Mag, but it wouldn’t feel right. You, your mum and dad and Jim have been a huge part of my life for the last twenty-five years. There was a long, long time before that, Mag, when I didn’t have a life. I didn’t have anything except regrets and unhappy memories. All of you mean the world to me. I don’t want it to go down the pan for you all. I want you to have a chance to be successful.’

  Sheila paused and looked up at the greying, flaky exterior of the pub.

  ‘Maybe it would be too much for you. Maybe it’s not fair asking you to commit to something like this, because you’re right – you couldn’t just walk out on it, even if something better came along. If you don’t want the responsibility, then all right. We’ll leave things as they are.’ Sheila leant forward and gave Maggie a quick kiss before heading into the bar. ‘You know best, Mag,’ she said with half a smile. ‘After all, life is a river.’

  Maggie grinned as she watched her going, then, turning on her heel, she crossed the road and headed towards the park and the lakes.

  She needed to think things through. If she didn’t take The Fleur on, then things would be terrible. She’d have to find a place for Mum and Dad to live, and she’d have to get a job to keep things going, any job anywhere. If she did take The Fleur on, she could really try and make a go of it. Like Sheila said, it could be the best thing that had ever happened to her if she gave it one hundred per cent. But she wouldn’t be able to just walk out on it when she felt like it. And even if Christian saw the light and asked her back, she’d never be part of Fresh Talent, they’d never be working as a team again. Maggie felt the heavy heat of the sun bearing down on her, and as she walked her head began to hurt with the infinite possibilities. There wasn’t any time to wait and see what might happen; she had to make up her mind right away.

  And by the time she got back to The Fleur she knew what her decision was.

  ‘OK, Jim, in answer to your previous question,’ Maggie had rejoined her family at the table, ‘Sheila is investing in this place. I’ve decided I’ll take her money but only on the proviso that once The Fleur is up and running I’ll pay her a dividend. And I’m going to be in charge of the finances. From now on, if you want any cash you can work for it. No more allowances, no more dipping into the till. I’m your new boss and I don’t carry freeloaders.’

  Maggie felt a surge of power-crazed sibling rivalry and tried to contain the emotion. This wasn’t about sorting out Jim; this was about making Sheila proud. And most of all it was about showing Christian exactly what she could do for herself. She’d make this place work. She’d have to, because once he saw for himself what she could do he’d take her back. He’d need her back. There was a fairly good chance she’d need breast and arse implants, a lifelong commitment to peroxide and a bulk load of fake tan, but if that’s what it took then she’d do it. She’d do a
nything.

  ‘Mum? What’s she talking about?’ Jim’s ability to soft-touch his mother was almost legendary, but Marion ignored him and beamed at Maggie.

  ‘Oh darling, I’m sure you’re doing the right thing,’ she said with more conviction than Maggie had heard from her about anything in a very long time. The pressure of the worry must have got even to her.

  ‘She’s telling you straight,’ Keith put in, covering Marion’s hand with his own as he looked sternly at Jim. ‘Your mother and I are handing the pub over to Maggie and Sheila is investing in it. Now, she’s been good enough to offer you a job, son. I suggest you take it. We won’t have anything to give you any more.’ He stood up stiffly and put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. ‘Maybe this will be for the best, love. I don’t mind saying those late nights were starting to get to me! Sheila, Maggie, you two are … truly remarkable. You’re giving us so much, when we’ve done so little for you.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Sheila glowed as she polished one of the brass pumps.

  ‘Well, I think we can really make it work, if we work hard,’ Maggie said, looking at Jim.

  ‘So we can leave it to you? The business plan, the bank, sorting it all out?’ Marion asked Maggie.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ she nodded. ‘It’s not your problem any more. I’ll sort it. Why don’t you and Dad go and make us all a cuppa?’

  Marion sighed. ‘Well I must say, that is a relief, a real relief.’

  As they left the room, Marion leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder and his arm snaked around her waist.

  Still so in love after all these years, Maggie thought. It is possible; all you need is a bit of luck and a lot of determination. Sheila’s seen to the luck part; now all I need is the determination.

  ‘You’ve stitched me up good and proper!’ Jim had lapsed into his mockney accent.

  ‘Oh, grow up, Jim,’ Maggie snapped. ‘I’ll pay you a wage as a general assistant, and for that you do what you’re told when you’re told. The first thing you can do is get down in that cellar, clear out any rubbish and make an inventory. I want to know exactly what furniture, fittings and stuff is down there. There might be something we can use.’

  Jim hefted his bulk from one leg to the other and huffed out a breath.

  ‘And what if I don’t?’ he said.

  ‘You’ll need to find yourself a job somewhere else. As long as you work here, your rent is included, but if you don’t work here you owe me eighty quid a week starting from now. All right?’

  Jim shook his head, looking briefly heavenward as if in prayer. ‘Assistant Manager?’ he quibbled resolutely.

  ‘Assistant assistant, full stop. Although there will be opportunities to work your way up. Right. I’m taking these figures to the cybercafé to get started on a business plan. When I get in I want to see that inventory, OK?’

  Jim gave a double huff. ‘OK.’ He sounded uncertain.

  ‘He probably won’t do it,’ Maggie mused as she stuffed her papers into a bag and walked out into the sun. But it was worth a bluff.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pete flopped on to his bed and looked at the ceiling. It was an unbearably hot afternoon, and the end of his first day of teaching summer school. He had been terrible, awful. Awkward and uncertain. Embarrassed at revealing his work on Dougie. Put off by the sarcastic looks of the students. After all, these kids were the bottom of the barrel, they’d all flunked at least once. If he couldn’t impress them, what chance did he have at his interview? None at all, that’s what.

  Pulling himself off the bed he switched on his PC and waited patiently for the whizzing and buzzing Internet connection to open up his email. He held his breath as the small blue arrow in the bottom right-hand corner showed he had incoming mail. As he waited it seemed to take an age to download. It must be a long letter, he thought, maybe with photos. Pete found his heart was in his mouth and fingers crossed tightly in anticipation.

  It was a circular from Tesco.com telling him about a deal on DVDs. It was a good deal, but not good enough to cheer Pete up. There was still nothing from Stella. Maybe she hadn’t been able to get online? Or maybe she hadn’t had the chance, or maybe his first email had failed for some reason and she still didn’t know how to contact him. Pete opened up a new message and typed in Stella’s address. His fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard.

  What could he tell her? That he was useless at teaching? That he realised now he didn’t stand a chance of moving into film, that he wished more than anything he was back in his old flat in Headingly, with his own DVDs and CDs, and that Stella was there with him? Soaking for hours in a bath, topping up the water till the tank ran dry. Or watching him cook in the evening, sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in her hand. Moving under him as they made love, shimmering in the moonlight. Perfectly beautiful, liquid and iridescent, like mercury.

  Pete closed his email and rested his head in his hand as he waited for the physical response to the memory to subside. He couldn’t write that. If he did she would never come back. He had to at least make it look as if he was succeeding. She’d never come back to an overbearing loser, he knew that. Stella’s love was a wonderful, exhilarating mind-blowing baptism of fire. But it was not unconditional; never that.

  As he turned off the PC there was a single knock on the door and Falcon’s head appeared round it.

  ‘All right, mate?’ He scrutinised Pete, who, rubbing his hand across his face, wondered if his eyes might be a little damp.

  ‘Yeah, you know, hot as a bastard and shite at my job. But all right. You?’

  Falcon entered the room, revealing his glistening bare and tattooed chest, his pink hair swept back in a ponytail. He definitely had a thing for baring his chest, interesting as it wasn’t exactly up to Greek god standards.

  ‘All right. Got a creative block on, you know. Tried the drums for an hour but it’s still there. I’ve got a deadline and everything. Fucking bourgeois fucking publisher. But what can I do? I need the money and I’m doing it for the kids.’

  Pete got the impression that the tiny independent company that printed Falcon’s graphic novels was anything but bourgeois, but he knew that Falcon had a problem reconciling his pretty high earnings with his punk lifestyle, and if it helped him deal with it then fair enough. He had a small but very loyal following of alienated teenagers, so in some ways, Pete supposed, he was doing it for the kids.

  ‘Anyway, I’m meeting the blokes up The Horn and then we might walk into town. Liquid refreshment. Are you man enough to join us?’

  Pete thought of the class of blank-eyed, insolent students waiting for him to turn up hungover in the morning. Really he should just put together some pasta and go to bed early. That would be sensible.

  ‘You’re on, mate,’ he said, and picked up his keys as he headed for the door.

  After all, Stella never did rate the sensible option.

  ‘You OK Maggie? You’ve been there almost all day and we’re closing up now.’

  Maggie looked up and rubbed her stiff neck. It was Declan, the cybercafé’s owner. She’d met him a few times at various functions. They’d sat next to each other once at an award ceremony the year Christian had won local businessman of the year.

  ‘Hi, Declan, hi. I didn’t realise how late it had got. I think I’ve given myself carpal tunnel syndrome!’ She laughed and rubbed her wrists. ‘Can I print this stuff off here, or do I need to save it to disk?’

  Declan smiled at her. He was an attractive man; small and neat with a permanent tan and greenish eyes.

  ‘Save it on disk and I’ll print it for you in my office.’ He nodded to behind the food counter. ‘So what’s up at Fresh Talent, then? The system crash?’

  Maggie stopped in her tracks and composed herself quickly before following him up the narrow stairs to his office. Double doors opened out on to a balcony and she was glad of the breeze his desk fan created in the solid wall of heat. She’d forgotten that she’d have to start explaining everythin
g every time she met someone she knew through work now. She hadn’t had time to prepare, to come up with a story. She studied Declan as he inserted her disk into his PC. He didn’t look like he knew about Louise. He looked as if he hadn’t heard.

  ‘Oh, I’m not at Fresh Talent at the moment,’ Maggie said after a pause. ‘Christian and I are … having a break from things. After six years I think we needed to … find our feet. I’m working on my own project right now, so … we’re going to see how things turn out?’ She finished on an uncertain note despite her bright tone.

  ‘So you’re not with Christian any more then?’ Declan seemed to need extra confirmation.

  ‘Um, no. Not at present.’ Maggie stumbled over the words.

  ‘Oh, thank God, Mags.’

  Maggie liked the way he made free with her name.

  ‘I didn’t like to say anything at the time, but he’s so up his own arse, don’t you think? Anyone would think he’s the Damien Hirst of sandwiches. Jesus, and at the end of the day it’s just a bit of bread and butter, right?’ Declan laughed and Maggie couldn’t resist returning his smile.

  ‘Not to Christian,’ she said. ‘And not to me, really. Good food, made well. That’s more of a passion.’ She bit her lip, feeling embarrassed.

  ‘Oh sure, but, I don’t know … Don’t you think he’s a bit of a twat?’

  Maggie laughed then and shook her head. ‘I know he seems that way, but he had to pull himself up by his bootstraps. He never had any family to back him, no education to speak of. He’s made his own way and he’s worked for every single thing he has.’ As she said the words she could hear Christian reciting them in her head. ‘I think that toughens you up a lot. You have to be incredibly confident to pull it off and he is. Some people find that hard to take.’

  Declan handed her a sheaf of papers and sat back in his chair.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t deserve a woman like you. You’re incredibly cool about this “break” thing. Does it mean you can see other people?’

  Maggie thought of Louise and winced.