by DH Smith
‘Not quite Oedipus,’ she said.
He tried to think who Oedipus was. He’d heard of him, some sex thing and the Greeks, but couldn’t connect it with what he’d been saying. He didn’t want to ask her to explain.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘it’s too nice a day to talk about my drunken exploits. I will phone her.’
‘You seem alright now. Or is it Dr Jekyll I’m speaking to?’
‘I’ve been on the wagon for 18 months. When I was a drunk, I behaved like a demented ape. My wife kicked me out. We’re divorced now. I’ve got an eleven year old daughter who lives with her mum…’ He hesitated a second, not wanting to queer his pitch, but maybe he had already with his talk of his drunkenness. ‘I’ve got her the next couple of days… Her mum’s going in to hospital. What I’m going to do with Mia, I haven’t the slightest.’
‘Bring her here.’ He looked at her to confirm she was serious. ‘If she can entertain herself, we’ve got the library, masses of books, loads of movies, computers… You could take her out to the island for a picnic. I used to love that. Felt like a pirate.’
‘You could come too,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘I might.’
‘How do you get over?’ he said, indicating the sweep of water.
‘Take a boat from the boathouse. Plenty there.’
‘Won’t your father kick up a fuss?’
She reflected. ‘Not if I came with. Though he might afterwards. I shouldn’t be fraternising with tradesmen.’
‘Not with your expensive education.’ And la-di-da voice, he might have added.
‘One gets tired of public schoolboys,’ she said. She had finished her sandwich and wiped her hands on her jeans. ‘I appreciate honest work.’ She sighed. ‘I hate what we’ve done to the caretaker and his family.’
‘They’re not too fond of you lot.’
‘And why should they be? We’ve done the dirty on George and Jenny Grove. But it isn’t so simple. This place is in trouble, moneywise. In fact, we could easily go bankrupt. And then we are all out on our ear.’
‘Then you’d have to marry a fat merchant banker.’
‘Oh heaven save me from that. I know a few. Boredom in pinstripes.’ She stood up. ‘Do you want to see the boathouse?’
‘Yes.’ He rose and stood by her side. ‘I’ve not had that invitation before.’
‘It’s not everyone I’d ask,’ she said as they strolled down the hill to the lakeside. ‘In fact,’ she began conspiratorially, ‘it’s where we used to go when we were in the fifth form. To smoke. And to kiss the boys.’ She laughed at her own memory. ‘I haven’t been inside for a couple of years. But I still have a key. At least I think I do.’ She took out her bunch of keys from her handbag and sorted through them. ‘This one, I think. That’s if they haven’t changed the lock.’
A pair of coots swam eagerly towards them.
‘No bread,’ she exclaimed, showing them her empty hands.
Jack considered sacrificing the half of sandwich he had left, but decided against it.
‘It’s a beautiful lake,’ he said.
‘Just over 250 metres long,’ she said. ‘Just right for our races. Lots of fierce sprints.’
They arrived at the boathouse.
‘Too many wasted afternoons here, puffing away,’ she said.
And kissing boys, he thought.
‘No. They haven’t changed the lock. Should really.’ Then reflected. ‘Though it’s not likely someone would steal a boat.’
She put the key in and turned it. Then pulled open one of the double doors. And almost immediately slammed it shut. But not quickly enough. For Jack had seen exactly what she had seen.
A stack of computers.
She took a step back, then said awkwardly, ‘I don’t think so. Not today.’
He wondered whether the picnic on the island would be out tomorrow. What with the boathouse full of contraband.
‘I saw,’ he said.
She waved her hands frantically. ‘This is terrible. I don’t know who is doing what.’ She looked to him nervously. ‘You won’t say anything?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ he said. ‘Some insurance fraud. Why should I give a toss?’
She kissed him.
Chapter 11
Jack was paying little attention to his work. The builder in him had a door to finish, but the animal had other priorities, none of which involved carpentry. He was here to work, he told himself. To earn money. But his coursing hormones had no interest in money. Somehow he continued working, measuring up the section of doorjamb he’d have to remove, went to write it in his notebook, but had forgotten the figure in the two paces.
He tried to convince himself of the simple truth; they were in different universes. Woodcutters do not marry princesses. So – the doorpost. Concentrate. The door itself wasn’t salvageable. The caretaker had a couple of spares in the basement, plus a range of timber. So Jack wouldn’t have to be out buying. With what anyway? The doorjamb was broken in the middle where the thieves had forced the door. The choice was replace the whole length of the jamb or take out the broken bit and screw in a new piece. He’d gone for the latter. If he did it carefully, it would be just as strong, wouldn’t show after painting, and he wouldn’t have to replace any beading.
Sex obtruded. It was as if he had two televisions on with separate programmes and was trying to concentrate on the quieter one.
A pity Mia was coming later. And staying for how long, he wasn’t sure. He’d find out from Alison at the station. That was the way of things. Complications. Commitments. Ellie was vibrant, beautiful, easy to get on with. Admittedly her family were doing the dirty on the caretaker and his missus. Ellie was sorry, but that was no help to the caretaker.
Such scruples his body had no time for. Go for it.
He was working at half speed. Reflecting all the time on what had happened at the boathouse. The embrace begun at the front, slid round to the back and continued on the bank of the lake, ignored by the coots. Clearly, the grappling couple were not going to give them bread.
They’d been interrupted by a phone call, which Ellie had answered huffily. Jack gathered that it was from her mother, and that Ellie was wanted at the house. Ellie complained she was working. But her mother was insisting, and then her sister had come into it. Ellie became angry, saying she’d already given up the deputy headship for her sake… And then Ellie had walked further away, wanting more privacy, and he’d caught a mention of her father, but little else.
They’d parted with a lingering kiss, she heading to the house, he to the school.
With square and tape, he measured and marked up. The jamb would need careful sawing. All the better. That might keep his mind on the job. In 90 minutes he’d have to leave to meet Alison and Mia, and wanted to get as much done as he could. Long tea breaks and cuddles behind the boathouse didn’t earn you money.
A bit of drilling to get him started. To block out the extraneous noise. The hiss and burr of steel into wood, the gripping of the handle and shaft. And then in sawdust and wood shavings, he became a carpenter for an hour.
Chapter 12
Ellie and Cathy sat on the two side armchairs, and Vicky on the sofa between, ready to play the referee.
‘So you’d be Head,’ said Ellie to her mother. ‘And then what?’
‘Depends how long I live,’ said Vicky. ‘In maybe ten years, we could be clear of debts.’
‘Fine, as far as it goes,’ said Ellie. ‘But Daddy won’t agree to any of it. You as Head? What’s he going to be doing all day? Making dinner, doing the shopping and ironing?’
‘Reluctant as I am to agree with my sister,’ said Cathy, ‘it’s all too clear. Bramley is his. Through his family. He won’t give it up.’
‘It’s mine, when he dies,’ said Vicky.
‘That’s not helpful, unless you have plans in that direction,’ said Ellie dismissively.
‘I do,’ said Vicky. ‘And that’s why I have you both here.�
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Ellie looked from one to the other. Cathy showed no surprise; they’d been discussing it already, she thought. The forbidden. They wanted her approval. She couldn’t believe it. Surely not?
‘There can be only one solution,’ said Cathy.
‘The two of you have it all worked out,’ she exclaimed, looking from one to the other. ‘You ran out of the office this morning,’ she directed to her mother, and then to her sister, ‘and you threw a wobbly at the meeting. All arranged. So you could conspire.’
‘Not quite so well organised, Ellie,’ said Vicky. ‘We took advantage of the fact.’
‘Daddy is out of control,’ said Cathy. ‘Surely even you can see that.’
‘Thank you for your faith in me,’ said Ellie blowing a raspberry. ‘And if I have now caught up with you two, and if I am not reading you wrong, it seems the two of you have decided to do him in. And you want me to agree. Is that so?’
‘Would you rather Bramley went into receivership?’ said Cathy.
‘Blunt instrument, gun or poison?’ said Ellie. ‘Have you decided the means? Or just the ends?’
‘Don’t be such an obstreperous fool,’ exclaimed Cathy. ‘We’re here, not somewhere else. Bramley is going down the chute hellishly fast. What other solution have you got?’
‘Cathy dearest, I object to walking into a room where all the decisions have been made beforehand,’ said Ellie with mock politeness. ‘What’s the point of me being here?’
Cathy threw her hands up. ‘I knew it would be this way. Unless she makes the decision, no one else is allowed to.’
‘It’s you, always wanting to control the agenda. And when you can’t – you walk out.’
‘Hark at Daddy’s favourite charmer! Nearly had your hands on Bramley this morning. One hundred per cent bankrupt stock! That’s my sister, all the way. Shagged your builder yet?’
‘Why? Do you want him?’
‘I saw you at the boathouse. Just like the old days. Have you put your knickers back on?’
‘I hope you’re recording this, Mummy.’
Vicky sighed. ‘Five minutes with the two of you and I am exhausted. Please, put enmity aside and concentrate. Once we’ve settled Father, then I’ll have a document made up – giving you both half of Bramley when I pass away. All yours. So there’s none of this squabbling about who gets what. In the meantime, there has to be a Bramley. Or you both get bugger all.’
Ellie knew she must clamp down the fury that meetings with her sister always stoked. She began breathing in and out slowly, counting to herself. One of them said something, the other reacted – and they were off. From time immemorial. That stuff about her knickers. Playground stuff. Mind you, another quarter of an hour at the boathouse and who knows? But how could Cathy be so holy? She could get through a football team. Stop. Think. Breathe.
She crossed her fingers on both hands and held them up.
‘Pax,’ she said.
Cathy gave a sniffy laugh. This was their childhood truce. Enabling them to talk, change the rules, before they started fighting again.
‘Pax,’ said Cathy, holding up her own crossed fingers. ‘I’ll make us all a coffee. And even trust you to talk with Mother while I’m out.’
Chapter 13
The doorjamb was repaired, the piece screwed in neatly. A little filler and paint and you wouldn’t know it was there. Should he leave it for today or hang the door? He looked at his watch, he had to get to the station to meet Alison and Mia. Well, he could at least bring the door up and be ready for the morning. And with luck be able to finish this door and the one on the computer room tomorrow.
The door was in the basement, where the caretaker kept assorted items that might be useful one day. Jack went out into the corridor to go downstairs, and there, maybe fifteen metres away, he saw a man lying flat out, face up.
What was this?
He ran over, stood over him and recognised him as the Headmaster. His first thought was heart attack. Jack knelt down, and at that level smelt the alcohol. Drunk. He knew this situation well enough, but from the other side. Jack loosened the man’s tie. And wondered what else to do.
In a similar position himself a few years ago, he’d somehow woken up in hospitals, in strange houses, on a park bench once. Now what to do? He shouldn’t really leave him here. The Head needed to be taken somewhere where he could be kept an eye on. Jack thought of phoning George, the caretaker. But then George might not be too helpful. It was not the caretaker’s job to deal with drunken Headmasters.
Especially if he’s just fired you.
Neither was it in Jack’s contract. But he had a sympathy for drunks. Poor saps conducting nightly suicides. In goes the poison, until the lights go out. Death of the mind, of responsibility, of fear and failure. He’d heard it all at his alcohol group, his semi-survivors’ group. The analysis of their degradation. With waking up came the comeuppance. The vomiting, the awful headaches, the shame, though it was surprising how quickly you put it out of mind. Or why would anyone go through that again?
He’d have to take him home.
How? Jack could hardly drag him. Drive him? But the effort of dragging him to the van, getting him inside, and getting him out the other end… Forget it. He had a wheelbarrow in the van. A somewhat undignified means of conveyance, but a drunken stupor hardly warranted a gold coach.
Leaving the Headmaster, Jack went out to the car park. He opened the back of his van and took out his wheelbarrow. And with it, a couple of painting sheets to cushion the metal.
And wheeled it back into the school.
The Head was heavy, an unhelpful, dead weight. Cumbrously, Jack lifted him in the barrow. And then shifted him so his weight was evenly distributed, head facing Jack at the front, his legs dangling over the back between the handles.
Jack pushed his passenger out of the school, and along the path to the big house. He was a weight, but Jack had pushed heavier ones in this same wheelbarrow and over rougher terrain. This path had paving flagstones or bitumen all the way.
He was about to turn into the drive of the house when George, the caretaker, saw him from the front garden of the gatehouse. Noting the load, he came striding up.
‘Drunk,’ said Jack.
‘And there’s me hoping he’d be dead,’ exclaimed George. He bent down and looked into the headmaster’s face, and grimaced at the alcohol smell. ‘You drunken slob,’ he went on. ‘You deserve to be dead for what you’re doing to me and my family. I hate your bloody guts. You lowlife stinker!’
‘Feel better for that?’ said Jack.
‘Lots,’ grinned George. And spat in the headmaster’s face.
Jack pushed him away.
‘That was uncalled for, George.’
The caretaker nodded. ‘Sorry. That was a bit much. But I am in such a fury… And all from that old prick.’
‘I know how you feel,’ said Jack. ‘Just don’t do it. He won’t see it or feel it, anyway. So there isn’t any point.’
Jack took out a grubby tissue, shrugged, and wiped the phlegm off the Head’s cheek.
George held his hands up. ‘You’re right, Jack. Keep it to yourself. He isn’t worth my spit. Take him home and dump him in the bath.’
Jack left him. The caretaker stood watching a while as Jack wheeled his load along the path. Then George headed back to his house. He was not going to help carry the drunk in.
At the big house, Jack left the wheelbarrow at the foot of the steps, went up them and rang the doorbell. He wondered at the reception he was going to get, bringing a drunken headmaster home in a wheelbarrow. Would he get thanked or cursed?
Ellie opened the door.
‘Hello, Jack,’ she said, obviously surprised.
Jack indicated his load at the foot of the few steps.
‘I found your dad, dead drunk in the school corridor.’
Ellie sighed. ‘Oh how shameful.’ She came down the stairs to look at him. ‘Daddy, Daddy, this is terrible. How could you?’
‘We’d best bring him in,’ she said.
Jack took his legs and arms, she took his feet. And they carried him up the stairs, and into the wide, dark wood hallway, past various portraits Jack had no opportunity to closely inspect. And was directed into a side room, where Cathy and her mother were drinking coffee.
‘He’s drunk,’ said Ellie, struggling with her half of her comatose father. ‘The builder here found him in the school corridor. And brought him over.’
Her mother vacated the sofa.
‘Put him there, please,’ she said.
Cathy moved the coffee table to make more room. And they dumped him on the sofa. Vicky put a cushion under his head.
‘Thank you very much, young man,’ said Vicky. ‘I’m sorry to put you to this trouble.’
‘I couldn’t leave him in the hallway, madam.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you for being so thoughtful. One moment.’
She went to her handbag.
‘It’s alright…’ Jack began. Not that he couldn’t do with it. But pride said take nothing.
She took out twenty pounds.
‘I can’t accept it,’ said Jack, holding up his hands. ‘I did what anyone would.’
‘Take it,’ ordered Cathy.
He was surprised at her harshness, and hesitated.
Cathy hurriedly took the note from her mother and pushed it into Jack’s hand.
‘We are grateful,’ she said coldly.
Jack looked at the money. There was no doubt he needed it. He eyed the harsh face of the woman who stood in front of him, clearly dismissing him. He was on the verge of throwing the twenty back at her, but hesitated too long. And instead pocketed the note.
Ellie saw him to the door.
‘I’m sorry about the tip,’ she said. ‘My family are like that. We have to tip. It is expected of us.’
‘I certainly wasn’t after it,’ he said, knowing that taking the tip put him in his place. As if he hadn’t done the task out of human decency but in the hope of a gratuity.