by R J Gould
‘Yes, you were a good boy, that’s for sure.’
‘Thank you,’ David replied, hearing the same claim for a third time.
‘Not like that sister of yours, she was a right little madam.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’
‘When she was one of those teenagers she was, I can tell you. All that loud music, punk wasn’t it? I don’t know how the rest of you coped.’
This was going in a direction David didn’t want to follow. ‘It wasn’t like that at all, we loved our childhood together.’
‘I’m only repeating what your mother told me, god rest her soul.’
‘Mother liked to grumble a bit, but she and Charlotte got on fine. In fact …’
‘Talking about me?’ Charlotte was by their side. How much had she heard?
‘I was just saying what a lovely family you were.’ Vivienne might have deteriorated, but a capacity to lie convincingly remained intact.
Jane approached the group. ‘David, I need to speak to you.’
Charlotte hadn’t spoken to her since the separation. ‘Hello, Jane, how are things?’
Jane didn’t reply, she was looking at David.
Vivienne chipped in. ‘You’re the wife who ran away, aren’t you? David was such a good boy.’
Jane didn’t reply to that either.
David faced his soon to be ex-wife. ‘What is it, Jane?’
‘Not here. Somewhere private, please.’
‘OK, let’s go upstairs.’ They left Vivienne and Charlotte together to talk about little madams, coping with teenagers and the social impact of punk music.
David led the way. He headed towards his old bedroom, but this had been the venue of their clandestine sex sessions ahead of getting a place of their own. It would be a poor choice given the circumstances. He did a quick about turn on the landing and they went into his mother’s room. Clothes were piled high in cardboard boxes and the bed was stripped down to the stained mattress. They sat on it.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I think you know very well. How could you, David?’
‘How could I what?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Donald’s told me everything.’
‘I have no idea. How could I what?’
‘You were so keen to rush the financial settlement, weren’t you? Now I know why.’
Sitting together on the bed, David could feel the heat of her anger. He stood and walked to the window, looking out over the large garden. The swing at the bottom was still there, though in a sorry state, the chains rusty and the wooden seat rotten. He’d spent many an hour on it as had his own children. The grass needed a mow; the March rain followed by the early April warmth had brought rapid growth. Flower beds housed untidy clumps of uncared for bushes. He wouldn’t miss the place, they should put it on the market as soon as possible.
He turned back to face Jane. ‘OK, I get it. What you’re implying is laughable. Remember, you were the one who wanted things done quickly. In time for a spring divorce and a summer wedding.’
‘You knew your mother had a weak heart.’
‘If you’re suggesting I knew she was about to die, that’s ludicrous.’
‘Is the amount of money Donald mentioned true?’
‘I’ve no idea what he told you, but I’m not prepared to discuss it.’
David walked away from the window, stopping at his mother’s dressing table. There were large opal necklaces and pearl earrings on it. The stones looked real enough, though Mr Spratt had informed him and Charlotte that the expensive stuff was stowed away in a bank safe. On seeing him looking at the jewellery Jane stood up and went across to inspect. David wasn’t comfortable with this and moved across to intercept. They stood close, eye to eye. Anger, distrust, and hate had replaced love.
‘What on earth are you going to do with all the money?’ Jane asked.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not your concern.’
‘Maybe it is. You’ve got enough to change the arrangement for how much I contribute towards the children’s maintenance.’
‘I’ve buried my mother today, Jane. This is not the time to have a discussion about anything to do with money,’ David asserted. ‘Much of it will go in tax, then half to Charlotte, and my half for a business venture I’m starting.’
‘Your café? I’ve heard about that from the kids. Why on earth are you chucking in a good job to do something so daft? I don’t understand.’
‘Well, it’s not for you to understand any more, is it? Perhaps more appropriate today is for you to offer your condolences.’
‘You never even liked her. She got on better with me than with you.’
‘Yes, maybe you were more similar than I ever realised.’
‘That’s insulting.’
David returned to the window and faced the garden. There was a splash of colour, a clump of purple tulips with petals open wide and drooping. Soon they would be rotting – like his mother.
The impasse continued as they both waited for the other to speak. Finally Jane left and he heard her stamp downstairs.
Rachel came into the room. ‘Dad? Everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine, Rachel,’ he said as she moved closer. He smelt tobacco.
‘Mum’s stormed out. What was that about?’
‘Just the usual post-separation hassles. She’s tough, she’ll get over it.’
‘I hope so, she was furious. We were on our way in and she brushed straight past us. Not even a bye.’
David shrugged.
‘Would you rather be alone?’ Rachel continued. ‘Shall I go downstairs?
‘No. Actually I’d like you to look at Grandma’s jewellery. See if there’s anything you want as a keepsake. Then as soon as everyone’s gone we’ll get going with clearing out her stuff.’
‘It’s weird. I don’t feel a strong sense of loss, but now you’ve said ‘clearing out her stuff’, like chucking away evidence of her life, I think it’s all very sad.’
When Sam came in to see what was going on, his father and sister were hugging.
Chapter Thirty-nine
David had returned from the funeral with a heady mix of guilt and anger – guilt because of the lack of a strong feeling of loss for his mother and anger because of Jane’s accusation.
Any feeling of unease had been replaced within a week by elation due to the arrival of two letters. The first was from his solicitor confirming that Jane had no claim on the inheritance, the second from his mother’s solicitor informing him that the transfer of money associated with her liquid assets was about to be made.
And now, less than one week after that good news, this wonderful day – the signing of the lease and possession of the property. They’d already commissioned an architect to draw up plans, and delighted with what she had suggested, the tender had gone out and the builder recruited.
Bridget was making a habit of racing round to David with a bottle of champagne. She’d done so when he’d telephoned with the news of the inheritance, repeated the action when he’d told her about the two letters, and now, having signed the lease and gained possession of the property, champagne was again flowing as they stood in the building, re-examining the architect’s plans ahead of meeting the builder. Excitement mounted as they discussed ideas for furniture, lighting, and décor.
It was time to consider colour schemes. They’d decided to go their separate ways to gather paint charts and highlight which colours they thought would work best. It would be fun to see how close their choices were.
They were not close at all. Bridget had chosen light greys and beiges, David had gone for bold primary colours.
‘But you love these colours, Bridget. Your house is full of them.’
‘But this isn’t my house. The café needs to be a place where people feel calm and relaxed.’
‘They’re like all the off white colours I got rid of in my house.’
‘No, they’re bolder than that. I’ve gone
for Scandinavian cool – that’s very popular now.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I know I’m right. You can’t have apple green or indigo or yellow on these vast walls.’
‘It would make a statement.’
‘Yes, it would do that, but not the one we want.’
The bickering continued for a while, developing into a rare argument. It was six o’clock when Bridget dropped down onto a rickety chair and David followed suit. A period of quiet reflection followed as each of them tried to imagine what the place would look like in their own and the other’s choice of colour.
Bridget broke the silence. ‘Look we don’t have to decide for ages. I’m absolutely shattered, let’s head on.’
‘Agreed. We’ve done enough for a day.’
David dropped off Bridget then headed home, desperate to unwind. He settled down to watch the recording of a TV drama about a group of factory workers who’d won the national lottery. The reviews had been positive and this light-hearted production would provide much needed escapism.
The doorbell rang. He waited in anticipation of either Sam or Rachel coming downstairs to answer it, but neither did. With reluctance he pressed pause on the remote and investigated. It was Jim.
The last thing David needed was this. He would not tolerate an accusation that he’d treated Jane unfairly.
‘May I come in, David?’ Jim always looked earnest and sincere. Perhaps it came from being a Philosophy lecturer. The rat.
‘I suppose so, but I’ve had a busy day so not for long if you don’t mind.’
After Jane had moved out, one to one conversation with Jim had been confined to the confrontation following the accidental burning of Jane’s clothes on Guy Fawkes Night. Since then there had been no more than nods in acknowledgement of each other’s presence when the children were being taken or collected from their two parents’ homes.
‘Don’t worry, this can be quick, but there’s something you need to know,’ Jim said. He had a face that exuded his mood and this one suggested the end of the world was nigh. David prepared his answer to what was to come. He had phoned his solicitor and there was no way Jane was entitled to any of the money left to him by his mother.
They sat in the lounge. The TV screen was frozen on a painfully thin, middle-aged lady wearing a factory overall. Temporarily static tears rolled down her cheeks. David was unsure whether they were tears of joy or sorrow because despite the win, not all was going well for the lottery winners.
‘Could we …?’ Jim suggested, nodding towards the screen.
‘OK,’ David conceded and switched off the TV. It struck him that when they had been friends Jim always got his own way. He had a knack of making it blindingly obvious that his preference was the logical one. He wasn’t going to win this time. ‘What do you want to talk about, Jim?’
‘About Jane. Jane and me.’
‘Look I know how she feels about my inheritance but I have to tell you …’
‘It’s nothing to do with money, David.’
‘What is it then?’
‘I’ve decided not to marry her, David.’
David was unsure how to respond. Jim had had what seemed like a wonderful marriage until poor Vanessa had died of cancer. She’d ignored the symptoms for ages and by the time it was diagnosed it was too late to take action. Jane, David too, had been supportive during the last few months of Vanessa’s life and then with Jim afterwards. Of course David hadn’t been aware of just how supportive Jane had been. Was it now evident to Jim that his love for his wife had been so strong that he couldn’t put her memory aside and remarry?
If this was the case, David had a suggestion. ‘You needn’t think about marriage. Just enjoy the relationship and see what happens in the future.’
‘I don’t only mean not marrying. It’s over between Jane and me, David.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else.’
David remained silent.
Jim continued. ‘A lecturer joined my department in January. We see eye to eye on everything. Right from the start we’ve spent hours in coffee bars and pubs chatting away on the same wavelength. It’s incredible, it’s like we’re telepathic. Yesterday we discussed producing a joint paper on free will versus determinism. You see Descartes viewed the mind as pure ego, a permanent spiritual substance. Of course since then –’
‘Jim, I’m not interested in that. I have similar ideas about the layout of balance sheets as some of my female accountancy colleagues, but that doesn’t mean I have affairs with them.’ Mary did cross David’s mind at that instant, but he brushed the thought aside.
‘Fair point, David. For me and Ursula it’s more than that. We’re in love.’
‘Does Jane know this?’
‘Yes she does. She’s rather upset, David.’
‘Rather upset! Honestly, what do you expect?’
‘Fair point, David.’
‘Stop saying “fair point” will you?’
‘Fair … yes, sorry, David.’
‘And stop putting a ‘David’ at the end of everything you say. It gets on my nerves.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean there are only the two of us in the room, not a group. When you speak it’s obviously addressed to me so there’s no need to end with “David”.’
Jim called up his hurt look. Head down, speaking even more softly than usual, he conceded. ‘If it bothers you that much I’ll stop doing it.’
‘Good,’ David replied, adding ‘Jim’ for good measure to make it evident he saw through the manipulation. But he didn’t anticipate what was to come.
Jim turned on his ‘deep in meaningful thought’ face as he looked around the room. ‘I’ve not been in here since you changed things. Jane told me how much she liked the new colour on the walls and I must say I rather agree.’ Once again his face transformed, now to an “I’ve suddenly thought of a great idea” mode. ‘You’re incredibly similar, you two. Made for each other. David, would you consider taking her back?’
‘What?’
‘Jane. Would you take her back? I think she still loves you, David.’
‘I have a new partner, Jim. Someone I love very much. And unlike you with Jane, I intend to ensure it’s long-lasting.’
‘There’s no need for that jibe, David.’
‘I think there is. You’ve quite possibly ruined her life.’
‘I don’t think so, David.’
‘Cut out the “David”, will you!’
‘Jane will be fine. She’s an attractive woman and let’s face it, there are plenty of fish in the sea for her to choose from.’
‘Including sharks. Fortunately not everyone behaves the way you do. I think you’d better go now.’
‘Yes, perhaps I should, David.’
Jim stood. Some people think a handshake makes up for appalling behaviour. Jim had attempted it when he and Jane had broken the news of their relationship and now Jim extended his hand once more. David refused to take it and marched Jim out to the hallway. Jim departed without a further word between them.
David was shocked to hear the news, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was Jane’s problem. He returned to the lounge, switched on the TV, and fast forwarded to the point where the factory worker was crying. He was pleased to see they were tears of joy. The drama moved on to a younger winner who had bought a flash sports car and then been caught speeding by the police. Offering them a £200 bribe to let him off was not a good idea. It looked like the police were going to arrest him – which was a bit of a problem because his wife’s waters had broken and he wasn’t answering his mobile. The drama was hotting up.
Chapter Forty
David told Bridget about Jim’s visit as they were driving to the café the following day.
‘Maybe she deserves it, but what a bastard he is.’
‘To be truthful, I can’t help feeling sorry for Jane.’
‘That’s very generous of you.
Oh look, the builder’s already arrived, that’s his van across the road.’
They waved to the builder as they unlocked the door and he followed them in. Greg Saunders was carrying his copy of the architect’s plans together with what turned out to be his work schedule. They walked round the premises discussing the order that things would be done, with Greg checking that their ideas matched his interpretation of what the architect had drawn up.
‘Is the architect managing the project?’
‘No, that’ll be me,’ Bridget said.
Greg frowned and looked across to David to verify that this was indeed the case. David was about to speak when Bridget continued.
‘I’ve given up my job so I’ll be able to pop in every morning to check your plans for the day. I’m assuming that’s acceptable.’
Greg nodded. ‘I must say though, this schedule is very tight.’
‘The reason we chose you is because you indicated it could be done within our time frame.’
‘That’s true enough,’ he conceded, addressing his response to Bridget. ‘But one of my jobs is taking longer than I expected and I’ve got two decorators off at the moment.’
Bridget had taken the lead. ‘That’s your problem to sort. This work schedule of yours shows completion on time.’
‘I wrote it only a few days ago, but things change quickly in this industry.’
‘What exactly do you see as the bottlenecks?’
‘Getting men in to knock down this wall,’ he said pointing, ‘then the brickwork. I can’t do anything until those jobs have been done. After that, like I’ve said, my problem is decorators.’
‘Surely you can get your team to do overtime for the wall and the brickwork over this weekend, they’re hardly massive jobs are they?’
‘I might be able to do that …’
‘I’m sure you can.’
‘Then there’s the decorating, like I said.’
‘Well, again, overtime during evenings if you can’t find freelancers to help you out. And we’re both free to paint if need be, though if we’re involved that would need to be knocked off the bill.’