Sign of the Times
Page 31
Jack dropped his briefcase on one of the wooden Mackintosh style chairs. Dumping his raincoat on top, he headed over to the bar, keeping one eye on the table.
“Vodka and coke, please,” he motioned to the bartender. The barman returned with said vodka and coke and wiped the bar with a damp cloth, before putting the drink on a beer mat. Jack handed the barman a fiver and told him to keep the change. He realised he hadn’t let Antonia know he was going out with Oscar and she might be expecting him, even though he was often late. He pressed Home on his contacts list.
“Hello?” Clara said.
“Hi sweetheart. It’s me.”
“Hi Dad. You looking for Mum?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Just a sec.”
“OK.”
“Guess what Dad?”
“The Pope came for tea?”
“Don’t be silly,” his daughter said.
“Elvis has risen from the dead?”
“No!”
They often played this game, whenever Clara said ‘guess what?’ She paused for dramatic effect and said, “one of my poems is being published in a collection.”
“That’s fantastic”
“Isn’t it?”
“You must be pleased.”
“I am quite chuffed. In fact, I’m off to see what else I can come up with before I become an adult and have no imagination left.”
Her father chuckled and a minute later Antonia came on the line.
“She told you?”
“Yes. Isn’t it great?”
“Yes. A budding poet in our midst.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the pub. Thought I’d catch up with Oscar tonight. I’m having one of my days.”
Antonia knew what that meant. She hated when he was like this. Far better for him to be with Oscar.
“Get a cab then.”
“Of course I’ll get a cab. You couldn’t have a highly respected member of the legal profession driving about the city centre pissed, could you?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” mumbled Antonia.
“I heard that and I hope you’re not talking about me,” he spluttered indignantly.
“No, just your colleagues.”
“That’s all right then. I’ll just grab something to eat here.”
“Are you in court tomorrow?”
“Do you think I’d be in the pub if I was?”
“S’pose not. OK, see you later.”
“Bye.”
As Jack closed his phone, he caught sight of Oscar approaching.
“How’s it going?” he stood up to shake his friend’s hand.
“Not bad. You look well.” Jack was a dead ringer for Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. Oscar appeared rumpled and distracted, Jack thought, as if he’d already been out drinking, which Jack knew wasn’t the case. He’s obviously working too hard, his friend thought.
“What would you like?” Jack asked.
“Guinness, extra cold, please.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Jack handed Oscar his drink and then sitting down, pulled the chair closer to the table.
“So, what you been up to?” Jack asked.
“Working. You know I hope to branch out on my own?” Oscar said, wiping away his Guinness moustache with the back of his hand.
“Well, I’m working on some pretty high profile accounts, nurturing important relationships, so that when I do,” Jack noticed Oscar’s use of ‘when’, not ‘if’, “start up on my own, I have the contacts.”
“So have there been any more developments on that front? Have you spoken to the bank?” Jack was curious, as he knew Oscar worked really hard and was very enthusiastic about estate agency and although there were tighter rules and regulations these days, he felt that if Oscar did get a chance, he would make a success of it. He had never discussed it with him, but if Oscar managed to get the bank’s backing, then Jack might consider investing in his company.
“Yes, but the less said about that the better.’
‘Fair enough,’ raising his glass, Jack said, “Slainte.”
“Slainte!” Oscar replied.
Jack decided now was not the best time to suggest a partnership to Oscar, for two reasons, this damned credit crunch causing a slowdown of the housing market and he had too much on his plate. Maybe in a few months.
“So, how’s the family?”
“The same. Antonia’s working herself crazy. Difficult to say who’s working more.”
“Yeah, it must be hard for her. She told me you’ve lost your cleaning lady.”
“Yes, she’s got a job in a call centre. What’s the poor woman to do? Now, we’re trawling the agencies, searching for a new one. I’m bribing Clara to do chores and Antonia’s doing the rest.”
“What about Felix?” Oscar asked.
“Felix is…Felix,” Jack said eventually. “He’s at a difficult age and becoming more withdrawn. I don’t recognise the boy I used to take fishing, hill-walking and go-karting. Now it’s all about this band he’s in. I can’t even remember their name, but it’s awful, Mangled Dead or something,” Jack finished, shaking his head.
“Well, we all went through our wild stages. Didn’t you?”
“Doesn’t mean I’m happy when it’s my own child.”
“S’pose not,” Oscar conceded.
“What about you and Gaby?” Jack asked, his eyes regarding Oscar closely. “You two not thinking of having kids?”
“Well, sort of, but Gaby’s, you know, a hot-shot career woman.”
“So was Antonia. So is Antonia, but we still popped a couple out,” Jack said blithely.
“I know, but try telling that to Gaby. Anyone she knows with kids has changed beyond all recognition. It’s all children’s TV and ‘look, the baby smiled’, when it simply had wind, or her friends came to the door to greet her, covered in vomit and smelling as if they hadn’t washed in a fortnight. It frightens her. Same again?” Oscar asked.
“Yeah, vodka and coke.”
“I’ll be right back.” Oscar sauntered over to the bar.
“So, golfing on the twenty seventh?” Oscar asked Jack, when he sat back down.
“Yes, Troon, isn’t it?”
“Yes, tee off at nine.”
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“That would be great. I can’t wait, a rare day off.”
“No, nor can I,” Jack agreed.
When Jack next looked at his watch, he saw nearly three hours had passed.
“Oscar, I didn’t realise it was so late. I’m going to have to run,” Jack said, draining his glass.
“No problem. I best get home too, see my wife before she goes to bed,” Oscar replied meaningfully.
They left the bar and walked up the street, trying to flag down taxis.
Chapter Fifty Three
“Hi,” Jack whispered in his wife’s ear, as she lay dozing on the sofa.
Startled, she said, “What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“I must have dropped off,” Antonia said sleepily.
“Do you want some hot chocolate?”
“No, I’d rather have a toddy. My throat’s sore.”
“Hope you’re not coming down with something.”
Antonia gave her husband a look. She never came down with anything. She was indestructible in that department.
“Right, a toddy it is then,” Jack said hastily, backing out of the living room to fetch the whisky mixture for his wife. He was traditional with his toddies. Boiling the kettle, he sliced a lemon, added some honey and a generous measure of whisky, before pouring the water in. Antonia accepted it gratefully. He sat on the arm of the sofa as his wife blew on the liquid, before sipping it.
“So, what’s new with you today?” he asked.
“Just usual staffing problems, shortages, unhappy customers, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds scintillating.”
“Tis.”
“Jack, didn’t I just say I have a sore throat,” Antonia said irritably. Jack was suitably chastened.
“I’m going to have a shower,” he said, tugging off his tie and kicking off his shoes. Before he left the room, he kissed Antonia chastely on the side of her cheek and padded upstairs to their ensuite, to have a cold shower.
Six hours later, Jack was up again. Waking before the alarm, he peeked through the blinds. A light drizzle was falling from the sky. Undeterred, he splashed his face with water, put on his running gear and quietly let himself out of the house. He loved this time of the morning. No-one was around. Women didn’t dare go jogging alone early in the morning anymore. Jack did his best thinking at this time of day. He ran in the direction of Eastwood Golf Club. People who lived round here didn’t tend to get up until later. Give it another hour, Jack thought and you wouldn’t be able to move for BMWs, Audi A6s, people carriers and 4x4s.
He loved the silence. Even now, as he ran along the deserted streets, he could hear his own footfalls thudding on the pavement. A keen runner, he’d done a few marathons in his time, including the New York one when he was forty-two. No-one could call him a slacker in anything he did. He felt better and thought better when he was fit. He tried to instil this into his family, but to no avail. Whereas Clara took dance lessons and rode horses, Felix was permanently attached to either a sound system or a laptop. Antonia didn’t exercise much either. Although she had a full-membership at the gym, she only made a half-hearted attempt to go once or twice a month. She was often away on business and when she wasn’t, she was taking care of their family. Guiltily, Jack wondered if perhaps he helped with the housework occasionally, would she make the effort. He wasn’t good at housework though. He did cook sometimes, when they had guests, but he wasn’t good at rustling up a meal out of the contents of the fridge and certainly not in twenty minutes. He needed a good, complex recipe, which would take him two hours of preparation and three of cooking and taste exquisite. Maybe it was because he had so much pressure in other areas of his life that he wanted to feel as little as possible in his home life. He hated ironing, with a vengeance. In fact, did Antonia even do that now? Didn’t she sub it out to Pressed for Time or Laundry Basket or one of these other agencies? Was it bad that he didn’t know?
Apart from investments, Antonia dealt with the day to day running of the family finances too. She paid all the bills, did all the shopping and dealt with any maintenance to the house. Maybe he should broach the subject with her, about getting fit, or should he just suggest they go for a walk on Sundays, start her off gently. Felix barely participated in their weekend life and although Clara was sometimes around for meals, when she didn’t have activities, she was often out, or having sleepovers with her friends. Sometimes Jack missed the close relationship he’d had with Clara when she was little. She really was his princess.
He’d reached the half way point and jogged up and down on the spot checking his time, before turning around and running back the way he’d come. He reckoned he could break thirty minutes this time, if he kept up his pace. Lengthening his stride, he was home in a record twenty nine minutes, forty eight seconds. A sheen of sweat covered him from top to toe. Jack kicked off his trainers at the front door and padded upstairs, where he heard the shower running.
“Morning,” he popped his head around the bathroom door, almost frightening Antonia out of her wits.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously not.”
“New time?”
“Yes. I knocked fifteen seconds off.”
“Well done. Are you going to shower next door?”
“Yes, kids up yet?”
“Don’t think so. Do you want coffee?”
“Yes, thanks. Any chance of a bagel?” he cajoled.
“Just this once. Smoked salmon and cream cheese?”
“You know me too well,” Jack smirked before heading for the guest bathroom.
Felix wasn’t up before Jack left, but Clara came down in her pyjamas.
“Morning, Dad,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jack smiled up at his daughter, from his place at the table, where he was sipping coffee, The Herald spread out in front of him. Often he met the paperboy on the way back from his run, but not today.
“Is there any coffee left?” his daughter asked.
“Yes, I made a whole pot.”
“You mean Mum did,” his daughter censured him.
“Caught,” Jack laughed.
Jack hadn’t seen his daughter yesterday. She wasn’t up when he left for work and was already in bed when he arrived home. She’s taken a real stretch, he thought. Soon she’ll overtake her mum. Her height must come from me, he thought. Clara looked more like him, whereas Felix, if he looked like anyone, under all that hair, was more like Antonia.
“Where’s Mum?”
“Getting dressed.”
“Daaad?” Clara said. In this respect she was very much like any female Jack knew. She had a special way of dragging out a word, so you knew a request was coming up in the next sentence.
“Yeeeeees, Clara,” by now he knew the game.
She drew her father a look. “Are we going on holiday this year?”
Jack hesitated. He knew the kids would go stir crazy over the holidays if they didn’t, but he was simply too busy and Antonia was inundated too.
“Maybe for the October week,” he replied, at which Clara’s face instantly lit up.
“Where?” she asked, sitting on her hands, so as not to jump up and down in glee.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Tell you what, why don’t I get some brochures?”
So grown up, he thought. “Where would you like to go?”
“New York.”
“New York?” Jack was taken aback. “Why New York?”
“Well, there’s the Guggenheim, the Museum of Natural History, Central Park, the Empire State Building and…”
“OK, I get it,” her father interrupted her. “What does Felix think?”
“Oh, I haven’t asked Felix. He probably won’t even go.”
“He’ll be going,” her father said determinedly, not daring to think what could happen in their week long absence. New York, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
They could go to Carnegie Hall one night. They hadn’t been to Broadway for more than twenty years, when they celebrated their wedding anniversary. Perhaps they could fit in a performance at the Met. He’d heard Tristan and Isolde was airing in New York this season. Conspiratorially he said to his daughter, “OK, I’ll try to talk your mum into it. But it’s our secret for now.”
Once again Jack’s day was full. He’d never been in such demand. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. His conscience told him it was bad, as it meant there were more criminals. His bank balance told him it was good, but as he’d just mulled over the other night, was that really what was important? Well, no, but Clara wanted to go to New York and he couldn’t blame her. He felt guilty again, this time that the kids weren’t getting a summer holiday. He needed to spend more time with them. He often felt his profession was like the little Dutch girl who put her finger in the dyke, to stop the water pouring through.
Jack went over the paperwork in front of him again. It was odd that this case was being tried in the High Court, although if it were left to him, all cases of Causing Death by Dangerous Driving would be tried there. Very few were in fact, resulting in much lighter sentences. His client, whose brother was killed in the incident, was one of those few. James Brodie, eighteen, driving without insurance and whilst banned for speeding, had collided head-on with the Renault Espace which Alan Fairlie was driving when Brodie had strayed onto the wrong side of the road, at seventy miles an hour. Miraculously the other passengers were OK, although
the son suffered a broken leg, but no other injuries, apart from a few cuts and scrapes. The ten week old baby in his car seat in the back was unscathed.
Chapter Fifty Four
When Jack arrived home, he met Felix coming out. “Awright Dad?”
“Not bad, son. Where you off to?” This was meant as a polite enquiry, not the Spanish inquisition Felix took it for.
Scowling, he said, “Just out.”
“Right,” but his son had already gone. One of these days he would know how to deal with Felix. Antonia wasn’t much better with him. When Felix was younger, Antonia and he had been close, but now, he doubted anyone could get close to him.
Clara was home. “So, how’s my favourite girl?” her father asked. Clara pretended to cringe, but secretly she was pleased.
“Daadddd!” Clara said. He grinned and mussed her hair.
“Watch the do,” she said.
“So, what have you been up to today?” Jack asked as he put the kettle on.
“This and that.”
“This and that?”
“Yep.”
“So, how’s about you tell me what this and that entailed?”
Sighing, Clara said, “Well, after school, I read a bit of Pride and Prejudice and then tidied up. Mum’s always tired when she comes in.”
Again, that stab of guilt. “Tell you what, why don’t we surprise Mum? Why don’t we make dinner? What’s your best dish?
“Spaghetti carbonara,” Clara replied without hesitation.
“OK, spaghetti carbonara it is,” Jack replied, taking off his jacket. He washed his hands and then said,
“OK, what do we need?”
Clara counted out the ingredients on her fingers, checking as she went along, that they had everything.
The phone rang. It was Antonia. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” she told Clara.
“Make it ten,” shouted Jack, so she could hear. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
“What’s your father shouting about?” Antonia asked.
“He says be home in ten. Dinner’s nearly ready.”