by Paul Gait
‘Anyway. I’m quite pleased with how things have turned out for all of them,’ he said, quickly changing the subject.
Just then Geoffery’s mobile rang. He looked at the Caller’s ID on the small LCD display and saw the name ‘Carrie’. Answering it quickly, he put the phone to his ear. Initially all he could hear was wind noise and then a very excited Tim.
‘Right Godfather, Mr Geoffery ‘effing’ Foster. Where’s my money? I’ve done it! I’m here, in the snow, on top of BEN NEVIS,’ he shouted jubilantly above the wind noise. ‘I’m ‘effing’ knackered, but we did it. Give us a hug girl.’ Geoffery heard him say to Carrie.
‘Congratulations to you both,’ Geoffery said beaming. ‘See I told you that you could do it. …and no frostbitten toes either? Take care coming down. Give my love to Carrie.’
Sitting next to Geoffery, Andy could hear the conversation and punched the air with joy at the news.
‘He’s done it then,’ he said. ‘Well! Well! Well! Just goes to show what you can do, if you have the right motivation.’
Geoffery switched off the phone. He was pleased that his planning and persistence had finally given the slothful Tim a sense of worth and achievement.
‘Although, I think we can say, that without Carrie he would still be glued to his Xbox or whatever it was he used to play on.’ Geoffery said smiling.
‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Andy agreed.
‘That reminds me.’ Geoffery said, foraging in the briefcase at his feet. ‘While we’re feeling pleased with ourselves. Here are the wages that I promised you when you negotiated your terms of engagement,’ he said, handing Andy an envelope. ‘Happy Christmas. I’ve signed this car over to you as well. You’ll find the log book in there too.’
‘I don’t know what to say! Except, thank you very much,’ Andy said, taking the envelope. ‘When we first met I wasn’t sure that you had a…I hope you don’t mind me
saying…a conscience. But the last few months have shown me a different side to your character. Your thoughtfulness and persistence in helping your Godsons and their families, in spite of your health challenges, has convinced me that you are a very caring person after all.’
‘I had a very good mentor, didn’t I?’ Geoffery said weakly, as if the effort of reminiscing about the last few months had drained all his energy.
‘You sure you’re OK?’ Andy said concerned. ‘Do you want me to give you anything?’
‘No, it’s OK, thanks. It certainly has been a busy time. I’m feeling a bit tired that’s all,’ Geoffery said quietly. ‘I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit.’
‘It sure has,’ Andy agreed. ‘Did you want to go back to the hospice?’
‘No, I’m quite happy here thanks.’
‘OK I’ll wander off and stretch my legs, while you have a doze. I won’t be long,’ Andy said, getting out of the car. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK? Are you warm enough?’ he asked concerned for him.
‘Yes fine. I feel wonderful. Better than I have for a long time,’ came the unconvincing reply.
Andy closed the door gently. Pulling his coat collar up and hunching his shoulders against the cold winter wind, as he moved away from the car. The tyre rutted ground was as hard as iron. Andy had been told that in certain windy conditions, the wind came directly from Siberia, as there was no other high ground in between here and there. The icy wind, that chilled Andy’s face, convinced him that there might be some element of truth in the rumour.
Here and there, where the winter sun had not penetrated, white patches of Jack Frost’s handiwork still lingered in the hollows. He wandered up to the edge of the common looking at the skeletal trees and bushes that made up the small nature reserve. The sun was dipping below the horizon turning the sky multicoloured, oranges, yellows, golds. The soft heavenly colours making the winter landscape like a surreal painting, creating bizarre patterns on the rare limestone grassland. Across the other side of the windswept, grass covered common, he could see the gently rolling hills which would normally be speckled with cotton wool dots of grazing sheep.
‘It had been a strange few months,’ he reflected. ‘Hopefully, the initiatives that Geoffery had put in place, would improve his Godsons lives.’
He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and felt the envelope that Geoffery had given him. ‘Wow, how lucky was he? A new car and a cheque.’ He felt almost greedy opening the letter to see the contents.
Turning his back against the chill wind, he opened it excitedly. Inside he found a brief note, and clipped to it there were two cheques with the Car Registration Certificate. The first cheque was made out to him, it was for Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, a quarter of a million pounds. Andy couldn’t believe the amount. He had to do a double take, but the figures read the same. Beneath it, another cheque fluttered in the breeze. It was made out to the Scout Troop for Twenty Thousand pounds. ‘What’s this for, I wonder?’ He turned back to read the note.
Dear Andy,
No words that I can conjure up will ever convey my deep gratitude for what you have done for me over the last few months. You have helped me fulfill an impossible dream. To achieve something special in the closing phase of my life. My Godsons and their families have a lot to thank you for also. Happy Christmas and Thank you.
Your good friend Geoffery
P.S. I hope the cheque for you and your family doesn’t upset your high principals about wealth. The cheque for the Scouts is to be invested for the young people and ongoing maintenance of the Foster Lodge.
A noise suddenly cut through the stillness and broke into Andy’s thoughts. ‘Ha, Ha, Ha, Haha.’ It was the sound of the ‘woody wood pecker’ ring tone on his mobile. He had to continually tell astonished bystanders, that it was his daughter’s choice, not his.
‘Good afternoon. Yes this is he. Sorry, what did you say?’ he said shielding the mobile from the piercing wind. ‘Oh that’s great, I’ll let him know straight away.’
Andy ran quickly back to the car, pocketing his mobile. His breath, a vapour trail of his exertions.
‘Geoffery! Geoffery,’ Andy said, gently pulling open the driver’s door.
Geoffery’s head was leaning against the passenger window. Against his chest was a picture. It was a picture in a frame. A picture of a smiling woman in a silver picture frame, which was twisted and dented.
Andy leant into the car and put his hand on Geoffery’s shoulder shaking him gently.
‘Geoffery. There’s a lady at the clinic, waiting to see you. I think her name is Nadine. She’s flown in from Monaco….Geoffery!’
There was no response. Andy knelt into driver’s seat and quickly searched for a pulse in the thin neck. There was none. Geoffery was gone.
‘Oh Geoffery,’ he said quietly at the still figure. His eyes brimming with tears. ‘I’m sorry. She was just too late, wasn’t she?’ Uncharacteristically, he found himself weeping. ‘What was the George Elliot thing you used to say? ‘It’s never too late to be who you might have been’. Goodbye my friend. You succeeded in your own challenge. You were a great Godfather after all.’
The Sun had finally set for Geoffery Foster.
All rights reserved
Copyright © Paul Gait, 2012
Paul Gait is hereby identified as author of this
work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988
The book cover picture is copyright to Paul Gait
ISBN in epub: 978-1-78148-004-5
This book is published by
Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd
28-30 High Street, Guildford, Surrey, GU1 3EL.
www.grosvenorhousepublishing.co.uk
This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's or publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imp
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A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Paul Gait asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.