Duty and Delusion

by Shawna Lewis

  The prospective grandparents scarcely spoke. They weren’t the type to rant and rave in front of a stranger, though the blow hit them like a canonball in the midriff.Yet they lived on. Melanie eyed the blonde soon-to-be-sister-in-law and scorned her visible dark roots and chipped nail art. What would she tell Chelsey?

  Two more places were laid at the tea table, discussion deferred until after the boiled ham and cheesecake, which Job wasn’t allowed in case of allergic reaction.

  Aidan’s parents didn’t know where to start, but it did have to be discussed. The young couple insisted that this was ‘for keeps,’ that they knew what they were doing, that everything would be just fine.

  “But what about university?” The boy had been the first potential graduate in the family. Their hopes had rested on him.

  “Well, it’s not what I expected anyway. And there aren’t any forests round here… and Candy wouldn’t want to move away. It would disrupt Job’s education.” The young man took his future responsibilities as a father very seriously.

  “But it’s disrupting your own education,” Belinda pleaded. “All that effort passing your exams! All that money wasted!”

  “And what do you think you’re going to live on?” This was Doug, who was really getting quite cross. “Do you work, Candy?”

  “She’s a PA.” Aidan spoke up proudly.

  “I worked for my ex so I’m on Jobseekers’ now.” Then, muttering as if to herself, “There’s no way I can get a job – I have to be here for Job if he’s not well.”

  “How did you manage before?”

  “I took him with me! It was his dad’s office so it were alright. And the ex-mother-in-law had him sometimes if I had to go out, but she’s not having him now.”

  “And Candy was poorly when she was expecting Job, weren’t you, darling?” Aidan stroked his love’s head fondly. “We need to look after her and the baby.”

  “So I’ll ask again… what are you going to live on? Because I’m not keeping you! Your mother’s just lost her job, too. We’ve paid your tuition fees for the year, so you can bloody well get back to Wales when term starts and take your… fiancée… with you. And her kid!”

  “You don’t mean that, Dad. You’re a good father. I hope to follow in your footsteps and be a good one to Job and the baby. Anyway, I’m thinking of going into property development. There’s money to be made.”

  “Only if you’ve got money to invest. How much have you got?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Money? Saved? To invest?”

  “I thought we could go into business together, with your skills.”

  “Dream on, Sunshine! If this is you being responsible, God help the kid. I’ve been working away from home, every hour I can get, to keep you, your sister and your mother fed, clothed and housed. And you expect me to say, ‘Oh, how lovely, two strangers and a foetus to provide for!’ as well? And I thought you were the clever one of the family!”

  This reception was not what Aidan had hoped for: the family had not taken his Candy to their hearts as readily as he’d expected, and she was looking quite flushed; Job was cowering behind the sofa pretending to be a cat.

  “Where are you living now, Candy?” Belinda asked. There just was not enough room at Number 18 for the three of them, but they ought at least to consider the options.

  “I’m still in the house, but it’s owned by Tyson’s business so everything’s got to be sold. They’ve found a buyer. Me and Job have to move out within the next two weeks.”

  “Don’t want to move!” yelled Job. “And I don’t want to live here. It stinks!”

  “That’s just Melanie’s perfume,” Aidan reassured him. “I grew up here and it was just fine. You’ll soon get used to it.”

  “Won’t.”

  “We just haven’t got room.” Belinda was quietly pleased to hear Aidan’s childhood had been ‘just fine’.

  “Mum, I’ve something else to tell you. I’ve been doing some modelling… earned a bit of money that way. And I’ve just heard from the people who use me that I can go and live with them some of the time. There’ll be room for Job and Candy here while I’m working up in Leeds. Then when I come home, Mel can go to Gran and Granddad’s. I’ve got it all worked out!”

  “No-one’s having my room!” Melanie had found her voice.

  “Modelling?” Doug’s face was purple. “Modelling? What sort of bloody modelling?”

  Aidan explained as vaguely as possible, sensing that telling the whole truth could be hazardous. He was concerned by the colour of his father’s face and the throbbing veins visible on his temples. His mother, on the other hand, had turned white, and sat, hands clasped on her lap, still as alabaster. Melanie stood in the doorway and pulled her tongue at the little boy, who was unimpressed.

  Doug walked out into the garden, fists clenched. They could hear him using a hammer to check the strength of the fencing panels. A cracking sound revealed a weak spot. More followed. Belinda started to think about new fencing.

  It was Candy who breached the impasse.

  “Pick up your toys, Job.” The boy had brought a few Lego bricks and a remote-controlled truck with him. It was just like his real dad’s truck. “It’s time we were getting home.”

  Civility returned. Belinda fetched the coats, checked for anything left behind, and accompanied Candy and Job to the door, inwardly pleading that her own boy would stay. But no. He followed his new family down the path, turning to wave as the gate clicked shut behind him.

  His mother and sister took themselves to bed. His father soon discovered just how weak the fencing was. When it got dark he came inside, logged on and browsed fence merchants’ websites until 3am.

  He was due back in Sunderland at eight. Seeing his wife sleeping soundly as he left, he lifted the telephone receiver from its dock and laid it on the arm of the sofa. She needed her rest, and he didn’t want her disturbed by any more nonsense about that village hall roof.

  31

  The small red hatchback sat at the roadside for an hour before Phil arrived to open the gates. The wife had been giving him earache about money as usual, and the motorhome entrepreneur had been forced to admit that the business’s days were numbered. The revelation did not go down well. What with a six-week cruise booked and skiing a must for the winter, Mrs Dunne was not going to accept the situation in silence.

  The hatchback’s owner had been bothering Phil like a gnat you just can’t swat. He’d lost count of the inspections and test drives he’d let her have. A time-waster, he’d said from the start, and his patience was running out.

  The car followed him through the gates and she was by his side before he’d opened the office door.

  “I’ve come about the Happilarks Safari Supremo.”

  Phil sighed. “You’ve already test driven that twice.”

  “I want to buy it.”

  This had to be a wind-up. No way could she afford the fifty-four grand.

  “Do you want another look?”

  “No. I’ve decided.”

  In the office, Phil broke a tacky cobweb as he fished details of various easy-purchase options from the filing cabinet. He tossed the brochures onto his desk.

  “You need to take a look at these.” His voice was sullen. “How much deposit have you got?”

  “No deposit.”

  He thought as much. This woman was a slate short of a roof if he wasn’t very much mistaken. He regarded her blankly.

  “I’ll pay cash.”

  Phil could hear only the blood pounding in his ears.

  “Let’s see it, then.”

  “First, I want to give my car in part-exchange. How much will you offer?”

  So this was her game. Trying to offload her runabout, then do a bunk. But a sale was a sale, and Pakamac could easily offload the hatchback – no bother. He eyed t
he red car through the window.

  His chest swelled with magnanimity. “I’ll give you a couple of grand off the price of the Safari Supremo.”

  “Done.”

  He gaped.It was worth four, easily.

  “How long will it take you to get the cash?” Maybe the cruise could be saved in the nick of time.

  “I have it with me.” Belinda left the Portakabin office and slowly moved the car beside Phil’s own company vehicle. Back inside, she tossed a brown envelope onto the desk.

  “There’s the logbook and MOT. There’s three months left on that. It’ll be a good buy for someone.” It felt as though, with the document, she had passed half her life over to PD RoamerHomes.

  She went back to the car, returning with a calico bag bearing the emblem of a charity for the homeless. Hefting it onto the desk, she lifted out a muddle of brown padded envelopes, which she up-ended one by one.

  Rubber bands held the notes together in bundles of mixed denominations, each totalling £1000. Methodically, she counted them out one by one, pushing aside the telephone and other desk paraphernalia to make space. When the desk was full, she used the top of the filing cabinet.

  She stopped when fifty-two bundles were laid out.

  “What about insurance?” Phil ventured.

  “It’s all sorted. I’ve spoken to a broker who’s given me a quote. As soon as I’ve got the documentation, I’ll give them a call and pay by card.”

  Phil wanted to believe this was not a scam, that he could go home that night and tell his wife to pay the balance on that cruise. He longed for a night at the pub when he could stand a round for his mates instead of sloping off after a swift half on his own.

  “Is there something I need to sign?” Bel was getting impatient.

  He fumbled about in his desk. He’d not sold a motorhome for so long that he’d forgotten where the paperwork was kept. Eventually, he thrust the form under her nose. She signed, and passed her pen to him. He added his signature in a daze, trying to suppress a grin of satisfaction, and held up the keys.

  “I’d like you to make that call to your insurance company now, if you don’t mind.”

  If the woman were criminally insane, as he suspected, he didn’t want to get caught in the flack when she ran amok in the Safari Supremo.

  “Use the desk phone if you like. I’ll wait outside.” He eased his way to the door and slid out, to prevent the wind disturbing the bank notes.

  Five minutes later she joined him on the forecourt, holding out her hand for the leather key fob.

  “Would you just help me unload a few things from the boot?”

  He nodded and opened the lid. Two large suitcases, a roll of bedding, a plastic crate of kitchenware, what looked like a decapitated wooden snail and several shopping bags of foodstuffs covered the flatbed behind the front seats. She stood to one side while he transferred them into the Supremo.

  With some difficulty she clambered into the driver’s seat, started the ignition and slammed the door shut. The window glided down.

  “Where are you off to?” Phil shouted above the purr of the engine. He’d better have some idea in case the Feds came calling.

  “Just somewhere I once lived – over to the west!” she called, as she pressed the accelerator, turned a perfect semi-circle and drove out past the spiked railings. She pipped the horn twice in triumphant farewell.

  Deciding on a quick call at the village hall, Bel moved up through the gears, ignoring waves and hoots from passers-by. She needed to put some miles behind her before she was due at work for her final shift. From tomorrow, Denswick Public Library would be administered by three squabbling volunteers, none of whom was willing to do any cleaning or put out the bins. Good luck to them, Belinda thought, although Bel decided to add their names to her little list, which was not so little now.

  *

  Dianne Dewsbury had been trying to apologise to Belinda for days, but every time she’d tried to make contact the line was engaged. Dianne had a lot of explaining to do which really ought to have been done face to face, but what with one thing and another she just couldn’t be bothered to catch up with everything that had happened at the village hall while she and Alan had been on their cruise.

  As Belinda was steering the motorhome out of Denswick, Dianne left yet another message on the answerphone at 18 Dapple Grove, Sallby.

  “Belinda, it’s Dianne. We’re back – but I’m off again tomorrow – Joanne’s twins are due in the next few days and of course she wants her mum there with her. I don’t know how long I’ll stay but I won’t come back until I’m sure she can cope.

  “The thing is, Belinda, there’s something I forgot to do before we sailed. I hope it hasn’t caused too much trouble – but I’m sure you’ll have it sorted anyway, knowing you. Before John Spinks went in hospital he brought the village hall accounts and bank books round to my house. Asked me to pass them on. I think you were visiting your son at uni… and what with packing and sorting out the cats, I put everything in a drawer and forgot all about it. I’ve just come across the folder when I went to put my passport back. Totally slipped my mind.

  “Anyway, just to let you know they’re all safe. Catch up in a month or two. See you!”

  *

  Along the tree-lined road to Sallby, a seventy-two-seater coach had been unloading two classfuls of twelve-year-olds into the drizzle outside the swimming baths. There seemed to be something else hindering traffic flow, too. Bel slowed to a halt.

  Voices cackling like lightweight goslings and swiping each other with swimming kits in rucksacks and carrier bags, the youngsters were being herded back onto the bus by their teachers. The kids didn’t want to go – it was much more interesting to watch the carry-on taking place on the pavement.

  Edging the motorhome forward, Bel could see a brightly coloured rectangle waving in the air in front of the children. It bore some sort of printing in blue. The rectangle seemed to be fastened to a wooden broom handle.

  The scene unfolded further as another car crept past the stationary coach and the motorhome edged forward. An elderly woman in damp beige was waving the placard energetically in the path of the students, the message REJOICE WITH JESUS! written in blue felt pen on yellow card. Belinda could make out the old woman’s voice, which proclaimed in wavering tones,

  “God loves you all! Rejoice with Jesus and you will be saved! Suffer the little children to come unto me, He said. Go to him, children, and be born again!”

  As Bel waited and the teachers struggled to control their pupils, two uniformed officers strolled up with little sense of urgency, having been summoned by the pool manager. Grant Hall and Heather Banks eyed the scene and the woman in beige wryly.

  “Right. Back on the bus, all of you!” Grant’s instruction carried some weight with the pupils. The children began to file back up the coach steps.

  “Who’s that old woman, sir?”

  “Is she mad, miss?”

  “Will they lock her up?”

  “That’s Naomi Simmons’s grandma!”

  “They’ll put her in a cycle attrick hospickle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “In Densfield behind the egg factory.”

  “No! What’s a cycle hat trick?”

  At the door of the swimming baths, pool attendant Samantha wanted to know the reasons for the delay. She was expecting another coachload of young swimmers in fifty minutes and couldn’t afford to get behind time. The two PCSOs appeared to be speaking sternly to the woman, who Samantha vaguely recognised from the Over-Sixties Slow and Sure sessions held each Wednesday lunchtime.

  Despite the fine rain, the woman continued shouting her message of salvation to those on the bus, while a passing tractor-and-trailer combination distributed fodder beet onto the highway as it avoided the blockage.

  At last, one either side of her, the co
mmunity support officers began to walk the demonstrator back in the direction of Denswick. Disheartened, her resistance was weak, but she was still protesting as the trio moved towards the Safari Supremo. A message on her radio distracted PCSO Heather, who stopped for a moment.

  Still talking, a metre in front of the motorhome the woman looked up through its windscreen. For just a second, her eyes met Belinda’s. Recognition was immediate and undeniable.

  Despite her position as chapel warden at Denswick Methodist, Dorothy Simmons was an ardent fan of the Evangelicals’ Pastor Darren. It lifted her spirits to Rejoice with Jesus! in between her more conventional devotions, and she had happily swelled the front-row throng for the midweek service in the old Odeon. On hearing the handsome young man urge his followers to proclaim God’s message on the streets and in the old folks’ homes, Dorothy just knew she had something to offer.

  “It will give me another purpose in life,” she told the pastor. “Reverend Batty won’t mind at all. He’ll support me all the way.”

  Pastor Darren hadn’t been sure that Dorothy’s image matched the one he was trying to convey, but reminded himself that, being by age closer to God’s Kingdom than he was, the worshipper had the right to follow His call in any way she chose.

  Now, Dorothy carried out a sidelong examination of the vehicle. It was certainly one up on the little hatchback.

  Heather Banks had stepped aside into the trees and was talking into her radio. Her eyes signalled to her partner that there was a more urgent matter to attend to. She ended the call.