Don't Marry Thomas Clark

by Celia Hayes

  ‘Don’t worry too much. A couple of canapés and a warm handshake will be fine,’ I suggest.

  ‘Let’s not think about it just now. Tell me how you two ended up meeting again. I want all the details! Tell me, where were you when he proposed?’

  ‘Oh, it was so romantic, mum! I’d just knocked back a bottle of whisky and a handful of barbiturates, and the ambulance was taking me to casualty, sirens wailing, when another car crashed into us and we both ended up smashing through the window of a well-known local coke dealer. And guess who was driving the car? Thomas! What a coincidence, right? We’ve been inseparable ever since and that’s why I agreed to marry him without a moment’s hesitation after that ridiculously short engagement. But I just couldn’t resist him. And in memory of the day we were reunited, he came to to pick me up dressed as a paramedic and asked me to make an honest man out of him – and he’d even hidden the ring in a packet of Sodium Pentothal.’

  ‘A packet of what? Hold on, Sansy, my mobile’s ringing.’ And she puts the receiver down, demonstrating that she hadn’t listened to a single word. ‘Lord, it’s already four o’clock!’ she exclaims when she comes back on the line. ‘Where’s my head? Sansy, love, you’ll have to tell me the rest of the story another time. I need to get over to Katerina’s for my manicure now. What time does your train leave?’

  ‘At…;

  ‘Oh, but you’re late! You’d better get a move on! I’ll let you go, we’ll have a chat when you get there. No, wait. I’ll be at Mrs Taylor’s for dinner by then. Let’s talk tomorrow around ten, how would you like that? Oh damnation, I can’t at ten, I forgot – I have my tennis lesson. I’ll call you when I can, OK, Sansy? Yes? I’ll talk to you soon then, dear – bye!’

  Click… beep… beep… beep. Why I can’t have a normal family?

  *

  ‘The train now standing at platform 15 is the 16:12 train for Canterbury. The 16:12 for Canterbury, now standing at platform 15,’ announces an adenoidal voice from the loudspeakers.

  ‘I knew it! I knew it!’ I shout, as I grab my bag from Rufus’ shoulder. He was kind enough to give me a lift to the station.

  ‘Relax, you’ve got ten minutes before it sets off,’ he says, passing me my trolley.

  ‘Knowing my luck, it’ll be the first train to leave early.’

  I check one last time to see if I’ve got everything: handbag, shoes, dress, bags, plastic bags. Yes, I think I’ve got everything. Anyway, it’s too late now.

  ‘OK, I think I’m ready to go,’ I say, looking at him sadly as I realize that the moment for goodbyes has arrived. It might sound ridiculous, but I’m feeling like an unarmed soldier heading off into enemy territory. Rufus keeps making jokes, but he looks just as downcast as I do.

  ‘Be a good girl,’ he says, mussing my hair.

  ‘And you remember to call me,’ I remind him. ‘Here are the keys to the flat,’ I add, handing him a keyring with a mushroom-shaped key fob. Once things with the bistro were sorted out, Kelly moved back to her dad’s, so I need someone to check on my flat every once in a while until I get back, just to make sure there hasn’t been a fire or that my living room hasn’t been taken over by cockroaches or God knows what. ‘Please keep an eye on my post and let me know if anything important arrives.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – a letter from George Clooney asking me to run away to Barbados with him, for example.’

  ‘Are you planning on getting your hands on all the available millionaires?’

  ‘I’d settle for one who would actually keep me in shoes for the rest of my life.’

  ‘The train now standing at platform 15…’ comes the voice from the speaker’s again.

  ‘Rufus…’

  ‘Sandy, you’d better get a move on or you’re gonna miss your train,’ he says, giving me a push towards the ticket office.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m going!’ I say, and make my way into the crowd of passengers.

  ‘Ticket for Canterbury, please,’ I ask the man at the ticket booth.

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Return ticket?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ I say, and the man raises one of his eyebrows.

  ‘Have you got a Railcard?’

  ‘Er, yeah – somewhere.’

  ‘Could I just have a look at it, please?’

  ‘God. Do you absolutely have to?’ He gives me a look. OK, got it – he absolutely has to. ‘Bloody hell…’ I moan as I start rooting through my bag.

  I must look awful. Panting, sweating, out of breath, trying to keep my balance with my purse between my teeth, my beauty-case clamped between my knees and a trolley propped up with one leg while I try to keep my bag on my shoulder. I do have a Railcard, but it’s somewhere among all the useless junk I keep in here. And as if things weren’t already complicated enough, the phone in my jacket pocket starts ringing loudly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m in a rush, or because of the stress and tension, but I start to panic. My fingers go weak and half the stuff in my bag falls out onto the floor. The passengers behind me in the queue let out a groan of protest.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry…’ I mumble in humiliation.

  ‘Hello?’ I answer distractedly, as I bend down to pick up all my stuff.

  ‘Miss, I need your Railcard…’ the ticket agent reminds me.

  ‘Coming, just a second. Hello?’ I repeat once more.

  ‘Will you get a move on?! My train’s about to leave!’

  ‘What is she playing at?’

  ‘Can you hurry up?’

  ‘What? Can you say that again?’ I ask more loudly, over the chaos behind me.

  ‘Miss, there are other clients waiting!’

  ‘Please, just a moment,’ I whisper to the stern ticket agent behind the counter, the old lady who’s tapping her foot indignantly, the angry man standing behind her who makes no attempt to help me pick up my stuff, and, last but not least, the good Lord himself who watches from above but has somehow forgotten to send an army of angels to destroy the station, the city and the whole bloody country!

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ I shout, covering my ear with my other hand in the hope of actually being able to hear something.

  ‘Sandy? Sandy, is this a bad time?’

  Panic. Total, blind panic.

  ‘Mike?’

  ‘Yes, hi!’ he says happily. ‘What’s going on?’

  Now? He has to pick now to ring me?

  ‘Miss!’ snaps the ticket agent.

  Not now, for God’s sake!

  ‘Please, you don’t understand,’ I whisper in despair as I stand up.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ asks Mike.

  ‘Nothing much… what about you?’

  ‘I was thinking about you,’ he says, completely flooring me.

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Do you mind?’ he asks, sounding hurt.

  ‘No,’ I answer, too quickly. ‘No, I… Why?’

  ‘No reason.’

  He’s obviously pretty laid-back, since he waits ages before answering. I, on the contrary, am surrounded by angry eyes and clacking dentures which are threatening to do away with me at any second. ‘Mike, I’m about to go into the hairdresser’s,’ I say, hoping this little white lie will encourage him to get to the point a bit faster.

  ‘Ah… Do you want me to call you back later?’

  No, I don’t want him to call me later. I want to know why he called. I need to know. Right now.

  ‘Listen, unfortunatel, like I said, I’m just about to go into the hairdresser’s, and I think I’ll be in there for the next two hours or so. I’ve got a moment now, though. So, how come you called?’ And I start praying.

  ‘Well, I’ve got two tickets for the Nightwish gig. I know you’re a fan, so I was wondering if you fancied coming.’

  No! No! No! No! No!

  Five months. I’ve been waiting for five months. Five months for this exact moment. Five months hoping. And he finally decides to ask
me out just when I’m about to leave town and move in with another guy. What is this, a curse?

  ‘Mike, I’m so sorry,’ I say in an agonized moan. ‘I have to go to Canterbury. And unfortunately I’m going to be there for the next six months,’ supposing that I survive that long. ‘It’s for work…’ I lie.

  ‘Hadn’t you decided to open a bistro?’

  ‘Yes, but I need to take care of a few things first. Believe me, I would have absolutely loved to,’ I continue, though I ask myself why I’m even telling him all this. I’ve just lost any chance of seeing him again. Of course he’ll never wait for me to come back.

  ‘Really?’ he asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Would you really have liked to come?’ he asks again in a peculiar, almost doubtful tone.

  ‘Sure, I…’

  ‘Miss!’ the agent bursts out. ‘You’re holding everybody up, and your bags are blocking the way. I’m going to have to ask you either to move aside or to hang up immediately and show me your Railcard, otherwise you’ll have to pay the full price of £29.10 pounds for the ticket.’

  ‘But I…’

  ‘Now!’ the agent orders, his face red. I nod in defeat.

  ‘Mike, I really have to go.’

  ‘Don’t worry – we’ll speak soon, OK?’ but from his tone I can tell that this is the last time I’ll see his name appear on the screen of my phone.

  ‘Sure,’ I just about manage to murmur before I hang up. ‘I hope you’re happy now,’ I hiss at the slimeball sitting there behind the inch of bulletproof glass, which is the only thing stopping me from strangling him, ‘because you’ve just cost me the man of my dreams!’

  ‘Next!’ he snorts, totally indifferent to my accusation. ‘Nightwish! Pah! I could’ve understood if it was Slayer!’

  Chapter 10

  It’s already late evening by the time I arrive at Garden House in my small rented car with the assistance of the navigator on my phone, so I drive along the brick path that cuts the garden in two and approach the main building with the headlights off. Once I’ve parked, I pull on a sweater and start unloading my bags, and a man of about forty appears at the front door and walks over to give me a hand. I’ve never seen him before and he’s not wearing a uniform, but it’s immediately obvious that he’s part of the staff.

  ‘Leave it to me, Miss Price, I’ll take that for you,’ he says with a friendly smile.

  ‘Oh, thanks a lot.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says, taking my shoulder bag and setting off towards the house, ‘let me show you the way. My name is Joe, I’m the head gardener here. Thomas told me you’d be arriving, so I stayed up to welcome you. You won’t find anyone else in the house,’ he informs me. ‘There’s never usually anybody here on Fridays. It’s the staff’s day off, but don’t worry – Clementine left some dinner for you. It’s in a tray in your room, and if you need anything else, you can always call me.’

  ‘This is very kind of you, but I really don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure I can manage on my own, so if you want to get off home…’ I say, feeling a little embarrassed.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he reassures me, opening the door and ushering me inside. ‘I promised Thomas I’d take care of the house while he’s away.’

  ‘He… isn’t here, then?’ I ask in surprise, standing by the doorstep.

  ‘No,’ he answers laconically.

  ‘Did he say when he’ll be back?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he confirms, with an embarrassed look. Even though he’s trying not to show it, he’s clearly surprised by my questions. It’s understandable: who would imagine that Thomas Clark’s future wife wouldn’t know where he is? I’ve slipped up there. I need to be more careful in the future, if I want to keep hold of my advance payment.

  ‘Could you show me my room, please?’ I ask, opting for a less risky topic of conversation.

  ‘Of course,’ he answers promptly. ‘We decided to put you in Lady Clark’s old room. It’s right through here,’ he says, indicating the living room with his hand.

  He turns on the lights and we walk through the entrance hall and past the sofas until we reach the stairs. As we go, I look at the furniture, the curtains and the paintings, remembering my visits here in times past. I immediately notice the old oil painting of Thomas’s grandfather, I find the porcelain showcase in the same place where it used to be, just like the grandfather clock, still by the window. Nothing has changed. Everything is just as I remembered it, and if I close my eyes, I can almost smell those big cigars the count used to smoke. The atmosphere is so evocative that I can practically hear the governess calling my name from her room to offer me a biscuit. But there’s no sound.

  I suddenly feel very nostalgic. It’s only really sinking in now that Sir Roger is not among us anymore.

  ‘Are you feeling okay?’ Joe asks, walking back over to me.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I nod, blinking away my tears. ‘Let’s go.’

  He looks around the room in an attempt to identify the cause of my sudden change of mood, but, not finding anything, nods at me and leads me upstairs to the door of a bedroom on the second floor. He puts my bags on the bed and I wish him goodnight, then, once left alone, I make a couple of phone calls, take a shower and then decide to take a look around the house. By the time I get back to my room, dinnertime is already long past, and, since I’m not feeling at all hungry, I decide to postpone everything and go straight to bed.

  The next morning, at nine, I wake up to the sound of a distant bell and crackling gravel. By the sound of it, a car is approaching. I hear a car door slamming just under my window, followed by an indistinct buzz of voices, in which I can make out Joe’s and that of a girl, presumably Clementine. I can’t get back to sleep, so I get up and head for the bathroom, taking some jeans, a white shirt and a blue sweater with me, and less than an hour later I’m walking across the landing, determined to have an indecorously huge breakfast.

  As I’m walking towards the stairs, wondering if there’ll be anybody in the kitchen I can ask about where to get my hands on a cup of coffee, I hear a woman’s voice from below.

  ‘Are you quite sure there’s nothing I can do for you?’

  I can only guess at who she might be, but I think I know who she’s talking to.

  Curious to discover who this lady intruder is, I quickly descend the stairs and sneak along the corridor, trying to find a safe place from which to spy on the living room. Behind the sofa, I see a blonde girl in a very tight, very short white dress. She’s making small talk and flapping her arms around in a vain attempt to catch Thomas’s attention, but unfortunately for her, his brain is totally engaged by his phone.

  ‘No, I think I have everything,’ he replies curtly, ‘but I’ll e-mail you if there’s anything missing.’ She doesn’t seem to care too much about what he says – she’s probably used to his way. In fact, I have to admit that she reacts rather elegantly: she nods slightly, pulls a very feminine face and starts wandering among the sofas and armchairs, admiring the room’s walls.

  ‘It really is a magnificent house,’ she comments, entranced.

  ‘What?’ he asks, lifting his eyes from his smartphone.

  ‘The property. It’s a magnificent place,’ she repeats, gesturing around her at the room.

  ‘Oh, yes… It was mainly my grandmother’s idea to renovate the place. She had very good taste,’ he explains, throwing his phone onto the sofa and putting both his hands in his pockets.

  ‘When was the last time you came here?’

  ‘A few years ago.’

  ‘Won’t you miss the city?’ The way she says it, you could almost imagine that ‘the city’ actually meant her – probably totally naked and covered in chocolate sauce.

  ‘It’s only temporary.’

  ‘Miss Ward, everything’s ready,’ a man in uniform interrupts them, appearing from the balcony.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she answers, waiting for him to go away before whispering allusively, ‘It’
s time for our goodbyes, apparently…’

  ‘Agnes, I’m not sure when I’ll be back in London. I’d like you to take care of the Peking buyers while I’m here. Have a detailed report about Coral Industries’ managing costs ready for me, and try and arrange a meeting with Mark Wood for next weekend. Explain to him that I won’t be able to join him in Boston, so we need to find an alternative solution.’

  Why do I have the impression that was not the answer she was hoping for?

  ‘Thomas! I’m leaving and all you can talk about is work?’ She pulls a sulky face, but his lack of a reaction makes it clear that the mountain will just have to collapse humiliatingly towards Mohammed this time, unless it wants to change its status on you&me.com.

  Determined not to let him send her away, Agnes adjusts strategy and drapes herself panther-like, across his broad shoulders. The sight is quite disheartening, because I can’t for the life of me see how this girl and I even belong to the same species – she’s definitely in the ‘sexually active female’ category, while I’m probably in ‘work in progress’, ‘closed for the holidays’ or ‘business for sale’.

  ‘Won’t you miss me at all?’ she teases him, playfully fingering his collar.

  ‘Agnes, I thought I’d made it clear,’ he answers, sounding annoyed, ‘I’m about to get married. Our relationship is over. Forever.’ And he walks away from her, a tense expression on his face.

  ‘I really don’t understand you. What happened?’ she asks furiously. ‘What made you change your mind all of a sudden? And don’t tell me you’re in love with her, I know you too well to fall for that. You’re allergic to commitment.’

  ‘Well perhaps I’ve changed!’

  ‘Yes, of course you…’ I cover my mouth with both hands, realizing I was thinking aloud.

  ‘Did…Did you hear something?’ she asks, looking around.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought I heard…’

  ‘Look, Agnes,’ he starts again, ‘believe me or not, I’m going to marry Sandy in six months. Arguing about it won’t change the facts. Now, please – go. Luke’s just texted me. He’s waiting for you at the gate.’