by Bill Daly
Anne placed Brutus gently down on the floor and got to her feet. ‘Listen to me, Michael – and listen very carefully.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘Do you think I don’t know what’s being going on behind my back? This girl’s been around for how long? About a year? At least that’s how long I’ve been smelling Jo Malone perfume on my pillowcase every time I come back from Aberdeen.’
‘I’m in love with Philippa, Anne – and she’s in love with me.’
‘You’re deluding yourself, Michael. Can’t you see that? She’s just infatuated by the idea that ‘the boss’ fancies her. She’ll soon tire of hanging around with a flabby drunk and she’ll want the company of people her own age – guys who can last the pace in the nightclubs.’
‘There’s no point in any of this, Anne. I’ve made up my mind.’ Anne glowered at him in silence. ‘You won’t have any financial worries,’ he added. ‘I’ll see you’re taken care of.’
‘You’ll see I’m taken care of?’ Anne spat out the words. ‘You self-centred, patronising bastard! I’m warning you, Michael. If you try to walk out of here tonight, you’re through – and I mean through. I’ll take you for everything you’ve got – the flat, the business, your savings, your pension – the lot!’ She walked over to the window and stood with her back to him. ‘And by the way,’ she added, turning round slowly, ‘I don’t think I mentioned that I had a long heart-to-heart with Saoirse MacBride a few years ago.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember Saoirse? You played squash with her at the club a few times – about seven years ago. Surely you can’t have forgotten her? Long black hair, legs up to her armpits, big, green, come-to-bed eyes? You spent a dirty weekend with her in London when you were supposed to be attending a legal conference.’
‘How do you –?’ Michael broke off.
‘How do I know about Saoirse? Because, after you ditched her, the poor girl came to see me. She wanted to apologise to me. She was distraught and sick with remorse. She’d been caught up in the moment and hadn’t thought through the implications of an affair with a married man. She’d imagined your relationship was going to blossom into something beautiful. She told me you’d even offered to give her a job in the firm when she graduated. I assume that was before you got inside her pants. She never dreamt for one minute she’d be unceremoniously dumped after one dirty weekend. She broke down in tears when she told me about it. Her hormones were all over the place. Of course, that’s the kind of rotten hand life deals you when you’re fifteen.’ Anne paused to let her words sink in.
‘What are you talking about?’ Michael dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘She was eighteen.’
‘She might have told you she was eighteen. And that would certainly have been believable, I’ll give you that. But the fact is she was fifteen. What do they call that? Statutory rape, isn’t it? How’s that going to look on your CV?’
‘You’re… you’re making this up.’
‘Oh, I’m not making it up, Michael. I’ve been saving it up. And what do you expect your latest little sex bomb will do while you’re serving time in Barlinnie? Sit at home, knitting socks, till you get out? Maybe she’ll come to visit you and bring you some of her home-made apple pie?’
‘Why are you doing this, Anne?’
‘Why am I doing this? For Christ’s sake! If you thought for one minute that I’d sit back and watch you throw away twenty years of marriage so you could set up a cosy little love nest with your latest girlfriend, you must’ve been mad. You have a decision to make, Michael. Either you stay here – or you live with the consequences of everyone finding out about your underage sex affair. It’s your call.’
Anne turned on her heel and strode out of the room. Michael shook his head to try to clear his befuddled brain. He sat, nursing another drink, struggling to think straight. Picking up the phone, he blinked as he tried to focus on the handset to tap in Philippa’s number. She answered on the first ring. ‘Pippa, it’s me,’ he croaked.
‘Have you told her?’ There was both anxiety and excitement in her voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Fantastic! Come on round. The champagne’s on ice.’
‘I can’t. There’s been a bit of a – a bit of a setback.’
‘What kind of setback?’
‘Anne’s turned nasty.’
‘What do you mean by ‘nasty’?’
‘It’s to do with money,’ he lied.
‘Give her whatever she wants. We’ll be fine.’
‘It’s not as straightforward as that. That won’t satisfy her. Look, I can’t go into details right now. She’s liable to come back into the room at any minute.’ He pursed his lips. ‘She’s threatening to talk to the tax authorities. It’s no trivial matter. If she does I’ll be in big trouble – and so will the firm. It could mean a jail sentence and the end of my career.’
‘I don’t buy any of this, Michael. What kind of cock-and-bull story are you trying to feed me?’
‘I can’t talk now, Pippa. I’ll call you back later.’
‘If this is true, what are you going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know. It took me completely by surprise. I need time to think. Maybe I can persuade her to change her mind.’ There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘Are you still there, Pippa?’
‘I don’t know, Michael. I don’t think so.’
He heard the click as Philippa disconnected.
TEN
Tuesday 15 February
Michael Gibson was wakened by slanting shafts of winter sunshine streaming through the lounge window. He got up stiffly from the settee, his head thumping, his mouth parched. He’d slept all night, fully dressed, with his left leg twisted underneath him. As he hobbled down the hall he checked his watch and saw it was almost ten o’clock. He stopped outside the closed bedroom door and massaged his thigh to try to bring some circulation back to his numb leg as he listened for a moment before knocking gently. There was no response. Easing the door ajar, he confirmed the room was empty. The bed was made. When he went to the kitchen he saw an empty cereal bowl lying in the sink. He ran the tap and filled a tumbler with cold water which he downed in one long swallow, then he re-filled the glass and took it to the bedroom where he gulped down a couple of paracetamol tablets. Stripping off, he stood under the hot shower, still massaging his numb leg.
When he’d finished showering, he slipped on his towelling dressing gown and shaved as quickly as he could. His hand was trembling and he twice nicked his chin painfully, sticking small pieces of toilet paper to his face to stem the flow of blood.
It was half past ten by the time he took the lift to the underground garage. Anne’s car was gone. He got into his Mercedes and pressed the remote control to open the garage doors and as he drove up the ramp he saw that most of the previous day’s snow had melted in the morning sun. The roads were quiet as he made his way across town.
When he arrived at the office, Sheila was seated at her desk with her back to him, typing at her keyboard. ‘Good morning, Sheila.’
‘Good morning, Mr Gibson.’ She replied without turning from her screen.
‘Would you come into the office, please?’
Michael slumped onto the chair behind his desk. ‘What have I managed to miss this time?’
‘There was a staff meeting scheduled for nine o’clock. I cancelled it when you didn’t show up. There’s nothing else in the diary for this morning. You’re supposed to be playing squash with Tom Crosbie at twelve.’
‘Cancel it. It would kill me. Anyway, I didn’t bring my gear. Is Pippa… Is Miss Scott in this morning?’
‘I saw her earlier.’
‘Tell her I need to see her straight away.’ For the first time he could recall, he noticed Sheila hesitate.
‘Very good,’ she said stiffly.
A few minutes later Philippa marched in. ‘Well?’
Michael scrambled to his feet. ‘Pippa, you’ve got to give me time. It’s more complicated th
an I thought. Anne can cause me a great deal of trouble. I will find a solution, but I need time.’
‘For the past year, Michael, there’s been one excuse or – as you would put it – one ‘reason’ after another why you couldn’t walk out of your marriage It’s such a corny routine. I really don’t know what you expect of me, but I’m not prepared to settle for an occasional afternoon shag and a weekend in your flat once a month. So if, for whatever reason, you’re not prepared to leave Anne, I think it would be better all round if we call it a day. If and when you sort things out with Anne, perhaps we can think about getting back together. And by the way, that’s a very small ‘perhaps’.’
‘No Pippa, please! I can’t stop seeing you! But Anne’s threatening me. She knows she can have me locked up and she will if she’s crossed.’
‘This is getting cornier by the minute. What is she threatening you with?’
‘It’s to do with tax evasion. Twelve years ago, when my father and I were trying to get the business off the ground, we went through a sticky patch and we filed some highly dubious tax returns in order to keep the business afloat.’
‘Is that all? This firm employs some of the best legal brains in the country. Even if your wife does get vindictive, surely it’s not beyond our collective wit to mount an effective defence to a twelve year old charge of tax evasion?’
‘Effective defence or not – the scandal would ruin the firm. I can’t let it get to that.’
Philippa shook her head in frustration. ‘This conversation is getting us nowhere. I want a straight answer to a straight question, Michael. Are you, or are you not, going to leave Anne?’
‘I… I can’t… not right now.’
‘So you expect me to settle for being your occasional weekend screw? Is that how it works?’
‘It’s not like that at all. That’s not fair.’
‘Not fair? For Christ’s sake, look who’s talking about being fair! For the past year you’ve strung me along with promises that we’d be moving in together, and this is all it amounts to?’
‘I’ll get it sorted, Pippa… I really will.’
‘It’s too late for that, Michael. I don’t want to hear another one of you damned lies.’ Philippa’s voice was trembling with emotion. ‘I’m handing in my resignation, as of right now. I’ve already turned down several good job offers, out of loyalty to you. Loyalty that was clearly totally misplaced. God, what a miserable little shit you turned out to be. All I can say is – good riddance to you – and to your poxy job.’
The office door rattled in its frame as Philippa slammed it behind her.
ELEVEN
Tuesday 1 March
Paul Gibson was sweating profusely as he struggled to lift a large amplifier onto the tailgate of his van. When a car pulled up behind him and tooted, he recognised the Volvo’s horn. ‘Hi, Mum!’ he called out without turning round.
‘That looks very heavy,’ Anne said as she was getting out of her car. ‘Can’t you get somebody to help you with it?’
Paul leaned against the amplifier with his shoulder and pushed until it came to rest against the side of the van. ‘I lumbered Gordon with ironing the shirts instead. I’d rather load the van any day,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’re welcome to come up, but I’m afraid I won’t have time to offer you a coffee. We’re doing a gig in Edinburgh tonight and we should’ve set off fifteen minutes ago.’
‘I’ll just come up for a minute and say hello to Gordon. I wasn’t planning to stay. I was passing on my way home from the bridge club and I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing. You’re looking pale. Have you lost weight?’
‘Give me a break. Not so long ago you were nagging me to ease off on the booze.’
‘Are you eating properly?’
‘Mum!’ Paul closed the rear doors of the van and locked them.
‘How’s the flat working out?’ Anne asked as they walked towards the red-sandstone, tenement building.
‘It’s fine. A bit cramped, but at least the rent’s reasonable.’
‘And the band?’
‘I don’t think The Proclaimers are quaking in their boots yet, but we’re doing all right. We’ve got a booking in Edinburgh tonight, one next Tuesday in Dundee and one the following week in Perth. If tonight’s gig goes well there’s a possibility that it could become a regular booking for the summer.’
‘I’m pleased for you.’
‘Dad booting me out of the office was the best thing that could have happened. Gordon and I have been able to rehearse every day for the past couple of weeks and it’s starting to pay off,’ he said as they started climbing the stone staircase. ‘And I don’t have to wear suits and ties any more. The only thing I miss is the money.’
As they approached the top of the staircase, Anne pressed an envelope into his hand.
‘I wasn’t hinting. You don’t need to do this.’
‘I know I don’t need to do it. I want to do it. I’m sure you’ll find a use for it.’ She closed his fist around the envelope.
‘You’re great,’ he said, giving her a hug.
‘Gordon!’ Paul called out as he opened the door. ‘My mother’s here.’
‘Hi, Mrs Gibson.’ The voice came floating out from the bedroom. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
When Gordon emerged he was carrying two black silk shirts on hangers. ‘I’m glad Paul warned me you were here, otherwise you might’ve heard some unparliamentary language. I hate ironing at the best of times – and with these,’ he said, holding up the hangers, ‘I’m terrified I’ll put the iron straight through them.’
Gordon Parker was a bright, energetic character, slimly built with shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail. He and Paul had been in the same class since primary school and for as long as either of them could remember they’d planned to form a group together, finally realising their ambition a few months previously when they’d teamed up with Tommy and Dave, friends of Gordon from university, to form the ‘Citizens Band’.
‘Any news of a day job?’ Anne asked.
Gordon laughed raucously as he shook his head. ‘Nothing much doing, Mrs Gibson. There’s not a lot of demand for failed electronic engineers these days.’
‘It really is a shame,’ Anne said in a mildly reproachful tone. ‘You could’ve passed your finals without any problem if you’d spent a bit more time studying and a bit less in snooker halls and discos.’
‘I believe my mother might have mentioned that,’ Gordon said, winking at Paul. ‘But all’s well that ends well. When we’re playing in front of a packed house at Hampden Park you’ll be delighted I didn’t waste my talent designing an even faster microchip.’
‘You’re incorrigible. How’s Maureen, by the way?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. Still wasting her time nursing, I’m afraid. We can’t all be touched with genius.’
‘Send her my regards. She’s a really nice girl. Much too nice for you.’
‘So her mother keeps telling me.’
‘I hate to interrupt the banter,’ Paul interjected, ‘but we’re running very late. We really should be hitting the road.’
‘Of course, I didn’t mean to hold you back,’ Anne said. ‘Get on your way – and don’t drive too fast. By the way, that van looks none too safe to me.’
‘It passed its M.O.T with flying colours, so will you please stop worrying.’
‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Paul,’ Gordon said. ‘I just need a quick pee.’
Paul waited until Gordon disappeared into the bathroom. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Gordon, but are things any better between you and Dad?’
‘We’ve hardly exchanged a civil word since he broached the subject of leaving me. I refuse to even discuss it with him. He’s been sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms for the past couple of weeks and, as far as I’m concerned, he can stay there.’
‘I don’t know why you put up with all the hassle. You’d be a lot better off without him.’
‘I know it’s probably unrealistic,’ Anne said with a sigh, ‘but part of me is still hoping he’ll come to his senses and we’ll be able to patch things up.’
‘You wouldn’t take him back, surely?’
‘There were good times, Paul. There were some very good times.’
‘You should divorce him and be done with it,’ Paul snapped. ‘Anyway, you can’t stop him divorcing you, even if you refuse to cooperate.’
‘Somehow, I don’t think he’ll go down that route,’ Anne said with a wry smile.
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later. We don’t have time to go into it right now.’
Paul hesitated. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about, Mum. Something very important.’
‘What is it?’
‘Not now. Can I come to see you tomorrow?’
‘Who’s being mysterious now?’ Anne said. ‘Come round for a coffee tomorrow afternoon. Make it between three and four o’clock when your father is sure to be at work.’
It was four o’clock in the morning when Paul Gibson and Gordon Parker pulled up outside Paul’s flat. Flicking off the van’s lights, Paul cut the engine.
‘We’ve had the stony silence routine all the way back from Edinburgh,’ Gordon said. ‘Can we let it drop now?’
‘Why the hell did you do it?’ Paul fumed. ‘I thought we had an agreement? Nothing before a gig.’
‘For Christ’s sake! It was no big deal. Just a couple of tabs.’
‘It was more than enough to fuck up our chances of ever getting another booking there. Your voice was flat, your timing was off and you forgot the words at least three times. What’s the point in us busting a gut rehearsing if you’re going to get stoned and ruin everything?’
Gordon pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up, inhaling deeply. ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I was uptight. I needed something to relax me before we went on stage.’