The Red Oak (The Searight Saga Book 3)

by Rupert Colley

  He wasn’t aware it had been broken. ‘Thanks,’ he said picking up an envelope and opening it. Another bill.

  ‘It didn’t take long to stick it back together. Tell me again, what’s a “double”?’

  Tom didn’t answer. He watched her and wondered where in the hell they went from here. ‘I still don’t understand why you did it,’ he said eventually, looking back at the telephone bill.

  She turned to face him, leaning against the sink, mugs in hand. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Fine, but that still doesn’t explain why.’

  ‘I told you last night.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  She moved across the kitchen and clicked the kettle on. ‘Tom, you were my first, the only man I’d been with. After almost twenty years together, it seemed so, so...’

  ‘Inadequate?’ he sneered. The microwave beeped.

  ‘No, not “inadequate”. But hell, Tom, it was just sex. I know that sounds morally awful, but why should it be just men who’re motivated by lust. I had loveless sex, oh my, what a slag, how depraved I am. Lock me up! But it won’t happen again, so you know where you stand. It’s not as if I was in love, I was never torn between the two of you.’ She put a teabag into each mug.

  ‘So, was he any good then?’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, is that it, is that what you’re concerned about? Worried you don’t come up to scratch?’ Tom wished he’d never asked. ‘If you must know, he’s a bit wet,’ she said. ‘Frankly, I’m relieved it’s finished.’

  ‘Getting bored, were you? Looking for the next one?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’

  The kettle boiled, the microwave beeped again. Julie was about to pour when ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ rang out. He caught the worried look in her eyes. They both looked at it. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I will then.’

  Julie leapt across the kitchen. ‘No, I will,’ she said, snatching the phone from Tom’s hand. Without looking at the number, she answered. ‘Hello?’ Tom watched her, scrutinising her face. ‘No, I’m a bit busy right now.’ She looked flustered, he thought. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She switched the mobile off and put it into her jeans pocket.

  ‘It was him, wasn’t it?’ He knew the answer.

  Julie sighed. ‘Yes.’

  It took a few seconds for his anger to register, but then he thumped the table. ‘So it’s over, is it?’ he yelled.

  Julie looked startled. ‘Yes, honestly, Tom, it is, believe me.’ For the first time, she looked nervous, on the defensive.

  He stood up. ‘So why is he still phoning you?’

  ‘Just because he rang, doesn’t mean to say I’m lying.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ He stepped menacingly towards her.

  Julie gripped the work surface, a look of panic spread across her face. ‘Tom, it’s true.’

  He moved within a couple of feet of her and glared into her eyes, his veins pulsating with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. He spun away angrily, stormed out of the kitchen and ran noisily up the stairs. Slamming the bedroom shut, he pulled a small dust-covered suitcase out from beneath the bed, flung open the wardrobe door, snatched various garments and stuffed them haphazardly into the case. His task completed, he went to the bathroom where he grabbed his toothbrush and shaving kit. Carrying the suitcase downstairs, he left it in the hallway, picked up the telephone and returned to the kitchen where Julie was sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

  She spoke: ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going to my parents.’ He tapped a number into the telephone.

  ‘You can’t just walk out on us.’

  ‘Watch me,’ he snapped back.

  ‘What do I tell Charlotte?’

  ‘Tell her what you like. Tell her you’ve been sleeping with her favourite teacher; I don’t care.’

  ‘Tom–’

  Tom spoke into the phone: ‘Hello... yes, can I have a mini-cab please... as soon as possible.’ He glared at her. ‘Enfield, yes... three minutes... that’s fine, thanks.’ He switched the phone off.

  Julie rose from the chair, moved back to the kettle, and clicked it on again. ‘Tom, you can’t just walk out and expect you can get away with a quick cheerio to your daughter; it’s not fair on her.’

  He seized on her mistake: ‘Oh, and was it fair on your daughter when you embarked on your little sexual adventure?’

  Tom’s jibe hurt. She grabbed a mug, spun around and hurled it at him. It missed by a good foot and hit the wall behind him, shattering on impact.

  Tom looked at the broken fragments lying on the floor. It was his Arsenal mug. ‘Doubt you’ll be able to fix it this time,’ he said.

  Charlotte came into the kitchen. ‘What was that noise?’ She saw the shattered mug and looked worriedly at her parents. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Charlotte,’ said Tom, ‘I’m going to spend a few days with your granny and granddad.’ He tried to make the tone of his voice sound light-hearted.

  Charlotte glanced confusedly from one parent to the other. ‘But why; what’s been happening?’

  ‘Well...’ Tom looked at Julie.

  ‘Charlotte, I need to explain a few things...’

  ‘Bloody right you do.’

  ‘Your dad and I have had a bit of a falling out and your dad thinks we should spend a few days apart.’ She turned her gaze onto Tom. ‘Perhaps he’s right. And please don’t swear.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, sweetheart,’ added Tom. ‘It’ll be all right. Like your mum says, we just need to sort a couple of things out, that’s all.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  It was Julie’s turn. ‘Your dad and I... We still love each other, but sometimes... sometimes parents argue and–’

  ‘Mum, stop treating me like a child, just tell me.’

  ‘No,’ said Julie firmly. ‘I can’t; it’s between your father and me. All you need to know is that–’

  ‘That you throw cups at each other?’

  ‘Well yes, that may have been a bit rash.’

  Charlotte looked at her father. ‘You’re not divorcing, are you?’ Her voice was faltering.

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ said Tom, surprised at how quickly she’d advanced the situation. ‘I’ll probably be back within a few days.’

  ‘So what’s the point?’

  Indeed, what was the point, thought Tom. What was the point in leaving one’s wife in order to punish her while at the same time declaring you’ll be back in a few days’ time? She’d probably quite enjoy the peace. But having called the taxi, having told the whole damn family, he couldn’t back out now, he’d committed himself. But somehow he needed to reassure his daughter while threatening his wife. ‘I need to mull a few things over,’ he said. ‘Consider the future.’

  ‘So you are separating,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘No, but I suppose you could call it a trial separation.’

  ‘But what about me?’

  Tom feared she was about to burst into tears. ‘Whatever happens, Charlotte, I’ll always be your dad.’

  ‘You mean a weekend dad, like most of the dads at school.’

  Tom realised he’d run himself into the ground. You can’t be reassuring to one person, while at the same time appear threatening to another.

  Charlotte couldn’t bear to hear any more. She turned, ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs and to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

  ‘Satisfied?’ asked Julie.

  ‘OK, no need to sound so smug, remember where this started.’ Tom picked up the telephone again. ‘If you’ll excuse me...’ He went into the sitting room and closed the door behind him. He decided to ring his parents and at least give them a few minutes’ notice of his impending arrival. His mother answered. ‘Mum, it’s me, Tom... Mum, I know this is a bit out of the blue but I need to spend a few nights away from home.
Do you mind if I come to yours for tonight? I’ll explain later.’

  Understandably, his mother was alarmed by this unexpected request. Tom parried her concerned questions as best he could. ‘I can’t really talk about it right now... no really, everything is fine, it’s just that I need to stay out of the way for a while...’ He heard the beep of the car horn outside. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve gotta go, the taxi’s here... yes, I’m leaving now... I’ll see you in about half an hour.’ Tom rang off. His poor mother, she’d be worried sick, she’d fear the worst. In some ways, the worst had already happened.

  At the sound of the horn, Charlotte came back down and was waiting at the foot of the stairs with Angus and her mother. Tom looked at them all and suddenly felt the significance of the moment. The departure was for real and the thought struck him that perhaps he might never come back, not properly anyway. Julie stood behind Charlotte, her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, Angus sitting obediently at their side. Tom felt jealous at this unexpected show of solidarity. He also felt aggrieved that anyone looking in from the outside would assume he was the guilty party in this pathetic scene. Maybe he’d been too hasty; this was, after all, his home too and here he was, about to leave; about to face the unknown.

  Outside, the taxi beeped its horn again. ‘Well, this is it,’ he said at long last. ‘I’ll be off then.’ He looked at Charlotte. She spent so much of her time trying to be older, more grown-up, but at this precise moment she looked every inch the child she really was. And here he was, about to destroy some of the security she rightly took for granted, unnecessarily exposing her to the truth that security wasn’t always a given. And for what, so that he could make a point, so that he could punish his wife through punishing his child. Tom stepped forward and kissed Charlotte on the head. He looked briefly at Julie but her eyes remained expressionless. He was unsure whether he was relieved by the lack of histrionics or disappointed by her outer calm. He picked up his small suitcase and the briefcase he used for work. A nicer briefcase than Moyes’s battered old thing, he thought.

  ‘Right then,’ he said, glancing around at the hallway as if taking it in for the last time. He opened the front door. Angus leapt forward and tried to squeeze out. Tom forced him back in. As he closed the door, he heard Charlotte say, ‘Come back, you silly dog, you’re not leaving me.’

  Half an hour later the taxi pulled up in front of his parents’ house in Enfield. As he paid and tipped the driver, he saw his mother appear momentarily at the living room window pulling back the Austrian blinds. She reappeared at the front door and waited for him.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ he said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Tom, why are you here, what’s going on?’

  ‘Hang on, Mum, let me get in first.’ He squeezed past her with his cases, and leaving them in the hallway, went into the living room where his father was watching the television.

  ‘The prodigal son returns,’ his father said huffily.

  ‘Nice to see you too, Dad.’ His mother followed him in. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’ he asked, remembering he never got to drink the last one offered to him.

  ‘OK, but don’t think you’re getting off that lightly, Thomas Searight.’ His mother disappeared into the kitchen. Tom sat down on the sofa at right angles to his father.

  ‘So to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?’ he said, without averting his gaze from the TV.

  ‘Small argument, that’s all. It’ll blow over.’

  ‘People don’t tend to move out just because they’ve had a “small argument”, surely.’

  Tom decided there was little headway to gain from this accusatory conversation; he would wait until his mother returned. ‘Another earthquake?’ he asked feebly, trying to divert the subject to the television news. His father didn’t respond and the two of them sat silently watching the footage of a far-away devastation. It was thus ever the case, thought Tom. His father and he preferred not to talk about ‘real life’. They talked about football, the war, useless politicians, the even more useless council, even the weather forecast was preferable to anything that might involve ‘emotions’. Footballers’ tears were the closest they ever got to talk about anything that hinted at feelings.

  Alice returned with a tray of cups and saucers and a pot of tea. No mugs as usual, thought Tom. She placed the tray on the occasional table and then went straight for the television and turned it off. Robert opened his mouth to complain but decided better of it. She poured the tea whilst the two men watched passively. Tom began to regret coming, perhaps he should have gone to a friend’s place, or better still just slept in the spare bedroom as he had done the night before. He was dreading his mother’s inevitable interrogation. Whilst his father never attempted to understand anything emotionally charged, his mother tried too hard, to the point she would say “I see” to everything while not understanding anything. She passed him his cup of tea. He took a sip – it was Earl Grey.

  ‘I’ll go and make your bed up in the spare room in a minute,’ she said.

  Tom thanked her and, to his surprise, she said nothing else. The three of them sat in silence, delicately sipping their tea, each wondering how to broach the subject that hung awkwardly in the air between them. It seemed inappropriate to start with small talk. Eventually Tom broke the silence. He felt he owed them an explanation.

  ‘Julie and I...’ He paused, aware of the air of expectancy surrounding him. He tried again. ‘Julie and I have had a sort of falling out.’

  His mother sighed. ‘Oh, Tom.’

  ‘A “sort of falling out”. What exactly does that mean?’ asked his father.

  ‘It’s not that serious.’ He remembered his father’s earlier jibe. ‘I know it probably looks serious, otherwise why would I be here, but really, it isn’t. We just need a few days apart, that’s all. A bit of breathing space if you like.’

  ‘Bloody fool,’ muttered his father.

  ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

  ‘It’s another woman, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, quite the contrary, in fact.’ Damn, he thought, he’d said too much.

  ‘So it’s another man then,’ said Robert, almost enjoying his son’s slip-up.

  ‘No, I didn’t say that,’ said Tom. She may have deserved it but Tom wasn’t going to allow Julie’s name to be dragged through it. ‘It doesn’t involve anyone else; it’s just between Julie and me.’

  ‘And Charlotte,’ added his mother.

  ‘Yes, and Charlotte,’ Tom conceded. ‘Look, we have discussed it.’

  His father looked at him. ‘And...?’

  But Tom wasn’t prepared to elaborate. ‘It’ll sort itself out, like I said, it’s not that serious.’ His parents looked at each other; they didn’t appear at all convinced. ‘Honestly,’ Tom added. What was he saying, he thought. What hope did he have of reassuring his parents when he couldn’t even convince himself with his string of platitudes? Here he was, split up from his adulterous wife, resorting to meaningless sound bites that convinced no one, let alone himself, for the lack of anything else to say. He should be at home, sorting his life out, instead of sipping Earl Grey from delicate china cups with the two people who brought him up, and with whom he now seemed to have so little in common. And, what’s more, he never liked Earl Grey and he knew his father didn’t either, but his mother always insisted on it, thinking it symbolised the height of sophistication.

  ‘How long do you want to stay?’ Alice asked, ‘Not that we mind.’

  ‘Don’t know, a few days perhaps.’

  ‘And then what will you do?’

  ‘I was thinking I might have a weekend in France.’

  ‘France? A bit vague. What for?’ asked his father.

  ‘Do you remember I told you about the French woman who wrote to me about–’

  ‘Oh, you’re not serious.’

  Tom was startled by his father’s reaction. ‘Why not? She’s even got his medals. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  Robert sighed. ‘The pas
t is the past, man, let it lie. I mean, what’s the point? I told you all you need to know. The man lost a leg during the Great War and ended up somewhere in Devon. And so what about the medals? They all got medals; it’s not as if he won the Victoria Cross or anything. No, my advice, Tom, is tell this French woman to post them over to you if she wants, but all this gallivanting over to France, I can’t see the point in it.’

  Tom couldn’t fathom why his father was so agitated. He felt disappointed at his crude dismissal of the idea; it was almost as if he was denying Tom permission to go and visit her. ‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t actually ask for your advice and I don’t see the problem.’

  ‘No? For one thing, you were never interested before, so why this sudden intrigue? It’s not because you want to meet a young French bird, is it?’

  Tom almost choked on his tea. ‘Don’t be silly; of course it isn’t.’

  Robert smiled. ‘So you mean you’d still be going over if it was some old duffer like me, eh?’

  Damn you, thought Tom. His mother intervened. ‘Stop it, Robert. I think it’s a lovely idea.’

  Good old mother. ‘Thank you, Mum.’

  ‘But I do think,’ she added, ‘you ought not to stay away from home for too long.’

  That was the idea, but his father’s outburst and his accusation had unnerved him. Fortunately, Alice changed the subject with news about Tom’s brother in New Jersey. Thankful for the diversion, Tom vaguely listened and even accepted a top-up of tea. But his father spent the rest of the evening in a foul mood and stared intently at the blank television screen. Both Tom and his mother knew best not to try and engage him any further. Over the years from when he was a boy, the family had become accustomed to Robert’s frequent bouts of moodiness. But as his father grew older, his mood swings were becoming increasingly more acute.

  Chapter 7: The Father

  Tom didn’t bother phoning her. He knew it was that time of day when she’d be in. He arrived straight from work, marched up to her front door and rang the bell. She answered, wearing the same rainbow-coloured top and dangly earrings. ‘Hello, Rachel. I think we need to talk.’ She tried to smile and stepped back to allow Tom through. He barged past and went straight through to her sitting room. He decided against sitting on the squashy settee and remained on his feet. Rachel had had a bit of a tidy-up. The newspapers and magazines were heaped in a pile in the corner of the room, most of the CDs had been put away, and there was even a slight hint of furniture polish. But it still seemed a far cry from the neatly organised arrangement of his own sitting room. ‘Abigail in?’ he asked abruptly.