The Reunion

by Gould, R J

  David decided to run the idea past Bridget ahead of any consideration of things like location and costs. She would have an opinion about its viability. He doodled Bridget, am I mad? at the top of the page and was all set to put down his justifications when there was a ring at the doorbell.

  The Reunion – R J Gould

  Chapter 22

  It was approaching 11.00 pm and the ring took him by surprise. Rachel had a key and no one else was expected at that hour of the day. During the short walk from lounge to front door he’d deduced that it would be Jane and he was plotting how to keep any conversation brief. But it wasn’t her, it was a policeman and policewoman, the pair who had interviewed him after his mugging. In between them was Rachel, propped up by her escorts.

  “Good evening, Mr Willoughby. We’ve brought your daughter home,” the young woman said as she edged into the house, the snow on her jacket and hat melting and dripping onto the floor as she stepped inside.

  “This way,” a shocked David gestured. Sam was out his room and on the landing peering through the wooden slats of the banister.

  They led Rachel into the lounge where she slumped down onto the couch.

  “Did you just push me? Don’t you dare throw me down, I’m fragile,” Rachel growled.

  She noticed David. “Hi there, dad.”

  She looked round the room. “Oh good, I’m home. But fuck these bloody orange walls, they’ll make me be sick again.”

  David turned to the two police officers who were standing there dripping. “What happened?”

  “Your daughter was staggering along the High Street with her friend, barely able to stay standing and with the sort of lewd behaviour that we don’t tolerate,” the policeman said.

  His companion continued. “She was very close to being arrested bearing in mind how aggressive she was when we started to ask questions. It’s fortunate for her that her boyfriend was more cooperative. He told us their names after your daughter had refused to, then he let us know what the pair of them had had to drink. This young lady…”

  Rachel butted in. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. There’s no law against drinking.”

  “Be quiet Rachel,” David ordered, but curiosity got the better of him. “Who’s this boyfriend of yours?”

  “I’m not a kid, I can have a boyfriend. And if these stupid idiots had left me alone then...”

  “Quiet,” he snapped.

  “There’s something I have to ask them. Mr and Mrs Police, what colour are these walls?”

  “Don’t be silly, Rachel.”

  “It’s a reasonable question.”

  “Rachel!”

  The policewoman removed her hat. Her jet black hair was in a tight bun. She used a handkerchief to wipe water off her brow before continuing. “That’s good advice, Mr Willoughby, because if she carries on like this we still have the option of pressing charges.”

  Despite her comatose state Rachel sensed the potential seriousness of the situation and at last fell silent.

  The policeman, a middle aged I’ve-seen-it-all-before type resigned to wasting his time with such incidents, indicated to his colleague that they should head on. He spoke as they edged towards the door. “It’s a great pity we’re distracted from more important duties by this sort of behaviour. As my colleague has indicated, there will be no charges on this occasion but,” now he looked down at Rachel, “if we catch Rachel in this state again she’ll be in trouble.”

  The policewoman looked across to David. He wondered whether they had a standard script as she took over. “We have identified that she’s a minor so you should be aware that the responsibility to look after her rests with you, Mr Willoughby.”

  “I can only offer my apologies. She told me she was staying with her friend.” He looked down at Rachel who was staring ahead of her with no sign of remorse. “Clearly that wasn’t the case.”

  “Clearly not,” the policewoman responded with an accusing tone.

  As soon as the door closed he returned to Rachel. “What’s been going on?” he asked.

  “Not talking now,” she said as she tried to stand. She failed first time round and dropped back onto the couch. She was more successful at the second attempt and was commencing an unbalanced struggle towards the door where Sam was standing.

  “I’ll help her up dad,” he offered.

  David watched his two children struggling up the stairs, wishing Bridget or even Jane was there to support him with advice about how to deal with this. As he sat there thinking things through, the sound of Rachel vomiting in the bathroom was audible.

  He decided to call Bridget. The phone rang for quite a while before she answered. “Hello?”

  “Hello Bridget, it’s me.”

  “Hi, what do you want?” she mumbled.

  “Just a chat.”

  “A chat? Do you know what time it is?”

  He looked at his watch, it was a little after midnight. “I didn’t realise it was that late. I’ll call back tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s OK, I’m awake now. I’m all ears.”

  “I’ve been on a cookery course.” He began to describe his afternoon in meticulous detail.

  Bridget interrupted when he’d reached the preparation of the main course. “For god’s sake David, this is interesting but perhaps you could tell me the rest when we meet up.”

  “Yes, but there’s something else, Bridget.”

  “Yes?”

  “Rachel got brought home by the police this evening.” He presented her with the list of things Rachel had done wrong. Lying about who she was staying with. Not telling him about a boyfriend. Getting blind drunk. Resisting police questioning. General aggression.

  “So what have you done?”

  “Nothing yet. She isn’t in a fit state to speak which is for the best because I need to think through what to say. The problem is, I haven’t got a clue. Any ideas?”

  “I don’t think I have. For a start I don’t know Rachel well enough to suggest what might work. Be open and tell her that at the very least you expect honesty. Have you considered asking Jane to help?”

  “No, maybe I should.”

  “Think about it. I’ll call tomorrow evening to see how you got on.”

  “Oh, one more thing.”

  “David it is a bit late, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I know. We don’t have to now, but I’d like to talk to you about my café idea.”

  “That list of yours keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “Hard to forget. Yes, I’m happy to talk about it. And I haven’t forgotten the other things you wrote. To be truthful having you in bed with me right now is a nice thought.”

  “Sequentially it fits in after the café, but I think I could cope with changing the order!”

  “Well, let’s both have sweet dreams about the bed part. Mmmm, mine is starting now. Night-night, David.”

  The Reunion – R J Gould

  Chapter 23

  David checked on his daughter after he ended the call. She was sprawled diagonally across the bed, fully dressed and snoring, her head close to a bucket. A rancid streak of yellow-brown on the carpet around it indicated that she had partially missed her target. He straightened her so her head rested on the pillow and then covered her with the quilt like a dad tucking in a little child. Only this child was now a young adult with actions and thoughts that she kept to herself. He emptied the bucket down the toilet and washed it in the sink before replacing it in Rachel’s bedroom just in case. The next morning he left her to sleep off her hangover having written a note.

  Rachel,

  Have to go to work early. I’m very disappointed by your behaviour and I expect a full and truthful explanation tonight. Text me if you want picking up after Fiddler. I’m assuming you are going to school at some stage later.

  Dad

  He was glad to get out the house. He needed to plan what to say to his daughter and whether to invo
lve Jane. However busy he was at work he’d make time to think things through.

  As he drove to the local authority offices he was deep in thought, the lack of concentration culminating in the scraping of his bumper on a concrete column in the car park. He inspected the damage – now there were identical striations on each side of his vehicle. In anger he lifted his leg and gave the front tyre on the passenger side a kick. The resulting bounce back of his foot was enough to set off the alarm on the neighbouring vehicle which he recognised as Mary’s BMW. He fled.

  There was a post-it from Mary on the corner of his computer screen. Please come to my office as soon as you read this. Things with Mary had got better following his staff review; the tone of her emails was not as accusatory as in the past and there was less questioning of his competence. He had responded by showing a little more enthusiasm to her suggestions for departmental improvements despite a belief that much of what she wanted was unworkable.

  He entered her office in anticipation of criticism and was surprised to be greeted by what was remarkably similar to a smile. He considered the possibility that he was misinterpreting a sneer, scowl or snarl but she held the facial posture and it continued to resemble a smile. This was a first in all his contact with Mary and it made her look quite different. Almost pleasant.

  “Are you alright, Mary?” he enquired.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing in particular.” But there was a lot in particular to note, a wide range of modifications to go with the smile. For a start, Mary had transformed her hair. The soft curls had gone, replaced by a severe asymmetrical cut, the hair on the left side brushing her shoulder while on the right side it barely reached the bottom of an ear adorned by a dangling silver earring. The previous uninteresting hair colour, a sort of mud brown, had been enhanced by blond highlights. She would have used make-up in the past, but nothing as noticeable as today’s deep red lipstick and black eye lashes. She stood to greet him and David stepped back in amazement. She was wearing the same maroon and lime green skirt and beige cardigan that Bridget had worn at the cinema the previous Saturday. Was this a remarkable coincidence or was she stalking him with a weird follow-up as a punishment for his harsh words at the staff review?

  He abandoned his usual pastime of guessing what name colleagues had invented to describe her appearance. She looked plain good, very good. He was so taken aback by her transformation that he had remained rooted on the spot by the door.

  Still smiling, she walked across to a low cupboard. “You don’t have to wait for my permission to sit down. Would you like a coffee?”

  Could it be possible that her voice had changed too? Softer, slower, seductive. “Yes please,” he squeaked. If she had walked past him outside of the work environment he would not have recognised her.

  He sat and watched in silence as she prepared the drinks with her back to him. David noted a very attractive shape. He’d never thought of her in terms of her femininity before, she’d just been his unpleasant boss. Mary set down two mugs, a milk jug, a cafetiere and a plate of chocolate biscuits on the desk between them. She poured the coffee.

  “Help yourself to biscuits.”

  She looked at him solemnly. “I owe you an apology. I’ve been obsessed with proving something since I started this job. I wanted everyone to know I was in charge and intended to turn things around. Working for the council is different to my experience of the private sector, but that doesn’t make it worse here. My behaviour’s been poor and I’m sorry.”

  She picked up a biscuit, broke it in half and took a bite. David noted the chocolate smear on her upper lip and the lipstick smear on the uneaten section of the biscuit – this meeting was inducing sexual thoughts mixed with a sense of disloyalty to Bridget. Surely Mary couldn’t be aware of his state of mind, but she had noticed something in his demeanour and was smiling with intent.

  “Good biscuits aren’t they,” she teased. “But back to work as I know you’ve got loads to do. I hope you’re prepared to forget what’s happened in the past and we can move on as a unified team.”

  “Yes, I am,” David uttered as he struggled to eliminate confused thoughts of both Mary and Bridget.

  Back in his office he struggled to focus on work. Finally accountancy replaced fantasy as he addressed the challenge of establishing procedures to prevent future budget difficulties. Accountant’s habits die hard and before long he was engrossed as he waded through spreadsheets. This focus came to a sudden halt when he remembered that an altercation with Rachel loomed. He had to plan how to deal with it. He must have been frowning when Jabulani appeared and placed a small flyer on his desk.

  “Oh dear, not a happy face. Another bad meeting I assume.”

  “What?”

  “With Mary.”

  “No, she was fine. I don’t know what’s got into her,” (or who, he contemplated), “but she’s completely different.”

  “Long may it last. Then why such a gloomy face?”

  “Oh, something to do with my daughter. She was brought home drunk by the police last night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be able to sort it,” David replied, more in hope than expectation.

  “She’s sixteen, isn’t she?”

  David nodded.

  “Well at least I’ve got a few more years before I have those sorts of worries with my children.”

  David had lifted up the flyer. As he read the sheet Jabulani announced: “You are to be an honoured guest at our first gig in England.” He and his brother, both their wives, and three other Zimbabweans had formed a band. They were called Kanjani and were performing at The Duchess of Devonshire the night before New Year’s Eve.

  “I’d love to come.”

  “And will you be bringing your new woman?”

  “She still isn’t quite my new woman, but we are getting on well.”

  “You must bring her, then she’ll be an even closer friend.”

  David smiled. “I certainly will.”

  “Excellent. And how are you progressing with onion layers? Have you stripped them all off yet?” Jabulani joked.

  “Actually I think some layers are back on, I’m much happier now. Tell me, what gave you the idea of using onions to explain personality? It’s neat.”

  “I made it up though I’m sure I’m not the first to use it. I could just as easily have said carrot or sweet potato; onion happened to be what came out.”

  “Carrots and sweet potatoes don’t have layers.”

  No, quite true. What a wise man you are, David. Well I’d better get back to work, see you later.”

  There was a concert to look forward to. David called Bridget to get her to put the date in her diary. They’d already talked about spending time together over the Christmas holiday period and this would be the first they’d planned.

  Bridget had bad news. On Christmas Eve she would be heading off to Ireland with her children to visit her aunt. “My cousin phoned this morning. Her mother’s very poorly and if I want to see her again I’ve got to do it quickly.”

  After offering sympathy he asked the big question. “When will you be back?”

  “I’m going for about week. I’ll be home on the second or third.”

  “So you’ll miss the gig?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Bridget sensed his disappointment and made light of it. “I know you want to chat about your café and then there’s that other matter. Both straight after I get back, I promise. What about Rachel, have you decided what to do?”

  He hadn’t even begun to think about it yet. How on earth would he be able to be open about the risks of, well risks of what? Under age sex, STDs, contraception, alcohol abuse, drug taking? Past conversations covering homework, menus and even smoking were trivial in comparison.

  “I’m going to ask Jane to join me for this,” he announced, as much to himself as to Bridget.

  “I think that’s the right decision. I hope it goe
s well.”

  The Reunion – R J Gould

  Chapter 24

  The decision to involve Jane was high risk since there had been no dialogue between Rachel and her mother since Jane had left. But Jane had been at the heart of all child crises for sixteen years and he needed her now. Sitting in his car in the driveway, which was emerging as the favoured venue for thinking things through, he called her and explained what had happened. She agreed to come over to take part in the evening’s meeting.

  Rachel hadn’t gone to school that day. By the time David got home she’d showered, cleaned up her bedroom floor, gone to the supermarket, and cooked dinner. She greeted David with a smile, but there was no apology. They talked small talk at the dinner table. When Sam had left the room, David could begin.

  “Rachel, we need to discuss last night. It’s a serious matter and your mother’s joining us.”

  “We don’t need her.”

  “I do, I’m not sure I can do it alone.”

  “What do you mean by ‘it’?”

  “Well, all sorts of things.”

  As if on cue they heard the front door open and Jane joined them in the kitchen.

  “Hello Rachel.”

  Rachel gave her a cursory nod as she sat down.

  David began. “We’re all aware that there are family issues, but I hope we can put those aside for a while to find out from Rachel what’s going on. Both agreed?” Neither Jane nor Rachel replied so he moved on.

  “Firstly, you told me a lie, Rachel. You said you’d be staying at Hannah’s.”

  Rachel admitted that she’d been at her boyfriend Joe’s house. It was news to David that she had a boyfriend and he expressed deep concern that she’d spent the night with him.

  “Actually his parents were in. I slept in the spare room.”

  David was relieved to hear this but less so when Rachel continued. “I’m not a child, dad. If his parents had been out I would have been in his bed.”

  Jane’s spoke. “You are a child, Rachel. You should not be in bed as you put it with a boy at your age.”

  “I’m sixteen, it’s legal.”