by Nick Corbett
“He’s an old bloke, probably wants to rest his bones there.”
“Well, if that’s the case, send him on a long holiday, during the construction works. When he gets back, we’ll have a new home ready for him.”
Joe is feeling very uneasy. They are obviously talking about his grandfather. He is thinking:
Has David Rogers orchestrated this meeting to get to Grandad’s property? Should I speak up now, or remain silent, let them reveal the full extent of their plans?
Joe is wrestling with these thoughts, trying to remain self-composed. He tries to stop fidgeting. Other questions are coming to mind. Surely they know his grandad still lives on the Broadway estate.
Luke must have told his dad, but then again, why should he?Anyway, David is a kind man, isn’t he? Just look at what he’s doing for Elias. David wouldn’t exploit one of his son’s best friends, would he? Then again, he is a ruthless businessman.
Peter Caruthers looks mean, capable of anything. Joe speaks up, in a faltering voice.
“The owner occupier that you’re talking about - I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but that’s my grandfather. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s him you’re talking about.”
Peter Caruthers looks genuinely astounded.
“Really? Joe, if I’ve spoken out of turn, I do apologise. I had no idea.” He appears to be genuinely troubled.
Joe looks David in the eye, but it’s impossible to make out what he is thinking.
After an agonising silence, David speaks.
“There’s no need to look so worried, Joe. I do apologise. I hadn’t realised your grandfather still lives on the estate. I meant what I said though. If it takes a new home, or a long holiday during construction works, it’ll be worth it for us. What do you think your grandfather would say to that?”
Joe takes a moment to think about his response.
“He wants to stay where he is, although…”
“Yes, although what?”
“Well, the other day, he said he wanted to have the earth beneath him and the sky above him. That sounds like a bungalow, doesn’t it?”
David raises an eyebrow at the mention of bungalow. He exchanges a furtive glance with Peter. Joe resolves to be bold.
“My grandfather would accept a new detached bungalow, and a holiday in Spain during construction works.” Joe pauses for breath, then continues. “Oh, and there’s a cherry tree that would have to be retained. It’s got sentimental value.”
Now David raises both eyebrows. He looks as if the world has fallen upon his shoulders. He sighs.
“Well, if that’s what it takes, we’ll have to look into it. But, I must say, a bungalow does concern me. I’ve never built such a thing.”
“There’s always a first time, David,” chips in Peter.
“What on earth would it look like?”
David turns to Joe for an answer. Joe thinks for a moment.
“Well, this old boathouse is rather like a bungalow. Could it look like this?” Joe gestures with his hand, lets his eyes wander about the place. In the corner of his eye, he notices an attractive waitress standing beside the bar. He quickly looks back to gauge David’s response. David is warming to the idea.
“Ah, yes, it could be designed as a lodge house, perhaps in a new garden square.”
“Yes, I can see that working,” says Peter.
David looks at his watch; he wants to wrap things up. He looks Joe in the eye.
“Any role that you have to play, Joe, is completely independent of a deal with your grandfather. So, are you still interested in working with us?”
“Yeah, I’m definitely interested, although the scale of it does sound a bit overwhelming.” Joe is about to elaborate on his concerns, but then the attractive waitress arrives at their table. She is wearing a black skirt, white blouse, black apron.
“Are you ready to order gentlemen?” she asks.
Once the orders are taken, the waitress departs.
“Antonio is very good at recruitment,” says David. Joe and Peter nod earnestly.
Their lunch consists of excellent Italian food, good wine, stimulating conversation.
“So it’s agreed!” booms David, so loudly that everyone in the restaurant turns to look at him.
They’ve agreed that Joe will work with them on redeveloping the housing estates.
“I’m sure Peter will match whatever you were earning in London,” David continues. There are nods and smiles around the table. David turns to Peter.
“Any chance of a lift to Lullingdon?”
“Of course, but I’ll need to leave now, I’ve got a meeting with the lawyers.”
David gets to his feet, presses a hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“The bill’s taken care of. If there’s anything else you’d like, just ask the delightful waitress.”
Joe gets up, shakes hands with David and Peter. David wanders off to have a quick word with Antonio.
Joe is now sitting alone, staring out of the window. David suddenly turns on his heels, heads back to the table. Joe looks up with a start to find David looming over him.
“My spectacles! I can’t read a thing with out them these days, sign of my age.”
He picks up his spectacles, which are resting upon the crisp white tablecloth. Joe appears to be pensive.
“David, the job sounds great, but…”
“But what?”
“It’s not something that Luke should be offered first, is it?”
David is emphatic in his reply.
“The job matches your skills and experience, not Luke’s. And Luke isn’t ready to leave London, not yet anyway.” David looks down at the floor for a moment, and then he looks directly at Joe, with a slightly unnerving directness.
“That strange dream I had years ago, of you and Luke crossing a river between the old gatehouse and your estate, you did make it to the other side. Weird things, dreams.”
He winks at Joe, turns to leave. Before he reaches the door, he turns back yet again, bellows across the restaurant.
“You’ll be great on our team, Joe!”
Joe smiles and waves goodbye, and then he is left to his thoughts. He runs his finger around the rim of his wine glass until it hums. He looks up, smiles as he catches the eye of the pretty waitress.
11 Pugin’s Tower
Winter and spring have been battling in the sky for some time, spring appears to be winning. It is quite cold, but bright and sunny. A large crowd is gathered in front of a stage; there is cheerful chatter and the smell of fresh paint.
“Have you got a bit of tissue? Quickly! I’ve got to get rid of this gum.”
Bill Robinson, still Secretary of State, snaps at Giles Best, his long-suffering Political Secretary. Giles’s upper lip quivers with disgust as he explains that he doesn’t have a receptacle for his boss’s gum. Cathy, wrapped up warm in colourful scarves, has become rather plump. She rummages in her handbag for a tissue. The three of them are standing behind some greenery in the wings of a temporary open-air stage. It’s been erected for the grand opening of phase one of Broadway Place, Joe’s reborn housing estate.
David Rogers beckons the Secretary of State to join him on the main stage. Bill’s face reddens, he forces a quick smile, gives a little wave, turns his back.
“That’s it! I’m being called on, now.”
David looks a little anxious, and then he formally introduces the Rt. Hon. Bill Robinson MP to the crowd. The sound of restrained applause breaks out, from some of the two hundred or so people in the crowd. They are all gathered in a beautiful new garden square. There are lots of people there from David Rogers’s companies, together with council workers, contractors, curious local residents and potential homebuyers. There is a large floral display standing on the edge of the stage. The Secretary of State breaks off a leaf, spits his gum into it, hands it to Giles. Without further ado, his short, rotund figure bounds onto the main stage. His reddened jowls shake violently as David gives him a firm handshake. Given their dif
ference in size, the two men look rather odd standing side by side. David’s large frame resembles a grizzly bear whilst the diminutive stature of the Secretary of State is closer to a koala. The crowd settles down.
Looking flustered, Bill grabs hold of the lectern with both hands. He is like the captain of a ship, holding the wheel in a storm. He pulls down the microphone to his height, winces when it whistles back at him. He takes a deep breath, regains his composure; looks over the square from his vantage point. The expectant crowd is hushed, except for a few squeals from overexcited children. They are being dragged off a bouncy castle on the far side of the square. A large white marquee stands beside it, guarded by Antonio, the manager of the Boat House restaurant. He is doing the catering for the day. Beside the marquee is a bandstand. Several cool-looking musicians loiter beside it, including Elias, clutching his violin to his chest. David asked if he would play at the opening ceremony, and he was happy to agree. Elias has grown. Physically, he looks more like a man than a youth; he has put on weight and muscle. He has grown in confidence too. Living and studying in London, and then moving to the Midlands to play with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, he’s become sophisticated. He wears a cap, pulled down on one side of his face. It marks him out as an artist, all be it in a slightly affected way.
Bill suddenly scowls. Some commotion has distracted him. He looks down with sharp eyes, like an old owl. Cathy and Giles are navigating their way around the side of the stage, between reporters and a television news camera. Cathy has spotted Joe and she’s forgotten herself. She elbows her way through the crowd to greet him; exclamations of “Oi!” and “Watch it!” Cathy embraces Joe warmly. She needs a hug. Cathy and Jean-Paul have been experiencing difficulties in conceiving a child. Jean-Paul is away a lot, working in Paris. Cathy has been seeking solace by over-eating, and listening to her old Tori Amos albums, loudly. The frown on the Secretary of State’s face becomes a smile.
Joe’s grandad stands beside him, looking older, but glowing with a Spanish suntan. Joe’s other school friends are nearby; Luke, Hannah and Archie. Luke stands with his girlfriend, Serena, and his mum, Annie. Archie is no longer a copper top; his short-cropped receding hair is bleached blonde. He is wearing sleek wrap-around sunglasses, like a rock star. Right at the back of the crowd is the old Scot, Jock, from the Regeneration Company. He has driven up from London for the day, keen to find out what his young apprentice has been up to.
Bill waits for silence. He looks beyond the expectant faces. Connecting with the square are new streets, lined with town houses, brightly painted doors behind front gardens. There is even a little corner shop. The new garden square is at the heart of it all. Within the square is an elegant single-storey, cream-coloured lodge. Its steeply-pitched slate roof shimmers blue in the sunlight. Beneath overhanging eaves are ornate Gothic style windows. There is a cottage garden. Grandad moved in just a few weeks ago.
The Secretary of State clears his throat, begins his speech.
“It’s been my privilege to serve as your Member of Parliament for three decades.”
“When are you going to retire?” shouts a heckler.
Bill ignores him, continues. “My old dad’s ninety-four now. He delivered the milk to the old manor house and cottages that stood here, not so long ago. It was a very pleasant place.”
He then explains about the housing shortage after the war, how they tried to build homes fit for heroes but followed untested ideas, and failed a generation. He speaks passionately.
“I’m not going to tolerate failed housing estates, not on my watch! Look around you. Why don’t we use this transformation as a model? Streets and squares, like the one we’re gathered in, to bring people together. I’m not going to go on.”
The heckler cheers loudly and some in the crowd laugh. Bill takes this as a cue to wrap up.
“We’re all invited to partake of refreshments in that impressive marquee over there. It’s all free!”
The crowd turns towards the marquee. Antonio stops twisting his moustache, braces himself like a rugby player.
David suddenly lunges across the stage, in an ungainly way. He holds a pair of scissors in one hand and a red ribbon in the other. He leans down, mutters something into Bill’s ear.
“Can I have your attention again please, ladies and gentlemen?” says Bill. “Shssh, this way please. Thank you. Right, I’m delighted to declare this new square and Broadway Place, OPEN!”
There is applause. The band starts playing. The lead singer bursts into a rendition of Is this the way to Amarillo? The Secretary of State is now boogying on the stage. He turns to David, mouths the words.
“Was-that-okay?”
David nods back emphatically, gives the thumbs up sign, starts to dance, rather alarmingly. His son, Luke, puts his hand to his forehead, shakes his head in embarrassment. His father is flapping his arms on the stage like a seagull on acid. Both David and Bill are singing:
“Sha la la la la la la la… Sha la la la la la la la… Sha la la la la la la la... and Marie who waits for me…”
David spots his wife, Annie, beckons her to join him. As soon as she is on the stage, the Secretary of State grabs hold of her. They dance together as if back in the sixties. All decorum has gone. The Lord Mayor, his wife, other dignitaries are all on stage, twisting and turning. Joe takes Hannah by the hand, they lose themselves in the bopping crowd.
Luke and Archie are standing next to the buffet tables in the marquee, laughing. Joe joins them.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Shush, he’s here,” says Archie, covertly to Luke.
Luke places a hand upon Joe’s shoulder.
“We’re laughing at you! Do you remember when you came to my house in your paisley y-fronts?”
“He looks very different these days, doesn’t he, in that dapper suit? Your dad’s paying him too much, Luke.” Archie looks very cool, sunglasses pulled up over the top of his head. Cathy joins the boys with more snacks, after her third visit to the buffet table. Hannah is standing nearby, engrossed in a conversation with Luke’s mum, Annie. Joe picks up the conversation where Luke left it, he turns to Cathy.
“Do you remember, when we were eighteen, we went swimming in the forest and you drove off with my clothes? I never got them back; what did you do with them?”
“Yikes! That was a long time ago, sweetie. I didn’t drive off with your clothes though. I’m pretty sure I left them on the roof of Luke’s mighty Mini. Didn’t you find them?”
“No. I never did!”
Everyone tucks into more food. Amicable chatter and belly laughs fill the friend’s corner of the marquee. Then Joe spots Archie drifting off. He decides to follow him.
Joe finds Archie staring at Grandad’s gleaming lodge house. Joe stands alongside his friend, points out the cherry tree, which is full of pink blossom.
“My grandparents planted that tree in 1969 when they moved into the old council estate.”
“Very pretty,” replies Archie. “Your grandad’s house looks great. That old estate was such a dump.”
“I know, I lived on it for years.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You weren’t, you were just honest.”
“Honesty’s important isn’t it, between friends?”
Joe suspects something’s up. “How’re things going with you, Archie?”
“So, so.”
“Why not good?”
Archie doesn’t answer. Joe continues.
“Have you ever thought about moving back home? It’d be great to have you around.”
“You’re joking aren’t you? I hate coming back here,” replies Archie, tersely.
Joe is taken aback. Archie’s voice is getting louder.
“I hate things like this event. People are so smug, small-minded. I can’t wait to get back to London.”
Joe is shocked, takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
“You looked as if you were having a good time last ni
ght, in the pub.”
Joe, Archie, and Luke had taken Elias out to one of their old teenage drinking haunts.
“That was the drink,” replies Archie.
Joe looks annoyed. “So, you weren’t having a good time with your mates?”
“It was nice to catch up. Elias is a good lad. It’s amazing how many girls appear when he’s around.”
Joe nods, that is certainly true, but he wants to get to the bottom of what is making Archie unhappy. He pushes further.
“So, what’s going on in your life?”
“I don’t know, I don’t enjoy people’s company anymore.”
“What about Sam? I thought you were going to bring her.”
“She’s got a new boyfriend. They’re very serious. Everyone’s become a couple. I seem to be the only one left, on the shelf.” He looks forlorn. “Sometimes I wonder where everybody’s gone.”
Archie has been introspective since he turned thirty. The other friends all had thirtieth birthday parties, but not Archie. His friends didn’t even give him a card. Now Joe tries to say something helpful.
“Perhaps you need a holiday.”
Archie’s demeanour becomes harder. “You need to be careful, Joe.”
“That sounds ominous, what do you mean?”
“You’ve changed, in some ways for the better. It’s good to see you and Hannah together; you certainly took your time there. But…”
“But what?”
“You’ve also changed for the worse.”
“How d’you mean?”
“You’ve become, well, what’s the word? Smug. You’d be crazy to stay in this backwater. Haven’t you at least thought about coming back to London? I’ve been seeing a bit more of Luke recently, we sometimes meet up for a pint.”
“I don’t want to move back to London,” replies Joe. “I feel different since I returned home, not smug; settled. I’ve been unlearning a lot of the rubbish I thought was important. Do you know what I mean?”
“No. Enlighten me.”
“How can I put it?” Joe thinks for a moment, and then he continues. “Kensington High Street used to have a lot of clutter. It had orange sodium streetlights. Everything was washed in orange; people couldn’t see true colours at night. When we put white light in, people could see true colour. It looked completely different, much better. I’ve been going through a similar process. Getting rid of my clutter, trying to see true colour.”