A Dish of Stones

by Valentina Hepburn

  She stepped into the kitchen and closed the door quietly behind her.

  Chapter 21

  “I don’t have any family, Diana. They’re all dead.”

  “Oh, Matthew, how awful. I can’t imagine how that must feel...to not have anyone at all.”

  “I’ve got used to it over the years. I’m totally alone...except for you of course.”

  “You’re not alone, darling. We’re together now. My parents are your parents.”

  “I can’t tell you how that makes me feel.”

  Matthew Barton sat at his desk leafing through a hefty file of papers. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and laying them down on top of the stack of documents rubbed his eyes, tired from reading for too long. He began to go through the file yet again. “Damn.”

  Pushing his chair back he walked over to the console-table where he poured a large whisky. He drained it in one then poured another and sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the fire. Swirling the golden liquid around the bottom of the glass he watched how the reflection of the fire glinted in the malt sending sparks of amber and gold over his hand. Relaxing back into the chair he took a swig from the glass and stared at the flames in the grate as they leapt and danced up the chimney. A disturbing image of two girls would not leave him and he felt sick at heart. He hadn’t stopped thinking about them since the day they stood in that very room. He shook his head, ill at ease with his thoughts and bent forward towards the fire. “What to do?”

  Stephen had denied everything. “Oh, Father, please, you’re joking. Surely you don’t believe their fairy stories?” he’d snorted down the receiver. “Yes, I know them. Everybody knows them. Emma’s a tramp who’s been trying to get inside my pants for months. You can’t believe that I would sleep with a girl like her?”

  Matthew had laughed along with his son, neither believing nor disbelieving him. Stephen had said the right things. As far as he was concerned he wasn't the father.

  “I’m glad to hear it, Stephen,” Matthew had said. “Because if you were the father of her child and it got out it would drag our good name through the shit. Neither your mother nor I would be able to support you. You do understand that?”

  Stephen understood his father only too well. His words turned to sawdust in his mouth as he struggled to find the right ones to placate his father. Matthew misunderstood the silence thinking his son was about to disagree with him or fight his corner. “We would take every step to distance ourselves from this if needs be and we would reconsider your allowance. I’m not willing to finance that little trollop and her bastard so you’d better make sure you cover your tracks and leave nothing to chance. Talk to the girl if necessary but don't leave her in any doubt: there’s no meal ticket for her here. Do you get my drift, Stephen?” Stephen swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yes, Father.”

  When Matthew had replaced the receiver he’d smiled to himself. Threatening to decrease Stephen’s allowance was always the best course of action to get what he wanted. In Stephen’s world money talked. He wanted to forget the girl now. She was a minor issue compared to the lawsuits he was wrestling with, but he couldn’t help thinking there was unfinished business there. He wasn't concerned about Stephen and he was sure he would deal with his little problem in his own way. There was something else worrying him, turning his insides into a queasy swell of nausea.

  The sisters had looked completely incongruous in his study. Totally out of step with the surroundings, they’d clung to each other for security like refugees from a war-zone. Matthew had seen something familiar about their gaunt faces. The animal-like hunger in their eyes glinted like flints, almost daring him to step over the divide that separated their two very different worlds. Thirty-years-ago Matthew had seen that gaunt and hungry look in his own eyes. It was that look and what it had meant to him that had lifted him body and soul out of the grimy hell that was his past life. His resolution to break the chains linking him with the Sunningdale Terrace end of The Smithy had pushed him to reinvent himself: to sever all association with his blood family.

  As he sat nursing his drink he stared in to the fire that had since died down and was quietly smouldering in the grate. With a jolt he began to understand what was troubling him. The girls had prodded dim and distant memories of a life that had simply faded into oblivion for him; a life that he’d purged from his very essence. Yet here it was like an uncontrollable beast, rearing its ugly head, ready to attack him. It wasn't alone. It advanced stealthily towards him, accompanied by its allies, grief and guilt. Grief, because the shame and humiliation he'd read in their eyes had made him realise how much he loved and missed his mother. He’d rejected her simply because his father was a tyrant; a lout who had often beaten his wife and Matthew, his only child. He had left her to defend herself; to bear the burden of poverty and violence alone. In all the years he’d been apart from her he had not thought of her once. She had not entered his thoughts for one single second in the last thirty years, knowing there was a price to pay for that destructive thought that would lead him to his own private hell.

  He was beginning to pay the price now. There was nothing he could do to stop the dammed-up guilt breaking through the barriers and beginning the journey it had been waiting for. The swollen river of remorse coursed through his arteries, veins and capillaries and into every living cell of his body. It was like a tidal-wave, beginning at his feet and rising up over his torso into his shoulders and arms, up his neck and into his mind and thoughts. The final surge of bitterness cascaded like a waterfall of scorching molten lava over his heart. The scream of torment and pain that burst from his mouth resounded throughout the house. Diana ran into the study, her face creased with fear. “Matthew,” she cried. “What is it, Matthew? Is it your heart?” He began to cry, heart wrenching sobs that came from the very centre of him. Gradually, his weeping subsided.

  “Shall I call Dr. Morton.” He shook his head. “No...No...I’ll be all right in a minute.” She looked into his face, searching for answers, stroking his forehead while she spoke softly to him. “Are you all right now?”

  He cupped her face, looking into soft eyes glistening with tears. Trailing his hand down her neck his eyes did not leave hers for a second. He pushed her gently back then knelt in front of her and undid the buttons of her blouse, allowing the soft ivory silk to fall gently from her shoulders. He bent to kiss her breasts. Diana was overjoyed. They had not made love for months. Matthew closed his eyes and thought of Ruby, the prostitute he’d regularly visited for the last two years. As she appeared in his mind’s eye he became aroused and put his hand behind Diana’s neck, pushing her head down towards him.

  “Be nice to Matthew,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Mattie’s sad and you want him to be happy, don’t you?”

  ***

  Stephen slammed down the receiver his face contorted into hatred. “Fuck you, you bastard,” he spat at the telephone. He paced the room, furious that Kate and Emma had gone to his parents and accused him. “I could never be a father to that whore’s brat,” he cried out loudly. “All I did was shag her. I didn’t promise her anything and anyway...” He stretched his arms out imploringly to the four walls of his room. “I paid the bitch for it. I’ve already paid her damn it. It’s her bloody fault if she got pregnant.” He threw himself down on to his bed and buried his face into his pillow. The thought that he might lose his allowance simply because of some little tramp was ridiculous.

  He stretched out his hand towards his bedside cabinet, pulling out a tobacco tin from the top draw. Prising off the lid he took out a joint and placed it between his lips. He lit the end of it and relaxed back against the wall, inhaling the mixture of tobacco and marijuana deep into his lungs. Already the machinations of his mind started to seek out a plan that would get him out of trouble. Mother will help me, he thought. I can wind her around my little finger. I know she loves me even though she doesn’t show it sometimes.

  He smiled lazily and stubbed out th
e end of the joint in the tobacco tin lid, his tense muscles beginning to loosen up and his earlier stress slowly evaporating. I can easily deal with this, he thought. It won’t come to anything.

  Chapter 22

  “I asked her.”

  “You asked who what?”

  “I asked Kate out for a drink.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago. We’ve been seeing each other, casual like.”

  “You kept that quiet, our Jack. Your mum’ll be livid she wasn’t the first to know. How did it go, anyway?”

  “Yeah, it was really nice. She’s a lovely girl, Dad.”

  “Told yer.”

  “So. Where are we going?”

  Jack’s hands rested lightly on the steering wheel. He looked down at Kate, grinning. She wanted to tell him she didn't care where they went as long as they were together, but it was too soon. For the time being he would have to remain oblivious to the fact that Kate had loved him longer than he could possibly know. She didn't want to spoil everything before it had even started. “What do you think?”

  “We could go up-west,” he said. “There’s loads to do there.”

  “That would be great,” she answered, already excited at the prospect. “I’ve never been to the West End before. I’d love to go.”

  He leant forward in his seat and rubbed his hand across the windscreen of his new red Ford Cortina 1600E; his pride and joy. As the screen cleared he spotted Ivy looking at them from the window. “Mum’s watching us,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “God, she’s nosy.” Kate laughed and waved to Ivy who waved back. “Yeah, but I think we can forgive her.”

  “Yep,” he nodded. “Does your mum know you’re out with me tonight?” She looked down at her hands resting in her lap, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Angie. “No. I said I was going out with Elaine.”

  “She’ll see you out of the window, won’t she? If she’s anything like Mum she’ll know everything that’s going on in this street.”

  “She’s not been well. She went back to bed this afternoon so I didn’t bother to tell her. She probably won’t surface until tomorrow now.”

  “It must be hard for you and Emma, what with her being ill so often.” She rubbed the mist from the side-window with her sleeve. “She can’t help it. She’s been ill since my dad left. It changed everything for her and she hasn’t coped very well since.” He changed the subject. He thought she might open up but she clearly wasn't ready. I can't even imagine what you're going through, he thought. “I know, we’ll go to the theatre. I’ll take you to a show.”

  ***

  It was dark and drizzle had started to fall, the kind of rain so fine it resembles particles of dust whirling in the air. “We were lucky to get that parking space,” Jack said light-heartedly. “The King’s Road’s normally choc-a-block with traffic. Parking spaces are like gold dust.”

  Kate was some way behind him as he strode down the main road and he waited for her at the kerb. When he saw her panting he realised he’d expected her to walk as fast as he did.

  “Sorry, Kate. I stride ahead, don’t I, even with my gammy leg? Force of habit. Sorry.”

  “I’m all right, just a bit soggy.” Her black hair was damp and stuck flat to her head. She tried to fluff it up with her fingers.

  “I should’ve dropped you off right outside the theatre. Why don’t I put my brain into gear sometimes?” She looked up at him as the rain dripped off the end of her nose and they both laughed.

  “Don't be daft,” she said as she wiped the rain from her face on to her sleeve. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s find the theatre.”

  The theatre was on the King’s Road in Chelsea. Kate gasped when she saw what was showing. “Richard O’Brien’s, The Rocky Horror Show,” she gasped. “Oh, brilliant. I’ve read about it in Jackie magazine and it’s supposed to be amazing.”

  Jack grinned, glad he’d pleased her. Outside the theatre people mingled and chatted as they waited for the doors to open. Actors stood at the entrance dressed in strange and fantastic costumes with plastic moulds pressed so hard against their faces it distorted their features into freakish masks. With slow, strange movements they eerily beckoned the waiting crowd into the theatre.

  “Look at them,” cried Kate. “They’re so weird. I can’t wait to see this.”

  They followed the crowd inside and stood in line at the Box Office waiting their turn to buy tickets. The queue was shorter than Jack had expected.

  “When do you want the tickets for, sir?” Jack smiled widely at the sales girl who looked bored, obviously wishing she were somewhere else. Jack’s smile slipped when she didn’t return it. “Er, tonight please.” She looked at him scathingly then sighed theatrically.

  “Really? Do you see that poster over there?” She pointed towards a brightly coloured poster advertising the show. He nodded, wincing as he realised his mistake.

  “Well, sir, if you look closely you will see that a bill has been placed across it. Can you see what it says?” Jack felt himself go crimson. He tried not to look at Kate who was also looking at the poster. He nodded.

  “It says ‘sold out’, sir. That means we're sold out of tickets. If you would like to book tickets for next September and wait in the foyer until that time, I would imagine that you and your...,” she looked over to Kate”,... friend, would get a good seat. So? What’s it to be?”

  “I think we’d like to think about it if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said rudely.

  They found themselves back on the pavement outside the theatre. Jack looked glum. “I messed that up didn’t I? What a disaster.” Kate slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, smiling up at him.

  “At least it’s stopped raining.”

  “Yeah, that’s something. OK. Which way, left or right?” Kate stepped further out onto the pavement and looked one way then the other.

  “They both look the same, sort of,” she said, “but I think we’ll go...left.”

  “Left it is then.”

  They walked hand in hand down the street. The shops were still open and they window shopped, laughing and pointing at all the touristy gifts and memorabilia visitors could buy to celebrate their visit to London. In one gift shop they saw a bowler hat decorated with the Union Jack complete with nylon ginger hair all the way round the brim. Jack wanted to buy it to make her laugh but she begged him not to and hung on to the sleeve of his trench-coat to stop him from going into the shop.

  “I was only kidding,” he said. “I wouldn’t have bought it, honestly.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, grinning.

  They came to the end of the road where the shops had thinned out a little. At the corner was a Greek restaurant. “Let’s go in here,” said Jack. “Have you eaten Greek before?” She shook her head.

  “You’ll love it, Kate, I promise. We’ll have a Greek meal. How does that sound?”

  Her mouth was already watering at the smell of sizzling meat drenched with pungent olive oil wafting out towards them from the restaurant. She peered inside through the large picture window where a large chunk of lamb was turning on an upright spit, and garlic bulbs and red peppers were placed at intervals on the windowsill as decoration. Stubby candles pushed into the top of wine bottles flickered in the semi-darkness. “I’m really hungry.” He grabbed her hand and pushed open the door. “Let’s eat.”

  ***

  They scrambled into the car as fast as they could, shutting the doors with a slam to keep out the freezing air.

  “Brr,” said Jack, rubbing his hands together. “It’s so cold. Are you all right, Kate? When I’ve switched the engine on it’ll warm up a bit.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. It’s as cold as this in our house sometimes so I’m used to it.” He looked at her in amazement. “Don’t you have central heating?” She shook her head. “No. We’ve just a coal fire in the living room, and the burners on the stove heat the kitchen. It’s OK when they
’re all on together. The worst time is first thing in the morning, especially if Mum’s let the fire go out in the night. It means I’ve got to rake out the grate before I can make another.”

  He shook his head angrily, quickly turning the engine on. He wondered at her life thinking you'd treat a dog better than Kate’s mother treated her. “What did you think of the food at the Greek?”

  “It was fantastic. All those dishes,” she cried. “I’ve never eaten so much. I don’t think I could eat another thing for a week.” Jack steered the car out of the space and turned onto the main road. “I always say that but the full feeling soon wears off. I’ll be ready to eat again by the time we get home.”

  “I don’t know where you put it all,” she grinned. “You must have hollow legs.” She looked down quickly as she realised what she’d said. “Sorry, Jack.”

  “Forget it. I can talk about it now. I was pretty cut up about it when I first knew that my leg had had it. I felt I’d failed; that all the work and effort I’d put into trying to build my career had gone to waste but I’m seeing things differently now. I’m trying to be more positive. It’s no good looking back and feeling regret. I had a wonderful time in the army. I made some brilliant mates and did things that I would never have done if I’d stayed home.” He glanced at her. “My life’s in Willowbridge now. It’s where my future is and I have a choice as to whether I’m going to be happy or sad about it, so I’ve decided to be happy.” He paused. He wanted to tell her that the best part about being home was seeing her but he felt himself going red even at the prospect of it. He was glad it was dark.