What a nice day. And then I switched on Teletext to find out the Leicester result. They lost 1-6 at Ipswich! After being 1-1 at half-time!
Oh dear, don’t say we are in for another catastrophic season.
NOTES
HOLLY AND JESSICA: TWO BODIES FOUND. It’s almost certainly the girls. We didn’t find out till tonight.
Those poor families. Jules and I both had to blink away the tears. We have so much, and they have lost so much.
Life is so fucking stupid.
Monday, August 19
I popped into work, to make sure Ronnie was set for the week (I’ve booked the whole week off) and to pick up any personal mail. He didn’t look a very happy bunny, or sound like his usual chirpy self (amazing creatures, these chirping bunnies) so I sat him down and told him to tell me all. He told me to sod off and enjoy my holiday; he wasn’t going to spoil it by burdening me with his problems.
‘It’s hardly a holiday, moving house’ I said, ‘so you won’t spoil anything. And besides, the family, sharing things with them, the agonies and the ecstasies – these are the truly important things in life. And if you don’t tell me I’ll sack you. All right?’
‘All right.’
I think he was relieved. He took a moment or two to compose his thoughts, and then launched into it: ‘I’ve sort of dumped Mia, and I feel terrible about it. I can’t live like that any more – but she needs me. Her mum doesn’t understand addiction. I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Where is she now? Is she at her mum’s?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘And what sort of state have you left her in?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Suicidal?’
‘No no. Cocaine doesn’t do that to you. Well, usually …’
‘Does she need counselling?’
‘Er … it might help. She certainly doesn’t get any from her mother.’
‘Right …’ I had a vague idea, which was probably worth crystallising. ‘Give me her mum’s name, address, phone number.’
‘Okay. How, er …’
‘I know a lot of social services people in Leicestershire – sorting out your Granddad’s problems over the past few years. Perhaps I can drum up some help. We shall see.’
Helen W. is the Mother Teresa of social workers. We have shared many a coffee discussing Alzheimer’s and my father. But she owes me nothing. She has already acted above and beyond. But by the end of this afternoon she had found a plausible pretext to go to Mia’s home, then ‘stumbled’ by chance on to her problem with cocaine, and calmly arranged for her to see ‘Super Doug’, a reformed addict once known as ‘Super Drug’ who is now apparently a master counsellor.
Jules and I spent the afternoon emptying the tea chests left in the living room. Our stuff looks at home there. It will look even better when we get a carpet down that doesn’t have swirly patterns over it.
Tuesday, August 20
Nipped into town to buy a couple of small filing cabinets and some shelves for my new office, squashed them into the back of the hatch, and then spent most of the day sorting out my new nerve centre (while Jules finished the bathroom and cloakroom).
I’d had a sort-out as I packed for the move, but I went through most of the paperwork again as I re-filed and got rid of another wodge.
By mid-afternoon it was looking neat, efficient, and very office-like. I sat at my desk, booted up the Mac, had a couple of games of Solitaire, and checked the emails. Getting on for 50! Nearly all spam. Like junk snail-mail you have to check out who sent the stuff, just in case. It took me an hour. Not so much spam fritters as spam tossers.
NOTES
The Soham caretaker has been charged with murder – and sectioned. His girlfriend is charged with attempting to pervert justice. Jesus! I suspect the names Ian Huntley and Maxine Carr will live with us for a long time.
Wednesday, August 21
We knocked off the guest bedrooms and utility room. Nearly there, for the moment. We’re gonna have to start moving things again when we fit new carpets and do the decorating (it’s all a bit pastel and pretty for us), but we’ll leave all that for a few months, while we settle in.
Thursday, August 22
We stored stuff we don’t want or need for the moment – some in the loft and some in the shed, or ‘outbuilding’ as Jules insists on calling it. And then treated ourselves to a pub lunch in the sun by the canal at Thrupp. Very nice. And a snooze afterwards. It’s almost beginning to feel like a holiday, so I resisted the temptation to phone Ronnie.
Decided I needed some exercise after tea, so I mowed our new lawns for the first time. it didn’t take quite as long as I feared – about 45 minutes – but I shall definitely have to get one of those big petrol-driven buggers (not quite big enough for a ride-on; or is it?).
Friday, August 23
The lovely weather continued, so Jules and I decided to spend the day touring our new estate – all right, walking round the garden – and assessing the options; maybe even doing a little pottering (there are an awful lot of weeds in the flower beds and a former, thankfully smallish, vegetable plot).
There are two main decision to be made: 1. Where will I put my golf green? But I didn’t tell Jules about that, just yet; and 2. Are we having a swimming pool or not? I concentrated on Number 2.
We opened up all the windows along the long frontage, walked up and down dozens of times, looked at it from all angles, pondered and tried to visualise. As lunchtime approached, we settled ourselves on the patio. I fetched a pad of A4 and began doodling some ideas, while Jules went inside to rustle up a few sandwiches and a small jug of Pimms (not too strong; wanted to stay awake).
We sat there in this quiet idyll for some time, occasionally discussing ideas and my not-very-technical drawings, safe from the horrors of the world. Then an old car drove very noisily up our drive and stopped five yards from us. The young male driver got out; his young female passenger stayed in the car.
The semi-callow youth apologised for bothering us and asked politely if he was right in thinking that we were Mr and Mrs H. I nodded. SCY turned his head towards the car and nodded. There was an awkward silence while the attractive young lady got out of the car and retrieved something from the back seat. The conversation suddenly turned interesting.
‘Er, I’m Mark Wilkinson, a reporter from the Echo,’ said SCY in a high voice edged with a Gloucestershire accent (native, not imported posh). ‘Hayley is one of our photographers. To come straight to the point, we’ve heard a rumour that you’re a Lottery winner. Is it true?’
‘Aye,’ I said.
SCY beamed.
‘Won a tenner last week,’ I added.
He laughed. AYL, still obviously a newcomer to the profession, still too unsure of herself to ‘shoot first, ask questions later’, smiled sheepishly. She did start to fiddle with her camera, though.
Neither Jules nor I spoke. The ball was in their court.
‘Um, no, er … seriously,’ he faltered. ‘We’ve heard that you’ve won a major jackpot.’
‘Who told you that?’ I countered.
‘I’m afraid we can’t reveal our sources. Is it true then?’
‘I wish it was,’ I said evenly. ‘Then we wouldn’t be sitting here wondering whether we’ve done the right thing letting ourselves in for a huge mortgage on this place.’
‘Just moved in, haven’t you?’ persisted SCY.
‘Aye.’
‘Printer, aren’t you?’
‘Aye. Got my own little business. Doing all right, actually. Enough to buy this place anyway.’
‘And you definitely haven’t won the Lottery? Bar a tenner?’
‘Nope. Sadly.’
They went on their way. No story, no pictures.
And were we left there sitting on our expensive patio furniture, sipping Pimms, and sketching our new swimming pool. Lottery winners indeed!
FR denied all knowledge. Vehemently. I believe him, of course, without hesitatio
n or reservation. (He said he would try to find out more, even though the SCY and AYL were from one of the opposition rags.)
But who else? None of the kids, obviously. Andrew and/or GAP definitely not. The rest of the family live too far away. The only possibility that springs to mind now – does Ms Dove know yet?
MLTJ.
Jules asked me afterwards: ‘Why do you say “Aye” when you’ve got something to hide? And “nope”.’
‘Do I?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘Aye.’
Saturday, August 24
I phoned Cory on his mobile. He was staying over at Christine’s, I discovered and was – naively, I suppose – surprised. Perhaps it was this mild shock that triggered my subsequent brainstorm. I certainly wasn’t thinking straight.
No, he couldn’t really talk about private family business, which meant she was nearby. Perhaps they were having breakfast together. Perhaps they were still in bed together. I couldn’t picture Cory taking the sofa. I could, however, make a good stab at picturing Ms Dove naked in bed, and was about to, when I realised it might not be a good idea. Not only was she young enough to be my daughter, she might end up as my daughter-in-law.
I took an instinctive chance. ‘Listen, and don’t reply until I’ve finished. Does Christine know about the Lottery? Say…’ (then suddenly remembering the kids’ childhood games on holiday in the Lake District) ‘… Keswick for Yes, and er … Cockermouth for No.’
‘I can’t say that!’ he hissed back with some alarm.
‘Er…’ And then it dawned on me. ‘Shit – sorry, Cory. Um – ‘
‘Jesus, Dad – she can’t hear you. Especially now she’s gone out to the kitchen. And the answer is No.’
NOTES
Football League chiefs have ordered Leicester to reinstate Dennis Wise. Stupid twats. In what other profession can you assault a colleague and not get sacked?
The good news is, we beat Reading 2-1.
Sunday, August 25
Cory stayed over again at Christine’s, but he managed to phone me late this morning on his way to the newsagent’s to pick up a Sunday paper while ‘Chrissy’ did her ablutions. (I didn’t make any jokes about that giving him enough time to read a broadsheet cover to cover; he’ll learn soon enough.)
I explained my cryptic message, and, like me, he couldn’t think of anyone who would have told the press. His only ‘long shot’ was that Kev or Baz might have heard something untoward at the barbie, and then maybe mentioned it to someone else – but they certainly wouldn’t have gone to the press.
Then I had a thought: Tom next door, as was. Perhaps he had heard something. And he is to discretion what Dennis Wise is to … discretion.
Whatever; Jules and I decided to leave it. If people know, they know. We just won’t admit anything. Unless we have to.
Cory told me he slipped ‘Cockermouth’ into the conversation this morning (he must have got to know her much better overnight) – and Chrissy has been there! I made a mental note never to mention the Lake District in her presence.
Monday August, 26
Back to work. I spent the whole day in the office, catching up. Ronnie has done a good job, and there were no major problems to sort out, but he isn’t in to anything more than the basics as far as administration goes.
He seems back to his old self. He went to Leicester at the weekend and spent most of Sunday with Mia. She has had one session with Super Doug, and is already a lot happier with herself and with life in general. She appears to have accepted that they are no longer an item – just ‘good mates’.
Tuesday, August 27
Spent the morning chasing up a couple of new jobs for Ronnie (and me, I suppose) – and got them. Cor! Salesman as well as administrator …
Went home after a pint and a cigar, and found Jules weeding the flower borders. I started on the ex-veg plot. It didn’t take us that long. Then I had another go at my swimming pool sketches, while Jules did some ‘deadheading’ (I think) and some proper pruning. She’s been reading a gardening book – apparently we need some ‘ground cover’ plants to keep the weeds down; and equally apparently we are going to a garden centre tomorrow to get some. And to look for some ‘classy’ slabs to improve and extend the patio area. Which, just by chance, ties in with my preferred sketch for the pool.
All go, ennit?
NOTES
It goes from bad to worse for the boys. LCFC have debts of £40million apparently, and are busy in discussion with creditors and the bank. Chairman Greg Clarke says he can give no guarantees that the club will be able to finish the season.
Eh!? You’re having a laugh, man.
Wednesday, August 28
I can see how you can get hooked on gardening. The garden centre nearest to the Heights is a cracker; packed with beautiful plants, some I’d never seen before, or never noticed before. I particularly liked what Jules called ‘architectural’ plants (she’s getting all the jargon): palms, bamboos, fern trees (or was that tree ferns?), all with dramatic foliage, and the delicate colours and shapes of some of the ground-cover plants.
I even enjoyed choosing some new paving slabs. These are to be delivered, along with a ton of shingle and some membrane. Jules did explain, but I’m still not sure.
Friday, August 30
We picked up the Lexus this morning, and returned home the scenic route, each taking a turn to drive. It’s a sheer delight.
Probably just as well it wasn’t in the drive last Friday, when the local press came calling. If they come back for another try next Friday they’ll find a smart little cabriolet there as well!
NOTES
LCFC say they won’t pay Wise a penny. Good for them.
Saturday, August 31
Spent most of the day on the garden – Jules the foreman, me the labourer. Quite enjoyed the physical work though. Putting in our new plants, digging out the new area, which links the patio with one of the beds, where the gravel will go (and thus form a sort of ‘scree garden’, I am informed).
Knackering but satisfying. It looks good.
NOTES
Despite all the off-pitch problems, the boys beat Gillingham 2-0. Come on, you Blues!
Sunday, September 1
FR was suitably impressed when I picked him up in the Lexus. As were Chris L and Dave. We decided to play pairs, and the toss of the balls partnered FR and me. Usually we don’t play well together, but this time we were okay. I hit some good tee-shots and only one bad duff near the green. Should have shot better than 92, but we took £3 each off them. Which we promptly put back over the bar.
Football report in The Rag: ‘Then came the shit of the day from Jones. It arched gracefully over the keeper’s head and just under the bar, leaving the home supporters stunned.’
I would have been, too.
Monday, September 2
Into a nice routine now: work Monday, part of Tuesday and Wednesday, and see what the rest of the week brings.
Well, Monday brought a bit of a surprise this week – Ronnie wants to expand into digital printing, offering a complete across-the-counter service to the general public: things such as colour and mono photocopying, laminating, large-format posters, short-run leaflets/brochures, scanning from disks, as well as conventional four-colour printing for corporate customers.
I asked him if he knew how much a digital press costs. He did; he showed me the figures. I asked him if he had thought how we would finance this aforementioned press (and, presumably, the lease on a prominent high street location, so people could drop in easily) – without selling our ‘proper’ press. He had a suggestion: he knew a printer who wanted to set up business in Oxfordshire, and who would love to buy into an existing business, and maybe we could get a bank loan on the rest. But digital was the way of the future; we had to get in now.
I was stunned for a while. Until I realised I hadn’t asked the obvious question.
‘And who is this mystery printer. Please don’t tell me it’s Jim Felix.’
‘
Um – I think you know her …’
Her?
‘Sally Balm,’ he added, at the very moment the penny dropped.
‘How do you know her?’ I asked.
‘She came in while you were off.’
‘Am I supposed to know about this?’
‘She came to see you. To put the idea to you. But I didn’t want to disturb your holiday, so, as managing director …’ (said with a cheeky smile) ‘… I made an executive decision. I invited Sally out for a meal one night to talk it through. And I’ve been trying to draw up a business plan ever since.’
‘She convinced you, then?’
‘She certainly did. I think you ought to meet her again.’
‘I will. Tomorrow?’
‘That’ll do nicely.’
It’s now 11.15pm. I’ve looked over all the relevant material written by both Sally and Ronnie. It all seems fair and above-board. No sign of a scam.
And Ronnie was obviously as impressed with her as I had been. I just hope it’s his brain speaking, not his cock. She is a very attractive lady.
Tuesday, September 3
My first early start for quite a while. We had the kettle on by 8am and Sally was pitching her idea to me by five-past. I had decided within ten minutes – yes, it was the way of the future – but I let them both put their ideas. I also let them reiterate the finances of expansion. Sally was prepared to put in part or even all she had originally offered for the business, for a fair share of the business, and a proportionate fair share of the profits (the size of those shares still to be worked out).
The Trouble With Money (The diary of a Lottery winner) Page 14