by T J Price
‘Yeah?’ The answering voice didn’t care about his hangover.
‘Carl.’
‘What?’
‘Carl.’
‘What?’
‘Carl.’
The door was yanked open. Carla was dressed in a new suit and her face was half made up. ‘For fuck’s sake, what?’
‘Shush – Louisa.’
Carla glanced down the landing. ‘What you done to her?’
‘She’s asleep . . . Hey, what you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she sounded disappointed. ‘Come in then.’
Carla went back to her dressing table and stooped down to examine her face in the mirror. Gwynne followed her in and closed the door after him.
‘Did you say last night you’re putting the place up for sale next month?’ He demanded.
‘Yes.’ Carla scowled as she poked amongst the cosmetics scattered over her table.
‘That doesn’t give me much time to find somewhere else, does it?’
‘I told you last night, didn’t I? I’ll ask David to help you and Louisa with a mortgage. You’ll have to rent a place for a bit maybe.’
‘Louisa? What’s Louisa got to do with it? I’m the one who’s house is being sold from under him. Not her.’
Carla seemed not to listen. ‘She’ll be paying half the mortgage, won’t she?’
‘Nobody’s that fucking stupid,’ Gwynne said wistfully.
‘That’s what I thought, but there you are.’ Carla picked up a tube of lipstick and looked at it.
‘Why?’ Gwynne asked, mystified, ‘why would Louisa pay half the mortgage?’
Carla turned to him. ‘She can afford it, can’t she? Her dad will help her out. They sound well off.’
‘They are. But – ’
‘I know what you mean,’ she said in all sincerity, ‘I wouldn’t do it myself. But some people just go crazy like that when they find out their daughter’s getting married – ’
‘She’s getting married?’ Gwynne was outraged. ‘Fucking bitch. Who to? Did she say?’
Carla looked blank and then gave him a fond smile. ‘Oh, you silly alcoholic you. You asked her.’
‘Bollocks.’
Carla jeered. ‘Fine then, I’m making it up, you fuckwit.’
Gwynne stared at her for a moment. His brows contracted, thus squeezing his aching brain that little bit more.
‘I asked her if she wanted to get married?’ He was asking himself as much as anyone.
‘That’s what she claimed.’
‘Do you think she was making it up?’
‘I don’t know . . . maybe. But she seemed serious last night. Well, I’m not sure now, come to think of it . . . but still, if she is serious, you have to go through with it.’
‘I didn’t sign anything!’
‘But you want a decent place to live in, don’t you?’ Carla snapped. ‘With two people paying the mortgage, you’ll be able to afford something nice.’
‘Nice?’ He queried with contempt. ‘Fuck it, Romance is nice enough. Why flog it now?’
Carla leaned back against her dressing table and folded her arms. She regarded him without emotion as she spoke.
‘I’m seeing David today. I’ll be signing the contract for the franchise and after that I’ve got to get the ball rolling. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t put the shop on the market next week. Okay?’
‘Fucking hell!’ Gwynne blazed. ‘It’s our inheritance you’re selling. Mom and Dad will be spinning in their graves.’
‘So tell me now.’ Carla kept her voice slow and even. ‘Am I going to ask David to help you and Louisa get a good mortgage deal, or not?’
Gwynne groaned. His old enemy, thinking, was being really antagonistic today. He soon surrendered. ‘Oh . . . go on then.’
Carla stiffened ‘Go on then,’ she mimicked. ‘You always say that. You know something? Eh?’
‘No.’
‘You make me sick.’
‘Really?’ He tried to sound surprised.
‘I mean, you didn’t even have to try, do you? That Louisa just fell right into your lap.’ Gwynne was about to take this literally when she went on. ‘And if it wasn’t her, it’d be someone else. And it’s the same with everybody else, except me. They don’t even have to raise a finger. They don’t have to think about it twice.’ Her voice trembled with bitterness. ‘It all just happens for them.’
‘What’s this you going on about now?’ Gwynne shook his head, and then stopped, because shaking it hurt.
Carla reddened. ‘Never mind.’ Her voice was steady again. ‘I’m telling you now, just watch your mouth with David.’
‘Him? What for?’
‘I’m doing you and Louisa a favour,’ she declared like a true martyr. ‘But,’ she went on, emphasising every word, ‘ you say one fucking word to him and I’ll break your fucking neck.’
Gwynne was bemused. ‘What word?’
Her voice sharpened. ‘You lay off him, do you hear?’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Gwynne said, pleading ignorance. His surefire excuse.
‘You know I’m seeing him.’
‘Who?’
‘David, you dozy swine!’
Gwynne jumped at her vehemence. ‘Of course you’re seeing him,’ he said, trying to appease, ‘he’s your financial advisor.’
‘There’s more to it than that,’ Carla said. ‘A thing’s started.’
‘I know, Carl. That Westhrop guy is paying him to help you out so he can avoid maintenance when he gets divorced. See, I know.’
‘No, I mean . . . a thing. Me and him.’
‘A thing?’ Gwynne exclaimed in genuine amazement. ‘You and him – a thing?’ The affront to reality was stunning. ‘You’re joking!’
Carla drew herself up. ‘You listen to this,’ she spoke with quiet menace. ‘You spoil this for me,’ she pointed to the rifle leaning against the wardrobe, ‘And I’ll stick that down your fucking throat. You hear?’
Gwynne followed her stubby pointing finger and was not the least bit surprised at what she was going to stick down his throat.
‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ he protested, conscious (as so rarely) of his innocence. ‘But, look, Carl. I’m serious. Never, ever did it cross my mind about you and him. See, it doesn’t stack up . . . ’ he backed away as Carla leaned forward. ‘Come on, seriously, I just don’t get it!’
‘No shit.’ Carla sneered.
Gwynne marshalled his thoughts over the soggy field of his early morning brain.
‘See. Like. He’s. Look . . . once, when he first started coming round here, I was on the loo downstairs and I heard him outside through the window, round the side of the house, you know. He was on his mobile, talking to someone called Phil.’
‘Westhrop?’
‘Yeah, most likely. And it sounded like to me they were planning to move in together, and when he signed off he said, “Love you loads, honey”. Now me, I always reckoned David was a shirt-lifter,’ he raised his hands in self defence, Carla’s expression was terrifying. ‘But if you know different, Carl, fair enough. And anyway, I promise I’m never, never ever going to say a word to him. I want a good mortgage, like you say. Don’t I? So forget what I’ve said. Go ahead and try and make it work. Who knows, perhaps he swings both ways. And they go at it like maniacs, don’t they, them gays? There’s always that in their favour.’ His mouth had got very dry during this marathon speech and his head was pounding worse than ever. He turned to the door and opened it. ‘Sorry, Carl. I can’t talk about it anymore, I’ve got to get an Alka Seltzer.’
And with that he went out and quietly closed the door after him.
Fifteen: Prince Alarming
Gwynne took his Alka Seltzer in the kitchen and slumped down at the table, waiting to feel a little better.
Minutes later, Carla strode in, looking like thunder. She had applied her lipstick and the vivid crimson intensified the strong impression that she was on the verge of committing mur
der.
Gwynne sighed and hauled himself to his feet. Treading very, very carefully with these, he set about brewing two mugs of tea. Meanwhile Carla stumped around in dangerous proximity and quite literally threw her breakfast together.
Gwynne hurried from the kitchen and went upstairs with the tea.
Louisa was sitting up in bed, as wide awake as she ever got, and the tea came as a delightful surprise.
‘Oh, how lovely!’
Gwynne sank into the chair beside the bed.
Swilling some tea round his mouth and rinsing it down his gullet, he ventured to say, ‘Morning – Mrs Chalcott.’
Louisa didn’t choke or anything. Rather, she gave him an adoring smile.
So, it was true! They were getting married!
He had to shake his head at this funny old world. She was saying something like And morning to you, Mr Chalcott, but he less than half listened. Not for the life of him could he remember asking for her hand in marriage. However, what made his skin prickle now was the possibility he’d been so drunk last night that he had gone down on one knee in the pub. There was a chance, therefore, he would never be able to go to the Slug and Lettuce ever again.
‘What’s the matter, lover?’ Louisa was asking.
Gwynne came back to the here-and-now. ‘Sorry love, I’m just creased, that’s all.’
‘What does that mean, sweetness?’
‘Oh, that I’m well knackered, dear.’
‘Well, sugar, perhaps you shouldn’t drink quite so much.’
‘Too right,’ Gwynne agreed. ‘I’m going to be a lot more careful in the future – honest.’
Louisa gave him her warmest smile. ‘Good.’
‘Anyway, we’ve got to start saving now . . . by the way, your mom and dad are supposed to pay for the wedding aren’t they?’
‘That’s the tradition, lover.’
‘I only ask because, you know, Carla’s going to be strapped for cash and as for me – ’
‘Don’t worry about it, Gwynne,’ Louisa said with a soothing caress across his fevered brow, ‘I’m their only daughter and my wedding day is something they’ve been dreaming about for years and years. Especially Mummy. They’ll want it to be as memorable as possible.’
Once again, Gwynne had to marvel at this sudden turn of events. It was amazing that he could get away with such a massive rip off.
‘Yeah, we’ll have to video it, all right.’
‘Gwynne,’ Louisa said with concern. ‘You look worried. You’re not getting nervous about it, are you?’
‘Hmm? Nah, I’ll be okay,’ Gwynne assured her. However, he knew by experience that Louisa did not shift gear all that fast and he was not surprised to see, therefore, that she remained pensive.
She heaved an unsettled sigh, ‘Gwynne.’
‘Yup?’
‘You know, Mummy and Daddy . . . they may seem a trifle tense when you first get to know them.’
‘You’re saying they’ll be upset about me, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose . . . but you shouldn’t blame them, sweetness. You see, they’ve been hoping all along that I’ll marry Prince Charming instead.’
‘Who’s he?’ Gwynne scowled.
‘Oh, the director of his own company, I expect. Or a barrister, or someone who went to Sandhurst. But you see,’ her voice went breathy with earnestness, ‘love just doesn’t work like that. Sometimes it takes you totally by surprise.’
‘Damn right.’
Louisa’s chest ballooned at this vehement affirmation of the power of love.
‘But they’ll see the true Gwynne soon enough.’
Gwynne fought an impulse to look over his shoulder. But an instant later he worked out who she was talking about.
Him.
Only she couldn’t mean him, not really. Lou might be dim, but she wasn’t insane. And that fact led to the inescapable conclusion that he must have told her a pack of lies about himself down the pub. Maybe something along the lines of blackmailing his employers for millions – his all-time favourite dream. He debated with himself whether he could maintain the illusion, at least till she and her parents had paid off the mortgage.
He sagged in his chair. No, he couldn’t maintain the illusion for one second longer.
‘Thing is, Lou, I ain’t in line for a monster pay off from EasyHomes to keep my mouth shut.’
Instead of throwing her tea into his face Louisa said, ‘Yes, but what Mummy and Daddy have to understand is you’re a fighter. You’re going to work your way up from the bottom to the top.’
Gwynne was jolted upright in his chair. These words brought it all tumbling back. The recollection of what happened last night stunned him for several seconds. He’d been drinking, that was for sure, and he’d been in full flow, and yet, and yet . . . he hadn’t been bullshitting!
‘It’s true,’ he said in awe of himself, ‘what I was saying was true.’
‘Of course it was, dear.’
‘I’m in line for another promotion at the EasyHomes Superstore,’ he said, pausing to check yet again that it hadn’t happened to someone else instead. No, it had to be him, otherwise he’d know the name of the other guy, the one it had really happened to instead, wouldn’t he? ‘And anyway,’ he continued, ‘Tim, the area manager for West London, said I should do the accountancy course because they’re paying for it, and the thing is, accountancy is just a kind of stock-taking, and believe me, I’m red hot at stock taking.’ He shook his head, dazed. ‘That’s true too.’
‘You’ll show Mummy and Daddy, won’t you?’
Gwynne’s conviction gathered impetus.
‘Hey, accountancy might not seem as bitching as aeroplane design, but look at Enron. Accountants make things happen too, you know.’
Louisa gave him an adoring smile. ‘My little genius.’
He was going to marry her after all!
‘Fully rested, darling?’ He murmured softly – for the first time in his life. ‘Do you want to lie in?’
‘No, no, I’ve got to get started.’
‘Okay, I’ll shoot down and rustle up some brecky.’
He went downstairs.
In the hallway he paused at the living room door on his way to the kitchen. He could hear voices from within and he readily recognised the smug and plausible tones of David Chudhury.
‘Poor bitch,’ he couldn’t help saying to himself. After all, Carla was his sister.
When Louisa came down a little later and they were seated at the kitchen table, he explained that Carla was in a meeting and that she would not be able to say goodbye.
At the mention of Carla, Louisa’s brows knotted in thoughtfulness – gradually.
‘Carla’s a very serious woman, I think,’ she declared.
‘Hmm,’ Gwynne nodded, chomping toast.
‘And yet, very kind too,’ she tinkled.
Gwynne gulped hard. The toast – it hurt.
‘How’s that?’ He rasped, eyes watering.
‘You said yourself, if ever we have children we’ll have to fight her off.’
‘She seems to have a thing about kids, yeah,’ Gwynne said, examining his plate.
‘A lot of women do.’
Gwynne smiled. ‘Just the same, Carla’s very, very busy these days. Too busy for kids.’
‘She’s quite a business woman, isn’t she?’
‘She works hard, yes. But sometimes she doesn’t make the best of her investment opportunities.’
‘Well, I still think Romance could do so well.’
Gwynne didn’t answer straight away.
An incredible idea had just hit him – and hit him hard!
‘There are easier ways to get money, you know,’ he said, staring at her now as if he had never set eyes on anything so stupendous, such was the potency of his inspiration.
‘Can’t we at least think about it?’ Louisa implored.
‘Um? Buying Romance? Yes, but then, we should be open to all sorts of other possibilities, shouldn’t we?�
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She gave him an adoring smile, nodded and leaned over and kissed him. ‘Got to go!’ She exclaimed, so jolly exuberant all of a sudden that it knocked his head back.
‘I’ll walk you to the station.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to explain. I want to be alone right now. Do you understand?’
Gwynne shook his head. ‘Sure.’
‘I want to feel single again.’
‘Alright.’
‘Only for a little while,’ she reassured him. ‘And I want everyone looking at me to think I am, when really I’m not. It’s a secret. I love having secrets on lovely days like this. Don’t you?’
Gwynne nodded and began to grin. ‘As it happens, I’ve sort of got one too.’
‘Don’t tell me what it is then.’
‘Oh no, not yet. I have to phone someone first.’
‘Is it a surprise you’ve got for me?’
‘Yes.’ There was a box of cornflakes on the table and Gwynne’s eye fell on this. ‘It’s a way to fortify our finances with vitamins, if I can pull it off.’
‘I’m sure you can.’
‘With your help.’ He smirked up at her. ‘Anyway, you go on now, lover. Shoo.’
They parted on the back step.
Gwynne returned to the hall way and listened at the living room door to be sure that the meeting between Carla and the shirt-lifter was still in progress.
It was.
He raced upstairs and went into the smallest bedroom, which served as the administrative office for Romance. There was a large writing bureau here, with a dead spider plant on top. Gwynne hunted through the untidy files and piles of papers till he found a letter from Gerald Lytton – gynecological consultant and fertility specialist.
He grabbed the phone and keyed in Gerald’s number.
‘Yes?’ A man’s voice answered. Both curt and deliberate.
‘May I speak to Gerald Lytton?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Gwynne Chalcott. I’m Carla Chalcott’s brother.’
‘And what are you calling about?’
‘That’s something I’d like to discuss with the doctor. It’s private.’
‘I’m Lytton, Mr Chalcott. Is Carla well?’
‘I suppose so. This doesn’t have anything to do with Carla. I want to talk about my fiancee, Louisa.’