The Driver

by Heidi Austin

  “Don’t freak out but I bought you some shirts.”

  “What?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Well, I figured you might stay over occasionally and I knew we had an early morning.” He got an ironed shirt out of the cupboard, that was clearly far too big for him, and I wondered with a warm little feeling of surprise whether he had ironed it for me himself.

  I got out of bed and took it from him. “Thank you.

  “The suit you had yesterday will be okay today, won’t it?”

  “Sure. Just let me shower.”

  It only took me ten minutes to shower and get changed, with Cal’s watchful eyes from the bedroom as he was checking emails but occasionally glancing at me through the door and in the reflection of the mirror. It felt domestic and familiar.

  Once we were both ready Cal mentioned that we could grab breakfast on the way and he was laughing at the choice of tie I had had to pick from Cal’s wardrobe, which didn’t go with my suit at all, when he opened the door of his bedroom and froze.

  I stopped too, almost bumping into the back of him when I felt cold dread form in the pit of my stomach as I saw Donald Emerson sitting quietly in the living room, waiting for us to emerge.

  He must have been there for some time; he had the air of a man who had had time to work up a real fury.

  “Dad,” Cal’s voice was small and unfamiliar. “How did you get in here?”

  “The doorman let me up.” Donald Emerson’s voice was calm. Absolutely on the level, it was one of the most intimidating things I’d ever heard. “I thought I would come up to check that you were out of bed in time for this crucial meeting that we need to hold today. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be an embarrassment, as you usually are in these situations, turning up late, or drunk, and making me regret having a child at all.” His eyes were cold. I desperately wanted to hold Cal’s hand, but both of us were standing frozen in his bedroom doorway. “But I see I shouldn’t have been concerned, apparently not only are you up and rearing to go, you’re also fucking your driver.” He stood up; I saw Cal’s shoulders tighten slightly. “How predictably stupid you are, Callum.”

  Then his eyes flicked to me, and I knew what was coming even before he said it.

  “Mr Morgan, I have always found you to be a professional and well-mannered man, for the most part. You came with excellent references and a very good reputation. I think you will agree that whatever you had, before you came into my service, no longer exists. You will receive no references, you will receive no good will, and should your future employers need to find out whether to hire you and ask for my opinion,” his eyes were sparking with rage now, “I’ll make sure I tell them that you are nothing like you appear to be. That you are a gold-digging whore, without principle, who fucks around with clients on a whim.”

  It was cruel, not entirely unexpected, and extremely unpleasant to have my actions thrown in my face so brutally. This must be what women felt like when they legitimately had a sex life and were somehow branded as whores and sluts for sleeping with more than one man.

  I was furious with him for trying to degrade me, but I wasn’t entirely surprised by it. I was comfortable enough in my own sexuality, thankfully, and in myself, not to care too much what Donald Emerson thought of me.

  I did care about the job. I did care about Cal. I did care that he had said and done nothing since his father’s outburst. He hadn’t even moved.

  “You first, Mr Morgan, you can leave through the door you used to insinuate yourself into my son’s life.” He looked at Cal. “I can only imagine how an impressionable young boy can be groomed by someone like that. I don’t blame you Cal, for being sucked into a world you had no control over. You will not be seen with another man again, is that understood?”

  Cal swallowed. If I’d been surprised before I was astounded that he didn’t say anything at the ‘grooming’ comment which was still making me feel vaguely sick.

  I waited.

  Surely he was going to say something. Anything. Nothing his father had said was true and after everything we had shared last night, and the fact that it was the 21st century, I thought that perhaps Cal would have the ability to defend his life, and his choices, especially when neither of us had done anything wrong. But I hadn’t bet on the long history between Emerson and his son and the very real fear that I felt radiating from Cal.

  Nevertheless, I felt cold fury pumping through my veins that he hadn’t even protested a word to his father, hadn’t even looked up. Hadn’t looked at me. Hadn’t even tried to defend us.

  I waited for another heartbeat and then moved slowly around him, aware I was wearing a shirt he had bought for me and one of his ties. A fact that Donald probably knew and I hoped he wouldn’t go so far as to make me take them off.

  I walked to my bag that I’d left leaning up against the sofa and turned to look at Cal. He didn’t even meet my eyes. I felt sick.

  So this was where it ended. I had imagined boredom and betrayal in another form, where Cal had found a woman to love and left me for her. Or even another man. I had imagined the endless negotiations of us pretending everything was okay, awkward in public and even more awkward alone, eventually we would have walked our separate paths.

  I hadn’t expected another man’s opinion, an irrelevant, arrogant, wrong opinion, to be thrown in my face and for Cal to stand there, mute, without even opening his mouth to tell his father any element of it was untrue. I had groomed him? I wanted to punch something. Instead I somehow managed to find my voice.

  “You do realise it isn’t nineteen fifty, I’m assuming, Donald?”

  I saw his entire back stiffen and bristle at the use of his first name. I didn’t need to impress or charm this fucker anymore and I wasn’t planning on being as silent in the face of his disgusting comments as Cal.

  “I don’t need your good opinion, I don’t need your references, I don’t need you to do anything except exist as you are, a bigoted, unpleasant narrow-minded man who treats his son as badly as he does the rest of the world. I may be a whore in your eyes, Mr Emerson, I may be a lot of things, but at least I’m going to wake up tomorrow and know I live a real life, with real people who I treat with respect and love.” That last was for Cal and finally he made a small noise of inhalation. Nothing more. He didn’t look at me. “I can’t say the same for you, and I feel sorry for you. Good luck with your life, because it’s going to be a lonely one when the only thing you have to call your friend is your bank account.”

  I knew he wouldn’t let me have the last word, so I wasn’t surprised when he spoke as I opened the door to Cal’s flat, feeling as though I was leaving half of myself in the room behind me.

  “You will need my good opinion if you ever want a job in this city again. And you won’t get one.” I didn’t look back but I could hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t need the views of a nobody who manipulates my son into a life of depravity. You’re so unimportant I won’t even remember your name once you close that door.”

  I closed it. I stood there for a full minute waiting to see if Cal would come to his senses and follow me. Perhaps he would break from his father’s spell and be able to finally stand up to him and defend us. But there was only silence.

  I started walking slowly down the corridor towards the lift and then had the sudden realisation that I had nowhere to go. I didn’t have a job anymore, and the car I was automatically going to collect from the downstairs car park was no more mine than my shirt and tie were.

  I knew that I would need to drop the car back at the mansion immediately, or Emerson would fit me with the bill. I called Lucas.

  “Good morning, Jonathan. How are you?”

  “I got fired.”

  There was a long silence. Another pause. “How?”

  “I’ll explain, if you really want to hear it, but you’re not going to like it. I need to drop the car back at the mansion. I’ll need to get it cleaned first or Emerson will kick me with the bill for a single scratch on
it. Are you there?”

  “Yes.” Another pause. “It’s my last day today, actually. Mr Emerson and I have also parted company. Perhaps you and I can commiserate in a pub after you’ve concluded your business?”

  “Do you have bags you need to carry out of the house?”

  “A few.”

  “I can give you a hand with that. Let me text you when I’m half an hour away and we can get you the hell away from that family.”

  “I’m sorry Jonathan, for what it’s worth.”

  “Thanks,” my voice cracked just a fraction as the reality of what had happened started to sink in. “So am I.”

  ~

  I couldn’t remember ever feeling so low as I did driving away from the mansion. We’d ordered a people carrier to take all of Lucas’s various accumulated property from the house and as I watched it disappear in the rear view mirror, I knew I would never see it again.

  Lucas hadn’t asked me any questions when I’d arrived. We’d taken one look at each other and decided that conversation probably wasn’t required. He looked emotionally and physically exhausted and I felt like I’d been hit by a train. The gleaming Rolls Royce sat in the driveway, sparkling in the sunshine behind me, as I left my livelihood and the man I loved behind for good.

  We drove for half an hour or so until we reached a modest, suburban street and I helped Lucas move all of his bags and boxes into a small two bedroom end of terrace house, which was as immaculate and well set out as I would have imagined anything of Lucas’s would be.

  Once the last box was deposited in his hallway, Lucas turned to me.

  “There’s a pub a mile down the road. It’s a nice walk through the countryside. It will do you good.”

  His tone brooked no arguments so we set off. I was still in my business suit and shoes from that morning, so I didn’t really relish the idea of walking through the mud with him but Lucas was already several feet ahead of me, walking as though he were thirty five not seventy five.

  We walked through a few winding streets and cul-de-sacs until we reached the right hand side of a residential house that looked less like a footpath than somebody’s garden, but Lucas walked through the gate at the end of it confidently and we found ourselves on the right hand side of a large open field growing some indiscriminate type of vegetable with large green spread leaves that were about shin height.

  We walked along a muddy track that was mainly dry, until we came to the end of a tarmacked driveway with a union jack sat proudly atop a flag pole at the end. I was in half a mind that the farmer would come out and take a pot shot at us for trespassing but we just continued on, passing a friendly, elderly lady who tipped an imaginary hat to Lucas as she passed.

  The pub that we finally reached, about twenty five minutes later was The Red Lion, small and quaint with a homely feel and didn’t have the air of some pubs in the UK where you walked in and got stared at like a bad Western.

  Lucas ordered himself a Hobgoblin and I had a Guinness and we went to sit beside a small fire in the corner at a circular table, propped up under one leg by several bar mats.

  We both sipped our beers in silence and, being reluctant to go into too much detail around my fury and deep pain at what had happened with Cal’s father I decided to ask a burning question of my own.

  “So, what’s happened? I know you said you were planning to leave after the funeral but I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

  Lucas was looking into the fire with the expression of a man who seemed a little lost.

  “I have worked for the Emerson’s all my life. I was there when Donald’s father, Robert, died. I had just started in service at the time. I have watched Donald grow into the adult that you see today, and I have to tell you honestly, now I am free of them all, that I can’t stand the sight of him.”

  Lucas’s face scrunched up as he said it and I finally caught a glimpse of the professional mask slipping and real dislike flit across his face.

  “Hate is a powerful emotion. I would not use it lightly. Not only does it drain the soul, but it also saps any happiness and light you may have been capable of feeling because it is all consuming. I realised on the day of Deirdre’s funeral that I hated Donald with a power I hadn’t yet felt. I couldn’t believe he would have allowed his mother to be abandoned in such a way, I still do not know how she afforded to live out her days where she did and I believe he callously let her live as he chose, rather than what she would have wanted. In a way I am glad I did not get to see what she had stooped to, and in another, I wish I had, so I might have killed him for it.”

  I stared at him. I had never heard him speak with such conviction before. I didn’t know Lucas well, but I felt that I was a good judge of character, and this element of him surprised me. There was real rage behind his eyes now, as though, had Donald Emerson really been standing before us, he might actually have tried to kill the man.

  “Lucas, you’ve done the right thing. Whether you retire now, or you get another job, I know enough of you to understand that someone should be grateful to have your service in whatever form it might take. Donald Emerson couldn’t give two shits about anyone, including you, and quite frankly you deserve better. I wish you’d been able to live out your life with Deidre, but I also know you’ll have a better life cutting yourself off from that family completely. I hope it brings you some closure.”

  “And what about you? Have you cut yourself off from them too?” To my surprise I saw quiet amusement in his twinkling eyes and he smiled warmly at me. “I think I can guess the part that I’m not going to like.”

  I swallowed, nervously. Feeling oddly embarrassed that an elderly man had discovered my secret, as though he had never been young himself. “Why don’t you try then, I really don’t want to say it out loud.”

  “You’re speaking to a man who had an affair with his employer’s mother for thirteen years, Jon.”

  My head snapped up to stare at him, and instead of the pain I’d expected to see reflected in his face he almost had a mischievous look now as he sipped his pint.

  “You and Deidre were together? Actually together?”

  “Oh yes. Not in the later years, not once she moved away. She quite broke my heart, which I won’t go into in any detail now, but we were ‘together together’ for many years. Happy in some respects, not so happy in others. She was a wild, spirited and utterly addictive woman.” He looked at me meaningfully. “He’s infuriatingly like her, you see.”

  I snorted into my pint and shook my head.

  “Not much slips past me, Mr Morgan.”

  “That, I am starting to see.” I said, slight irritation leeching into my voice. “How long have you known?”

  “Oh I warned Cal about you very early on.”

  My spine stiffened. “Warned him?”

  “Oh yes,” there was an infinite pause; “I told him that his well-presented public persona may dissolve quickly if he met the right man.”

  “Blimey, and what did he say?”

  “After he picked his jaw up off the floor he said he’d already met him.”

  I stared at him, feeling joy and anger bubble up inside me. I didn’t speak for several seconds and then I remembered the encounter with his father.

  “Well he’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  Lucas nodded. “Callum is many things when he is away from his father, Jonathan, and something very specific when he is close by. As soon as Donald arrives Callum becomes the seven year old boy who was always terrified of him. You cannot change the innate reaction of a child easily and Callum is no exception. If you are angry because, as I suspect, Donald fired you because he discovered your relationship and Callum did not defend it, I would not ask that you forgive him without reason. Only that you understand their relationship, and Cal’s ability to standup to his father, is stained by years of history no one but they can understand.” There was a long pause as the fire snapped and crackled between us. “I would also say, in the gentlest way I can, that I would expec
t Callum feels worse than you do at the moment.”

  That I couldn’t quite believe. I imagined him putting on a show in the meeting they were in right now, playing the CEO’s son, smoothing things over, making nice with the right people.

  I shrugged. “You’re right, anyway. Donald did find out. He actually accused me of grooming Cal.” The words stuck in my throat, and still made nausea rise up, but also shame. I felt ashamed. Perhaps I was too old for Cal; perhaps I had taken advantage of him. Then I saw Lucas nodding.

  “What, you agree?”

  “That saying something like that is exactly what I would have expected from that ogre? Yes. Donald is an exceptional businessman. I have had the opportunity to see him talk to and interact with clients for nearly thirty years, and the reason he is good at his job is because he can read people. He will have seen something in you, or observed it at some point, which will have shown him that you may feel you are too old for Cal, or some such nonsense. He finds your weakness; pin points it and strikes just when it is the best time to do so. That is why he is a very rich and very, very unhappy man.”

  I stared at Lucas quite blown away by the integrity of the man. He truly did understand the Emerson’s, and I was a little sad that they had lost his service, most likely, without acknowledging the value he had brought to their lives.

  “Cal still threw me under the bus.”

  “Mmm,” Lucas drained his pint. “One of the other things his father makes him is a coward. But cowardice is not weakness, sometimes it is necessary in the face of things we know we cannot ever change. Donald Emerson would never have accepted Cal as gay, or accepted your relationship. Perhaps, Cal knew arguing with him was futile.”

  “He could have defended me.”

  “He could have. Do you think you would have retained your job as a result?”

  “It’s not about the job.”

  Lucas nodded. “Perhaps not.” He nodded to me again. “It’s your round.”

  I went back to bar with a heavy heart, but feeling slightly less unhappy than I had for at least the last few hours.