A Letter to a Lucky Man

by Thomas Jobling

  The sisters were like chalk and cheese. Felicity was plain, studious, and creatively gifted. She was in the main, quiet and private in contrast to Philippa. She showed little or no interest in fashion or the music of the day, let alone pairing with her sister at the monthly discos around the town. Her key focus was art, books and her music. She played a confident cello.

  Although the practicing drove Philippa crazy, conversely and on numerous occasions, it had provided her with a rational excuse for going out when her parents attempted to anchor her indoors.

  Of the twins, Philippa was by far the natural brains of the operation. Whilst her sister studied and crammed, Philippa had cruised through school. Examinations were putty in her hands, as were the youthful males who flocked to be by her side. Physically she had it all and had no qualms about showing it off. Her outlook on life was way beyond her young years. Much to the consternation of her parents, her father especially, her gallivanting continued to create much friction. The rumours of her association with much older escorts – one man in particular, an artist – continued to rack the manse. It had the makings of a scandal. On one occasion church elders summoned her father to explain.

  Although socially opposed the twins shared each other’s inner secrets, one especially. It was in fact Felicity who had had the association with the artist. Unlike her flamboyant sister, Felicity hid her ‘assets’ under loose fitting non-descript clothes. Both sisters relied on each other’s confidentiality. They were eager to terminate parish living. University was their target. To be away from the rigours of living under the parish microscope. To be away from the manse, and especially, to be away from the clinging secrets that previous parish houses had held for them.

  Life under the manse roof had become more intolerable. Her father’s mood swings continued to worry. She, and indeed her sister, had become very protective of their mother. They had suggested, pleaded that she took some time away. They were sure that he was abusing her. She reminded them, and in no uncertain terms, that she took her wedding vows seriously. From the pulpit too, some of the sermons of late – extreme fire and brimstone – were causing the elders much concern. The empty pews had begun to tell their own tale.

  Then Felicity’s relationship with the artist had gone public, as had a number of insensitive portraits. The firestorm which engulfed the manse had indirectly provided the perfect smoke-screen for her sister’s illicit relationship with Curtis. It was ironic that Felicity’s clandestine approach had back-fired while Philippa’s very public courtship, mostly via the town’s popular Rose Bud Café had largely gone unnoticed around the manse. Unnoticed by her father, maybe? But for sure the hand of a wise mother had cowed her husband into believing that their daughter’s full-on relationship would likely dissipate in its own time. The angry Reverend was so reined in by Mrs Furey that Curtis was completely ignored by the angry Reverend on the occasions their paths crossed. It was, in light of their first meeting, a result.

  However, for Curtis Cardinali ‘love’ in the fast lane was becoming something of a struggle. Outwardly, he was the dashing ‘young man about town’ a guy in tune with the fashion of day, the owner of a sports car, albeit an old rust-bucket of an MG. Having an equally power dressing ‘model’ on his arm was the icing; except, that wasn’t the way he saw it even though it all seriously endorsed his street credibility.

  Curtis was besotted with Philippa. Trying to keep up with her wants and needs not only drained his cash reserves at times, but left him trailing in her glamour shadow. But he took it his stride, mostly. Easy when she was riding the wave, but when she was down, and in an effort to lift her spirits, he’d often produce surprises: gifts, tickets, outings etcetera...

  They were the chic couple of the times; Curtis was the focus of much female attention while Philippa, was well aware of her ‘fan club’ membership; it comprised both sexes, young, and the not so young.

  The attention that one individual in particular generated, kept Curtis on his toes. Whether that was on the street or in and around the café scene there was no shaming of Julian James.

  Aside from Philippa, Curtis was trying to pursue the heady dream of being in a band. He had, with a lot of practise, become a mediocre bass player. Julian, one of the grammar school ‘blazer boys’, mentioned one day while they were all in the Rose Bud Café, that he played drums, more importantly as Curtis picked up, he owned a drum kit. In truth, Curtis found him to be a drummer without a sense of rhythm. James opinion of himself differed. It didn’t take long for them to have a rudimentary band, consisting of Curtis and of course Julian, another, better, guitar player and a female pianist, who was also their lead singer. They were very much in the practising phase – sadly, it never progressed beyond that phase.

  The takeaway from the whole experience was not one of fledgling rock Gods, but the more time he spent in Julian’s company the more Curtis considered him to be a snide individual; never had a good word to say about anyone; always considered himself superior. He had an easy way with words and, it seemed, an overflowing wallet. He could always dredge up a condescending put-down. Curtis had a fair idea of Julian’s opinions on him.

  When he wasn’t posturing in front of the love of Curtis’s life he would habitually belittle Curtis’ lack of academic skills. It hurt and it bit hard into his self-esteem. He could have, without a shred of guilt, felled him. Felled? That was maybe a little bit of an exaggeration. While they were equal in height Julian was wider, heavier and he held the position of tight head prop for his school’s firsts.

  It came to a head one evening when Julian pushed all the usual buttons, but what had started out as Curtis being infuriated had ended very well indeed for the love struck teen.

  Chapter 9 : The Rose Bud Café

  Band practice had come to an end and the teenagers retreated to the Rose Bud Café. Julian, as usual was monopolising the conversation, ramming his acquired knowledge of endless subjects into anyone’s face. He could hold an audience spellbound with a story. It really got under Curtis’s skin. Ambivalence had been fuelled by envy and jealousy and a fear of losing his girl to him. Often Curtis’s crude attempts to extract Philippa from his company would see him rebuffed, by her.

  This night things were getting just a bit too close for comfort as Julian flaunted his intellect, money and whatever else he could muster all to make Philippa laugh and blush. Curtis allowed his temper to get the better of him and said, ‘Yes, yes. Well, that’s all very good Julian, but if you don’t mind me and my girl have to move on, now.’

  Unfortunately ‘my girl’ didn’t go down as well as he’d intended. Philippa, quick as a flash, countered. Her eyelids were closed and quivering, a particular expression that often conveyed her displeasure, she said, ‘Oh, do we? And where exactly dearest, are you whisking me away to? Oh yes, I’d forgotten, it’s the Sea Cadet’s bingo-night fundraiser. God almighty Jules, I can’t wait.’

  Curtis felt like a complete idiot. She had been playing them off against each other and he had been too dumb to see it. But equally she too had been so engrossed in herself that she had failed to notice the Cardinali tell-tales; a clenched jaw line of muscle flexes and vertical creases forming between his dark eyebrows. Curtis inhaled, straightened and turned to within inches of her gleeful face. He said, quietly at first, ‘Nothing… Nothing’s ever good enough for you, nothing. So, I’m off. You please yourself. I’ve had it!’ He rose from the table and headed to the café’s door. He saw their reflections in the wide windows.

  Philippa and Julian were staring at each other. She, her face now creased with anger lines, Master James however, displayed an all-conquering smirk. It had been very much a ‘high stakes’ manoeuvre. Typical of the young Cardinali his retort had been totally un-planned and devoid of a safety net.

  As he marched away, his tempter raging, a downpour of realism finally brought him to his senses. His outburst of boyish bravado could well leave him like the proverbial ‘beaten docket’ with her gifted into the arms of his ar
ch rival. Forgotten bingo was replaced by a lonely walk homeward. Whether fool hardy or not, this time there was no turning back!

  As he turned the Yale key of the stained glass inner door his hall phone was ringing. He was poised, but hesitated in lifting the receiver. He studied it, thinking; nah, it couldn’t be? By now his mother had poked her head out from the front room. She stared for a moment, then with tilted head in that characteristic ‘font of all knowledge’ way, she said, ‘It won’t answer itself, son.’ Then after a further moment, she continued, ‘Is that all you pair ever do these days, argue, kiss and make up? Philippa! That’ll be the fourth time that she’s rung tonight. Oh you young ‘uns.’

  With an overpowering sense of trepidation he lifted the receiver. ‘Hel – lo. The Cardin...’

  ‘Curtis. Curtis what’s wrong with you these days? It was...’

  He immediately spoke over her, temper still driving him. ‘It was what? Just another of your trials, another tease, another test? Jeez, Philippa you know how much that big shite gets up my nose. I can’t do this anymore. Look, either we’re going steady... or we’re not, OK?’

  ‘Curtis, Curt, dearest – ‘

  ‘Philippa! Stop calling me dearest.’

  ‘OK, okay, I’m sorry. I really am, for everything... And, Curtis…I, I really do want to go with you. What about you?’ She was in full flow having now taken over the high ground. ‘Look Curtis, it’s you that I want to be with, not that pompous prat. I dislike him as much as you do. But, hey, I really enjoy the teasing, and, I’m really sorry. I have no feelings for him, honest. But of course that may not be the same for that other handsome mate of yours...’ Philippa laughed.

  Curtis, unbeknown to her, had choked up. He just didn’t see the joke. But, he was happy-ish again. Philippa Furey he had reminded himself was the best thing ever to have happened to him. As well as being stunningly good looking with a body to match, she was clever, quick-witted, and great fun to be with, mostly. The conversation had run its course. They were still a couple, reinforced by her closing invitation.

  ‘Curtis, tell you what. My sister, Felicity is away with her cello stuff and guess what?’ She paused. ‘My folks are out on big church business. So why don’t you call up and see me? At the manse, tomorrow evening okay? I’ll make it up to you. Honest.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. God almighty, what if your old man comes back and I’m still there with you? Jeez you know what he thinks of me, of us. He’ll go. He’ll go ballistic again.’

  ‘No no, it’ll be grand. They’ll be late anyway. And even so, his bark is worse that his bite.’

  ‘Aye right, sure it is.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake Curtis, what are you, a man or a mouse? As I said babe, I’ll make it up to you... my pretty Italian stallion. Come on dearest, do this.’

  ‘Jeez, Philippa the things you come off with. Well, okay, what time?’

  ‘I was thinking around seven. Can’t wait. Love you babe. Bye for now.’

  Placing the receiver back onto its cradle Curtis hovered, still staring, now analysing. All that he could hear were her final words. ‘Did she just say what I think she said?’

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  Returning to the manse, nervous as always when approaching the house, the young Cardinali cautiously poked at the door bell. No reply. He waited, he rang it again.

  ‘What’s she playing at? Another of her wonderful wind up’s no doubt? Come on.’

  Then with the edge of a coin he knocked on the glass pane of a side window. Frustration rising, he pressed the bell again. Finally, footsteps could be heard. Please, please, don’t let it be that ignoramus of a father. A fine layer of sweat washed over his upper lip. Standing, shifting, and alone, that first encounter with her father had dredged itself to the surface. An image of himself, like an out-of-body spirit in Curtis’s current state of mind, was shouting a command of ‘Do not enter!’ That door had become a barrier for Curtis, an erect drawbridge.

  The bell had hardly stopped chiming when the groaning door not only brought Curtis to his senses, but revealed a radiantly grinning Philippa. He gawped. Unable at first to take in the vision, he blurted out. ‘Hi you.’...Followed, after a moment by, ‘Wow, you look sensational.’ Equilibrium recovered, he quietly asked, ‘Emm, is he here?’

  She laughed and said, ‘Oh get in here you big dope. We’ve got this dump of a house to ourselves. I told you, even my sister is out. No time to waste. Woo hoo!’

  With that, she grabbed his hand and jerked him into the porch. Bad thoughts immediately raced through his mind. He quipped, ‘Surprised that this door is still on its hinges.’ She didn’t answer, but planted a smothering kiss on his lips.

  Philippa, as Curtis soon discovered, was very eager to make it up to him; make up for forced time apart, for the teasing and to ensure that he was indeed aware that her feelings were reserved only for her tall Italian.

  As the open fire raged, activity on the carpet reached its own climax. Time had flown. Then panic. Curtis was alerted by a flash of light illuminating the front room. The approaching sound of tyres crunching over gravel confirmed it.

  ‘Oh bugger! BUGGER! Quick Curtis, they’re back early. Come on, hurry, get dressed!’

  As the Reverend Furey’s keys clattered in the front door’s elderly and troublesome lock it gave the loved-up couple those precious moments to complete the transformation: from love nest back to domesticity; TV got switched on, rugs and cushions patted back into their place. Finally, the house cat complied by stretching its furry black and white torso across the hearth.

  Philippa, who had made it out into the hall but closing the ‘love-room’ door behind her, spoke first, ‘Oh, you’re home early, everything okay Mum, Dad?’ Her father grunted, didn’t directly acknowledge her, glared at her mother, who so obviously warned him off saying anything more with a single stern look. He scurried down the dark hall and into his study.

  Her mother waited for the study door to close before saying, ‘Oh no, no, everything is, was fine. A pleasant enough evening darling...Lovely recital too. Your Dad, umm, was just a bit tired, that’s all. Wasn’t really his scene, nothing more than that.’ With her mother ascending the stairs Philippa returned to the scene of her earlier passion to continue with the rearrangements. ‘Phew, that was a close call lover boy, eh?’

  Curtis however had other issues; for example, trying to sort his T-shirt. In the panic he had pulled it on back-to-front. He was also gathering up the remainder of his belongings when the creaking of the elderly stairs announced the return of mother Furey. He glanced across to Philippa. She rolled her eyes, saying softly, ‘Oh no. It’ll be interview time for you again my boy. Come on Curtis, move yourself.’

  Mrs Furey, in a flower patterned silk, maybe satin, figure hugging navy dressing gown, moved her lean self towards him. Then with sly grin, mother Furey said, ‘Well, well, what have you two love birds been up to then?’ Gesturing towards the sofa she continued, ‘Come, sit and enjoy the remains of the fire with me. Sure it’s only gone ten. What’s on the box? Agh, news, more news. Why do we need to be reminded of all that’s horrible?’

  ‘More like ten thirty, Mother. Curtis has an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Really dear?’ Taking the young man’s arm Mrs Furey gently guided him to the right side of the tired piece of furniture. She slid in beside him, forcing her daughter off to her left.

  Philippa had already fathomed that her mother was putting on a front. She had twigged that the last place her mother wanted to be, was close to her father. In a quiet voice tinged with a soft dialect her mother was asking, ‘Well now Curtis, Philippa tells me you’re about to qualify. Remind me, what is it you do?’

  As the small talk continued between them Curtis could only lend a fraction of his concentration to her chat. Out of Philippa’s line of sight his eyes were roving. They flipped left, then straight ahead towards the hearth and to the sight of a condom slowly being devoured by the dying fire. Her mother had, at the same m
oment, lent forward as Curtis thought, to also inspect the said item of rubber. In that same movement her gown had gaped open to expose the pale, pinkish flesh of a pert breast. In that instant he realised where his girl had inherited her perfect figure from.

  Taking full advantage of her father’s absence Philippa neatly prised her boy away from her mother. She eased him along the hall towards his ‘favourite’ porch. After a passionate good night kiss Curtis was sent skipping on his way. Philippa however, knew that her mother needed to talk; which she did until sleepiness got the better of both of them.

  ‘Time for bed I think Philly, eh? Oh, and by the way darling, just to say, that stuffing your underwear under the cushions is not very lady-like. Nighty night then.’

  Mortified, Philippa tidied all away. She extracted her brassiere, switched off the lights and with her grin now promoted to an ear-to-ear smile, she headed for her bedroom.

  As Curtis made his way through near deserted streets, he too had a fixed grin. Most of it was reserved for his girl, and their evening of full first time copulation. He also was fairly sure that her mother had been well aware of where his eyes had been focused. What a family eh?

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  Philippa’s relationship with Curtis continued to stagger on in spite of everything. On the up-side though, both the sisters and Curtis had excelled in their exams. Lives were moving on apace; onto different planes. For the sisters, it was down academic routes. Felicity to Saint Martin’s, London. Philippa was en route to Oxford to read English.

  Months had passed since their consummation at the manse. A shadow however hung heavy over Curtis and Philippa. Whether it was due to an underlying embarrassment on her side in respect of her unconventional and scary family set up, or Curtis’s overbearing and protectionist attitude to their relationship, it seemed that both parties found themselves pulling in opposing directions. It had become a relationship from which much of the early heat had dissipated.