A Letter to a Lucky Man

by Thomas Jobling

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  It was the following Saturday before the envelope reappeared. As the family crunched away at their respective breakfasts Jacqueline quietly slid it across the table towards her husband saying, ‘Oh Curt, I forgot about this. It’s been living in my drawer. Found it on the hall table last Sunday. Ever think of putting stuff away?’ Gingerly he lifted it. ‘What the heck is it all about anyway? It’s all bit strange, mysterious even.’ His voice had been muffled by another mouthful of toast. He held the envelope up, as if it were an offering. He glanced at his wife. It was as if he was trying to create a drama.

  Wiping his knife with a napkin he slit the envelope open. Curtis glanced through the letter. Then he rose from the table somewhat abruptly and walked away towards the French doors. He didn’t exit but stood rigid, his back to his family. Jacqueline immediately sensed unease. When he turned she could see the pained expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just looked directly at his wife. No wise cracks.

  Sitting back down at the table he calmly sent the boys out onto the lawn to kick ball. Remaining silent and with his forefinger, he flicked the crumbled sheet across to his wife. At the same time he scrunched the envelope. She speed-read it, stopped, looked up at her husband, then read it again. Finally, she asked, ‘What is this Curt, what is this crap all about? Who is this person? Is this some kind of sick joke?’

  He, having recovered some equilibrium, ventured an explanation, or at least offered his opinion. What if, in the wrecking of the LadyJac, someone blamed him for the deaths of Fergal and Ruane? Jacqueline firmly re-stated, ‘The storm Curt, that you advised them not to ignore.’

  He didn’t reply.

  Jacqueline, just as she had done over and over, since they had been informed of the tragedy, once again, reminded her husband that it could not have been, and was not his fault.

  ‘Except,’ Curtis finally interjected, ‘that, maybe, probably LadyJac could have been better prepared. But then again,’ he stopped. He tried again, ‘They wouldn’t listen, they knew better.’ Jacqueline tried to interrupt, but he held court. ‘And, the son’s body? Never found, presumed by the Coroner to be, lost at sea.’

  Taking the letter back with a visible tremor, he said, ‘Now this!’ He slapped the letter with the back of his fingers. ‘Holy shit, it’s…it’s like the return of a prodigal son, and a bad one to boot.’

  The letter continued to hold their attention. They both stared at it, as if its text could be erased. They read it again, each in turn. Curtis, head in hands, finally spoke. His tone had become sombre, ‘Jac, he’s blaming me for his father’s death! You see that…don’t you?’

  ‘Yes Curt, of course I can see that, but why. Why you? And why would he break cover? I mean, he’s supposed to be dead, decomposing somewhere in the North Channel.’

  ‘Oh fuck.’

  ‘Curt – language.’

  ‘Sorry love, but I’m, I’m... He’s seeking revenge, and look, he wants his money back, and more. What the hell am I going to do?’ There followed another pained silence broken by a ball thumping against the French doors.

  ‘Take it easy you pair,’ shouted Jacqueline. Then she turned back to Curtis. ‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. Actually no, I’ll do it.’ Before he knew what his wife was about, she had lifted the kitchen phone and dialled out. It didn’t take him long to realise that she had called the police.

  Replacing the receiver of the wall-mounted phone she returned to command the top end of the table. With sternness and anger she said, ‘No one Curt, but no one, is going to mess with me, us, and especially my, our, boys... and certainly not an obvious gob-shite like him, whoever he’s called. No Curt, if it was just the money... but it’s not. It’s the menaces. Where the hell has this thug been anyway?’

  ‘Where? Well for sure,’ Curtis replied, ‘he’s not floating out at sea.’

  ‘And another thing.’ She slammed her palms down onto the solid top of the island. Then she folded her arms up into her chest.

  Curtis jumped; surprised by the change in his wife’s behaviour. Almost immediately though and aware that the boys had returned from their kick-about, she immediately morphed back into Mum. Calmly she said to Curtis, ‘How did he find us honey? Has he been stalking us, watching us, watching these guys?’

  He had no answer.

  In less than half an hour their door bell was ringing. Jacqueline jumped, she grabbed Curtis’s arm so hard, that she almost drew blood with her pristine nails. From the hall and through the vestibule door’s leaded-glass design, the outline of two figures was clearly visible. On closer inspection one was in uniform, a youthful female constable, the other, middle aged in plain clothes. They introduced themselves, flashing warrant cards and apologising for the delay in responding. All edged gingerly into the front reception room. Hardly seated, Jacqueline opened proceedings.

  Statements were taken as was the recovered envelope and letter for forensic examination. By the afternoon their drive, garden and their neighbour’s gardens, were crawling with uniforms. The once humdrum home life of the Cardinali family, and their immediate neighbours, had taken an unhealthy turn. Their boys were of course, loving it.

  In a flash the whole O’Rourke mystery had been resurrected. The main question which remained unanswered was the whereabouts of Ruane O’Rourke.

  As weeks ticked by, no further demands, whether by letter or otherwise, were made of the Cardinalis. The investigation it seemed had come to a dead end. The police however were quick to confirm to a now somewhat sceptical husband and wife that ‘the file remained open’. Where have I heard that before? Thought Curtis.

  Lives, as much as they could, wove their way back into normal everyday routines except for a discrete police presence . As well, the couple had been instructed in various home security measures: for example; to inspect the underside of their respective vehicles before each and any outing. Overall they had indeed upped their observation skills and as delicately as they dared, counselled their boys about ‘talking to strangers’ and also agreed on a family pass-word. An upgraded high security system, complete with motion detection cameras got installed.

  With no sightings or evidence that O’Rourke was even in the area, the police presence was further downscaled. The Cardinalis were not impressed.

  Chapter 33 : Dark Times

  It had been a tough time for the family. Remaining vigilant while at the same time living a normal existence had thrown up all levels of tension. It had been especially trying for their boys, Patrick and Richard. Although outwardly appearing to be carefree, the restrictions placed upon them frequently materialized as early and late teenage tantrums respectively. Periods of uneasy silence became the norm at times. In reality neither of them had any concept of the possible enormity of the situation. What had been a loving easy-going family home had become overwrought.

  At work too, the staff had noticed a big change in their leader. Apart from his physical appearance, gaunt and troubled looking, he had become intolerant, picky. It was the minor issues, for no apparent reason, like a difference of opinion that could get blown up into a major conflict... as happened on a normal, end-of-the-working-week, Friday.

  Another customer complaint and bust up with Gerald Fox had been the final straw for Curtis. His weekend was likely to be tilted towards the creation of measures to keep a key account on board. Already he was running late. He should have been on the family’s wavelength and actually en route to collect the takeaway food. Pizza night was a regular treat for the boys and indeed for himself; Jacqueline, not so. Then his car phone started ringing ‒ he answered. It was the MD of the ‘key account’. He was not a happy MD! All thoughts of picking up the Pizza were replaced by the need to placate the client. Curtis drove, almost on auto-pilot. By the time he finished the call he was grateful, happy and quite proud of himself for rescuing the situation.

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  As Curtis walked through the door of his home, his whole demeanour changed. It was th
e look of disappointment on his boy’s faces as he immediately realised that he’d forgotten to pick up the pre-ordered pizza. It was the look on his wife’s face that suggested that she was far from finished with him. Before he could reverse back out the door and back into his car she said, ‘Oh for Christ’s sake! Do I have to do everything myself around here? Right, give me your flippin’ keys.’

  With that, Jacqueline dashed out. She slammed the front door and jumped into her husband’s car. With wheels churning up the gravel, she sped away towards the pizzeria.

  Although driving was still something of a passion for her the last place that she wanted to be on a dark drizzle-drenched evening was navigating the twists and turns of a back-road into town.

  Throttling the Mercedes E-class estate hard, she muttered, ‘Bloody man! Bloody factory. Why is it always me who has to do the running?’

  She continued with her rant, but in silence. Ahh! Just wonderful, it’s bloody raining. Isn’t that just the final nail into what was supposed to be a nice wee Italian-styled family evening in. ‘Wipers, where’s the damned wiper switch?’

  The evening that she had planned had been an attempt to lift the mood of the house-hold. To divert it from one of anxiety, bickering and agitation, just for one night. She had designated this Friday as ‘pizza-party-night’. She and the boys had been preparing the spread since late afternoon. The three of them had picked out suitably silly themed outfits to wear. An even dafter outfit was chosen for Curtis.

  Following a call to remind him to be home at the prearranged time, it was he who volunteered to be the up-lifter of the phoned-through pizza order. ‘It won’t be a bother’, he had assured Jacqueline. ‘Sure, it’s on the way home from the factory for goodness sake darling. Catch you later, bye.’

  And then he’d forgotten. ‘Fine!’ Jac said out loud to the swishing wipers. ‘Fine! I’ll drive through a rain-sodden night.’

  Jacqueline was quietly revelling in the power the Merc was emitting as she raced towards the pizza pick-up. It took the edge off her anger. With the makings of a smile, she said aloud, ‘Bloody man. How does he get through his day?’

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  ‘What the heck is keeping your Mum? I could have been there and back twice. No doubt she has bumped into one of her girlfriends. Oh boy; that’s just women for you boys. This is what happens when you get older, eh, Patrick? You’ll have to get used to it I’m afraid.’ He hugged his boys, and the three of them fell backwards onto the plush sofa.

  As more time passed Curtis was trying very hard to disguise his concerns. As he continued to ring round a number of her friends, the doorbell chimed. Immediately assuming that it was her, unable to use her key with the burden of the pizzas, he skipped expectantly down the hall while rehearsing his opening wise-crack... The sight of the two uniformed police officers stopped him cold.

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  Frantic phone calls followed the police visit. Curtis hadn’t fallen to pieces, at least not in front of the boys or the officers. His priority was to get to the side of his critically injured wife but not before he had wrapped a blanket of care around his sons. Curtis had tried to comfort them while attempting to explain to them the awfulness of the developing situation.

  The female constable held the fort until volunteers appeared. As he arrived at hospital, courtesy of a ‘blues and twos’ police car ride, Jacqueline was being prepared for emergency surgery. The lead member of the medical team outlined what would lay ahead for her. Following the briefing Curtis’s signature composure and crisis calm finally gave way.

  It was worse than he could have ever imagined. Grasping around for anything positive, dismissing that she wouldn’t even survive. He held on tightly to the fact that the love of his life was still alive, albeit gravely injured but fighting. Jacqueline Cardinali was a fighter.

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  It had been eight weeks and four days since the gravely injured Jac was rushed into A&E, her life hanging in the balance, her left leg all but given up on. Whether she, or more likely Curtis had been a specific target for the tail-gating incident, or she had been an unlucky victim in a random occurrence was still not clear, although the earlier letter and potential threats were high on the police’s agenda.

  With the help of a walking aid, as well as Curtis guarding her every step a pale and drawn Jacqueline Cardinali commenced her victory walk out of the hospital. Deep guilt continued to rack Curtis. If only I’d let the car phone ring out, not taken that call from the client. If only I’d picked up the pizza. If only I hadn’t sold the boat. There were too many questions, still too much darkness. From the Cardinali family, individual thanks had been sent to the NHS and accident recovery teams together with the domestic volunteers who had helped Curtis and his boys with their everyday trials and tribulations. For everyone involved it had been a victory; very much a case of, light overcoming the dark.

  Those long hours and days and weeks of hoping, urging his wife to pull through, to open her eyes, to even acknowledge his presence had been overpowering. Having to leave her bedside to attend to maters domestic was difficult. Patrick and Richard regardless of Jacqueline’s state, needed his attention, more especially his love and support.

  Worse were his business duties. An emergency restructuring of senior management had to be put in place to actually allow him the time to manage his private emergency! The cold reality was that Cardinali Industries needed to continue to function in a flawless manner. Orders, clients, payments, wages, all had to continue. Regardless of whether gales were racking the North and English channels, whether French ports were again strike-bound, or whether Jac would lose her leg and Curtis could bring himself and his family through their crisis. The customer and clients had to continue to come first. That had been the Cardinali way, and indeed the Toni Russo way before that...

  Chapter 34 : A Lucky Man

  Following the UK’s national news bulletin, the local BBC Northern Ireland’s Newsline presenter reported that earlier that day a man had been found fatally wounded outside the Donegal village of Muff. The journalist at the scene reported that the victim, who had been known to the authorities, was found slumped in the driver’s seat of a SUV type vehicle.

  She continued by implying that it had all the hallmarks of a paramilitary assassination, and went on to report that the vehicle had signs of damage to headlights and bodywork. According to local sources, the vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, belonged to members of the O’Rourke family. The journalist however cautioned against further speculation, because the Garda Síochána had yet to issue any official statement in relation to the incident.

  The official confirmation of Ruane O’Rourke’s death had been delivered to the Cardinali residence prior to any of the news reports. Coincidentally it was by the same detective who Jac had pulled up in respect of the divine retribution remark. Following the visit Curtis felt an overpowering feeling of relief; his and his family’s nightmare had ended. But another visit, some days later and by the same detective, left him frustrated. The ‘angry’ Curtis Cardinali caricature had returned! He couldn’t believe what this man, was asking him and worse, his delivery was far from convivial.

  ‘Mr Cardinali, where were you at 7am on last Thursday?’

  Curtis knew immediately that the date and time must be related to Ruane O’Rourke.

  ‘At home. Having my breakfast.’

  The detective asked if he was sure and seemed somehow counter-intuitively frustrated at Curtis’s immediate cooperation. There was a coldness about this man. Curtis confirmed, but in doing so, he had to overcome a recurrent anger dressed in frustration and more so, disbelief. Was he seriously being included in the list of suspects or was this guy taking the opportunity to wreak some kind of divine revenge following Curtis’s previous challenge of his Christian credentials?

  The unmoved detective explained smugly that it was now a murder enquiry.

  ‘Well, as I said I was at home, there’s nothing more I can tell you.’

  Tu
rning away the detective stopped and said, ‘Please keep us informed of any future travel arrangements, Mr Cardinali. We may need to question you further, down at the station.’

  Curtis, grinding his teeth, said, ‘Certainly. No problem, Detective.’

  Other than a corporate day’s clay pigeon shoot several years previously Curtis had never owned or handled a gun, never mind discharged one. Unsurprisingly, no further visits were received. In the wake of the visit Curtis had threatened to log a complaint against the detective. Jacqueline however had quickly reeled him in, as she had so often during this whole awful period and indeed their life together.

  * * *

  In the long lonely hours that Curtis had spent beside Jacqueline’s bed, he had reflected on a life which for the most part, had been blessed. Albeit punctuated by some chapters which could never be edited out of the Cardinali memoir. The sudden death of his father; his Eleven Plus examination result, being ‘blown out’ by the first love of his life. How could he forget the beating he took in the park? How could he forget meeting Jacqueline, the girl who would become the absolute love of his life? Then there was the loss of his mentor and close friend, Toni Russo, and of course, not forgetting... the loss of a ‘mistress’.

  He also countered his reminisces by recalling how he, it seemed, always managed to emerge from disaster smelling of roses. Maybe he was just a lucky guy? He preferred to see it as luck, disguised as skill and wrapped in self-driving determination. He suddenly remembered the old line, commonly and mistakenly attributed to a number of authors throughout history, but all saying much the same thing: “I’m lucky…and I find the harder I work, the luckier I get.”

  That first night, when her life had hung in the balance, he had leant over to kiss Jacqueline’s forehead. Sitting back down in the chair next to her bed, a smile broke across his otherwise strained face, but only for a moment. It was the realisation that this crisis, the life or death situation in which his wife was embroiled could only be because, she found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not her fault. He wiped away yet more tears as the dreadful reality hit him hard; she ‘took a bullet’ for me.’