by PH Morris
The place was quite busy, due to the shoppers who were having their ‘tea’ before they headed home with their purchases. But we weren’t in any rush. We talked a bit more about his family, avoiding his sister’s crappy choice in men. He had a nephew who was little and lived up in Scotland; he didn’t see him very often.
We had to wait a while for our food, but that was okay, and I revealed a little more about myself. I talked about the letter I had received about a man I had never heard of and what the possible gift in the will was. I had called my mum earlier in the day, and she and dad had had no idea what it was.
Mum had told me just to go along and find out what they had to say. Dad had given me an analogy which was: “Don’t expect anything, love; you might think it’s a fancy prize, but it might just be a pineapple, and a rotten one at that,” which was just his way of saying, expect the worst and don’t even prepare for the best.
I had been let down by my birth family all my life, so I didn’t have any expectations other than it being a rotten pineapple, but my curiosity was piqued, and I decided to follow my mum’s advice. Well, I was going to phone first and check it out before I went in my lunch hour and wasted an hour of my life on that lot, sixty minutes I would never get back.
That would all come in good time, but right now I was here with Alistair, and I didn’t want the time to go, even though it was flying by.
The food arrived, and we had ordered too much. Alistair insisted on picking up the tab. It was only eight, and we were back on the street. I directed us to a bar nearby that did great cocktails.
We walked aimlessly around town, and I dragged him to a few of the nicer places that were up and coming. Before I knew it, it was almost 11pm. I didn’t want it to end; suddenly the conversation got a little stilted, as if he had something on his mind.
We had almost finished our drinks, and we had both had enough for a school night.
“Listen, Mel”– here it comes, I thought –”I have had an amazing evening.” Shit, here comes the but…
“You’ve got work in the morning, and I’ve got an early flight and, as much as I want to do this all night, we are both going to be dead in the morning.”
Phew, thank god for that.
“Yeah, of course, you’re right.” I could not keep the disappointment out of my voice, and I looked down at my hands. He took a couple of short steps towards me and kissed the top of my head, wrapping his arms around me.
I smiled weakly up at him, and he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me, gently and then more passionately.
“I had better show you back to your place and then get some sleep. I’m up at six.”
“I’m sorry, Alistair, I’m not trying to be a sulky limpet, but I’ve enjoyed our time, and I don’t want it to end.”
“Mel, firstly, I’m not sure there’s such a thing as a sulky limpet, and secondly and most importantly, I feel the same way as you. When we are together, I want the time to go slow, and when we are apart, I can’t wait to see you again. But someone who shall remain nameless, kept me awake all last night, and not in a good way.” It was his turn to wiggle his eyebrows.
“Moi?” I faked affronted.
“Come on,” he laughed, and grabbed one of my hands, and as we left the bar, he looked around him, trying to orient himself. He stalled, uncertain which way to go as we had walked around in a wide circle.
“Come on,” I said, mirroring his words and pulling him in the opposite direction.
He laughed and slapped me lightly on my backside.
A few minutes later we were at the door to the apartment, and he leaned on the doorframe, smiling.
“I had a great day and evening, Mel, thank you; and you are definitely up for coming to the lodge for the weekend?”
“Yeah, I’m up for that. I’ll check flight times, and I’ll ring you.”
“Okay,” he said, “it’s a date; is that our fourth or fifth?” he smiled, and continued, “But who’s counting?”
He leaned forward to kiss me, and David took that moment to yank the door off its hinges and swing it open, almost resulting in the two of us falling into the apartment face first.
“For Christ sake, David, bad timing.” I scowled. Alistair righted himself, and me, and then glared at David.
David was up to mischief, and the twinkle in his eyes said it all.
“Mel, is that you? I’m sooo sorry, I heard voices.”
“Har de har, David,” I growl.
“Right, I think that’s my cue to leave,” and glaring at David, and softening his look for me, he planted a chaste kiss on my lips. “Call me. Goodnight, Mel.”
“Night, Alistair, hope the business trip is good.”
“Speak soon,” he nodded at me, and then walked away.
“Wait!” I yelled and ran after him.
He stopped and turned. “What is it?”
“Do you know which way to go?” I was laughing at him, and he was grinning back.
“Yeah, I got it figured on the way back, but thanks, Mel.” He then swept me into a big embrace, dipped me, like in the movies, and kissed me like his, and my, life depended on it.
After coming up for air, he set me steady on my feet, kissed me again quickly, winked and walked away to the stairwell.
I just stood there looking at an empty corridor and then heard ‘kissy kissy’ sounds from behind me.
Turning, I glower at David, and by the time I reached him, which was just a few short strides, I was no longer angry with him. He had become such a dear friend in such a short time that I welcomed his sage opinions so much I was more interested in what he thought than wringing his neck.
“Oooh, Mel, don’t frown, it will give you wrinkles,” and he rubbed at the creases on my forehead, laughing.
I swatted his hand away and ushered him inside. “Pack it in, Auntie D, you are annoying me. Well, what do you think?” I demanded.
“He’s well fit, got a bit of Thor vibe going on, and he’s absolutely interested in you.” He folded his arms across his chest as if trying to make the point more obvious.
“What makes you think that?” I wanted to know how he knew these things, given how crap I was at spotting the signs.
“Let me count them off for you,” David affirmed, putting his fingers up: “One, he can’t take his eyes off you; two, he has been texting and calling but, as far as I can see,” and he looked me up and down, pursing his lips, “he hasn’t tried anything on; and three, the way he planted that kiss on you before, I thought I saw steam rising. Girlfriend, that guy has got it bad!”
I started chewing my nail, deep in thought.
David swatted my hand from my mouth. “Stop that!” he hissed. I gaped at his audacity. “Do not overthink this”. He started doing air quotes to emphasise the point. “Does he really like me? What does he see in me? What if he finds out what I am really like and then dumps me? Just stop it, Mel!” He was shouting a little now. “I am not going to waste my breath telling you why you are gorgeous and amazing and how lucky he is – you just have to believe me.” He harrumphed at the end to make his point and silenced me with a steely gaze.
“Fine,” I held up my hand in surrender, “but you can’t change what’s in my head.” I tapped my finger on my temple.
“Yeah,” he softened, “I’m working on that. I want to hear the whole thing, every bit of it from start to finish.”
“Okay,” I acquiesced, “but it will have to be the edited highlights; if you want the full match report, you will need to wait till tomorrow.”
David pulled his face at my football-related pun but listened intently to the account of the day and evening.
I stifled a yawn a few times, and it was nearly eleven thirty when I dragged myself away and fell into bed. I slept blissfully that night.
Chapter 13
The next morning, I awok
e feeling surprisingly fresh, despite the two late nights.
I got up and dressed for work. Alistair had sent me a couple of morning texts, I knew he would be flying soon, and although the flight was short, he would be on radio silence.
I grabbed my bag and the solicitor’s letter and was out of the apartment before eight and at work with a latte by quarter past.
By 9am, Louise was on me like a bee on honey, but I had back-to-back meetings, so she had to leave my office like a sulky teenager.
I said we could meet up for coffee at one; my last morning meeting finished at twelve thirty, but I needed to ring the solicitors first.
At 12.31pm, I rang the solicitors’ main number, and a polite-sounding receptionist answered. I gave my name and the reference from the letter, and whilst on hold listening to elevator music, I draw small flowers on the corner of the letter as I waited.
After a minute or so another equally polite lady, different from the first, came on the line, apologised for keeping me waiting and transferred me to Miss Jardine. A warm voice came on the line, “Hello, is that Miss Cartwright?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s right.” Bit of a stupid question – doh!
“Thank you for calling, Miss Cartwright. I assume you have now received our letter; we have had trouble getting the letter to you as I understand you had moved address.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“No matter, we have contacted you now. So, I suppose you want to know what this is all about?”
Yes, I flipping well would. “Yes, that would be helpful,” I managed.
“Due to the nature of the matter, i.e. in the case of estates or items left in wills, we need you to come to our offices with two forms of ID. At that stage, we can give you more information. I am sure you can appreciate that, in situations like this, it is really important that we establish the identity of would-be recipients,” she explained.
Well, yes, I understand, I thought impatiently, but I want to know now. I knew I was being a petulant child but went with my pragmatic reply.
“Yes, of course, I understand, it’s just that I’m not sure you have the right person as I don’t know the gentleman in the will. I’m also not even sure that, whatever it is, I even want it.”
“I fully understand your trepidation and reluctance, but if you could attend our offices, and by all means, bring someone with you if that would make you feel more comfortable, we can discuss things better in person. How does that sound?” she answered with a placating tone.
God, this woman was good. “Yes, I suppose I could. When can you see me?”
“I have a few meetings this week,” she explained, and I could hear the click of a mouse as she was checking her diary. “I can do tomorrow lunchtime, say twelve fifteen, if I move somethings around. Is that any good for you?” she pressed.
Pushy much? I thought, but I did want this thing over with. “Tomorrow at twelve fifteen would be good.”
I thanked her and hung up the phone.
A few minutes later, Louise bounced into my office. “Ready?”
We arrived at the coffee shop and were a little annoyed that two guys in suits were sitting at our usual table and tub chairs, but as we paid, they got up to leave, and Louise made a dive for it.
I filled Louise in on the whole thing, updating her on the hate mail and the letter from the solicitors, and she agreed at my request to come with me. I knew that Kaz might be a little put out, but I also knew she would have to take the day off to come with me, and I just wanted it over with. I was still very jumpy and, although the solicitor sounded nice, albeit a little forthright, I still wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t going to be bundled into the back of a truck and taken away. After the intrigue of the letter, the next important agenda item was the weekend with Alistair and the promise of the weekend to come.
Louise had a million questions to which I had no answer, such as: what was his place like; when exactly was I going; how did I feel about him; and, more importantly for Louise, what was I going to wear; and was I going to get all hot and sweaty with the guy?
I was honestly glad when the lunch hour was over. My head was hurting, but at least I had a plan for the next day.
Luckily the afternoon flew by, due to a large spreadsheet I had to work on and give my full concentration to, and I shut my office door to get on with it.
I even had my phone on divert and my mobile on silent – the next thing I noticed was someone gesturing through the glass wall at me. I waved them in, and it was Nick’s PA.
“Nick asked me to leave these confidential docs with you for signing and filing.” She pushed the file onto my desk. “You’re here late, Mel.”
It was then that I looked at the clock – crikey, it was almost 6pm.
“I hadn’t noticed; working on this spreadsheet for Nick is doing my head in a little, but I managed to get to grips with it. Anyway, I could say the same about you.”
She smiled. “Yep, you know me,” and turning on her heels she shouted, “Don’t stay much longer!” over her shoulder and walked out of the office.
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. My eyes were hurting, and I was done for the day. I closed down the files and saved everything I needed to. Grabbing my phone, bag and coat, I then saw a number of texts from Alistair.
‘Hi, landed and off to the meeting. I’ll text you later. Had a great weekend, Ax’
‘Just stopped for lunch between meetings. Hope you are okay.’
‘Knock, knock’,
followed by:
‘Who’s there?’
and then:
‘It’s not much fun when the joke is just one-sided, and knock-knock jokes aren’t great at the best of times. You must be tied up, speak later.’
Aww, the poor guy, he must think I am ignoring him. So, as I put my jacket on and stepped out of the office onto the street, I rang his number. It rang the long overseas tone, and he answered.
“Hi, Mel, you okay?”
“Hi, Alistair, yes, I’m fine, thanks. Sorry, I have been in meetings, and then my phone was on silent. How was your day?”
“Boring, to be honest, just visiting some distributing agents, so networking really. I’m meeting a few later for dinner.”
I slow-walked to the apartment so that I could prolong our chat, and I told him about the solicitors’ meeting, and he was encouraging. I moved quickly onto questions about the weekend, including appropriate clothing. He said he would check the weather nearer the time and let me know, but he suggested that layers were always good and if, I had them, walking boots.
I could hear him moving around in his hotel room, and before too long I had walked the short distance home. We said our goodbyes and said we would text in the week.
When I got home, I decided I would call my mum to update her.
I walked up the stairs to the apartment and could smell popcorn; it was a familiar smell, sweet, sickly. I preferred salty; I wondered what Alistair preferred. I entered the apartment and there was no sign of David, which was odd as he was on his off days.
I kicked off my shoes and dialled my mum’s number; she answered on the third ring.
I walked around the apartment, mooching around in a cupboard, thinking what I could rustle up for tea.
I told her about the letter, and she scolded me for not telling her sooner. I played it down and said that I’d thought it was a hoax or a stupid prank. I certainly didn’t tell her about the letters or parcels that I had received.
She thought for a while and confirmed that she too had not heard of a Colin Hunting. She said she would go and have a look at the paperwork; as it was over twenty-two years ago, her memory wasn’t an exact science.
I put the phone down and boiled some water for an easy pasta tea, and no sooner had the water come to a boil than the phone rang, it was my mum.
Wi
thout the niceties, she launched into, “I found something, not much really. Your birth dad’s name was Hunting, as you know, so either Colin was his dad or his uncle, but I thought he’d died years ago and there were no living relatives. Well, that’s as much as I have, love,” she offered.
“It’s okay, Mum, I’ve decided to go along and see. The solicitors are legit and the lady I spoke to seemed nice. Louise from work is coming with me for a bit of moral support.”
“Okay, love, well, just ring me if you need anything and ring me when you know something. Good luck, love, hope it’s not a rotten pineapple,” she laughed. But it was a fake laugh.
I said goodnight and cooked up the carbonara from leftover ham, eggs and cheese we had. It looked okay. I rang David, and it rang out and then went to his answerphone. I was about to call it again, when the door opened.
“Where have you been? I was about to call out the search party.”
“Well, I was the search party,” he offered, shaking a pile of handouts at me by way of explanation. “I have been putting these up around and about.” On the handout was a pic of Marmalade and a plea for information on the lost cat.
“Stupid question, David, but I assume he has not returned.”
“No, and I am really worried, Mel. He’s stayed out for odd nights before but not for days. It’s been four days now. I’m worried he’s got run over.”
I turned the gas off and walked the short distance toward him. “Aww, hun, what can I do, David?”
“Thanks, Mel, but there’s nothing you can do. I’ve put these up all over the place and on social media, so it’s just a waiting game and hope someone rings. I know people think that it’s just a cat and it’s not important, but he’s important to me,” his voice broke.
“Hey, come on, don’t get upset. Let’s stay positive.”
“I’m sorry, Mel, I know you’ve got shit on your plate, and I’m a soft sod.”