If Only They Could Talk

by Ian Walker

  I knew she was drunk and that she’d probably regret it the next morning. But I didn’t care about that. I hadn’t had sex for more than five years and there was no way that I was going to turn down an invitation from a beautiful woman so much younger than me.

  We finished dancing and went back to the table.

  “I’m absolutely knackered,” said Amanda. “So if you don’t mind, I’m going to go up to my room.”

  With that she winked at me as she got up and left. I prayed that nobody else noticed.

  “You seemed to be getting on pretty well together,” said Rebecca with a knowing look on her face.

  “She’s a nice girl,” I replied. “But before you get the wrong idea, our relationship is purely professional. Besides which she’s thirteen years my junior.”

  “When did that ever stop anyone?” she asked. “Look at Elvis.”

  She was referring to the fact that Elvis Presley was dating Priscilla Beaulieu who was more than ten years younger than him.

  “He’s a pop star,” I replied. “They play by a different set of rules to the rest of us.”

  I didn’t want this conversation to go on for too long and so I continued by saying, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll call it a night myself. I’ve got a lot to get through tomorrow and I want a clear head, something I won’t have if I stay here drinking all night.”

  “Don’t change the subject Miles,” Rebecca continued. “You need to find a nice girl. It’s been over five years now since Sarah died. You’ve grieved for long enough. It’s time you got on with your life.”

  The truth was that it was more guilt than grieving that I’d been going through. But that wasn’t something I wanted to share with her.

  Rebecca added, “Actually, we need to get back as well. We told the babysitter we’d be back before midnight. Why don’t we share a taxi?”

  “Shit,” I thought to myself. I had to think quickly.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll walk” I said. “The exercise will do me good and there are a couple of things that I need to mull over. I find that walking gives me time to think.”

  “Whatever you say,” Rebecca replied.

  I wasn’t sure she believed me. But the three of us got up from the table with me clutching my certificate and we went to get our coats. Once outside I was pleased to see that there was a row of waiting taxis. I kissed Rebecca on the cheek before I said goodbye to her and Herman. The two of them got into one of the taxis and as soon it was out of view I sneaked back into the hotel, a very relieved man. I headed straight up the main staircase hoping all the time that nobody spotted me.

  Room 306 was on the third floor and my heart was beat­ing so loudly as I mounted the stairs that I was surprised nobody could hear it. I was extremely nervous. What if she’d changed her mind or fallen asleep?

  I knocked on the door, not too loud so that it would draw attention, but not too softly that she wouldn’t hear.

  The door was opened virtually immediately.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. “I was just about to start by myself.”

  She looked absolutely gorgeous in a loose-fitting dressing gown. I closed the door behind me and we started to kiss. Her gown was undone at the front and I put my hand on her breast feeling her erect nipple.

  She broke off our embrace and looked down before saying, “Are you going to burst out of those trousers, or are you going to take them off?”

  I didn’t need any encouragement and I took my clothes off as Amanda slipped out of the dressing gown and got into bed. I got in beside her and we started to kiss once more. However, before we went any further, I broke away from her.

  “I don’t have any condoms,” I said.

  “No need,” she replied. “I’m on the pill.”

  They were the words I thought I’d never hear. The pill hadn’t existed the last time I’d had sex. Its introduction had changed everything, giving women control over their own bodies and kickstarting the permissive society.

  We made love passionately. It was absolutely wonderful, reminding me of exactly what I’d been missing for the past five years.

  I have to admit that we made quite a lot of noise whilst we were making love. This was due in part to a loose head­board, which kept banging against the bedroom wall. Amanda put her fingers to her lips, made a shushing noise and told me to quieten down a bit.

  “You do know that Freddie Laker’s in the next room,” she whispered.

  Then she started to giggle, “Do you think that qualifies us for the Mile High Club?”

  That was really funny and I started to laugh uncontrol­lably before collapsing on top of her, both of us in stitches.

  When we’d finished, I was in for another surprise as she took a large roll-up out of her bag, which she lit before inhaling and then passing it to me. I’d never been a heavy smoker, although I had smoked the odd Woodbine or two, especially whilst I was doing my National Service. However, I’d never smoked cannabis before and, to be honest, I never imagined I ever would.

  It was at that point that Amanda leaned over and put her mouth to my ear.

  “Welcome to the swinging sixties, Miles,” she whispered before kissing me again.

  The following morning I realised that I’d left my cer­tificate on a shelf in the cloakroom, which resulted in an embarrassing moment when I had to go and retrieve it. I was still wearing my dinner jacket from the night before and so it was patently obvious to anybody watching that I’d got lucky the previous evening.

  I was sure that the night with Amanda in the Station Hotel would be a one-night stand. But to my utter amaze­ment she agreed to see me again and it was not long before I considered myself to be in a relationship with her.

  She often spent the night at my house and I wanted her to move in with me, but she didn’t want to give up her inde­pendence or her two-bedroomed flat in Sheffield. I knew it would take time to convince her, but I was prepared to wait.

  I was overjoyed when she agreed to spend the Christmas holidays with me and decided that I would get her a really expensive present. Amanda had previously admired Sarah’s jewellery and clothes, all of which were still in the house. So I asked her if she wanted something similar.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “You’ve got a mas­sive collection of things that were your wife’s. Just give me one of those.”

  “You can take the whole bloody lot,” I replied. “I don’t want them. They bring back too many memories.”

  In the end she chose a diamond necklace. It was a classy piece of jewellery, although I never knew precisely how much Sarah had paid for it. In fact, it was stunning, but not as stunning as the person who was now wearing it.

  I had to go to the office between Christmas and New Year whereas Amanda had taken the whole week off. So I got a key cut for her so that she could let herself in and out. It was my way of saying, “You’ve got the key now, so why not make our relationship permanent?”

  Christmas 1966 was the best I’d had since I was a child. The brewery was doing well and I was in a new relationship. Everything was right with the world.

  I remembered the joke Rupert, Rebecca and I had shared about our parents only having sex at Christmas. Tonight it would be my turn, although I was now having sex every night rather than once a year.

  Chapter 23

  Just as they finally finished clearing out the study, the door­bell rang. It was John from next door.

  “I just popped around to see how you’re getting on,” he said. “I would have come earlier only I’d promised to visit my sister in Bolton.”

  “Come in John,” said Molly who had answered the door. “The truth is that it’s a far bigger job than we thought. Mind you, we’ve cleared out all the rooms except for the living room, although we’ve still got to sort out what to do with all the large pieces of furniture. We’ve got the people from the hospice shop coming around tomorrow, but I doubt if they’ll take everything.”

  “Th
e borough council will take things,” he replied. “They charge a fee of course, but from memory it isn’t a large sum.”

  “I thought so,” said Molly. “I meant to look it up on the internet, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”

  They sat down together in the kitchen and had a cup of tea. John told them that he’d known their uncle since 2002 when he and his wife Eleanor had downsized to the end of terrace house next door. Eleanor had died in 2005 and John explained that Miles had been of great support during those difficult times.

  “Miles and I had always got on well together. But we became firm friends after Eleanor died,” John explained. “We’d go to the pub, talk over the fence and I’d take him to do his shopping. I was ten years younger than him and he was very conscious of the fact that all his old friends were dying off. He was grateful to have a younger friend who would help him. Your uncle gave up driving when he was eighty as he wasn’t as confident as he’d once been. So the fact that I’d still got my own transport was really of great help to him. Mind you, talking of cars, have you been in the garage yet?”

  “No,” replied Nigel. “It was one of the last things we’d planned to do. Why? What’s in there? I presumed that it was like everywhere else. Just full of old junk.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of that in the garage,” said John. “But there’s something else that I think you’ll like. Let me show you.”

  With that Nigel and Molly followed John around the side of the house to where the garage was. It had a pair of old-fashioned doors secured by a padlock rather than one of the more modern up and over types. Nigel took out the bunch of keys and quickly located the one that opened the lock.

  He opened the doors only to discover a 1938 Austin 10 in original condition staring him in the face.

  “Wow,” said Nigel. “That’s it, my search is now at an end. This is what I’m going to take to remind me of my uncle. I can still remember him driving it. I had absolutely no idea that he’d still got it.”

  “He last drove it twelve years ago,” John explained. “But even before then I rarely saw him take it out. I believe he used to drive it to work until he retired. But after that he used it less and less, until one day he took the battery out and just left it in the garage.”

  “Well, I recently finished restoring a 1948 MG TC and I was hoping to find another project. The Austin here is the answer to my prayers.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” replied John. “Your uncle told me that you had an interest in classic cars.”

  Molly was less impressed. She’d hoped that Nigel would choose the Charlotte Rhead jug, or if he wanted something to remind him of the family business then the acid-etched mirror. However, as soon as she’d seen the car, she knew that there was no chance he would ever chose anything else.

  Nigel asked John if there was anything he wanted to take from either the garage or the shed, as otherwise most of the stuff would end up in landfill.

  John thanked him and said that if it was okay he wouldn’t mind taking Miles’s lawnmower since his had just broken down. Nigel told him that he would be doing them a favour by taking it, so John took the lawnmower and went back home with it.

  Nigel and Molly returned to the job of clearing out the study, a task they had nearly finished before John had come to see them. In fact, the only thing left to do was to take down the items that were on the wall. These were all brew­ery-related including the acid-etched mirror and various old brewery adverts and pub signs.

  “I remember when all these items were on the walls of Uncle Miles’s office at the brewery,” said Nigel. “He trans­ferred them here when he sold the business.”

  *******

  1967 had started well without the slightest hint of what was to come. Business was good and so was my sex life. In fact, I was getting on really well with Amanda and had got my fingers crossed that she would soon move in with me. She’d taken more of Sarah’s old jewellery and clothes, which helped to alleviate my guilt. I knew that once she’d moved in, they would almost certainly come back with her, but somehow that didn’t seem to worry me.

  It was a pain in the arse having a representative of WRD on the board, but since he didn’t attend board meetings that often it was nothing that I couldn’t put up with.

  His name was Hugo Ratcliffe and he lived in London. He was 27 years old and wore red braces, loud ties and white socks. In other words, he was a complete nob head and it wasn’t long before he acquired the nickname ‘Huge Ego’.

  WRD stood for Withington, Ratcliffe and Dunne and Hugo was the eldest son of one of the partners. I disliked him intensely and never bothered to hide the fact.

  By February 1967, he’d had a seat on the board for over a year and had only attended four board meetings. Therefore, it came as a surprise when he phoned me one day and told me that he was coming to Chesterfield the following Monday. He said he wanted to have a meeting with Rebecca and myself.

  I immediately smelt a rat and asked him what he wanted to see us about. But he refused to tell me, saying that all would become clear on Monday.

  I was definitely worried by this turn of events, but Rebecca told me not to be concerned because whatever he wanted to do, the two of us could always outvote him. However, that didn’t stop me from worrying about it all weekend.

  Hugo arrived at 10.30 on the Monday morning and the three of us went into the boardroom together.

  “I’ll not beat about the bush,” said Hugo. “We’ve had another offer from Sheffield Brewery to buy the company and I think that we ought to give it serious consideration.”

  I was absolutely furious. “I’m the Managing Director of this company. Any approaches should be made to me not to you.”

  “Keep your hair on,” he replied. “WRD have a long working relationship with Sheffield Brewery. It should not come as a surprise that they’ve spoken to us.”

  “Sorry, am I missing something?” asked Rebecca. “You said another offer. Have they made an offer before?”

  “Didn’t you know?” asked Hugo. “They last made an offer in 1961.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me,” said Rebecca looking at me.

  “We weren’t going to sell. There was no need to tell you.”

  “I own a substantial part of this company,” she snapped. “You had no right to keep it from me.”

  We both knew it was only by remaining united that the family would be able to resist any offer to buy the company. By revealing that Sheffield had made a previous offer for the brewery Hugo had managed to drive a wedge between Rebecca and I. Consequently, I was now very worried.

  “How much have they offered?” asked Rebecca.

  “£325,000,” replied Hugo, “’which is a very fair offer and one that the board of WRD wants us to accept.”

  “What?” I shouted. “But that’s £25,000 less than they offered us six years ago and that was before we invested in the brewery and our pub estate. Furthermore, we are sub­stantially more profitable than we were back in 1961.”

  I was completely flabbergasted by what Hugo had just said, so much so that I could barely speak. Finally, it was Rebecca who broke the silence.

  “I think I speak for both my brother and myself when I say that the Sheffield Brewery offer is not acceptable to us. And since the two of us own 51% of the company, that is the end of the matter.”

  I realised that I had been wrong to doubt Rebecca. She may have been angry with me for not telling her about the earlier offer made by Sheffield Brewery, but when the chips were down she was always going to side with me against WRD.

  “I thought you were going to say that,” said Hugo with­out a trace of emotion in his voice. “Therefore I have to tell you that the board of WRD carried out a strategic review of our investment policy last week. As part of this review, we decided to make a complete withdrawal from the brewing sector. Consequently, I am instructed to inform you that if you do not accept the offer, we will call in our loan forc­ing the company into liquidation. I
want to make it clear: accept it and you will walk away with some money; reject it and you will walk away with nothing. Possibly less than nothing, bearing in mind the personal guarantees you both signed.”

  “I thought you said that you’d got money invested in Sheffield Brewery. Are you really going to recall that as well?” I asked him whilst visibly shaking. I was so angry.

  “What I actually said was that WRD had a long work­ing relationship with Sheffield Brewery. I never said we had invested money in them.”

  With that he packed his briefcase and left, but not before he had told us that we had until Friday to make our decision.

  After he had left, Rebecca and I discussed our options.

  “If we accept the offer we will come out with less than £25,000,” I told her. “That’s because they invested £250,000 and their guaranteed minimum return of 20% takes them up to £300,000, minus the small amount that we’ve already repaid. Take that away from the offer of £325,000 and it will leave us with just over £25,000. However, we will have legal fees, outstanding suppliers’ bills, excise duty and tax to pay out of that.

  “If we go into receivership, then Sheffield Brewery could well buy everything from the receiver for less than the £325,000 they’ve offered. If they offer less than £300,000, then WRD will call in our personal guarantees in order to make up the difference. As a result, we could both lose our homes and end up bankrupt.”

  “These cannot be our only options,” said Rebecca trying hard to hold back the tears. “Our family has built up this business over four generations. We’ve been going for over a hundred years. We can’t see it disappear in the space of a week. There must be something we can do to save it.”

  “As far as I can tell, we have two other options,” I replied. “Firstly, we could see if the bank is prepared to replace the WRD finance. They would only need to buy out the £100,000 loan, not their 49% equity share. WRD can threaten to recall their loan, but they can’t do that with their shares in the company. They can only sell those to someone else. Our only other option is to find another buyer who will make us a higher offer.”