Sins of the Fathers

by Leah Hope

  Bridget suddenly sat bolt upright. “Do you know Heather, I don’t think we’ve ever thought about it, well I know I certainly haven’t and if Gil has, he’s never mentioned it to me. It’s certainly something to think about but I think leaving the garage would be a bit of a wrench for Gil, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  “But hasn’t he got a really good manager who takes care of things when he’s not there?”

  “Oh yes, Mick is more than capable, but I don’t think that’s what would bother Gil. He just loves cars, all cars, ever since he was small and I can’t imagine he would be happy if he didn’t have an engine to strip, or whatever it’s called, every now and then. No I don’t think he’d be happy about that at all.”

  “Well I can understand that, cars are clearly a big part of Gil’s life, but maybe he could find some other way to indulge his passion.”

  “Now that you’ve mentioned that Heather, something’s just popped into my head. I don’t know if you remember last year when the four of us were at a barbecue at Doug and Helen’s. I think it was first time we met Max and Genni.” Max, the Faulkners’ only son had used the occasion to introduce his new fiancée Genevieve, or Genni as she preferred to be called, to his parents’ friends.

  “Yes and it was just before those dreadful events that followed, how could we ever forget.”

  The “dreadful events” had taken place on 14 July during St Rémy’s Bastille Day celebrations and would be etched in Gil and Bridget’s minds forever. Horrific crimes had been committed, and had Bridget not acted on her instincts, there could have been an even more tragic outcome. Whilst she and Gil had become minor celebrities for a time, Bridget had since tried to blot out the memories of that summer, so rarely used it as a reference point. It was something of a continued annoyance to her that her brother had almost relished his fifteen minutes of fame. His eagerness to recount the tale to anyone willing to listen only added to her irritation.

  Choosing to ignore Heather’s reference to that time, Bridget continued with her story. “I think it was after we’d finished eating, maybe it was the wine talking, but Gil and Max got into a conversation about importing classic cars into France.”

  “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. I think I’d had more than my share of alcohol that night, it wasn’t the best of times for me and Tony as you know. I seem to recall that Max and Genni said they aimed to retire at some ridiculously early age having made their pile in the City, so would be looking for some sort of business venture in France. From what Doug says though, I think they’re having to re-think their plans.”

  “I thought it was a bit optimistic too, but there’s nothing wrong with having ambition I suppose. Anyway, Max mentioned the classic car thing as a possible business venture but only after his father had thrown cold water over his original idea of owning a vineyard! Gil then piped up that Max would need a good mechanic. I don’t think they got much further than that as I think Doug brought whisky and cognac out at that point”, Bridget said laughing at the memory. “You know Heather, the more I think about us moving permanently to France, the more I like the idea. But as I said, I think Gil might need convincing. Probably best if we don’t say anything about it just yet, I need to work on a strategy.”

  “Yes of course, mum’s the word!” Heather replied, her fingers closing an imaginary zip across her lips. “Talking of mums, here’s mine at last”, Heather added, spotting her mother hurrying up the garden towards her.

  “Sorry to keep you all waiting but I just had to have another shower, I just can’t get used to this heat. How are you Bridget, lovely to see you again.” said Maggie greeting Bridget warmly.

  Maggie Thomas was a pleasant looking woman in her mid-fifties. She had an open, round face framed by chestnut curls and blue eyes which always seemed on the point of creasing into a smile. She attributed her still trim figure to a weekly game of tennis in the summer and long brisk walks in the winter. She was casually dressed in navy shorts and a loose-fitting white and navy striped top.

  “Lovely to see you too Maggie. Yes it has got very warm over the last few days hasn’t it? I much prefer it when it’s a bit cooler too, but we shouldn’t grumble really, particularly as the weather’s so awful in the UK.”

  “You’re right Bridget, we shouldn’t, we’re never satisfied are we” Maggie replied with a laugh.

  “What can I get you to drink Mum?” said Heather, getting to her feet.

  “Oh, anything, whatever you two are having.”

  “Ok, fizz it is then, can I top you up Bridget?”

  Before Bridget could reply, Tony shouted from the top of the garden that the food would be ready soon and could Heather get the salads and bread on the table.

  “About time too, I’m starving” said Heather as she poured the rest of the sparkling wine into the three waiting glasses before heading off to the kitchen.

  “Do you need a hand love?” Maggie shouted after her, a little too late. But almost before she could get up out of her seat, her daughter swiftly re-appeared with a tray of mouth-watering salads and bread freshly baked from the bistro’s own ovens.

  “Wow, this looks lovely” Maggie drooled, casting an eye over the table. Seeing Tony and Gil approaching with the fruits of their labours, she hastily attempted to make room for the plates laden with chicken wings, kebabs, sausages, and sweetcorn while Heather made a swift dash back to the kitchen for the paper napkins, which she’d forgotten.

  “Tuck in” said Tony “but don’t forget to leave room for Bridget’s Pavlova!”

  Later, with most of the food eaten, the wine had been replaced with cognac. Maggie, who wasn’t used to drinking much more than the occasional glass of wine, was on the point of nodding off when she was suddenly awakened by the loud ring tone of the mobile phone in her pocket. She almost jumped out of her skin, much to the amusement of the others, and panicked in her attempt to tap on the “answer” icon.

  “I think you’d better take it inside Maggie” said Tony, “the signal’s better there.”

  Ten minutes later a very flustered and flushed looking Maggie returned to the table. “Poor me a drink Tony, would you” she said, uncharacteristically brusquely, “I just can’t believe this.”

  “Whatever’s the matter Mum?” said Heather, looking alarmed, “It’s not Sian is it?” Sian was Maggie’s niece who had just given birth prematurely in Australia and was still quite poorly. Maggie’s sister, Gwen, and her husband Geoff had recently flown out to be with their daughter and new grandson, Charlie.

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that, just those damn builders. You know they’re due to start in October, well apparently they’ve had a cancellation and they want to start on Monday would you believe. I’ll just have to go home won’t I? Bang goes the rest of my holiday.”

  “Do you have to Mum? Can’t you just tell them Monday is impossible and you’d prefer to wait until October as planned?”

  “I tried that but it seems because of the cancellation, they’ve re-scheduled all their work and if I turn this down, they can’t guarantee to start until the New Year. I was so looking forward to cooking Christmas dinner for everyone in my new kitchen.”

  For Gil and Bridget’s benefit, Maggie explained, that after years of Heather and her brother Owen’s nagging, she had finally decided to knock her old kitchen and rather drab little dining room, into one spacious kitchen-diner. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Heather had exclaimed gleefully on hearing the news. Maggie had to admit, that despite her initial reservations, the alterations were long overdue. She was a traditionalist at heart and to her mind, eating in the kitchen was not the “done thing”. But having looked at numerous photos on-line of kitchens which made her drool, she was finally convinced. As an avid cook, it was a brochure of a shiny new range cooker that had clinched it however, but strangely enough, Maggie couldn’t remember ordering it. Heather and Owen of course denied any involvement.

  “Is there no-one else who could let the builders in Maggie?” B
ridget asked.

  “No, not really. There’s still so many decisions to make, it wouldn’t be fair to ask anyone else.”

  “I’m just going to have to get back for Monday morning, I don’t have much choice. I haven’t even decided on the kitchen yet, or the taps, and then there’s the tiles and lighting, there’s just so much to do!” With that Maggie let out a little sob.

  Heather rushed over to her mother and put her arms around her, now heaving, shoulders. “Don’t worry Mum, if you’re sure you want to get back, we’ll try and get a flight sorted for you.” Over her mother’s head, Heather caught Tony’s eye and jerked her head towards the house.

  “Leave it to me Maggie, I’ll get on to it asap” said Tony jumping to his feet. Gil followed him immediately, clearly feeling this was a situation best left to “the womenfolk”.

  “I’m so sorry darling” Maggie sobbed to her daughter “putting you to all this trouble, I feel terrible.” Her shoulders, which had started to calm down, now started to heave once more. After a little pause, she was able to continue. “But maybe a little brandy would help.”

  “Coming right up Mum” Heather replied, stifling a little smile.

  Gil and a rather grim-faced Tony returned half an hour later.

  “Sorry Maggie” said Tony, pouring a large cognac for himself and Gil, “there’s nothing until next Wednesday at the earliest. The problem is that it’s peak holiday time, so everything’s booked solid. I’ve even tried a couple of other airports further afield, but it’s the same story I’m afraid.”

  Sensing that another wave of sobbing was about to break out. Bridget interjected. “Well I’ve got the perfect solution. Gil and I are going home the day after tomorrow so why don’t you come with us?” Bridget daren’t look at Gil as she suddenly realized she should probably have checked with him first. She needn’t have worried though as Gil was grinning broadly.

  “What a brilliant idea, one of your better ones sister dear, why didn’t I think of that?”

  Despite Maggie’s protestations that she couldn’t possibly impose, it was all finally settled.

  “We’ve got a ferry booked for just after five so if you could be ready to go at seven thirty on Saturday morning we can get away nice and early. It’s quite a trek up to Calais and I like to take a couple of breaks on the way” said Gil.

  “Of course, anything you say Gil, I don’t know how to thank you, you’re a life-saver” Maggie gushed as she hugged first Gil and then Bridget.

  If Maggie had known how things would turn out, she might have chosen her words more carefully.

  Chapter Four

  The journey to Calais was uneventful. Maggie had been ready at seven thirty on the dot and after hugs all round from Heather and Tony, Gil, Bridget and their unexpected new passenger set off northwards.

  Bridget in particular had welcomed what she called “some decent conversation” at last. “I don’t know which is worse” she had told her new friend, “Gil’s incessant moaning about cricket or his lengthy silences.”

  The seven hour journey, plus pit stops, gave Gil and Bridget time to learn a little more about the woman they had only known of until only recently as “Heather’s mother”. Originally from just outside Cardiff, Maggie had moved to Bath with her husband and two year old son Owen after an unexpected promotion had come David’s way. Initially uncertain at leaving her beloved Wales, Maggie was soon won over by the sheer beauty of the city that was to become her home. Heather was born two years later and the family was complete.

  Some twenty-five years later, Heather’s decision to move to France with her new husband had come out of the blue. The couple had been so full of excitement at their new venture that Maggie did what any mother who puts their child’s happiness before their own would do. She wished them well, promised to be such a regular visitor that they would tire of her and shed her tears in private.

  By now, Maggie and David were also grandparents. Owen’s wife Louise having given birth to adorable twin baby girls, Ffion and Eleri. Maggie in particular was thankful that Owen had chosen to make his home much nearer to his parents. Bristol was less than an hour away, traffic permitting, and the doting grandparents were never happier than when they were called on to babysit. It was particularly tragic therefore when David was killed in a road accident on his way home from a spur-of-the-moment detour from his usual Sunday morning spin to see his son and family. His motorbike was in a collision with a foreign-registered truck travelling on the wrong side of the road. He stood no chance whatsoever and was killed outright.

  How Maggie had hated that bike. She was petrified every time David took it out. He drove a comfortable 4x4 and for the life of her she couldn’t understand the machine’s appeal. David was at a loss to explain it either other than it had been a boyhood dream to own one. He couldn’t afford one when he was a young man and in middle age, saw no reason why he shouldn’t now indulge his passion. Maggie tried to console herself with the fact that her husband had died doing something he loved. But try as she might she found no comfort in this at all. Her beloved David was gone forever, nothing was ever going to change that.

  Gil and Bridget shared their life story too and found remarkable similarities with Maggie’s. On learning that they had both lost loved ones in tragic accidents, an immediate bond was formed that would be beyond understanding to anyone else. Bridget was delighted to learn also that she and Maggie shared a love of cooking although Maggie could only marvel at Bridget’s renowned baking skills that Heather was always raving about. It doesn’t take much skill to throw the ingredients for a casserole together, she had said, but to get a sponge to rise perfectly every time, that’s alchemy!

  The two women shared a physical resemblance too. Of a similar age, height and colouring, they could have been mistaken for sisters. Bridget’s frame was however larger than Maggie’s, or “bigger boned” as her mother would no doubt have called it, rather unflatteringly. Whilst their hair was almost exactly the same shade (thanks to the bottle rather than nature), that’s where the similarity ended. Where Bridget’s wayward locks had been the bane of her life and resisted almost every attempt to tame them, Maggie’s were styled into bouncy, shiny curls that Bridget would have given her eye teeth for.

  The ferry crossing was as uneventful as the journey to the port. The Channel was like a millpond, much to Maggie’s relief as she much preferred to fly. She had to admit enjoying the “mini-cruise” as she called it, and spent an age browsing in the gift shops, treating herself to some perfume and a watch. The grandchildren weren’t left out and would no doubt be thrilled with their backpacks and matching T-shirts with their favourite animated film characters garishly emblazoned on the front. The trio rounded the crossing off by dining in the ship’s cafeteria on coq au vin, with mashed potatoes and, to Bridget’s horror, a large portion of sticky toffee pudding to follow for Gil.

  Having gained an hour over French time, Gil was very pleased when he pulled into their drive on The Esplanade a little before seven thirty that evening. They’d even had time to stop off for milk and bread for their breakfasts. Before they left France, Gil had explained to Maggie that after the long journey home, his knees wouldn’t allow him to drive to Bath that evening. It had been amicably agreed therefore that Maggie would spend the night in Whytecliffe, and the trio would set off for Bath the following morning. Maggie was more than happy with the arrangement and had promised her friends a slap-up lunch in a delightful little Italian restaurant she knew just off the Royal Crescent. It’s the least I can do, she had explained, after all you’ve done for me.

  Gil had hardly had time to get their bags out of the car when Mrs Williamson, their elderly neighbour, appeared as if by magic next to the low wall which separated their two properties. Mrs Williamson had originally been the friend of Sylvia, Gil and Bridget’s mother, and for that reason, despite her protestations to “call me Dora” they never could. They were of a generation who never called their parents’ friends by their first names.
Even now, when they were both older than their mother had been when the friendship between the two women had first started, they still couldn’t bring themselves to do so. So Mrs Williamson she would always be.

  “Have you had a good time? I hope you’ve had better weather than us, it’s been awful here. Today’s been a bit brighter though, I even managed to get my washing pegged out” the old lady gushed, clearly delighted to see her neighbours safely home again.

  Sensing Mrs Williamson was in for the long haul, Gil saw his chance when his neighbour came up for air.

  “Lovely time thanks Mrs Williamson, but it’s good to be home again. We’ve been travelling all day so if you’ll excuse us, we’re dying to get inside for a cuppa, I’m sure we’ll have longer to chat tomorrow, won’t we Bridge?” said Gil glaring pointedly at his sister.

  Bridget glared back but feeling rather sorry for the old woman, who was no doubt lonely, she felt obliged to extend the conversation a little longer. Mrs Williamson’s glance in Maggie’s direction gave her the opportunity to round things off.

  “Oh this is a friend we’ve given a lift back to” she said without further explanation. “We’d better get these bags inside though, it looks a bit threatening. I hope you’ve got your washing in.”

  “Oh yes dear, a while ago. Oh, before you all go in, I’d better give you your key back”, Mrs Williamson said as she rummaged in the pocket of her apron. Erstwhile chair of The Esplanade’s Neighbourhood Watch Committee, or “nosey-parker-in-chief” as Gil preferred to call it, Dora Williamson still saw it as her duty to hold a key for any neighbour who was away from home for any length of time. “Just in case” she said, although in case of what Gil wasn’t sure and doubted her ability to cope in any sort of catastrophe that might befall an empty house. “Sorry dear, I must have left the key in my other apron” after her extensive rummaging revealed only a half-eaten Mint Imperial covered in fluff and a paper clip.