by Terry Tyler
Erin drove back over to Norwich after all this was wrapped up, the following Friday; she called and asked me to meet her for a drink so she could tell me everything, even though it was only four o’clock in the afternoon.
It was rather fun, actually, like bunking off school early.
We sat outside The Rushcutters and gazed at the sun sparkling on the Wensum; the day was one of those early autumn ones left over from summer. We both drank white wine with a splash of soda, which slipped down worryingly well.
“So I’ve got it all,” she said, finally. “I’m glad because I know I’m the right person for the job and I can rectify all Izzy’s balls-ups, I know that I can carry on what Dad was doing and, one day, pass it on to my own child, maybe.”
I lit a cigarette, waiting for the rest; she reached over and took one out of the packet, too. I liked it when we smoked together.
“But I’d much rather still have my brother and sister,” she said.
“Of course you would,” I said, “but your feeling that way is just another indication that you’re the right person to run the company. You’re balanced, with the right values and outlook.”
“Hope so,” she said. She blew out a stream of smoke. Erin is one of those women who suit smoking. It makes her look like a 1950s starlet in a black and white photo, sitting outside a Parisian café.
“It’s such a responsibility, though,” she said.
“Well, yes. Un petit understatement, my love.”
“I don’t just mean to my hundreds of employees. I mean to Dad. I’m the last one. I’ve got to get it right, for him.” Then she looked at me and grinned. “D’you fancy a good session?”
Had I heard right? “Well, obviously. Your place, or a hotel?” It was worth a try.
She laughed, and punched me in the arm. “In your dreams. I mean, let’s leave the cars here and get drunk. Just you and me. Fancy it?”
I smiled. “Does the pope shit in the woods?”
“Good!” She leant her arms on the table, chin in the cigarette-holding hand. “I’m supposed to be having a meeting with H.Bed after the shop shuts, but I’ll text him to rearrange.” She got out her phone, then looked up at me. “Tell Amy you’re having a drink with the lads after work. Don’t upset her. This is my last day of being irresponsible; I don’t want to feel guilty about it.”
“You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I’d drink to that, except my glass is empty. Come on, Dudley, are you a worthy drinking companion, or some sort of wuss?”
Around eight o’clock that evening, approximately half an hour before she told me that she was getting a taxi home, alone, and I wasn’t to argue about it, she told me something that I was to think about for weeks after.
“Do you know why I shall never do the husband bit?” she said, pointing her cigarette a bit too close to my face. “It’s because it ends women’s lives. Look at the evidence. My mother, my beautiful, intelligent, much sought after mother—she falls in love with my father, he screws around and rejects her, she ODs on charlie alone in her flat. Jaz’s mum would probably be alive and kicking if she hadn’t married my dad, as would Keira Howard. Izzy—I need say no more. Even if you don’t end up dead or in a nuthouse, getting married totally fucking erodes your confidence and breaks your heart. Ask Kate, or Izzy’s mum. Or your mum. Or your wife, come to think of it. Nah, you’re better off alone, just having lovers. The trouble comes when you start believing in true love.”
Sounded like true love needed my support, and I sprang to its defence. “But look at people like Will and Rosie. Your auntie Mary. And Kate and your dad were really happy together, weren’t they? The mistake some people make is marrying the wrong person in the first place. My wife would be happy with someone else. And I’d be a great husband to the right person.” I took her hand when I said all that. But she wasn’t listening.
My marriage came under further threat the next week when Erin told me she wanted me back at HQ, to give advice to the new head of Transport but mostly to work alongside Will Brandon to research new projects, and act as an advisor to her.
“You’ll be much more use to me here,” she said, and smiled. “And it’ll save hundreds of pounds on the phone bill!”
For one tiny moment I was actually a bit pissed off with her. I mean, I was married, and my wife and I lived in Norfolk. What if I didn’t want to leave Amy alone all week? Erin was demanding I work over two hours’ drive away from where I lived. There was no way I could commute each day.
It was the principle. The fact that she presumed that if she called, I would come running.
The trouble was, she was mostly right.
I could have said no, couldn’t I? I even considered doing so, for about a minute.
I didn’t, of course.
“Do I get an office next to yours with a plaque saying ‘Management Advisor’ like Phil?” I asked.
“Yeah, right!” She laughed. “The office next to mine, yes. Your title, we can decide later. Damn, that reminds me; Phil’s back next week. I’ll have to think of something for him to do.”
“Well, Cecilia was saying we need to keep the car park litter-free.”
“Nice one! Or I suppose we could always start a Lanchester Estates Siberia.”
Jokes and my delight aside, I was dreading going home that night. For once, I couldn’t even argue with Amy; she had every right to mind.
Yes, she hit the roof.
“I’ll be stuck alone here all week, while you’re having a great time down there with all your mates at HQ, going out for lunch with your boss, and God knows what else in the evenings. Why does it have to be you? Does she want to destroy your marriage?”
I was in for a long night, clearly. “Amy,” I said, “It’ll be okay, once we get used to it. I won’t be having ‘a great time’, I’ll be working, and going home to a not particularly luxurious company flat. It’s only four nights a week. I’ll be home every Friday night. Hundreds of people have arrangements like this, up and down the country, and lead perfectly normal, happy married lives. It’s a great job; she’s offered me a pretty neat jump in salary. Don’t you want us to be independent of your father?”
The trouble is, I don’t think she does.
“During the week you can—oh, I don’t know, see your parents, go to more of your cookery classes, get out a bit, do some of your arts and crafts stuff.” I went on. “You’ll probably enjoy the freedom, once you get used to it.”
“Why can’t you work with Dad? Then you could stay here with me.”
“Because it’s just not how I’m made, we’ve been through it all before.” I took her hand. “You know I like the city, being near London, the buzz of business, people.”
“But you married me,” she said. “Doesn’t what I want matter? I’m your wife.”
“You do matter, you know you do, but I’m your husband, not your father. I don’t want to go to work at Sydestone with your dad every day, and tootle along home at five o’clock every night along country roads to settle down with a G and T and the paper while I wait for you to put dinner on the table—do you want us to turn into your parents?”
“They haven’t done so badly. They’re much more contented than we are.” She sniffed. “It’s her, isn’t it? She wants you with her.”
“She wants me to do the job because I’m the best person to do it. I was in charge of Transport before I went to Calais, remember? I know far more about it than anyone else, and I’ve had plenty of other experience in the last few years that she wants to draw on. That’s all.”
“No, I think there’s more to it than that.”
“There isn’t. Stop looking for issues that don’t exist.”
Silence. I waited for it. It came. “Are you sleeping with her?”
For once, I was glad Erin had put this barrier between us. I was glad not to have to lie. “No, I’m not. I have not and will not be unfaithful to our marriage, okay? Please, can you just have a bit more trust in me?” You
notice I spoke of being faithful only to ‘our marriage’; I admit to having availed myself of certain opportunities in Calais. She didn’t notice that little detail.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She got out of her chair and came over to me, snuggling against me. I felt sad because she needed me so much and I didn’t need her at all. I also felt sad, thinking of the effect this sort of physical contact had with Erin. When Amy did the same, there was but the merest tingle. However, she improved matters by attending to the zip of my trousers, so I presumed I was forgiven.
I have to admit I pretended she was Erin, which didn’t really work, because as far as I remembered Erin used to yell, whereas Amy emitted girlish whimpers, culminating in the inevitable faked orgasm.
After much debate we decided that a party to mark Erin’s taking over of the company would be a good thing, despite Isabella’s situation; it would end the era of dissatisfaction and celebrate Lanchester Estates’ return to being a go-ahead company with an eye to the future. Jane Dormer was looking forward to the party being her last big project for the firm before she left to join her boyfriend in Spain, but Erin wanted me to take charge.
“I don’t want some boring buffet and disco at The Huntsman,” she said, out of the corner of her mouth during the meeting Jane called to discuss it. “Come up with something a bit more me!”
So I did—I organised a party boat on the Thames. The trouble was, I then felt I should invite my old colleagues at Commercial, which led to an extension being made to the estate agency staff, and anyone from North who fancied making it down, not forgetting the plumbers, builders and electricians—so it ended up being two boats, each packed to the hilt, and it cost an absolute packet but we had the most brilliant time. The weather gods came out to welcome Erin, too, and gave us the most clear, mild, dry night for which one could hope on the third Saturday in October.
I drank so much champagne that night but I never got really drunk; the atmosphere was terrific. Erin said she didn’t want any of ‘that VIP crap’, but a chance for everyone to get to know each other, from George who ran Lanchester North, to Stan the plumber who’d been with us for thirty years and remembered Annette, to the big nobs in Legal, to the architects and the new recruit in the post room.
I have a picture in my head of her being hoisted up on the shoulders of a group of architects and builders, holding her glass of champagne aloft, laughing, her glorious hair blowing in the breeze. She wore a dark gold dress; I don’t know anything about frocks and I couldn’t describe it to you, but she looked magic, with that wonderful reddish brown mane cascading down her back, like some sort of fabulous, wicked, beautiful autumn fairy.
I’d decided against the evening being of the bring-the-other-half variety because I think people enjoy themselves more if they’re not worrying about Him and Her Indoors not knowing anyone, but we allowed a little flexibility if the spouse was known to Erin and I did, of course, ask Amy. She declined, and I was glad. I had the feeling it was not only the company that was moving into a new phase; my marriage was, too. I wasn’t at all sure it would survive, regardless of whether or not Erin would ever want to step into her shoes.
I don’t think there was a man present who didn’t lust after Erin that night, which was probably what Amy couldn’t bear to see. However, only one went too far, and paid dearly for his lechery.
That person, I am delighted to report, was Phil Castillo.
He got a bit wet.
My only regret about the evening was that I didn’t get to witness the joyous moment when he hurtled into the icy waters of the Thames, but phones were whipped out pretty sharpish. Happily, someone had the presence of mind to start filming as soon as he began the tirade that resulted in his dunking; I hear it’s had over three thousand hits on YouTube.
The story spread like wildfire, with many added embellishments, but I waited to hear the truth from Erin.
The evening was drawing to a close; I’d noticed she was starting to get cold before she did, and went to fetch her big squashy fur coat and a cup of hot chocolate.
“Wonderful,” she said, snuggling into her coat as I wrapped it around her shoulders, and warming her hands on the mug. “What would I do without you?”
“Flounder pathetically in a quagmire of disaster, I imagine. Go on then, sweets, what happened with Gigolo?”
She linked her arm through mine. “Oh, he was giving me all this guff about how attractive I was, and how he’d long suspected he’d put the ring on the wrong finger.” She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “What a wanker! Did he think I’d be impressed that he was sniffing round me when he was married to my sister? I just stared at him—dead haughty, you’d have been proud of me—so he launched into the next stage of his pitch, which was to point out what a terrific team we’d make. Alas, he wasn’t just talking about his dubious management advisory skills.”
I grinned. “Come on, then. I could do with a good laugh.”
“Okay! Right—apparently, success in the boardroom can fuel the chemistry in the bedroom afterwards, did you know that?” I nearly spat out my drink. Erin twisted her face, in that cute way that made her look about fifteen. “Gross, isn’t it? He sounded like one of those erotica e-books you see on Amazon.”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never read one.” I had, actually. It was called Lusty Lady Boss. Very good it was, too. “I’m surprised he didn’t go the whole hog with a PowerPoint presentation.”
Bingo, I made her laugh again. Only Erin can make a schoolgirl giggle sound sexy. “Ha ha! You’ll like this bit—apparently I haven’t explored his full potential yet, wink wink, and he likes a woman who’s comfortable on top.”
“Dialogue courtesy of Carry On Up The Directors’ Corridor?”
“You’ve got it! Then he kept moving in closer and closer, so I told him he was invading my personal space and I thought his behaviour was beyond inappropriate. I think I told him to fuck off, too. That was when he turned nasty.”
I stopped laughing. “What did he do?”
“Oh, he leaned in really close then, I was backing away; he called me a prick-teasing bitch who’s been leading him on from day one, said he’d been brought over here under false pretences, and that as the husband of the owner of Lanchester Hall he was entitled to financial compensation if he was being forced out of his marital home, which he was going to make damn sure he got, or I’d regret it.”
“The cheeky slime-ball.”
“Exactement, Roberto, and that was when I gave the nod to Colin and Stu. You know, they were Dad’s favourites, two builder brothers, Colin and Stu from Harpenden? Yes? You do—stop looking like that, they used to come to family parties—oh, anyway, I’d asked them to keep an eye on anyone who was getting out of order, because they do all that bodybuilding stuff, and they’d clocked that Phil was hassling me. Well, he was shouting by then.”
I honestly couldn’t remember having met her two shining armour clad saviours before, and I felt hugely pissed off that I hadn’t been there to leap to her aid. Unfortunately the champagne was in charge of my vocal chords, and I was daft enough to express this.
“You could have asked me,” I said. I could hear the petulant schoolboy in my voice. I probably sounded as pathetic as Phil Castillo.
She laughed. “Oh, put your ego away, darling. That’s why I didn’t tell you; I knew you’d insist on doing it yourself, and I didn’t want to see you striding around being macho all night. Not your style, you’re far too metrosexual.”
“Are you calling me a pouf, like?”
Erin kissed me on the nose. “Shut up and listen. You’re going to love this. It was perfect; just as Phil made a serious lunge at me, Colin and Stu nodded at each other, grabbed his legs, and tipped him over the edge of the boat. Definitely planned in advance, it was so smooth.” She clapped her hands. “It was brilliant!”
“Erin, he could have drowned—he was drunk, and it was dark and cold by then—”
You realise I was just jealous because it wasn’t me who did it, of course.
“Don’t be daft, I wouldn’t have let that happen. They chucked him a lifebelt, and one of the lifeguards sorted him out. I found him shivering under a blanket below deck, which was when I told him that if ever he threatened me again he’d get a lot worse than a dunking in the Thames, to get the hell out of the Woodville cottage, and to clear out his desk on Monday morning. He didn’t even answer me, he just sat there with his teeth chattering. I don’t think we’ll be bothered by him again.” She stopped smiling then. “I got rid of him for Izzy, not me. He’s the person who destroyed her. With him gone, there’s a very slight chance she might actually be able to lead a normal life again, one day.”
“If he really does go.”
“Oh, I think he will. There’s nothing here for him now, is there?”
And so the party came to an end, and Monday morning arrived once more with its usual tedious regularity, except that this Monday morning the sun was shining and I sensed a patina of optimism throughout the company. The party goodwill seeped over into every department; even the receptionist greeted me with a wider smile than normal as I walked in, and I’m sure she looked prettier, too. When I put my head around Will Brandon’s door to say good morning, he raised his coffee cup to me and said, “Welcome to the Golden Age of Lanchester Estates!”
And all because of Erin. My clever, beautiful, Erin who shone brighter than any star.
My marriage had drifted too far into the doldrums to be salvaged. I resolved, that morning, that I would not be in the same position by that time next year.
I wanted to be with, had to be with Erin.
Amy’s Journal
November 2013
I’m so lonely.
I love our house, but after two years I’ve got it more or less exactly as I want it, so I don’t have much to do except wander from room to room admiring it.