Authors: Richard Asplin
“I didn’t know what else to
tell
you. I was trying to clear everything up. Put it right. I hoped –”
“What you
hoped
is that you’d get away with this insulting,
criminal
charade, lad. That’s what you
hoped
. That you could weasel your way out of your
infantile
mess and that no one would be any the wiser. Treated
me
, treated
my family,
like
fools
.”
“I was just trying –”
“Oh
save it.
Save it for the
judge
. You’re no liar, young man. You’re no liar, just as you are no businessman.”
I sat in silence.
“I mean …” Edward spluttered. “I mean good
God
boy, what were you
thinking
?
Bar-rooms and blood-bags
? This isn’t the movies! This is
my family
!”
I looked up into a fat face of ruddy loathing.
“What were you
thinking,
boy,
hmm
?”
Lovely boy, Mowgli, lovely boy, a-hnn hnn hnn.
“If it’s
any
– sorry,” I croaked, “If it’s any consolation, that’s what
my
father wanted to know too.”
“Your fa – ?
Well
,” and Edward rocked back in his little brogues, shaking his head. “I might have known he’d be involved
somewhere
.” He placed his tumbler on his desk. “What is it with your family, eh? Eh?”
I took a deep breath.
“Edward,” I said. “Edward, my oldest friend is –” and I
stumbled
, voice cracking, words thick in my throat. I scowled, angry, trying to frighten them out. “My oldest friend has been shot and it’s my fault. My fault. I dropped Julio’s phone and broke the battery, which meant Julio didn’t get the –”
Edward just stared at me, fat, wet eyes glassy and cold. Plump lip curled just so.
“Christ, look, look I’ve … God, look, what do you want from me? Huh? I’ve tried to be a good man. Yes, even with my upbringing. Be a
good husband
to your daughter. A
good father
to your
grandchild
…”
Edward shifted a little in his tight tweed, topping up his glass.
“I have
tried
doing it your way. Truly I have. Jane will tell you.
Shrewwwd.
Killer instinct,
dog eat dog,
all that. But it’s not me. It’s not my way. I just … I’m never going to be the millionaire polo player you want for a son-in-law, Edward. And I don’t
want
to be. I just want …” I took a big breath, grinding my jaw against tears. “I just want to be a good husband. A good father. That’s it. And yes,” I looked down at the worn study rug. “Yes, I took stupid pride too far. I tried to manage too much by myself. I should have come clean about my screw-ups, instead of taking these insane measures to correct them alone …”
“Indeed,” Edward murmured. “You’re due in court
when
?”
“Monday. Three o’clock,” I said. “But it’s all,
all this,
it’s only
ever
been to be the husband your daughter deserves. The father your grand-daughter deserves. And in trying to put things right, yes,
again
, I’ve screwed up. Screwed up
huge
.”
“Putting it mildly.”
“But this time,” I looked up at him. “I’ve come to you for help. Because it’s more than just your idiot son-in-law now.
Andrew
…” but I had nothing more to say. I hung my head.
“Where’s Lana’s trust fund now? The comic book? Tell me you’ve at
least
–”
“They’re all there,” I sighed, waving a hand at the case and satchel on his desk. Edward put down his heavy tumbler and moved to the blotter. He clicked on the green lamp, peering at the locks before snapping them open. He lifted the lid, perusing the contents.
A long thoughtful while passed.
“So you’ve everything back that you lost? Something, at least.”
“Everything of
mine’s
back, yes.”
“Meaning – ?”
“Andrew’s family. They might be minus a …” and the world began to collapse about me. Throat closing, hard and tight, a fat wave of guilt and grief rolling, growing, crashing like the sea against my heart. I swallowed, once, twice, nauseous, breathing deep, head low.
“C’mon lad. Enough of that. You’re being depended on. What’s this friend, this Andrew, what’s he given you? Numbers, you said?”
Limp and wrecked, I handed him the crumpled paper,
blood-stained
and sweaty.
“They said something about a telegraph … something?”
“Hmn. Telegraphic transfer. These look like account details. How much are these developers expecting to agree completion?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s that or it doesn’t go through and –”
“And if I know firms like this, that’ll be your friend out on his ear. This character?”
“O’Shea.”
“O’Shea. He’ll see to that. Hmn. They’ll be stung with a hefty penalty for every hour after the deadline that passes too. A cost your friend will be expected to pick up.” Edward sighed. “You trust this chap?”
“Andrew? With my life. With … with more than my life. I owe him …”
I looked up at Edward.
He may as well hear it. He may as well hear it
all
.
“We met at University,” I said. I had a small glass of Edward’s scotch, and I swum it around idly, watching the light play in the amber. “Same halls. Didn’t have much in common really but … I dunno, we gravitated together. Same outlook, attitude I guess. Same … well, turns out the same taste in First Years.”
“Jane?”
“Jane.” I was breathing deep and slow, trying to steady my heart. “We both …
noticed
? Is
that
the word? Doesn’t seem … Well, we noticed your daughter. But we didn’t mention her. Not to each other. Talked about everything
else
, but not … Says a lot I suppose. It was how Andrew was when she was
around
. When we were out as
three
. See, we got chatting in halls. Over chess. Three of us. We kind of all buddied up, but … Fact is, I fell for her immediately. Didn’t say much to Andrew. Didn’t want to make it awkward. Make him feel like a
gooseberry
, y’know? But Jane and I started seeing each other when Andrew wasn’t around.”
I swallowed hard, head flooding with memories in the little study.
“He was a good-looking guy, though. Andrew. I never
understood
why he wasn’t snapped up by someone else. But the three of us still hung out, all through the second year, all through the third year, Jane and I seeing each other … not
on the sly
, because we were both single. Andrew wasn’t … But it was
awkward
.”
“Awkward?”
“I’d found
poems
he’d written about her, hidden away. It was pretty clear. Put me in a difficult position.”
“To do the right thing by a friend.”
“Right, right,” I nodded. “Anyway … Christmas. Third year. Night of the ball. We’re all in tuxedos and smoking cigars and swapping hip flasks. All the girls showing shoulders and wearing heels and the whole bit. I’ve had a little mulled wine and I decide I’m going to propose to your daughter.”
“
Drunk
?” Edward harrumphed.
“Dutch courage,” I said. “But I know what that’s going to do to the three of us. No keeping
that
secret. So I drop by Andrew’s room and he’s got candles lit. Listening to Jona Lewie and fixing his cufflinks. Little CND signs I think. From a velvet box on his
desk. And I tell him I have something I need to get off my chest. And he says he does too.”
“Go on?”
“Well I can’t hold it in. So I tell him. Jane and I … I’m going to propose. I apologised for sneaking around and I hope he
understood
and that we could all stay friends. And he just looks at me. Blank. I’ll never … Just stares at me. I’m waiting for a bear-hug or a handshake or a punch in the mouth.
Something
. Which is when …” and the words tighten in my throat a little. “On his desk. A velvet box.”
“
Andrew
was going to –”
“Yes.”
“Jane. Are you
sure
?”
“He told me. Said he’d bought it a month ago and was going to wait until Christmas Eve. Said he’d never felt that way about anyone before. Wasn’t sure he ever could again. Had had a sick ache in his stomach the day she’d arrived and it had never gone away. Then he sat on the end of the bed.”
“You told Jane?”
“No. Never have. But
that
isn’t … this is why … he went to the bathroom, washed his face. Came back out and asked me what I was going to say. To Jane. How I was going to do it. Like he wanted to hear the proposal.”
“A little
morbid
… ?”
“I don’t know. But he was my friend. We talked about
everything
else. So I told him. Gave him my little speech.”
“His reaction?”
“He got out his red notebook, turned to a fresh page and we spent the most extraordinary hour. Drinking wine, watching the snow, Andrew helping me write a poem. A proposal. He wanted her to accept. He wanted us to be happy. If he couldn’t have her, he wanted to make sure
I
did. He put all his feelings aside and … and he brought us together. He’s an extraordinary man.”
The study went quiet for a while, just the slow ticking of the heavy hall clock.
“Did he come to the wedding?”
“No. No, we invited him but … working. Family
commitments
.”
“
Keatings
, you said, wasn’t it? His firm? I’m not familiar with them …”
“Well they’re about to
fire
him, if … He needs my help. It would be just for an hour. A couple of hours. Just until Andrew can get to a phone. Just to keep his job …”
“And the deadline?”
“Noon.”
Edward peered at the carriage clock on the mantle.
“I’ll make a call or two. As he’s a friend of
Jane’s
. I’ll speak to Greg. Check out this story. No promises mind. Go. Wait for me downstairs.”
Limp and aching, I pushed out of Edward’s study, taking the wide wooden staircase slowly to the ground floor, passing under heavy oils and chandeliers. I tugged out my phone, scrolling down to Laura’s number. Would she be in the ambulance with him still? Could you use mobile phones in hospitals these days?
I needed to know where they’d taken him. To know he was okay.
The phone began the bleep of dialling out.
Began ringing.
I reached the bottom of the staircase. There was a muffled slam of a car door in the quiet street, a cab sliding past the large hall window.
The front door-lock clicked, Jane struggling inside with our daughter.
Our beautiful daughter. My beautiful,
beautiful
Jane.
“Hey,” I said.
She looked at me, pale and horrified.
“What are you doing here?” she said. “And
Jesus
, what have you – ?”
“It’s all right,” I said, dabbing at my throbbing nose. I leant in a little to the ornate, heavy mirror in the hall. There was purple swelling along the bridge and dry coppery crusts about the nostrils. I dabbed some more, uselessly. “This isn’t as painful as it looks and
this
,” I plucked at my blood-stained shirt with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Isn’t my blood.
However
,” and I took a deep, solemn breath. “Well … I don’t know how to begin …” and I reached out for her hand.
Jane didn’t move. Just stared at me in silence.
“Your dad’s upstairs in his study. I’m making tea. Then you and I need to –”
“Who are you calling?”
“Calling? Oh,” and I remembered the phone at my ear. It had cut off. No signal. “Well … That’s kind of … I’ve a lot to explain.”
“
Have
you now?”
“Right. Something’s …”
“
Explain
,” Jane said again under her breath. Adjusting Lana on her hip, she pushed past me, not looking at me, moving down the hall to the sitting room.
“Jane?” I said. I followed her. Warily. “Jane? Is everything … ?”
When I got to the sitting room, Jane had laid Lana out on a floor rug.
“Jane?”
After a moment, Jane got up, turning to me blankly, folding her arms.
“Always
busy
,” she said calmly.
“Look I’ll … I’ll make that cup of tea shall I?” I said, backing away, trying a small smile.
“Then you’ll
explain
?” Jane said.
“R-Right,” I said.
“Had better be a
pot
, then. Don’t you think?”
Over the next hour, Edward spoke to Keatings about a transfer of funds.
Downstairs, Jane didn’t say much.
No, scratch that. Jane didn’t say a word. Not to me anyway. Once in a while she would look away, break the flat, blank eye contact she was holding and glance down at Lana on the rug, wriggling and contented in her bunny baby-gro to let out a soothing “
shhh
,” or an “
ooze a good girl den
?”, a small tender smile on her lips. But the smile would vanish abruptly when she looked back up at me.
And she said nothing.
Not a word as I sugared our teas and cautiously began a story of mistakes. The parts she knew: burst plumbing and forgotten insurance cheques. The parts she didn’t: elaborate traps, of
car-jacking
and burly policemen. Silence as we sipped our tea and I spoke slowly, calmly of an opportunity to put things right. A Claridge’s lunch, an Australian waiter and red cotton underpants.
I think she may have cleared her throat a little at one point, when I pushed a plate of McVities Boasters across the
embroidered
rug towards her, draining my cup and clarifying the purpose of the bank withdrawal. The purpose of
everything
I had done.
Love
. Love for her. Love for our daughter. A frightened husband, a frightened father, trying to make good.
I tried to reach out and take her hand at this point, but she sat back a little, licking her lips pensively and crossing her legs. Settling in for the end of the story. A story of airports. Of tube trains. Of old friends, hotel rooms and the back of a green Bedford van.
But as I finally collected the cups and stacked saucers, a
delicate
clatter in the plush quiet of her father’s Chelsea sitting room, and told her Christopher was dead – that dear Andrew was in hospital, Julio and Grayson were gone and Christopher at last was dead – Jane just looked at me.
I placed the crockery to one side and sat back down on the edge of the plump couch.
We sat in sick silence like that for a moment.
“I was trying to put things right,” I said with a tired sigh, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over me. “For us.”
“And what did Dad say?” Jane asked suddenly, her voice jarring, out of place.
“Your dad?”
“When you told this … this story to
him
?”
I sighed again, shrugging a little bit loosely, underarms
prickling
. The room seemed oddly warm all of a sudden.
“He … Well, he understood. Friendship, I mean.
Trust
. He wanted to help,” I said.
Jane arched a single plucked eyebrow.
“I-I mean, he understood how I felt. That it was my fault. Julio’s phone. The gun. That I wanted to see him right. Andrew, I mean. Friendship. So …” and it was my turn to raise eyebrows.
“He … he
believed
you?” Jane said.
I nodded dumbly. What did that mean? Believed me?
“But he’s not …” and Jane’s face went a little slack. She half stood quickly. “He’s not … ?”
“Upstairs,” I said quizzically, eyebrows knotted now. My eyebrows certainly had their work cut out this afternoon. Especially as they then leapt ceiling-wards, Jane jumping up with a scream and
thudding
past me, taking the stairs two at a time.
Lana began to cry.
“Jane? Jane, I … ?” I stood up, lost, bewilderment spinning me like a top. “Jane?” I called out after her. “
Shhh, Lana Lana,
” and I knelt, scooping up my tiny daughter, head swimming in that cottony milk smell. I jigged her on my shoulder a little, shushing and soothing. Over the tears, I could hear voices, footsteps thudding above and a car honking outside on the street. Lana was doing her best to drown these out. “
Shhh shhh shhh,
” I said, jigging her into the hall where I met Jane thudding back down the stairs, face tearful, jaw set.
“Jane?”
The car honked again.
“Nice try,” Jane said defiantly.
“Try – ?”
“Give her to me,” she hissed, reaching for Lana. “Give her to
me
!”
Bewildered, lost, I let Jane take our daughter.
Upstairs, I could hear Edward. Slamming drawers. Thudding about.
“Jane, what’s –”
“Don’t
speak
to me,” Jane hissed, cradling Lana and barging past me hard, catching me with her shoulder, sending me back against the door-frame. Murmuring, mumbling she thudded into the sitting room, bending to her bag.
“Jane – ?”
“Nice try.
Niiice
try,” she muttered, tugging out a handful of envelopes.
“Jane, I –”
Spinning around, she held them out at arms’ length for me, all her weight on one hip.
“Yours, I believe?” she snapped. Her eyes were shining with tears.
I could only shrug, so she hurled them at me, a half dozen or so, hitting me in the chest, the lip.
“Hey – !”
“Take them. They’re yours after all.”
I bent gingerly to the floor and retrieved one of the envelopes. It was pink and heavy. Addressed to me via the shop in a graceful hand. Torn open across the top and post-dated three weeks ago.
“What … what is this?” I said, but as I held it up, I got it. Suddenly. Rushing. Filling the pulp of my nose. My head. My mind.
Chanel
.
“Did you
want
me to find them?” Jane snarled, holding Lana to her shoulder, cradling her head, covering her from the blast. “Was that the plan? A stupid cowardly boy’s plan?”
“I … I don’t know
what
you think …” I stuttered, suddenly cross, anger caught tight in my throat. “What
are
these?” and I scrabbled out the letter from within. Another woozy waft of Chanel hit me like a cold breaker on Brighton beach. I unfolded it, getting bloody fingerprints on the edges.
The handwriting was the same. Leaning, graceful, flowery. Dated October 29
th
.
To my dearest Neil.
“I’ve … I’ve never
seen
this before,” I said, head thudding, eyes drifting over the lines.
…
and the more I think about your words Neil, the more I feel the same
…
“What … what
are
these? Where did you get them? Jane?”
“Which one have you got there?” Jane said firmly. She was pacing. Pacing, soothing Lana, head cradled gently. “Is she telling you that, what was it, just thinking of you gives her a sick ache inside? A … oh yes, a painful teenage ache? Because that’s how it feels when you’re together?”
“Jane. Jane wait,” I said, trying to stop her, the world tipping up slowly. Slowly. “I don’t know what you think you’ve –”
“Painful because she imagines you with me and knows she’ll have to wait so long until she can see you again?
Pathetic
.”
“I …” my mouth dried up. “I don’t know what these are. Honestly, I swear …” and I bent, picking them one by one from the carpet, room tipping, twisting. The handwriting was the same. The addresses the same. Only the postmarks differed. Four months ago. Six months ago.
Outside, a car honked again. Twice.
Edward was thumping down the stairs, muttering.
“You thought I was
asleep
I suppose?” Jane said, face like thunder.
“Where is he? Where
is he
?” Edward barked. He pushed himself into the front room, red-faced and juddering. His eyes blazed. “I
knew
it,” he sneered. “I knew it the day I
met
you. Your
kind
.”
“My – ? Edward, wait. Jane, Jane what are you saying. Everyone,
please
,” I pleaded, head spinning, hands out trying to keep the world level. My kind?
Asleep
? What was – ?
“This morning?” Jane spat. “When you sneaked in and got your clothes? Thought I wouldn’t hear you?”
“My
clothes
?”
A car honked once again, engine bubbling.
“Don’t say another word, Jane,” Edward said. “Not another word. We’ll let the police take it from here,” and he waddled over to an antique occasional table, grabbing up the handset. “Let the
police
hear the rest of his lies. Let them decide … Oh for heaven’s sake, what’s that racket?” and he puffed red-faced across the room to the window, cars honking on the street.
“I see you took mostly T-shirts,” Jane said. “Taking you
somewhere
hot
is she?”
“Wait, just
wait
–”
“It’s a taxi,” Edward muttered, peering out through the window. “Someone’s …”
“Ha, I mean I say
taking you,
” Jane laughed darkly. “She’ll only be paying until the shop’s sold I’m guessing? Not a bad valuation you got.”
“Valuation?!” I said. I wanted someone to yell cut. Anyone. To stop the sound effects, the lighting, the extras. Make everything stop. “This is all … All this is insane! These letters? And what valuation? I never had any –”
“Came this morning,” Jane said, scrabbling in her bag. “
After
you’d sneaked out of the house with your clothes. Didn’t plan
that
very well did we? I took the liberty of opening it.”
“Someone’s … . someone’s getting out of the taxi,” Edward hummed, still at the window twitching the nets, handset in his fat fist. “A girl …”
“Here we are,” Jane said, sniffing, blinking. She held it out to me. “Valuation of site for sublease agreement. Estimate based on letting period, week ending November thirteenth.”
I didn’t need to read it. The letterhead was enough.
A classy, well-spaced letterhead. Rich navy colour on a weighty cream paper.
“Not a bad price. Nice to have friends in the trade. Shame he couldn’t help you unload your
Superman
. No. No you had to …” and Jane was at her bag again. “You had to – here – had to get some
other
experts to help you there, didn’t you. Dad? Dad, have you seen this?”
Even from across the room, even sellotaped down the middle and crinkled at the edges, I recognised the Sotheby’s letter. The Polaroid stapled to the top.
“Hn? Whassat?” Edward turned, attention still half on the street.
“That … I-I can explain
that
,” I said, palms cold and shaky. “But I swear I don’t know …” Adrenaline flooded my mouth,
bitter and coppery, room spinning. “I don’t know what
any
of this other stuff is, I-I swear to you. Jane, please, I
swear
to you.”
“It’s her,” Jane said.
But then I realised it wasn’t Jane talking.
It was Edward, turning from the window, turning to me, puffing out his chest, eyes wide.
“
Her
– ?”
“And she’s got suitcases. Oh you foolish,
foolish
boy,” Edward snarled, stepping away from the window, fat thumbs jabbing the telephone.
Nine.
Nine.
There was a sharp
rat-a-tat
on the door.
The room went quiet, just the faint bubble of a waiting cab outside.
We looked about each other. Jane, red-eyed, thin-lipped, on the edge of tears. Edward, whispy brows knitted, jowls a-judder.
Rat-a-tat-
tat
.
“I’ll go,” Jane said, clutching Lana tight and moving towards me, towards the door.
“Wait,” I said. “Wait, Jane –”
“Let
me
,” Edward harrumphed, bustling past. “Let’s see if she remembers
me
.”
“How long?”
“How
long
– ?”
“How long have you been seeing this …” and she gestured, disgusted, to the letters in my hand. “This
Laura
woman? Long before Dad caught you with her on the train, that I know.”
“Please, Jane, I’m not
seeing
–”
“The letters go back six months. That’s
before
Lana was born. While I was still pregnant. Was that when it started?”
“Jesus … Jesus Christ, no!”
“I can’t believe I said it. We sat in that restaurant. Not ten days ago. And I
asked
you.”
“Jane, for Chrissakes, you have to believe me …”
“
Are you having second thoughts about us? Why are you so
withdrawn
? Not involved with Lana
?”
“I swear –”
“
Don’t be silly
, you said.
I’m fulfilling my promise. Looking after you,
you said.”
Voices. Voices in the hall.
“Coming home to the smell of someone else’s perfume? Hidden bank statements? Mysterious phone calls at all hours? Does she think I’m an
idiot
?” A silent tear spilled over, splashing Jane’s cheek. She rubbed it away hard. “Neil?” a thin voice said from the hall. A horribly familiar voice.
“Neil, have … have you told her? Are you coming? The cab’s waiting …”
Jane’s eyes widened, twitching, mouth falling open.
“
Neil
?”
Laura looked very different to how I’d last left her.
The cap was gone. The boots and vest and combats likewise. She was in trainers and expensive-looking jeans, a bulging, mumsy handbag under her arm. Her hair was tumbling, shiny and set about her shoulders. Shoulders covered, much like the rest of her body in, regretfully for me, one of the baggy, dark blue Superman T-shirts I’d brought Andrew that morning.
“So. You … you must be Laura?” Jane said, the tiniest wobble in her voice. She cleared her throat, pulling back her shoulders a little and sniffing. “Sorry. I’m normally in bed or in the bath when you and Neil talk.”
“Neil?” Laura said cautiously in the doorway.
“What have you done?” I said flatly, swallowing hard.
“The cab’s waiting,” Laura said, rummaging in her bag. “I have your passport. You left it by the bed …”
She held it out. We all stared at it.
“Your
passport
?” Jane said. “Oh this gets better.”
“Your bag’s in the cab. Are you coming?” Laura blinked timidly. God she was good at this.
“Laura? Just – Tell … tell my wife. Tell her who you are. Cut this shit out right now.”
“I don’t –”
“Right
NOW!
” I screamed.
Lana began to wail.
“Tell her? I … I don’t understand. Has it worked? Did the plan work? Do we have his money?”
“Not a penny,” Edward said, coming in from the hall, thumbing off the phone with a portly reptilian sneer. “Not an effing
penny
. My daughter caught me
just in time.
No
emergency
transfers, no
money
. Whatever you were pulling, you pair, you arsed it up. But you’ll
pay
for this. The police are
on their way.
”