The Look of Love (11 page)

The taxi driver
was sleeping in his cab when Adam knocked on the window. He stirred
and rubbed his eyes. “Where to now, mate?” he said, starting the
engine.

“Ask the young
lady,” Adam told him.

The taxi driver
waited until they had both got in and then stared at Chrissy
expectantly. She gave an address in Stretford and they were off
again.

Adam looked
across at Chrissy as they sat together in the back of the cab. “Do
you live alone?” he asked her.

She shook her
head. “I live with my mum and dad and my stupid brother.”

“Was he born
stupid?”

Chrissy
giggled. “I didn’t actually mean–oh, you know what I meant!”

“Actually, I do
not. I was an only child and so was not blessed with brothers,
stupid or otherwise. When I was small, I often wished that I did
have such a brother, or sister. The house was very large, and I was
often lonely.”

Chrissy looked
across at him. Being lonely was a subject that came up far too
often. It was obviously deep rooted. “Your accent isn’t local,
where do you come from?” she asked him.

“My accent
isn’t really indicative of my origins, it merely stems from a
public school education. My family was originally from Yorkshire,
but for the past few generations they have lived on an estate just
outside Bolton. It isn’t a grand house, but it’s big and old.”

“You weren’t a
happy chicken as a child, were you?”

Adam smiled.
“No,” he said. “My experiences have left me a little withdrawn.
Hence my problems with women.”

“I would have
thought the public school thing would have sorted all that
out.”

“Unfortunately
not, although I can play rugby quite well. But it isn’t often that
you encounter a woman in the middle of a scrum.”

“Oh, I don’t
know. Women play rugby too.”

“Not with us,
they didn’t. If they had, I’m sure my education would have been
very different.”

“You’re a bit
dry, aren’t you?”

“You are
referring to my sense of humour, I take it?”

Chrissy
nodded.

“Yes. I think a
dry wit stems from a pessimistic attitude to life, while those with
blind optimism make jokes about their anatomy and their
mother-in-laws without thought, or malice.”

“But why be so
pessimistic? You’ve got money.”

“Money isn’t
everything.”

“That’s always
what people with money say! You try living without it! You’re just
bored!”

Adam sighed.
“You are correct again. I am bored. But having money at so early an
age is detrimental. You do not think so, but I assure you that it
is true. Do you have dreams, Chrissy?”

It was a
surprise question, but Chrissy answered it straight away. “Yes. I
want a big house on a beach somewhere warm. I want enough money not
to have to worry about paying bills and having to work. And I want
a hammock slung between two palm trees, and a big hat to shade me
from the sun when I’m lounging in it.” She paused a moment before
adding, “Does that all sound stupid?”

“No, of course
not,” Adam replied quickly. “It is a simple enough dream, and I am
sure many people share it. But my dreams are different.

“I dream of a
childhood where my mother did not die when I was eight, where my
father spent more time with me rather than packing me off to the
infamous boarding school, and where I wasn’t ever conscious of the
standards I had to live up to. Not that I was unhappy as a child. I
mustn’t give you a false impression. There were many happy times
and experiences in my childhood and since. But the point of my
argument is that having money takes away the dreams of the
attainable, and leaves you only with what is unattainable.”

“That’s crap!”
Chrissy said bitterly. “I’m sorry about your mother and all that,
but kids a lot less well off than you string themselves up when
they don’t get straight A’s in all their exams! Everyone has
standards to meet. Some are low, some are high, but money doesn’t
come into it. As for the other things, well, you aren’t the first
or last only child, and you won’t be the last to lose a parent,
either. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve no excuse for being so
glum. And if you’re so fed up of your money, I’ll be glad to take
it off your hands.”

“And what would
you spend it on? Your dream?”

Chrissy snapped
her fingers. “Like that!”

“And then
what?”

“I’d enjoy it,
of course.”

“Would you? Are
you sure?” Adam pressed her. “Or would day after day of brilliant
sunshine with nothing to do but lounge in your hammock eventually
begin to get tiresome? Or are you really that shallow?”

Chrissy was
indecisive. “Well, maybe my dream is a little bit one dimensional.
There probably would be more to it than that, but the main part
about the house by the sea is what counts.”

“I’m sure it
is. But even without my help, Chrissy, you could quite conceivably
obtain your dream while still at a young enough age to enjoy it.
But having done so, you, too, would quickly become bored. You deny
it, but as soon as you thought a little more about the details of
your dream, you knew that I was right.”

“No, I’m not
having that!” Chrissy said quickly. She was warming to this new
debate, and she was defending her dream. “Dreams have to be vague
at the beginning; they wouldn’t be dreams if they weren’t. But if
you are lucky enough to make one come true, that’s when you begin
to flesh it out. You add the details when you can afford to think
about them, when the main part of the dream is achieved.”

“Like a
muscular and tanned young man to serve to your every need?” Adam
said enticingly. “Or maybe a stretch limousine? Or a helicopter in
the garden? Or a fully crewed, 50ft yacht anchored off the
beach?”

“But they’re
other dreams,” Chrissy said.

“Exactly!” Adam
pounced on her words. “And that’s the point! When one dream is
realised, there is always another dream just out of reach to strive
for. For most people it is a bigger house, a newer car, or a better
education. But as the level of wealth increases, so the dreams get
out of hand. Those with one company want two, those with one
business empire strive to take over another’s. And those who have
everything climb mountains and break records, spending more in the
process on these reckless deeds than they did in founding their
empires. What is there at the end?”

“That’s not
fair!” Chrissy wailed as soon as she had the chance to get a word
in. “You tricked me!”

“No, I did not.
I merely opened your eyes to the limitations of your dream, and you
merely embraced the dreams that obviously follow. The beach becomes
your own island, the helicopter is joined by your own personal jet,
the 50ft yacht is quickly replaced by an even bigger ocean going
version. These all follow on naturally, provided you have the
finances to get them. But when all the finances in the world cannot
help you, then, and only then, does the dream become a true
dream.

“That last
reconciliation with an estranged father before he died, correcting
a wrong decision at a crucial moment that breaks a relationship
forever, or a life shared with a mother lost at an early age. No
amount of money can realise these dreams.”

“But those
aren’t dreams!” Chrissy protested. “They’re just bad memories, or
guilt. You can’t wish for something that’s so obviously
un-reachable. If you’re doing that, you’re just being bitter at
what life has given you. You can’t change the past, and you can’t
wallow in its misfortunes. They aren’t dreams, they’re just self
pity.”

“You may be
right,” Adam conceded. “But my argument is still valid.”

“Oh, yes? And
how so?”

“Because money
and the dream itself are not what is important. It is the striving
for the dream and the joy of its accomplishment that we are
addicted to. As soon as one dream is attained it is cast aside for
the next, because it is the doing, the journey, that counts. That
is why dreams of changing what is past become so desirable, because
of their inherent futility. For you, there will be great joy at the
house and the beach and the sun. But in a short time it will pass.
Then you will want more. And like any addiction, in the end it will
destroy you.”

Chrissy folded
her arms and stared at him in annoyance. “You hate losing, don’t
you?”

“And so do
you.”

Chrissy turned
and stared out of the window. She didn’t reply. Adam looked at her
expression and the way she sat with her arms folded. He sighed.

“Will you sulk
for long?” he asked her.

“Only as long
as you’re going to be smug,” she replied, still staring out of the
window. The taxi was on Talbot Road. She would be home soon.

“Then I promise
that I will not be smug, even if I did win.”

Chrissy quickly
spun round to face him. “You did not win!” she said, poking him in
the chest. “And this isn’t over yet! You can’t go smashing a girl’s
dream like that and then go on to talk about football!”

“Rugby.”

“You know what
I meant!”

Adam smiled. “I
apologise. I did not mean to antagonise you, or to damage your
dream. I liked it. But I fear that our journey will soon be over,
and there is no more time for debate.”

As he spoke,
the taxi came to a squealing halt on Greatstone Road, and the
driver looked over his shoulder.

“We’re here,
mate.”

Adam said,
“Wait here.” He leaned across Chrissy and opened the door for her.
As he did so, their faces were very close, and for a moment he
hesitated.

Then Chrissy
said, “Thank you,” and stepped out, and the moment was lost.

“I will walk
you to your door,” Adam said, following her out.

They walked up
the path together. The house was all in darkness.

Chrissy took a
key from her jacket pocket. “I bet you’re a hoot at parties,” she
said to Adam. “You must be a constant kitchen dweller!”

“While you, I
am sure, are always the centre of attention, the very life and soul
of the party who wouldn’t be seen dead with so obvious a kitchen
dweller as I.”

“Oh, shut
up!”

They reached
the door. Chrissy put her key in the lock and opened it. She
stepped into the hall and put the light on, and then she turned to
face Adam.

“What time will
you be picking me up tomorrow night?”

“It will be
early, at six-thirty. We have a short distance to travel to the
restaurant I have in mind.”

“You’re not
flying me somewhere silly, are you? I won’t be impressed.”

“I assure you I
am doing no such thing.”

“How do you
want me to dress?”

“As you think
fit for an evening dining out. I am sure whatever you wear will be
pleasing.”

“You’d be happy
if I dressed like this.”

Adam smiled.
“Yes, I would, even though it might be somewhat unsuitable. But I
must confess that, even with the bandage, I have found your body
most pleasing to the eye. In fact it is only overshadowed by the
perfection of your face, and the strength of your wit.”

“And the level
of your flattery!” Chrissy added. “I’ve already said yes, so cut it
out!”

Adam bowed
gracefully. “As you insist.”

Chrissy pointed
a finger at him. “This isn’t over yet! I’m only coming out with you
for revenge! I’m going to have a good think tonight, and tomorrow
I’m going to get you!” She took his coat from her shoulders and
handed it back to him.

Adam took his
coat and smiled again. “I look forward to it immensely. Until
tomorrow night.”

“Until tomorrow
night.”

Adam turned and
walked back down the path. He waved after he got into the taxi.
Chrissy waved back and the taxi roared off.

Chrissy closed
the door, locked it, and turned to find her mother standing at the
top of the stairs, staring down at her. She didn’t look pleased to
see her.

“Alright
madam!” she said sternly. “Where have you been? And what do you
think you’re doing coming home at this time? Do you know it’s after
five? Me and your father have been worried sick! Worried sick, I
tell you! And who was he? Your latest boyfriend or his father?”

“Oh, mum!”
Chrissy said in embarrassment. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to
see that he was a lot older than you! What are you thinking? Tell
me where you’ve been until this hour! Tell me this minute!”

“Well, if you
must know, I’ve been knocked down by a taxi and I’ve spent the last
six or seven hours sitting in casualty at Manchester Royal. And if
you don’t believe me, where do you think I got this bandage?
Boots?”

Veronica Davis
squinted down the stairs, saw the bandage and the battered
appearance of her daughter’s clothes, and immediately came bounding
down the stairs.

“Oh, my baby!”
she cried, enveloping her daughter in her arms. In an instant,
everything else had been forgotten. “Are you alright? What
happened? Come and sit down? Does it hurt?”

“Oh, stop
fussing, mum! I’m alright! It’s just a couple of bruised ribs.”

“Bruised ribs!
Show me! Let me see!”

As her mother
continued to fuss over her, Chrissy heard her father’s voice from
upstairs.

“What’s going
on?” he called.

Veronica
answered him. “Your daughter’s been run over, and you’re lounging
in bed, that’s what’s going on!”

In a few
seconds her father had joined them downstairs, and Chrissy had to
endure more questions and even more prodding and hugging, until,
finally, she had convinced both her parents that she was alright,
and they all ended up in the kitchen. Only Chrissy’s brother was
now still asleep, snoring and oblivious.

Veronica put on
the kettle and sat down next to her husband. Both of them waited
patiently and expectantly, staring at Chrissy across the kitchen
table.