East Fortune (14 page)

‘Yes.'

‘Is she staying with you?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Is she in the room with you?'

‘Yes.'

‘I see. So you can't talk.'

‘Not easily.'

‘Well, let me know when you can. Your mother's worried about you. We all are. You should have said something.'Jack's father was trying to be kind but was adding another layer of guilt.

‘I'm fine, Father. Really.'

‘You don't sound very fine.'

‘I am.'

‘It must be hard on your own. Bring her over if you want. We rather like her. You could come and see us together…'

Jack was not ready for family therapy.

‘I can manage.'

‘Come for lunch whenever you like. Don't be shy.'

‘I won't. I just need some time…'

The conversation was ending but it was clear that Ian wanted more.

‘Nothing else I can do?'

‘No, it's all right.'

‘Well, cheerio then.'

Jack put down the phone. He felt guilty that he had not asked his father a single question in return; how he was feeling or if there was anything he could do.

He finished his pierogi and poured another glass of wine. He knew he should talk more about Sandy and how much Krystyna thought about him.

‘How is your father?' she asked.

‘I don't really know.'

‘You should see him.'

‘I will,' said Jack, already imagining what it would be like if he took her with him.

‘He is a generous man. A good father, I think.'

‘Yes. He likes to think that he is.'

‘Do you think we ever stop being children?'

The question surprised him.

‘Only when we become parents ourselves.'

Krystyna nodded.

‘I see.'

Jack was not sure that she believed him.

‘You never stop being a parent,' he said.

‘Even when you are old?'

‘No, I don't think so.'

‘I see.' Krystyna stood up to clear the plates.

‘No, it's all right,' said Jack. ‘I'll do it.'

‘Let me, I'd like to. You make me think too much.'

‘I don't mean to.'

‘It doesn't matter,' she said.

‘What doesn't matter?'

‘It's OK. I need to do something simple.'

‘Let me help…'

‘No. You stay there. Or do some of your work. It's OK. I can do this.'

She appeared to be shutting him out. Jack did not know what he could have said to upset her. All he wanted was for her to like him.

‘What is it?'

‘It's nothing.'

‘It must be something.'

‘I can't explain.'

‘Is it…' He did not reach the word ‘Sandy' but Krystyna seemed to guess that this was what he meant.

‘No, it's not that…'

She rested her wet hands on the sink. Jack knew he should probably touch her, hold her, comfort her, but her body was closed and turned away from him.

‘I think it was hearing you speaking to your father …' she said.

‘Because you can't speak to your own?'

‘No. It's just that you have a father. Only that. And I was thinking what it was like not to have a father. I can't explain. I'm sorry. I have to go.'

‘Don't go.'

‘I must. I'm sorry. I should not cry.'

‘Of course you can cry. You can do whatever you want.'

Krystyna turned at last. She smiled.

‘Not really.'

‘No, I suppose not. But then often we don't know what we want. If you see what I mean.'

‘You do not have to talk,' said Krystyna. ‘You do not have to have an answer for everything.'

‘I feel I should.'

‘Don't worry.'

‘I do worry. I worry about you all the time.'

She put a wet hand on his shoulder.

‘Then worry less. And fetch me a towel.'

Krystyna sat down at the table. She dried her hands and then her face.

‘Sorry, I must blow my nose. I will go to the bathroom.'

When she returned she had her shoulder bag ready.

‘You know I must go. I have to work tomorrow.'

‘You could take the day off,' said Jack. ‘We could go for a walk.'

‘I need to earn money.'

‘I can lend you some money, if you like.'

‘That will not be necessary. It would not be appropriate.'

‘Appropriate?'

‘Yes. Appropriate.'

Jack smiled.

‘Your English is very good.'

‘Thank you.'

‘I like its precision.'

‘You must have to be precise in your work.'

Now she was humouring him.

‘I like to be accurate.'

‘I can tell. You can be, what is your word, “pedantic”?'

Once, when Jack had phoned his computer helpline and IT support had asked whether he had ‘migrated his files' he had shouted down the line, ‘MIGRATE IS NOT A TRANSITIVE VERB.'

‘I think it's important to say what you mean.'

‘And mean what you say. Although they are not the same thing.'

‘I'm impressed.'

‘I hope you enjoyed your pierogi.'

‘Of course.'

Krystyna looked at the clock on the oven.

‘I must get the bus. I do not want to miss it. There is one at nine, I think…'

Jack tried once more.

‘You know, you can always stay.'

‘We have to take our time. Then I will stay.' She smiled, trying to be kind but without wanting to lead him on. ‘In my own room, of course.'

‘Of course. I didn't want you to think…'

‘I didn't …' said Krystyna. ‘Perhaps next time…'

‘Is that a promise?'

‘Promises always lead to trouble.'

Jack did not take the conversation further. He heard the words he wanted to say in his head and tried to dismiss them.
Perhaps we want trouble.

He walked with Krystyna to the bus stop. It was not yet dark. Jack remembered one of the first poems he had translated.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum.
Now he travels the darksome road.
Illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.
Thither whence they say no one returns. Catullus. Perhaps it was wrong to feel so sad when the light was so beautiful.

The bus pulled up and Krystyna leaned towards him and let him kiss her on both cheeks. Anyone looking at them would have assumed that this was a daughter saying goodbye to her father. Jack didn't think it was like that at all.

Angus was sure he had the best marriage out of the three brothers but, given the competition, he didn't think it counted for much. He and Tessa were considered the most stable couple by default: conscientious, dutiful, and ever so slightly dull. But, for most of the time, Angus did not mind. Decency, discretion and stability might have become old-fashioned but they were still virtues worth preserving. He had provided for his family consistently and without complaint. What was the alternative?

He and Tessa had lived in the same house on the south side of Edinburgh for years. They drove a car that never broke down. The mortgage was almost paid off, and they were sure of their friends. It had been a life of few surprises. Then Angus lost his job.

He had no warning. He was told by a man who was twenty-four years younger in a room without windows. The firm was redirecting its focus towards new initiatives in China and India. Angus was ‘one of the casualties of the shake-out'.

The man from human resources was called Tim. He had the largest nose Angus had ever seen and sweat stains under his shirt. He was clearly frightened of making a mistake. Perhaps he was worried the same thing might happen to him in a few years' time. He spoke as if he had learned some kind of script and argued that the company was doing Angus a favour. They would provide for a lawyer, make sure Angus's pension was unaffected, and offer him a severance payment.

Angus listened and said little. He could not believe the nerve. The company had simply spat him out. Even as the man spoke
Angus knew that he was unlikely to find equivalent employment. He did not have the transferable skills necessary for what Tim was referring to as ‘a portfolio of career opportunities'. But he felt far from retired, redundant, finished or whatever the word was for the outspat.

One of the senior partners who had been party to the decision even said that he was envious. Now Angus was free from all the hurly-burly of the rat race. He could do anything he wanted.

As the man spoke, Angus almost suggested that they swap places. Perhaps the senior partner might like to see what it was actually like to have his financial and social status removed without warning. Angus only just remembered to retain his dignity. Edinburgh was a small city. It wouldn't help to fall out with people.

He did not want to see his colleagues ever again. He had drifted into financial services as his rugby-playing days ended and had stayed there ever since. He didn't think he'd ever actually
enjoyed
it. Every time he had taken Tessa to one of the firm's social functions they had felt excluded by the rapacious nature of the conversation: how to pension commercial property investment; the need to raise commission rates; how inheritance-tax planning could extract more money from elderly relatives.

The only person he would miss, he decided, was Janice, his personal assistant.

‘She's paid so little we're keeping her on,' his boss told him. ‘It doesn't make much difference.'

Janice looked appropriately guilty (Angus was sure she must have known in advance) and told him that her working life wouldn't be the same without him. She said she thought they had let him go because he had been ‘too nice'.

Although he wouldn't miss the work Angus recognised that he would have to find another way of describing himself. He had been defined by his employment. How would he introduce himself now?

At first he thought he might behave as if he still had his job. He would put on his suit and leave home, pretending that nothing had happened. Then he would read the financial pages in the library before doing something adventurous with all the other men who had been discarded in their mid-fifties. He would go to a gym, work on his golf, spend more time at the Rotary. He would need to work
out the details, of course, but he reckoned he could keep up the pretence for a couple of years until the redundancy money ran out. Perhaps he would shave off his beard and buy a new wardrobe in an attempt to look younger.

He tried to contain his resentment. His life had been dominated by the pressure of work and he had given the firm over half of his life. He had spent years on his computer and on the phone, tracking stocks, and making what he considered to be shrewd investments. He was proud to have set up one of the first ethical funds in Britain, visiting smaller companies all over the country, avoiding arms, tobacco, gambling and nuclear stocks. He was a well-regarded manager but a cautious investor and his moral stance meant that he sometimes missed out on easier profits. His funds began to lag. They were described in the papers as ‘solid' but ‘lacking sparkle'. It seemed to sum up his life.

Tessa would have to be the first to know; then his children and, finally, his parents. It had been so different for them, he thought. His mother had inherited a house and his father had secured a job for life. As far as he knew they had never had to worry about money or redundancy or their marriage breaking down. At least Angus had managed to avoid that. It was about the only area in which he felt superior to his brothers. He was convinced he had the best wife.

Perhaps they could go away and live somewhere else, Italy perhaps, and forget all about Scotland and the struggle to keep up a cheerful face and a decent home. They would probably have enough money.

If they moved abroad Angus would not have to bother being polite to those friends and acquaintances who had no difficulty in hanging on to their jobs until their proper retirement age.

He was fifty-four. It was hardly old.

He began to practise how to tell people what had happened.

‘I've lost my job. I've been made redundant. I've taken early retirement. I am now retired.'

The sentences were too defeatist. He had to learn how to take the initiative.

‘I'm setting up a new venture. I'm going to do something different. We're leaving Scotland.'

Angus knew that he had to preserve his self-esteem. It was the emotional quality that mattered most, he decided; but it was also the one most vulnerable to attack. He had seen it disappear from the faces of friends whom the NHS, the National Trust, local government and the BBC had all ‘let go'. Employers that liked to see themselves as providing a nurturing, training environment soon lost interest when members of their workforce hit fifty.

There was his friend Roger who was made redundant while he was on sick leave; there was Anne who was removed because her employers told her they were sure she would not mind; and there was Tom who was dispatched between his mother's death and funeral. The man doing the sacking had begun with the words, ‘I know this isn't a good time…'

No one had said thank you or good luck or given them any indication that the work they had done had been worthwhile. As a result they had lost their confidence. Angus was determined not to feel the same. He would not let his former employers destroy him.

He began to watch property programmes on television and conducted secret relocation searches on the Internet. He wanted to approach Tessa with a series of possibilities, he decided. They could carry on as they were, downsize, or move abroad. He preferred the last option but thought that he had better not sell it too hard. He would have to keep his nerve.

The thought of living abroad began to take hold. He started to think of a future life in Italy. He began to hope that Tessa might be glad to get away from Edinburgh, to go somewhere warmer and escape the demands of his family in East Fortune. He had noticed how she had already begun to mother his parents.