Losing Me (30 page)

He shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault, I guess. I suppose I should have said something earlier.”

Jess waved good-bye and began steering the children to the door. “No, you can’t tell Grandma the gorilla joke. It’ll have to wait until another time. We have to go now.” A moment later they disappeared into the hall and the front door opened and closed.

“Look, Mum,” Ben said, sitting down at the table. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“All I want to know is where you got the initial capital.”

“You still don’t trust me, do you? OK, if you must know, Rich Steve had some spare cash.”

Rich Steve, so called because his father owned a Ferrari concession, had played bass guitar in Grandma and the Junkies.

“I made some investments on his behalf,” Ben continued, “and took a cut of the profit. That’s all. I acted exactly like a stockbroker.”

“And what if these investments had gone wrong?”

“Steve knew the risk. I didn’t promise him anything. And like I said, the money was just knocking around. He can afford to take a hit. But as it goes, he turned a decent profit and so did I. Once I had a decent amount of money, I started buying and selling on my own account.” Ben unwrapped a Pop-Tart and dropped it into the toaster. “Mum, can I tell you something?”

“Go on.”

“I’m good at this. I think I have a bit of a talent. Katie thinks so, too.”

“Of course she does. You’re sleeping with her.”

“Why would you say something like that? It’s so mean. She happens to know what she’s talking about.”

“OK, I apologize. I take it back. So what are you telling me? That you’ve read a few books, had a bit of luck and suddenly you’re a stockbroker?”

“No, I’m telling you that I’ve read loads of books. I’ve also been taking advice from various contacts I’ve made in the business. A couple of my friends have got dads who are stockbrokers. But most of all, I’m telling you that I have an instinct. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s here, inside of me.”

“Ben, how much money have you actually made?”

“I dunno. About thirty-five K over the last six or seven months.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?”

“First, I knew you wouldn’t approve of me taking Steve’s money.”

“Too bloody right.”

“Plus at the start it was just an experiment. I had no idea if I would make anything, so I decided it was best to keep quiet. I was desperate to stop taking money from you and Dad, but I had to keep reinvesting.”

“Maybe, but you could have put a few quid our way.”

“If I had, you would have interrogated me like you did when I bought the leather jacket. The other reason I said nothing was because I knew the whole making-money thing would upset you.”

“Maybe it would have, but . . .”

“No, Mum. No buts. You and Dad would have disapproved. Don’t try to pretend you wouldn’t. When we were at school, the assumption was that Jess and I would go to university, study something liberal and artsy and go into jobs that would be meaningful and worthwhile. You were so bloody hot on the idea that we had to contribute something to the world.”

He was right. She didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“But Jess went into business,” she said, still trying to fight her corner. “Dad and I didn’t complain.”

“No. Because it was all green and ethical. You could justify that.”

“And we didn’t complain when you said you wanted to be a music journalist.”

“Because in your book that came in the artsy category. But making money almost as an art form is an entirely different matter. Every time I thought about telling you, all I could see was the disappointment on your faces. If I’d said anything, you and Dad would have done all you could to dissuade me. I couldn’t let that happen. So I said nothing.”

Barbara could barely take in what she was hearing. “I can’t believe a child of mine had to keep his career choice a secret.”

“Well, I did.”

“Are your dad and I so unapproachable?”

“No, of course not. You’re the complete opposite. But at the same time, you both have this bee in your bonnet. You know, for all your liberal talk, the pair of you can be pretty narrow-minded.”

Barbara sat there, pulling bits off a paper napkin. “Wow, do I feel like a crap parent.”

“Come on,” Ben said gently. “You’re not a crap parent. You’re a great mum. And Dad’s a great dad. But you have to admit this whole ‘you can’t work in finance’ thing is an issue with you. In some ways you’re like a pair of old hippies.”

Barbara had no comeback. “What can I say? Maybe we are.”

“Jess has always been more like you and Dad.” He paused. “But once I offered to put twenty thousand into the Green Door, suddenly the capitalist monster wasn’t quite so despicable. I know that sounds unkind, but . . .”

“No, it’s OK. She admitted as much just now.”

Ben sat munching his Pop-Tart. “So, are you ashamed of me?”

“What? Good God, no. Of course I’m not ashamed.”

“OK, disappointed, then?”

She took a moment to consider. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I’ll get over it. The point is that you’re doing what you want to do, and in the nicest possible way, you’re flipping us the bird. How great is that?”

“And you know who I got my stubbornness from?. . . You.”

“Well, I’m glad to have been of service,” she said. “I just wish you’d let your dad and me in and we could have supported you more.”

“Are you joking? Dad wouldn’t have supported me. I still think he’s going to raise the roof.”

“No, he won’t. Believe me, he’ll just be glad you’re off the parental payroll.”

She asked him where he planned to take things from here.

“The stock exchange runs a post-grad trainee stockbroker scheme, and I’m going to apply for next year. And don’t panic. I’ll be funding it myself.”

Barbara got up and wrapped her arms around her son. “Good for you. . . . You know what? It’s about time somebody in this family made some money.”

“I agree, because it means that when you get old, I’ll be able to stick you and Dad in a really nice care facility.”

“What more could any parent ask for?”

•   •   •

Before Barbara set off to see Troy, she called Jack. She came straight to the point, said that the kiss had been a mistake and that she owed it to Frank to try to sort out their relationship.

“You’re right. Of course you need to focus on your marriage. I crossed a boundary last night. I took advantage of you, and I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t. I kissed you back—remember?”

“Do you think that we could possibly still have dinner . . . as friends?”

“Come on, Jack. Don’t kid yourself. After what happened, we both know that’s not possible. . . .”

“Of course it is. I promise faithfully to behave. It’s just that I really enjoy your company, and I get so damned lonely in London.”

“I understand, but it’s too risky. I’m sorry, but the answer has to be no.”

She could feel his sadness from down the phone. “OK. It’s probably for the best. I shouldn’t have put pressure on you. So is this good-bye?”

“Not exactly. You have to promise to e-mail me and let me know how Freddie’s doing.”

“Of course I will. And, Barbara, I’m really sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said.

Chapter 13

T
iffany’s test results confirmed everybody’s worst fears. Her brain injury was catastrophic. There was no hope of her regaining consciousness.

Two days later the ventilator was switched off. Her best friends—Kenzie, Lexi and Leanne, who had been keeping vigil at her bedside—were with her.

When it was over, Maureen called Barbara. Their conversation was brief. There was nothing to say that hadn’t been said, no emotions left to express.

“By the way,” Maureen said, “I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but Carole and I think you should be the one to tell Troy. Of the three of us, you’re closest to him. There’s nobody else.”

Barbara wasn’t sure she could face it. How could she find it in her to inflict more pain on that poor child? But Maureen and Carole were right. It had to be her. And deep down—contradictory as it seemed—she wanted it to be her.

Maureen promised that she and Carole would both be there to offer support.

•   •   •

A few hours after Tiffany died, Barbara and Maureen were sitting on Carole’s living room floor next to Troy. He was lying on his front, building Legos. Carole sat on the sofa with Lacie on her lap. The woman’s eyes were puffy from crying, but right now she was cooing and dangling a fur bird in front of Lacie, not a tear in sight.

“The thing is, my darling,” Barbara said to Troy, heart racing because she had no idea if she was about to handle this the right way, “your mum was so badly hurt that her body simply couldn’t keep going. She tried and tried to get better because she didn’t want to leave you and Lacie, but in the end she was just too tired.”

Troy looked hard at Barbara. “Is she dead?”

“I’m afraid she is.”

Barbara glanced at Maureen. The two women prepared themselves for the explosion. Instead Troy sat there, apparently gathering his thoughts.

“I knew she was going to die.”

“How?”

A shrug. “Where we live lots of people die. So, is she in heaven?”

“Of course she is,” Barbara said. “She’s out of pain and she’s happy. And I promise she’s watching over you and Lacie.”

Troy nodded. It took a few moments for the agony to show itself. His face contorted. Barbara held her arms open and he launched himself into her. The anguished howls and sobs, his pitiable cries begging for his mum were muffled by her body. Barbara held him and rocked him. She stroked his head. Had he been one of her own she couldn’t have felt more gut-wrenching emotion. Her tears fell onto him. What words could she offer? She refused to shush him or tell him it would be all right.

It was Maureen who managed to find something appropriate to say. “We’re all here, my darling.” She was kneeling beside him, rubbing his back. “We’re all here. You’re not on your own.”

Carole held Lacie. She put her lips to the child’s blond head and wept. Lacie fought the embrace and demanded to be put down. Carole let her go. Oblivious, the child toddled off to find her toys.

Carole joined the others on the floor.

For the time being, Troy was cried out. He clung to Barbara, breathing in fits and gasps.

“Come, sweetheart,” Carole said. “Let’s wipe that nose.” She produced a tissue and pincered the stream of snot.

“What’s heaven like?”

“Nobody knows exactly,” Carole said. “But it’s a place where there’s no hitting or crying and nobody ever gets hurt.”

“Can me and Lacie go there? Then we could see Mum.”

“No, my sweet. Only very sick or old people get to go.”

“That’s not fair. So, who’s going to look after us?”

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you and Lacie would like to stay here for the time being. But only if you want to.”

He didn’t have to think. “I do want to. And so does Lacie. I like you and I like this house and I like playing football with Mike—especially when he lets me win.”

“OK. Then that’s a deal.” She scooped him up and wrapped him in her arms.

“Shall I be the one to tell Lacie that our mum’s died?”

“You could,” Carole said. “But she’s ever so little. I’m not sure she’ll understand.”

Troy nodded. “OK . . . But we have to be kind to her and look after her because she hasn’t got a mum anymore.”

“We do. But Lacie’s going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry.”

“OK . . . So, can I go and play in the garden now?”

“Of course you can,” Carole said. “But are you sure that’s what you feel like doing?”

“Yes. Can I take Dave?”

“If he’ll go.”

“He likes sitting with me on the trampoline while I stroke him. I can tell him about Mum.”

“Good idea,” Carole said. “Now Dave’s getting on a bit, he’s a really good listener.”

Dave was under the table, licking his paws. Troy picked him up. The cat let out a tiny yelp, but that was the extent of his protest. Troy trotted off, his face buried in Dave’s fur.

“One minute he’s howling like a wounded animal,” Maureen said. “The next he wants to go out to play.”

“I suspect it’ll hit him in waves,” Carole said. “This won’t be the end of it, by any means.”

Maureen said she would arrange some counseling for him. “So, Carole, since you’ve invited Troy and Lacie to stay for a while, I’m assuming you’ve cleared it with Mike.”

“Not a problem. I called him before you got here to tell him about Tiffany. He suggested it before I did.”

•   •   •

When Barbara got home, she found a voice mail message from Frank. “Ben just called me. Good God. The kid wants to be a stockbroker. Can you believe it? So that was the
thing
. And on top of that, he’s made all this money. Nobody in my family has ever made money. Who’d have thought one of our apples would fall so far from the tree? To be honest, I’m still trying to get my head around it. I’m sure you feel the same. But the main thing is we’re not supporting him anymore. So if he’s happy, I’m happy. Oh, and before you say anything, yes, I’ve said sorry for not having more faith in him. We had a long chat, during which I demolished several rather large humble pies. I think he understood that it was all panic on my part. Anyway, I’ll be back soon. I’ll e-mail with the actual date as soon as I know. Then you and I can sit down and have a long talk.”

So she’d been right to tell Ben that his father wouldn’t have a problem with him becoming a stockbroker. This came as some relief. If she was honest, it had occurred to her that Frank might throw a fit and give Ben a hard time. The last thing she wanted was a rift between father and son—another reason for her to be at loggerheads with Frank.

It was the end of Frank’s message that concerned her. He wanted to have a long talk. About what? Unless his position changed, what was there left to say? She decided not to call back. She didn’t feel up to it—not after what had happened today.

Instead she texted him to say she was proud of Ben, too, and completely OK with his decision. She also thanked him for apologizing.

Also Tiffany died today. In the end they switched off her ventilator.

He replied almost immediately.

Bloody tragic. Hope you’re OK. Thinking of you. x

She tried calling Jean to give her the news about Tiffany, but her phone was switched off. She was probably at work. Barbara lost track of Jean’s hospital shifts.

She was desperate for somebody to talk to, for a shoulder to cry on—quite literally. As if on cue, her phone rang. Jack. He seemed to have a habit of calling when she was feeling wretched. She decided to let the phone ring. Talking to him would be a mistake. Seconds went by. Then, thinking it was about to stop ringing, she snatched the handset.

“Jack. How are you?”

“Look . . . I know I shouldn’t be calling, and feel free to tell me to bugger off, but I’ve missed hearing your voice. . . .”

“Tiffany died today.”

“Oh, Barbara. I’m so sorry. How are you bearing up?”

“Not great.”

“Tell you what—why not meet me for an early supper? It might help to talk and get a couple of drinks down you.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Barbara, I’m offering you friendship. Nothing else.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m really not up to it.”

“But what good is moping?”

“I don’t know, but it’s what I feel like doing.”

“It’s up to you, but just to let you know—I thought I’d pop into Adriatico for a quick bite around six. I can’t stay long because I’ve got a neighbor looking after Freddie and she needs to get home. But if you change your mind and feel like joining me, I’ll be there.”

She thanked him and said she’d think about it. Not that she had any intention of going. The idea of knocking back Barolo at Adriatico while Tiffany lay in the morgue was unthinkable.

She made tea and turned on the TV. But she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t read the newspaper either, or even a crappy magazine. She emptied the dishwasher, tidied the countertops, folded laundry. All she could think about was Tiffany and all she wanted to do was talk. Against her better judgment, she picked up the phone.

•   •   •

An hour later Barbara and Jack were sitting opposite each other, downing wine and olives.

“Thank you for inviting me, but it feels so wrong to be here enjoying myself.”

“I get that, but you need cheering up.”

“It feels way too soon to be cheering up.”

“Poppycock. You’re entitled to a few hours’ break. You can go back to being sad tomorrow.”

“You’re being very kind.”

“You sound surprised. After the time you’ve had, why on earth wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

Jack noticed her glass was empty. He drained his own and refilled both glasses from the carafe.

They both ordered the same—minestrone followed by homemade gnocchi. From then on they did their best to keep the conversation light. They avoided any more talk of Tiffany. Their mutual attraction was also kept well off the agenda. Instead Jack steered the conversation to what he might buy Freddie for his birthday and the fact that Sally was making no effort to find a new au pair because he was so good at the job.

During dessert, Barbara’s phone rang. She’d meant to turn it to silent. She knew it would be Rose calling to moan at her. She’d promised to phone and take down her shopping order, but what with everything that had been going on, it had completely slipped her mind.

“I’m going to ignore it,” Barbara said. “It’s my mother. I know what it’s about and it’ll keep.”

“No, please take it. You don’t know—it could be important. And I need to pee anyway.”

Jack got up and headed towards the gents. Barbara hit “connect.”

“Mum, before you say anything, I’m sorry. I know I promised to call, but I’ve had a rough few days and I simply forgot.”

“Where are you now?”

“Out having dinner with a friend.”

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here waiting for you to call.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a horrible, selfish person. I don’t know why you bother with me. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll sort it all out then. Bye, Mum.”

Barbara put her phone back in her bag, surprised at how calm and unrattled she felt by her mother’s implication that she was selfish. Right now, sitting in this restaurant, a plate of profiteroles in front of her, she was in no doubt that she’d spent her life doing her best to be a good person. Of course she hadn’t always succeeded, but imperfection was part of being human. She wasn’t sure how long this certainty would last, but it felt like the first glimmer of a breakthrough.

Jack reappeared and sat down. “Penny for them.”

“It’s nothing much. My mother just accused me of being selfish, and for once I just let it roll off me.”

“Good for you. Because the last thing you are is selfish. I could have told you that and I’ve only known you five minutes.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

They started chitchatting again. He said he was off to Gloucestershire for the weekend. He needed to check on the house and pick up his mail.

“Take me with you.”

Jack put down his coffee cup. “Excuse me?”

“Take me with you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Barbara, we’ve had this conversation. You need to work on your marriage, not have an affair.”

“Then what were you doing calling me and telling me you missed me?”

“I’m a lonely old fool.”

“And I’m lonely, too. We’re both crying out for some fun. This doesn’t have to be anything serious if we don’t want it to be. Call it a fling. Call it grabbing at a moment’s happiness after all the crap we’ve been through. I mean, where’s the harm? Who’s going to find out? I’m almost sixty. Isn’t it time I took some pleasure for myself?”

“Barbara, listen to me. You’ve had one hell of a day—one hell of a few months. You’re feeling lousy. You’re exhausted. You’ve had a bit to drink. Your mind is all over the place. . . . Of course you can come with me to Gloucestershire. I can think of nothing I’d like more, but I hate to think of you doing something you’re going to regret. Please, I beg you, take some time to think about this. . . . Now I think I should get the bill.”

•   •   •

Barbara finally got through to Jean the following day.

“Bar, I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know what to say. Those poor kids. That boyfriend of hers is a monster. I hope he goes down for life.”

“He will, but it’s not going to give Troy and Lacie their mum back.”

“I suppose social services will have to start thinking about finding them adoptive parents.”

“I guess so. I hadn’t thought about that.” She would raise the subject with Maureen.

“So how are you doing?”

“I’m just so sad. What can I tell you? One of the worst things about it all—apart from her kids being orphaned—is that she left no legacy. No mark on the world.”

“She left children. They’re her legacy.”

“I know, but I feel there should be something more. Tiffany shouldn’t be forgotten. People need to be reminded of what she went through, how she suffered.”

“But she won’t be forgotten. Apart from her kids, her friends will remember her. Then there’s you and Maureen . . . all the other people who knew her.”