The Beachcomber (4 page)

Replacing the telephone in its cradle he got out of his chair and shook Tom by the hand. “You did a good job, son. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. That’s why I sent my best man …” He winked. “But that’s between you and me, if you know what I mean?” Feeling he needed to qualify his remark, he quickly added, “Oh, they’re all good men and they know their trade … your Dougie especially. But
you’ve
got that certain knack of getting people to see reason, without banging their heads together.” He sighed. “From what I understand, you had some real tough problems up there?”

Tom nodded. “It’s running smoothly now, though,” he reassured him. “When it came right down to it, there was nothing that couldn’t be put right.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Look, sit down. You’ve got a minute I’m sure.” Rounding his desk, he took up a sheaf of papers and waved them in the air. “There’s another difficult one coming up … a major project with several interested parties. Prime stuff … running into millions. It’s in Glasgow – I’ll need you there in the next week or so … a month at the outside. That should give you time to catch your breath.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t do it, John. There’s something I—”

The other man intervened. “I know! It’s been one trip after another, and I had hoped to give you some time off. But you really are the best I’ve got. After this, I’ll make sure you can keep your feet on the ground for at least a year, I promise.”

Tom didn’t know how to tell him, but it had to be said, and without the trimmings. “I’m handing in my resignation, John.”

“WHAT!” Leaping out of the chair, his boss came around the desk, eyes bulging as he looked down on Tom. “What the devil’s brought this on? I’ve already said … this job, then a year on home ground. I mean it … I know how hard I’ve pushed you, but after what happened I thought it might help …” Cursing himself, he paused. He had made it a rule never to raise the matter of the tragic incident that took Tom’s entire family. “Look, I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t let you go. You’re too important to me … to this whole outfit, for God’s sake!”

Tom was equally adamant. “And
I’m
sorry, John,” he replied calmly, “but the resignation stands … it’ll be on your desk within the hour. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and my mind’s made up. The truth is … if I don’t leave now, I’ll crack!”

“I see.” Realizing how determined Tom was, and knowing his reputation for sticking to his guns, John understood the argument to be already lost, but he made one last try. “Don’t be too hasty, son. Let’s not talk ‘resignation.’” He couldn’t afford to lose Tom. “Take a long leave of absence … I don’t have a problem with that. I can cope if I have to.” He gave a half smile. “Though of course I’d prefer you to change your mind altogether …”

Getting out of the chair, Tom looked him in the eye. “Thanks all the same, but like I said, my mind’s made up. I’ll work out the month if you want me to, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather go
now
… right this minute.”

For a long moment the older man regarded him, then, after a moment, he asked kindly, “What will you do?”

“I’ve decided to sell the flat and move away.”

“Where will you go?”

Tom had not thought that far ahead. “I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully. “Somewhere I’m not known … somewhere I can put my life into perspective. A quiet place, where I can find peace, and the time to sort out my life.”

The older man began to sympathize. He could see the pain in Tom’s eyes. He nodded. “I understand,” he murmured. “You’ve been so driven this past year … maybe it’s what you need.”

Tom nodded. “It is.”

“All right, Tom, I won’t hold you to a month, but I will need you to pass on your schedules to a colleague … talk him through every aspect. Lend him the expertise to deal with it all in the way you yourself would.” He threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It has to be a smooth transition … all loose ends tied up. I don’t need headaches. You do understand what I’m saying?”

Tom understood exactly. This was big business. There was no room for errors. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it,” he promised. “I won’t let you down.”

John nodded appreciatively. “I wouldn’t do this for anybody else,” he said, “but you’ve given me everything you’ve got to give and it’s only fair I give some back.”

“Who do you want to take over my schedules?”

“Your brother Dougie. Oh, I know he’s still got a lot to learn, but he’s doing well now. He’s out of the same mold and he’ll have the added incentive to do you proud. Yes! Dougie’s your man.”

Shaking hands, they said their piece. “And don’t forget to keep in touch!” John warned. “When you’re ready to get back in the saddle, your job will be here waiting for you.”

A few minutes later Tom was back in his own office, slightly dazed and a little shaken by the enormity of what he was doing. Yet, amongst all the niggling doubts, he felt instinctively that he was doing the right and only thing.

After three days of being ensconced in the office with Dougie who, though a little nervous, seemed confident about the workload he was taking on, Tom said his goodbyes. There was a small leaving party; the good wishes of his colleagues, and, inevitably, tears from Lilian, who had taken his news very hard. “We’ll miss you,” she murmured, dabbing her eyes with her hankie. And he thanked her for all the years she had looked after him.

When it was over, he left the building with Dougie by his side.

They walked to the pub on the corner where they sat down with a pint each. Tom stretched his legs out and closed his eyes, a sense of relief washing over him. His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m still not sure you’re doing the right thing.” Like Tom, Dougie was lean of build, with the same color hair; but his eyes were a clear shade of green, and when he laughed he laughed heartily. He wasn’t quiet and thoughtful like Tom, nor did he have that same lazy smile. Instead, when he smiled, his face crinkled like a puppy dog’s.

But he wasn’t smiling now. Instead he seemed worried. “I wish you’d tell me where you’re going.”

“I’m not sure myself yet,” Tom confided. “You’ll know when I do, don’t worry. Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate without fretting about me. Look, I’ll be fine.” He tried to smile reassuringly.

Dougie wasn’t convinced. “I wish I could believe that.”

“You’ll just have to trust me. It’s what I need to do. Until I get it all out of my system, I can’t move on with my life.”

Dougie nodded. “I can understand that. But you will let me know how you’re doing, won’t you?”

“I promise,” Tom said. “When I’m settled.”

The following morning, after placing the flat and all its furniture in the hands of an agent, Tom packed his bags and left. His first stop was the florist, where he collected a preordered bouquet, a pretty thing with bright-colored summer flowers in a cradle of green leaves. It was a luxury in a country governed by austerity, but that didn’t matter to him. It was the sort of thing he knew Sheila would have chosen herself.

Sited nearby, the churchyard was speckled with shrubs and trees of all blossom and variety and, far enough from the hustle and bustle, it was a place of solitude and beauty.

Tom laid the flowers beneath the headstone; he read the inscription and softly cried. It told of how a mother and her two children were laid there, taken by a tragic accident. It showed their names and ages, and at the bottom were written the words that Tom had requested:

My dearest loved ones. May God keep you safe until we meet again.

The tears filled his eyes. There was a moment of contemplation, and all too soon the time had come for him to leave – for now.

As he walked away, he saw a young woman laying a wreath not far from where he had been. Almost at once he recognized her as being the same woman who had run out into the street in search of a cab. She didn’t look up. Instead, she blew a kiss toward the grave and walked slowly away, out of the far exit.

As before, Tom was intrigued. “Strange,” he mused aloud, “to see her twice in such a short time.”

As he drove off, he wondered about her. Then, as always, his mind returned to the other, more pressing thoughts plaguing him.

Behind him, the stranger watched Tom depart before, with stealthy footsteps, emerging from the undergrowth. At the place where Tom’s family was laid to rest, the stranger paused a while, then reached down to snatch up the bouquet left by Tom. In an angry, callous gesture, the flowers were slung aside, and a new, grander bouquet left in its place.

A few words of regret, a blown kiss. And the stranger was gone.

W
HILE ON THE
trolleybus traveling back to her modest flat in Acton, Kathy had time to reflect. Every weekend for the past year, she had gone to the churchyard and laid a posy to remember her father. He had been a good man, a loving father, and she missed him more with every passing day.

The pain of losing that dear man was made worse by her mother’s admission that she had never really loved him. In a terrible outburst, Kathy’s mother Irene had claimed that her husband was not the innocent, caring man Kathy believed him to be. Moreover, she had told Kathy that he was selfish and domineering, in that he had always held Irene back in whatever she wanted to do. She said that, throughout their marriage, he had been the bane of her life … always at work; never adventurous enough for her. When he had suddenly fallen ill, she had made it quite clear that she was not prepared to dedicate her life to looking after him.

As it turned out, though, his illness was short and fierce. He was gone in a matter of weeks.

Distraught, Kathy had never forgiven her mother for the things she’d said. Her sister Samantha, however, was quick to defend Irene. It had always been that way: Samantha and her mother on one side; Kathy and her dad on the other. To make matters worse, Irene had almost seemed to enjoy setting her daughters against each other, always suggesting that Samantha was the prettier, more talented one of the two. There was no denying that, with her long, slim legs and a figure too perfect for words, Samantha was devastatingly attractive; the absolute apple of her mother’s eye.

One particular evening stuck in Kathy’s memory. In front of visitors, Irene had openly chided young Kathy for not caring enough about her appearance. “You’ve always been a slovenly creature,” she complained. “You take after your father, more’s the pity, whereas Samantha takes after me. She’s smart and intelligent. She’ll make something of herself. As for you … I don’t know where you’ll end up. Or who will want to marry you. Still, what does it matter? I dare say you’ll be quite content.”

Later, when her mother was busying herself elsewhere, Kathy tearfully confided in her father. “Why does she hate me so much?”

Brushing aside his wife’s remarks, he quietly pacified the sobbing child, saying how Kathy mustn’t be upset, that her mother didn’t “hate” her. He suggested that maybe Samantha got more attention simply because she was the firstborn by nearly two years. He constantly reassured her that she was loved and wanted, every bit as much as her sister.

It was all of little consolation to Kathy. Time and again in the years that followed, she was made to feel rejected and isolated. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her father and his quiet love for her, her life would have been unbearable. “You must never feel second-best,” he would say. But, with a sister who could do no wrong, it was hard not to feel inferior.

Inevitably Kathy and her father grew closer over the years, and when his expanding business ventures took him away for days on end, she would pine at the window, watching for him hour after hour, “like a puppy dog!” her sister teased, but by now Kathy had learned to shrug off such cutting remarks. Though it hurt when her mother described her in barely concealed undertones as “the plain one.” In her heart and soul, and in spite of her father’s reassurances, Kathy knew she could never be the natural beauty Samantha was. Smallbuilt, pleasantly pretty with chubby legs and a hearty laugh, Kathy spent ages looking at herself in the mirror and comparing her modest attributes with those of her more glamorous sister. It made her smile; made her sad. In the end, she shrugged it all off and, safe in her father’s love, simply got on with her life.

She had proved her mother wrong: someone had wanted to marry her. Her wedding to Dan had been a quiet, wartime one, snatched during his leave, with no time for a pretty dress or a party. The two of them had fun at first, in the short, intense bursts of leave, but the long absences had taken their toll. They had never really got to know each other properly. Since the end of the war, Kathy had tried to be a wife to him, but with no children to care for, and a husband who was hardly at home, it had proved difficult. Dan had grown more and more distant, and had finally left her for another woman just before her father became ill.