The Olive Tree (18 page)

‘Thanks.’

‘Your father says you jumped from Adonis Falls today, Alex,’ said Alexis as he sat down.

‘Yep.’

‘You are brave, especially from the high rock.’

‘Even I wouldn’t jump from that one,’ remarked William, as he handed round steaming plates of pork and rice.

‘We ought to go, too,’ interrupted Jules. ‘Rupes was the school diving champion.’

‘It is not a good idea to dive from that height. Even though the pool is deep, there are rocks at the bottom. Your feet touch them, okay, but your head, no, it is not good,’ warned
Alexis.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come. It sounds wonderful. Would you take me there some time, Alexis?’ asked Sadie.

Alexis stared at Helena for a moment, then averted his eyes. ‘Of course. And anyone else that wishes to come.’

‘I do.’ Rupes appeared, reeking of aftershave and sitting himself down next to Chloë. ‘This looks good, thanks, Auntie Helena,’ he said as a plate was put in front
of him.

‘I think it’s time to drop the “Auntie” now you’re thirteen and officially a teenager. Please, do start, everyone,’ said Helena, finally sitting down
herself.

‘I’d like to propose a toast to the hostess, who has worked so hard to make Pandora comfortable for us all. To Helena.’ William raised his glass.

‘To Helena,’ everyone chorused.

After dinner, Rupes and Chloë disappeared off to the village, armed with mobiles and a torch. Alex scuttled off back to his room and Sadie insisted she would do the clearing-up, corralling
Jules into helping her.

Which left Helena, William and Alexis on the terrace.

‘Brandy, Alexis?’

‘Thank you.’

William passed him a glass. ‘So, tell me, how is your business competing with the New World wines? Which, from what I saw in the supermarket, are very popular here?’

Helena half listened as the two of them discussed business. William was on his best behaviour, no hint of his earlier anger in his demeanour. They were both good men, she thought, and there was
no reason why they shouldn’t become friends. As long as neither of them ever learned the truth . . .

Alexis left an hour later. Jules had already gone up to bed, and Sadie sat back and yawned sleepily.

‘Alexis was telling me earlier about his wife, and how hard his boys took it when she died. She was only thirty-four, poor thing. The good news is, even though he’s had such a rotten
time, he doesn’t seem needy, or a bastard. He’s a thoroughly nice man, which at the very least has helped restore my faith in the male sex. Right, I’m for the sack. All this sun
knocks it out of you. Night.’

‘She’s right. Alexis is a nice man,’ William mused when Sadie had left. ‘But I can’t quite see those two getting together.’

‘You never know. Stranger things have happened.’

‘Perhaps, but it’s obvious Alexis isn’t ready to let go. Not of his wife, might I add, but you.’ William checked his watch. ‘Where on earth have Chloë and
Rupes got to? It’s almost one o’clock.’

‘I’m sure Rupes won’t let anyone harm her.’ Helena was relieved he’d changed the subject.

‘Actually, I’m far more worried about the harm he may want to inflict on her
himself
,’ William muttered, as the sound of a car crunching along the gravel lane leading to
Pandora made them both turn. ‘Christ, I hope they haven’t got themselves arrested for underage drinking. Perhaps we shouldn’t have let them go out alone.’ William stood up
and strode towards the drive, with Helena following in his wake.

As the car drew closer, they realised it was a taxi. Once it had drawn to a halt, the rear door opened and a creased figure emerged, clutching a holdall.

‘Thanks.’

Slamming the door, the figure walked towards them.

‘Hello, chaps. I finally made it.’

‘Sacha! Why on earth didn’t you let us know you were here? We’d have collected you from the airport. Good to see you, old boy!’ William gave his best friend a ‘man
hug’ that involved much clasping of forearms and back-slapping.

‘I did leave a message on Jules’ mobile to ask her to pick me up from the airport, but she obviously didn’t get it, so I grabbed a taxi. Hello, Helena. How are you?’

As he kissed her cheek, Helena flinched at the stench of alcohol on Sacha’s breath.

‘Come round onto the terrace and have a coffee. You must have had a long day,’ said William.

As they stepped into the soft light emanating from the terrace, and Sacha slumped into a chair, William saw his skin was as white and dry as parchment, a raft of lines etched deep on his
forehead and on either side of his nose. His normally shiny, unruly mass of auburn hair was greasy and noticeably greying at the temples.

‘I’d rather have some of that brandy than a coffee,’ Sacha said, pointing to the bottle on the table.

William poured a small amount of the dark-gold liquid into a glass.

‘Come on now, Will, fill her up,’ urged Sacha.

William exchanged a look with Helena as he reluctantly topped up the glass.

‘Shall I tell Jules you’re here?’ Helena asked.

‘God, no,’ said Sacha, downing a large slug of brandy. ‘To coin a phrase, let’s let sleeping dogs lie.’ He chuckled at his own tasteless joke.

‘Well, I’m off to bed. It’s getting late.’ Helena stood up, desperate to leave and rationalising that this was definitely a man-to-man moment. ‘Good
night.’

‘Night, Helena,’ muttered Sacha.

‘I’ll be up soon, darling,’ William said as his mobile bleeped to tell him he had a text.

on wy hme. all cool c n r x

He grimaced. ‘That was from my darling daughter, telling me that she and your son have finally decided to come home, some two hours later than promised.’

‘Of course! Chloë is here.’ Sacha had already drained his glass and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. ‘How is she?’

‘A typical teenager, desperate to grow up. You can imagine that I was expecting the worst, given her mother, but actually, she’s delightful. If I’d had a hand in her
upbringing, I’d be very proud.’

‘Come on, you were there during her formative years and it’s not your fault that cow you married was unhinged.’

‘Chloë’s also stunning, even with fifty per cent of my genes. Your son obviously thinks so too,’ said William, hearing the slur in his friend’s voice and trying to
lighten the darkening mood. He knew Sacha was already very, very drunk.

‘I’m sure. Bloody women, eh? They’re all the same, using their charms to trap us poor hapless men. Then once they’ve got us, spending the rest of their lives complaining.
Look at Jules. In her list of favourite people, I probably rank somewhere between Hitler and the Devil.’

‘You don’t mean that, Sacha.’

‘Oh, I do,’ he said vehemently, then let out a bitter, mirthless laugh. ‘In fact, that’s the only thing cheering me up; the thought of Jules’ face when she finds
out.’

‘Finds out what?’

Sacha looked at William, his face a picture of despair. He shook his head and chuckled harshly.

‘I suppose it’s pointless trying to keep it a secret any longer. From anyone.’

‘What on earth is it?’

Sacha took another gulp of brandy. ‘Well, let me see: I’ve remortgaged the house twice now, and taken out numerous private loans to keep afloat. But it’s all over, Will. My
business is bankrupt. And the consequence is that my family and I have lost everything.’

19th July 2006

It’s past one in the morning and I lie here hardly daring to breathe in case I miss the sound of footsteps.

I have to know Chloë is home and safe.

I heard a car and thought it was them. But then I heard a voice and it’s Sacha who’s arrived. And then . . . I’m not certain, but soon after that, I thought I
could hear the sound of a man crying. Perhaps they’re watching a DVD in the drawing room or something, because I can’t think that either Dad or Sacha would be sobbing their eyes out
like a pair of girls. It’s not the kind of thing boys do in front of each other.

Our tear ducts are programmed from conception only to Operate In Private. And On Special Occasions, of which there are only two categories: births, and deaths.

Even then, it’s dodgy, as from what I’ve seen, a man has to be ‘there’ for the woman in his life. She can fall apart all over the place and everyone thinks
how amazing (birth) or caring (death) she is. Whereas, the moment we shed a public tear, we are girly and that’s the end of it.

I once went to hospital, having fallen off my bike and managed to grind the tarmac deep into my kneecap. I cried, automatically, because it bloody hurt! Did I get sympathy as
Cruella De Nursey picked out each tiny, hideously painful piece of path from my knee with a pair of tweezers? Did I hell! Even though I’d left behind a piece of skin large enough to equip the
nearest toad with a full-body graft, I was ordered by Cruella to be a ‘big boy’.

Now, now, dear, big boys don’t cry
. . .

No wonder men are ridiculed by women for not being ‘in touch’ with their emotions. How can we be, when we are not even allowed to send our feelings a letter, let alone
call them on the telephone, or – horror of horrors – actually ‘visit’ them in person by allowing our tear ducts to open?

Yet who is it that mainly brings the boys of this world up?

YES!!

The women!!

I pause in my philosophic ramblings and wonder whether I have just discovered some enormous, world-shattering conspiracy. One day, will my name be mentioned alongside Aristotle?
Hippocrates? Homer Simpson?

The point is this: what exactly do women want from us?

Whatever it is, I am unable to continue to consider it, as I hear familiar voices from along the corridor.

She
is home. Thank God. I can now relax, get some sleep, knowing Chloë is safely tucked up in bed a few feet above me.

I can hear the patter of her delicate feet as she walks into her room and begins to do whatever it is girls do before they retire for the night. Taken out of context, it sounds as
if she is on patrol, marching backwards and forwards. In reality, she is probably getting undressed, hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, finding her nightwear, brushing her hair, reaching under
the bed for her lost copy of
Heat
magazine. Et cetera.

I switch off the light, tell her I love her, and prepare to nod off. Just as I am doing so, there is a knock on my door.

It opens, without waiting for a response from me.

‘You awake, Alex?’

‘I am now.’

What does
he
want?

I sit up as Rupes enters my space.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

Rupes squeezes his muscles through the narrow entrance between the end of the bed and the door, then closes the door behind him, which is a worrying sign.

‘I want to ask you something.’

‘Yeah? What?’

‘Did you write Chloë a poem and leave it in her room this morning?’

I am aghast he knows about this. ‘I . . . might have done.’

‘Thought so. She liked it.’

‘Really?’ My spirits rise. Has she sent Rupes here as a romantic emissary, being too shy to confront me herself?

‘Yeah. Problem is, she thinks I wrote it.’

What?!

How could she?! Rupes isn’t eloquent enough to copy out a nursery rhyme, let alone compose the kind of poetry Wordsworth himself would be proud of.

‘Yeah,’ he chuckles as he looms above me. ‘She got very friendly with me tonight. All that slush obviously did the trick. So I was wondering if you and I could
strike a deal?’

I remain silent in the darkness.

‘Like, if I paid you, you could write me some more. Say, a fiver a letter?’

I am not silent on purpose anymore. I am simply struck dumb.

‘Let’s face it, you’re never gonna get off with her. You’re her little stepbrother. It would be, well . . . incredulous.’

‘You mean “incestuous”.’ His pathetic command of the English language unlocks my jaw. ‘No, it wouldn’t be. I am not related by blood to her so
there is no reason why not, if we . . . chose to.’

‘Unfortunately it’s me she’s got the hots for, not you. So, will you or won’t you?’

‘Under no circumstances would I even consider the possibility. Forget it, Rupes. It’s a no.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

I hear him sucking air in between his big front teeth. ‘It’s unfortunate you couldn’t see fit to help out a mate, especially when there was something in it for
you. Oh well, daresay you’ll change your mind. Night.’

As he leaves the room, I wriggle back down into my bed, panting with the tumult of emotions suffusing my brain.

No! No! No!

My poor, fair Chloë. You have been brainwashed, hypnotised . . . you’ve taken leave of your senses! I will save you, I will protect you, for you know not what you
do.

I now know that this is out-and-out war, and I lie there plotting my campaign.

It is some time later when I dream my door is opening and hands are rummaging under my armpit and pulling something away from me.

In my dream, I am too tired to wake up and stop them.

‘Cup of tea for you.’

William put the mug on Helena’s bedside table and sat down, watching her stir.

‘What time is it?’ she asked sleepily.

‘Just gone seven.’

‘You’re up early. And you didn’t come to bed until well after three.’

William sighed. ‘Sacha’s in a dreadful state. Sorry to wake you, but I thought we should talk before the others get up.’

‘What’s happened?’ Helena sat upright and reached for her tea.

‘His business is about to go under.’

‘Oh God, William,’ she breathed. ‘Well, perhaps he can start another one or go back to being an employee.’

‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that. What I’m about to tell you must go no further, for obvious reasons.’

‘Of course.’

‘Sacha’s done something understandable, but completely reckless. When the business needed some cash urgently to keep it going, he remortgaged the house, and then took out personal
loans to keep it afloat.’