The Queen of New Beginnings (38 page)

The blood pounding in her ears, Alice had heard enough. She could countenance being branded a liar and not right in the head, but she would not stand here another second and hear the memory of her beloved father being disparaged.

She turned the handle and pushed open the door. Despite what she had said to Clayton, it was time for her big entrance.

Oh, it was more than time.

It was difficult to know just who was most shocked when Alice entered the room. Everyone fell instantly quiet. Everyone stared at her. But it was Alice who stared the most. She openly gaped, robbed in a flash of the murderous anger that had been bubbling up within her the other side of the door.

Rufus stared back at her, a sardonic glint darkening his eyes. “Well, well,
well
,” he drawled. “Here she is at last. The person everybody’s talking about. What a stir you’ve caused.”

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“This?” he said, tapping the arm of the wheelchair he was sitting in. “This old thing? Is that what you’re enquiring after? How very rude of you to come right out with such a question. But of course, we couldn’t really expect polite discretion from you, could we? Hardly your style, is it? Blabbing is more your forte.”

“Alice didn’t blab,” Clayton said sharply from where he was standing in the corner of the room next to the window. “She merely recounted her childhood to me.”

“That’s all right, Clayton,” Alice said, “I can handle this.”

“Handle what exactly, Alice?” asked Natasha. “The fact that you’ve tried to destroy our reputations?”

“That was never her intention.”

“Clayton, please,” Alice said gently. She looked at Natasha, seeing her properly now for the first time, no longer a teenager but a young woman the same age as Alice. She seemed older, though. And tired. Very tired. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, and her mouth, turned down and creased either side, was marred by an expression of what Alice guessed was a permanent state of bitter resentment. There was no softness to her. She looked as if life had worn her down a long time ago.

Beside her, in his wheelchair, Rufus sat defiantly implacable. He was wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans and Alice could see by the way the fabric lay that beneath it his legs were withered and useless. The anger she had experienced earlier for him was now replaced with pity. How he would hate to know that. “Perhaps it would be more appropriate for the three of us to talk about this in private,” she said, directing her words at Rufus.

“Why? Are you worried that we’ll expose you for the lying bitch you are in front of these people?”

Clayton, who seemed to be coiled like a spring, lurched forward. “Listen, you little shit! Just because you’re in a wheelchair don’t think for one moment it wouldn’t give me the greatest of pleasure to kick your sorry arse out of here and onto the street.”

“Oh, oh! Fighting talk. Now that’s more like it. Alice, would I be right in thinking you and this man are bedfellows? Because if I’m not mistaken, I’m hearing the sound of someone keen to protect your honour. Which means, of course, that he’s blind to your many faults, namely that you’re a born liar and given to fantasizing.” He tutted and shook his head in a display of exaggerated disdain. “Really, Alice, hiding behind a man just as you once hid behind your father. Still not brave enough to fight your own battles? I’m disappointed.”

“Why are you taking this line, Rufus?” Alice asked quietly. “Why can’t you face up to the truth of what happened to us? Are you now going to deny that your mother killed herself? And that it wasn’t the first time she’d tried it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s true,” Alice replied calmly. “I recently found out that your mother tried or threatened to take her life on several occasions. If it hadn’t been for my father she would have succeeded long before she died so tragically.”

Rufus gave her a contemptuous look. “Yet more fantasy from you. But what else could we expect?” He turned to Clayton. “You see, this is what she’s like. One lie after the other. It’s sad, really; she needs help.”

Clayton let out a bark of laughter. “News flash, Chuckles! It’s you who needs help in dealing with that chronic case of denial you’re patently suffering from. Take it from me, every word Alice has just said is true.”

“And how the hell would you know?” Rufus’s tone was barbed with sneering condescension.

Alice raised her hand to Clayton; this question was hers to answer. “I have it on good authority,” she said, “that my father had to take your mother to hospital after one of her attempts to kill herself and another time he had to break down the bathroom door to stop her from doing anything stupid. What’s more, he kept it quiet because he wanted to protect us from what was going on.”

“How did you come by this information?”

“From Isabel.” At the mention of Isabel’s name, Rufus visibly stiffened. His expression tightened. But he didn’t speak. It was a satisfying reaction from him.

“After what Isabel did to Rufus I hardly think we’re inclined to believe a word she has to say on the matter,” Natasha said. “And anyway, if our mother was unhappy, there was a good reason for it. She was married to a monster. That man put her through hell. He was never sympathetic to her needs; he mocked her and belittled her. It was a shockingly abusive marriage from start to finish.”

“My sister’s right,” Rufus rallied. “Moreover, Isabel is as much to blame for what happened as is your father.”

“You think it was easy for my father, knowing that Julia’s only reason for marrying him was for financial security? Well, I’ll tell you this; Isabel and my father stayed together for many years and she made him happier than your mother ever did. And I’m glad about that.”

“Oh, how lovely for them both. You’ll be telling me next that love conquers all.”

“She’ll be telling you to shut the hell up if she has any sense,” Clayton chipped in.

The earlier rush of adrenaline that had coursed through Alice was fading fast and she began to feel drained by the effort of sparring with Rufus. “If you’re not going to accept the truth,” she said wearily, “what is the point in any of this?”

“The point, Alice, is that you have trashed our family name and I won’t stand for it.”

“Yeah, we can see that!” Clayton snapped.

Alice winced and behind his desk, where he was looking like a man who had gate-crashed the wrong party, Glen drew in his breath. Rufus glared at Clayton. “A cheap shot if ever I heard one.”

“Trust me, Bambi, there’s plenty more where that came from. I did warn you. The fact that you can’t walk doesn’t protect you from hearing the truth. Not from me, anyway. What did you do, fall off your high horse? Or trip over your bloody great ego?”

“How dare you talk to my brother like that? Just who do you think you are?”

“That’s OK, Tash, let him have his sport if he so desires. If you must know, Mr. Miller, the summer after my mother died, in a moment of maudlin inebriation, I dived into a pool of water that was shallower than I was expecting and surfaced with a broken back. I hope that satisfies your curiosity. Yours too, Alice. And in case you were wondering, as a consequence of that accident I didn’t finish medical school and so never qualified.”

“I’m sorry, Rufus,” Alice said. “That must have been awful for you.”

“Please don’t insult me with your phoney sympathy; I’ve managed perfectly well up to now without it.”

The sour acrimony of his words spoke of a life not lived to the full. Of grudges harboured. Of blame and hatred carefully nurtured. Maybe there was even a sense of deep regret. How often had he looked at himself in that chair and pondered how different his life might have been if he had never brought Isabel home that disastrous Christmas? Chances were he never had and never would blame himself. But now that he had Alice to hand, he could lay all the blame on her.

After glancing over to Clayton, and keeping her voice as level and reasonable as she could, Alice said, “Natasha and Rufus, can you tell me what you hoped to achieve by coming here today? What is it you want?”

When they both stared at her blankly, she carried on speaking. “Because as far as I can see, you’ve had a wasted trip. You don’t have any kind of a case against Clayton and whatever you believe, the past cannot be undone. Which includes
The Queen of New Beginnings
. If you can’t accept that it was a fair representation of our lives at Cuckoo House then you have to take a good look at yourselves. Now, if you have anything further to say on the subject, I suggest you don’t trouble Clayton and his agent any longer.” She opened her bag and pulled out a card. She handed it to Rufus. “You can contact me via
my
agent.”

He looked at it and his mouth curved into a sneer. “Alice Shoemaker, voice-over artist. That’s quite a come down from your lofty ambition of being an actress, isn’t it?” He handed the card to Natasha. “Is Shoemaker your professional name?”

Ignoring the insult, she said simply, “Yes.” Why give him the pleasure of knowing the real reason why she had changed her name?

After Natasha had read the card, Rufus took it back from her. “Here’s what I have to say about getting in touch with you, Alice.” He ripped the card in half, then in half again. He threw the pieces at her. It was a nasty, petty little gesture, intended to make Alice feel as worthless as her business card. “Come on, Tash,” he said, “let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough.”

As they watched Natasha carefully steer her brother out of Glen’s office, Alice wondered if Natasha was solely responsible for taking care of Rufus. If so, it meant that she had got her wish; she had the brother she adored all to herself.

• • •

When they were left alone, Glen said, “Would either of you two care to fill me in on what I’ve just witnessed?”

“Later,” said Clayton. “I need to talk to Alice on her own.”

I have never needed to be forcibly restrained or sedated in order to review a programme, but last night I came as close to it as I have ever been. I knew it was going to be a Herculean task when I settled down to watch the preview tape of the first episode (please God let it be the last!) of
Racey Stacey
.

What bright spark dreamed up this piece of vomit-inducing horror? What am I talking about? I’m talking about an hour of watching Stacey Cook assuming the role of third-rate chat show host while inviting a selection of non-entity guests and members of the audience to discuss their sexual proclivities. Disturbingly there were too many who needed no encouragement at all to lay out their fetishes and sexual hang-ups in so public a way. Call me an old-fashioned prude, but I really don’t need a freakishly earnest Stacey cozying up to some ugly-looking half-wit while plumbing the depths of his urge to urinate over his girlfriend.

As the agonizing minutes of this dire programme dragged on, I began to feel nostalgic for the days of Mary Whitehouse. I couldn’t help wonder if she hadn’t had a point all those years ago. I shudder now, as I shuddered last night, to think what future TV torments lie in wait for us. Please, citizens of this beautiful country, I urge you under no circumstances to watch this rubbish. Yet even as I type these words, I know that your curiosity will be piqued and you will want to know just how low this programme really is.

But answer this, my friends, before you sink into the vast wastelands of mindless titillation, is this what our sceptred isle has been reduced to? Is this really what passes for entertainment in our enlightened age? Can we not do better? Can we not raise the barricades of human decency and arm ourselves against such depravity?

—Brendon Torrington,
The Times

• • •

Do yourselves an almighty favour: DO NOT WATCH
RACEY STACEY
. In fact, write to your MP and demand that this pernicious freak show be removed from our screens at once!

—Estelle Baker,
Daily Mail

• • •

Yes, we’re well aware that Barry Osborne’s ex-squeeze Stacey Cook is trying valiantly to resurrect her public persona ever since her drunken confessions were aired on the Stevie McKean Show a year ago, but do her “people” really believe sufficient time has passed for her to be forgiven?

With a book soon to be launched, it’s obvious that her PR machine has swung into gear to maximize publicity on all fronts, but frankly the boundaries have been pushed too far in this instance. Never have I witnessed such a flagrant attempt at self-aggrandisement. It’s not the so-called saucy late-night content of the programme that bothers me so much as the rapt seriousness with which Stacey takes herself. She seems to be utterly convinced that we, the audience, are taken in by her performance to get to the heart of the matter. I’ve got news for you, Stacey: you’re about as profound as a roll-mop herring. Nothing personal, of course.

—Andrew Tillen-Jones,
Independent

• • •

A cross between a motherly caring Fern Briton and a sexy plainspeaking Katie Price, Stacey hits exactly the right note when it comes to getting her guests and audience members to open up to her.
Racey Stacey
—
definitely worth a punt!

—Joe Reeves,
Sun

• • •

3 Abbey Court House

Brayton

Hertfordshire

PLEASE FORWARD TO ALICE SHOEMAKER.

Dear Alice,

It’s a year since my brother and I met with you in London and in the intervening time I have given a lot of thought to that day and the sharp words we were all guilty of exchanging.

I would have written sooner, but it has taken me a while to track you down, or rather, to locate your agent’s address—I managed this eventually after discovering your website on the Internet. I do hope your agent forwards this letter to you.

You may be wondering why I am going to the trouble to get in touch and I must admit that this is not an easy letter for me to write. The sad and embarrassing truth is that Rufus and I find ourselves in financial difficulties. The recession has hit Rufus’s IT consultancy work badly and to make things worse, I have just been made redundant from the hospital where I worked part time as a dietician. It seems that when times are hard, nobody is interested in nutrition. Of course, my main job is to take care of Rufus. He is as independent as any paraplegic can be but he relies on me heavily, which is why I can only work part time. We bought this house when he finally left Stoke Mandeville Hospital and have lived together ever since.

Rufus has no idea that I am writing to you—he is a very proud man—but in extreme situations one has to do away with pride and seek help where it may be available. Which brings me to the point of this letter. Alice, I am asking you as your half sister—which must count for something—whether you could help Rufus and me. We could call it a loan, if you like; a loan to tide us over until this wretched recession has passed. I hesitate to bring the matter up, but I’m sure you must have benefited financially from
The Queen of New Beginnings
and since the story included the Raphael family, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for us to benefit in some way as well. I am sure you know in your heart that it would be the right thing to do.

With kind regards,

Natasha

P.S. I’ve read about the many awards Clayton Miller has recently received, including a BAFTA and an Emmy. I also read how he says he owes the success of
The Queen of New Beginnings
to one person in particular; he didn’t name you, but clearly he was referring to you. Has he started work on the sequel he mentioned during our meeting last year?

• • •

Dragonfly Cottage

Stonebridge

Derbyshire

Dear Natasha,

I’m sorry to hear of your troubles. It must be a very distressing time for you and Rufus. The world is currently in a terrible state of flux.

This may surprise you but I did not benefit financially in any way from
The Queen of New Beginnings
. I have, though, had a run of luck with a series of television adverts I’ve voiced in the last year and I am enclosing a cheque for you. I hope you will take it in the spirit it is given in, not as a loan, but as a gift.

I wish you and Rufus well.

Best wishes,

Alice

P.S. Clayton has been working on a new project which has nothing to do with the events of Cuckoo House. I managed to talk him out of that!

• • •

3 Abbey Court House

Brayton

Hertfordshire

Dear Alice,

Please find enclosed your unwanted crumbs of charity. Whatever has passed between you and Natasha, I want nothing to do with it. If you thought you could buy us off to assuage your guilt for what you did, you are very much mistaken.

Rufus.

• • •

If you like your how-to-turn-your-life-around books dripping with treacle, then Stacey Cook’s book will be just the thing for you. It’s full of useful tips such as never compromising on your appearance and how to be kind to yourself. Even if you feel like slashing your wrists (my words, not Stacey’s) apparently the answer is to treat yourself to a full body massage, a facial, a manicure and a hair do. If you can throw in the extra treat of a little shopping expedition or lunch with a girlfriend, so much the better. According to Stacey, it’s amazing how positive such a small amount of effort will make you feel. She makes no comment as to how much the poorer your bank balance will be after this pick-me-up, but I guess this is something she doesn’t need to concern herself with now that she’s acquired herself a new boyfriend in the super-wealthy Boris Nikolaeva, the latest questionable visitor to our shores from the gas fields of Siberia. My honest opinion of this book? It’s a dead cert for the remainder bin.

—Lou Ashton,
Daily Mail

• • •

Viewers are in for a rare treat this evening. Lock the doors, switch on the answer machine and put your feet up for the television event of the year. Reconciled after a regrettable period of not speaking to each other, the great writing duo Clayton Miller and Barry Osbourne are back! And never has their writing power been more formidably comic. Whilst watching the preview tape of
Reasons to be Cheerful
, I had to keep hitting the pause button to wipe away the tears of laughter and to give my sides a rest. Side-splitting and eye-wateringly funny, this is a sure winner. The boys are back! Hallelujah!

—Miranda Stevenson,
Radio Times

See page 43 for an in-depth interview with Clayton Miller and Barry Osbourne and discover what is making them so cheerful these days.