Widows & Orphans (4 page)

Duncan winced on behalf of Jamie, who was hypersensitive about his height. ‘Goodbye, Craig,’ he said. ‘See you again.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ Craig turned back to his friends.

‘Why must you always do that, Dad?’ Jamie said, dragging him away. ‘Do you enjoy showing me up?’

‘What did I do? He’s your stepbrother. I can’t very well ignore him.’

‘Why not? Do you think he wants to talk to you? Do you think anyone wants to talk to you?’

‘Now you’re showing yourself up,’ Duncan said, as heads
turned in their direction. ‘I’m pleased that you get on so well with Craig, but I’m not sure that he’s a good influence.’

‘Like I care!’

‘And I’m none too keen on the way he talks to you.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Dad, you just don’t get it! He’s sixteen; he lets me hang out with him. Isn’t that enough?’

‘No, it’s not. You’re worth more than that. And what’s with all the swearing? Is it part of earning his respect?’

‘Why are you always picking on me?’

‘Perhaps because you never let me close enough to do anything else?’ Duncan replied. ‘Because you’ll discover as you grow older that self-respect is worth more than any other kind,’ he added quickly, trusting that Jamie had failed to detect the pain in his voice.

‘Maybe in the Middle Ages. Not now.’

‘Look, there’s your mother!’ Duncan said, seeing Linda talking to an attractive, smartly dressed brunette. As he admired the woman’s cream silk blouse, grey tailored jacket and lemon pleated skirt, Linda’s former complaint that he never noticed anything she was wearing flashed across his mind. Chastened, he attempted to rectify the omission, but she kissed his cheek before he had the chance.

From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Jamie shuffling his feet, betraying his usual unease at seeing his parents together. It was as if, having braced himself for the bitterness of their divorce, he felt threatened by – even resentful of – their residual affection.

‘Duncan, meet Ellen Nugent, Rose’s new speech and language therapist. Ellen, this is Duncan Neville, Jamie’s father.’

‘Really? Isn’t Derek his father?’

‘Stepfather,’ Linda said quickly. Duncan felt sick.

‘Of course, I’m sorry. I thought I heard Jamie call him Dad but it must have been Stepdad.’ Ellen laughed nervously. ‘Honestly, you’d think that in my job I’d pay closer attention to what people say!’

‘Have you been a speech therapist long?’ Duncan asked, coming to her rescue.

‘I graduated in 1995, but I haven’t practised for years. I wanted to go back part-time when my children started school, but my husband wouldn’t let me.’

‘Really?’ Duncan said, surprised by her acquiescence. ‘Is he very old-fashioned?’

‘No, just controlling. But the operative word is
was
. We split up last year and I wanted – I needed – to work. But with all the cuts, SLT jobs are thin on the ground. Martin Casey, one of Matthew’s – my ex’s – old colleagues, runs the Child Development Centre here. He pulled a few strings and after a two-week induction course – which was a wake-up call in itself – and a commitment to regular supervision I took the plunge.’

‘I’m guessing you’re not from around here,’ Duncan said, confident that he would have remembered her had they met before.

‘No, we moved down in the summer from Radlett, a village – well, more of a commuter town now – in Hertfordshire. The job was the main incentive, of course, but I liked the prospect of living by the sea. It seemed the perfect place to make a fresh start and bring up the kids.’

‘How many do you have?’ Duncan asked, ignoring Jamie’s snort.

‘Two. Sue’s sixteen and Neil’s thirteen.’

‘Really?’ Duncan replied, grateful that Linda’s and Jamie’s presence prevented his blurting out ‘But you don’t look old enough!’ or some similar inanity to which he suddenly felt prone. ‘The same age as you,’ he said, turning to his son.

‘So?’

‘I’d hoped to start work straight away, but my CRB check was delayed.’

‘It’s madness,’ Linda said. ‘Heaven knows, children like Rose need protecting –’

‘She has me,’ Jamie said.

‘Of course she does, darling,’ Linda said, kissing the crown of his head. ‘But there’s far too much red tape. Duncan has campaigned tirelessly against it. What was that case … the bell ringer?’

‘Ellen won’t be interested.’

‘Why not?’ Linda frowned at him. ‘The one where the boy complained because the man said something that could be taken two ways.’

‘“Do you want a tug?”’

‘That’s right. “Do you want a tug?” You have a dirty mind, my son,’ Linda said, as Jamie grinned for the first time that evening. ‘I don’t know where you get it from. Not from me and certainly not from your father.’

Maybe from his stepfather, Duncan thought.

‘“Do you want a tug?” He’s a bell ringer, for heaven’s sake! The
Mercury
went to town on it.’

‘True,’ Duncan said, still wondering if the publisher’s disclaimer that the models were over eighteen (a mere fig leaf, given their smooth skin and boyish faces) had justified his decision not to report the police discovery of the bell ringer’s stash of
Fresh Meat
magazines.

He was saved from further soul-searching by the Mayor’s PR, who informed him that ‘battle is due to commence’.

‘Oh no, Dad,’ Jamie said, ‘do you have to?’

‘’Fraid so. The
Mercury
’s sponsoring this jamboree. As well as an excellent cause, it’s good publicity.’

‘But how can you afford it? The paper’s going bust.’

‘What? Who told you that?’

‘Mum.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did. Why can’t any of you ever be honest?’

‘I may have said it was having difficulties…’ Linda floundered. ‘But who isn’t these days?’

‘Derek and Uncle Geoffrey.’

‘That’s not clever, Jamie,’ Linda said, with a spark of genuine anger.

‘Don’t worry,’ Duncan interjected. ‘I won’t have to cut your pocket money. Your old man’s not quite on his uppers.’ Jamie looked pained. ‘That was a joke.’

‘I’m not thick! But jokes are supposed to be funny.’ He gazed around the room. ‘Please, Dad, there are people here who know me. Promise you won’t tell any more.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence!’ Duncan said, forcing a laugh. ‘Are your kids like this with you?’ he asked Ellen.

‘You should have heard my daughter on this skirt.’

‘She must be mad. It’s perfect on you … I mean it suits you perfectly.’ Flustered, he looked at Linda, whose studied vacancy spoke volumes.

He made his way up to the podium, stopping to chat to Ken, who stood with camera and notebook in hand. Duncan, for whom the caption ‘Editor of the
Mercury
’ appeared in the paper far too often for his own liking, was as reluctant to pose for pictures as Ken, who had grown up with a team of specialist photographers, was to take them. Nevertheless, every time he stood among a group of smiling dignitaries, just as every time he held one of his monthly editor’s surgeries in the market square, Duncan weighed his embarrassment against the raising of the paper’s profile, reminding himself that he was not merely affirming its place at the heart of the community but giving it an identifiable face.

He took his seat alongside the Mayor in full regalia and Glynis Kingswood, whose trademark black now served as mourning. As he listened to their heartfelt eulogies to the pier, he found his mind drifting back to Ellen’s remark. Had she genuinely misheard Jamie – after all, her attention would have been focused on Rose – or had he called Derek ‘Dad’? And if so, why? Did he long for the security of a conventional family, although the divorces on every side must have shown him that it was an illusion, or did he simply favour Derek? Did the qualities that made him a more attractive husband also make him a more attractive father? Even so, no matter how much
Jamie’s preference flattered him, Derek should have corrected it. He too had surrendered his son’s day-to-day upbringing to another man. How would he feel if he heard Craig describing Geoffrey as his father? Or maybe he already had? Maybe he was using Jamie to relieve his own sense of exclusion?
What’s in a name?
Everything, when that name was Dad.

A mayoral nudge alerted him that it was his turn to speak. He prided himself on never preparing for such occasions, relying instead on a mixture of inspiration and panic. The latter predominated as he looked out at the sea of expectant faces. ‘Mercury, as I’m sure I’ve no need to remind you, was the messenger of the gods,’ he said. ‘He was also the god of fraud and intrigue, although I trust that his subsidiary attributes did not figure in my great-great-grandfather’s calculations when he named his newspaper in 1869.’ He dared not look at Jamie, as the few strained chuckles bore out his warning. ‘Francombe Pier was built just a few years later in 1883. These two venerable institutions have remained at the heart of our civic life ever since. So it’s fitting that tonight the
Mercury
should be sponsoring a competition that celebrates the pier’s history.’ Warming to his theme, he fixed his gaze on Geoffrey, who stood at the front of the crowd. ‘And equally fitting that the presentation should take place in this great library, another vestige of Francombe’s golden age.’

He congratulated all the children who had taken part and summoned the three winners in reverse order to receive their cheques. As Ken snapped him shaking their hands (the runner-up’s dismayingly sticky), he struggled to silence the inner voice that was treacherously totting up how many extra copies might be sold to adoring parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts. No sooner had the first prize-winner moved away than the Mayor stood up to announce a surprise presentation by Geoffrey Weedon, the new owner of the pier. Duncan turned to Glynis, whose puckered brow showed that she too had been caught unawares, fuelling his suspicions of complicity
between Weedon’s and the Town Hall. He watched coldly as Geoffrey sauntered up to the podium.

‘I promise I’ll be brief. I don’t want to keep you from the booze … that is those of you not under doctor’s orders.’ He raised a glass of orange juice in mock anguish. ‘It makes sense that, as the editor of such a hoary organ – that’s h-o-a-r-y,’ he said in response to a juvenile giggle – ‘Mr Neville should concentrate on the pier’s past. But at Weedon’s we’re looking to its future. There are exciting changes in the air. Watch this space! And the key, like everything else in our entertainment division, is fun. So in a spirit of fun, I’d like to offer all our entrants free one-day passes for themselves and their families to the Excelsior Wheel Park, with additional £100 tokens for each of the three winners to spend at any of our amusement arcades.’

The appreciative whoops for the passes after the polite applause for the cheques left Duncan in no doubt as to where the children’s enthusiasm lay. For all his resentment of Geoffrey, he blamed himself for failing to realise that the evening would be hijacked by a man who, according to local legend – nurtured no doubt by himself – had founded his property empire on the sale of a building that he didn’t yet own. He stepped off the podium just as Ken prepared to photograph the children swarming around their benefactor. Eager to clear his head of all the flimflam, he searched the room for Jamie, who was nowhere to be seen. So he made his way back to Linda and Ellen, who had been joined by Derek.

‘Lovely speech,’ Linda said.

‘Yes, mate,’ Derek said. ‘Just the right tone.’

‘Judging by the response, your brother caught it better.’

‘You know Geoff. Always something up his sleeve.’

‘Usually a dagger,’ Duncan said, forcing a smile.

‘Is he your brother?’ Ellen asked, gazing at Geoffrey, who was posing with the children like an out-of-season Santa Claus.

‘I got the looks; he got the brains.’ Derek gave a strangled laugh. ‘No but seriously, he’s a brilliant man, my brother.’

‘Derek’s Geoffrey’s business partner,’ Linda said, stroking his arm.

‘Well, I manage the wheel park and oversee the arcades.’

‘You’re better at dealing with people,’ Linda said.

‘But that’s not the half of it,’ Duncan said, still brooding on the misattributed Dad. ‘Derek’s first wife, Frances, is married to Geoffrey. His son Craig lives with them.’

‘That must make life complicated,’ Ellen said.

‘Not really,’ Linda said. ‘We’re all grown-ups.’

‘It raised a few eyebrows at first,’ Derek said, ‘especially my parents’. But then I met Linda and things fell into place. A bit like a Sixties swingers party where the music stopped and everyone grabbed a partner. Except Duncan, of course. He’s the only one left spare.’

‘Darling,’ Linda said quietly, ‘will you go and fetch Jamie? Craig too, if he’s still planning on coming back with us.’

‘Aye aye, Captain.’ Derek saluted and left the room.

‘Derek’s always a little touchy when it comes to his brother,’ Linda said to Ellen.

‘It can’t be easy, what with his wife – I mean his first wife.’

‘Oh, not that! As I said, we’re all good friends. But he’s spent his life in Geoffrey’s shadow.’

‘Fair’s fair, Linda. Geoffrey’s always been there for him, bailed him out each time he’s tried to set up on his own. The one thing no one can fault him for is fraternal loyalty.’

‘I know you’re not Geoffrey’s greatest fan,’ Linda said.

‘No indeed,’ Duncan replied, resenting him all the more for encroaching on the conversation.

‘Where’s Derek got to with that son of ours? That’s yours and mine, Duncan,’ Linda said quickly. ‘We need to pick Rose up from my mother’s.’

‘And I must go home,’ Ellen said. ‘You’d think my two had never seen a microwave. I’ll be with you on Monday at three, Linda.’

‘Enjoy the weekend!’

‘Good to meet you, Mr Neville.’

‘Duncan, please.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Likewise … Ellen. I’m very glad you came.’

‘Linda twisted my arm. She said it was time I saw more of my new town than the inside of my clients’ houses.’

‘I hope that this will be just the start.’

‘Me too.’

Duncan allowed his eyes to linger on her as she walked away, before turning guiltily to Linda, forgetting for a moment that they were no longer married.