‘Well, you’d be welcome here. Talk to you soon, Emily. Have a good evening.’
Emily made it round to Sarah’s just in time to sit down for dinner. Ben had been there for over an hour and she could tell they were both ravenous but were too polite to start without her. She wanted to blurt out the news about the Mark Weiss private view as soon as she got in the door but decided to hold back so she could spin the story out over dinner. She found her moment once they had all started to eat and the edge had been taken off their hunger.
‘I got a call from Mark Weiss today,’ she began, her voice nonchalant but her eyes betraying her excitement.
‘Oh yes?’ Ben said, urging her on.
‘He wants me to send a few more of Jason’s drawings… because he’s going to host a private viewing on the 20th of November for some friends in the business, including a few critics.’
‘Wow,’ Ben laughed in surprise, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘He also asked if we wanted to go along, with Jason too,’ she added casually.
‘Well, that would be great but we’d have to think about the expense,’ Ben warned, his face turning serious again.
‘Why?’ said Sarah, jumping in. ‘I’d be happy to help. It’s not like I’m going to be living it up over the next few months so I might as well put my money to good use.’
‘I can’t let you do that, Sarah. That’s way too generous – and it’s too close to when the baby’s due. I need to be here,’ Ben protested, clearly agitated by the speed with which the idea was progressing. He never felt comfortable with quick decisions.
‘You’re scared to get on the flight, aren’t you Ben?’ Sarah challenged him.
‘No. I’d happily fly but I don’t want you spending your money when you’re about to have a baby.’
‘I’m a multi-millionaire, Ben. Paying for a short trip isn’t even going to make a dent. In fact, I’d also like to pay for Jason’s mum and dad to go too.’
‘Sarah, that’s amazing,’ Emily said, while Ben sat scowling in the middle of the table, flanked by the two women at either end.
‘What’s the problem?’ Sarah probed Ben again.
‘There’s not a problem. I just need to have a think about it.’
‘Are you afraid of flying?’ Emily asked.
‘No… well, a little,’ he finally conceded. ‘I haven’t flown in a very long time.’
‘Jason would want you there.’ Emily put her hand out and placed it gently on top of Ben’s before giving it a firm squeeze.
‘I know.’ He stared at his plate for a few moments before looking up at Emily. ‘I guess it’s time for me to rejoin the jet-set then.’
Sarah had just closed the front door behind Emily and Ben when she heard the home phone ringing. She raced back into the living room to try and catch it only to wish, moments later, that she hadn’t bothered.
‘Evening, Sarah,’ Paul said in a faux-cheerful voice. ‘I hope I haven’t woken you. It’s a little late, I know.’
‘Well, I was just about to go to bed actually,’ she replied frostily.
‘It makes me so sad to think of you there all alone – a mother-to-be rattling around in that big, empty house with no one to look after you.’
Sarah bristled at his jibe but was determined to keep her cool. ‘I’m managing just fine, thanks Paul. Unlike you, I have many friends I can call on.’
‘Friends and relations, huh? That’s nice. But it’s not quite the same as having the father of your child share in the joy of your pregnancy and pending birth, is it?’
‘What is it that you want?’ she demanded.
‘I’m wrestling with my conscience.’
‘In what way?’
‘I can’t help but feel that your efforts to deny my paternity of our child and try to pass him or her off as the child of the late, great Harry Melville, isn’t in some way against the public interest.’
Sarah’s blood ran cold as she tried to work through the options of where he was going with this. ‘What do you mean, ‘public interest’?’
‘I mean, every time I sit down to have a drink with my old journalist friend I just feel like I’m colluding with your silly scheme by not telling him. If you continue to deny my rights, I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold back.’
Now gripped with terror, Sarah struggled to retain her composure.
‘I’ve already agreed to a paternity test, Paul, but you have no rights to this baby until that test is carried out. You may not be the father of this child, so you won’t be getting any access until we get the results back – threats or no threats.’
‘You’re denying me my right to see my child born,’ he shouted angrily.
‘You don’t have a legal right to be there, Paul. You have to wait for the results of the test.’
‘You know, and I know that I’m the father. You’re playing for time and behaving like a selfish bitch.’
Sarah was shaking now, unsure of how she was going to get this man off the phone whilst persuading him against going to the press, so she took a gamble.
‘I know this is hard on you, Paul, and I’m sorry. But this is how it has to be. Now, I’m in a good position financially, so if I can make things easier for you in the meantime then I’m willing to do that.’
The line was silent for a moment as he considered his position. Sarah had always suspected he was motivated by money, now she was betting on his greed to salvage the situation.
‘I could have a human rights case here you know, Sarah. I wouldn’t hesitate to pursue a case against you if it saved another man from going through this – and I don’t want your money. I want our baby.’
Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Look, Paul. I don’t want to fight like this. Maybe we could go for a coffee and try and get through all this as friends?’
‘Well that sounds like the first sensible thing you’ve said to me in a long while, Sarah.’
‘Good,’ she said before forcing herself to add: ‘I’ll text you a date and time later then.’ Still shaking, she put the receiver back in its cradle, sat down on her sofa and sobbed.
She had no intention of meeting with Paul, but he was closing in on her and there was no obvious means of escape.
CHAPTER thirteen
BEN AND SARAH APPEARED on the surface to be two entirely different creatures, and yet their newfound kinship was in some ways evident before my death. During the height of my paranoia, I convinced myself that Ben was harbouring a crush on Sarah, and while that thought is natural to me now, it certainly wasn’t then.
Following our bonding session (or as close as we ever came to one) over my fertility problems, I had invited Ben out for a curry near my office in town. At that stage I viewed him as the perfect confidante. He had no friends with whom he could gossip about me and he was a good listener. From time to time, he also came out with some pretty good advice.
Ben arrived that evening looking more dishevelled than usual and, as I leaned in to give him a hug, I could smell whisky. While I knew he liked a drink, he was usually very good at hiding it. He also appeared agitated and distracted and, looking back now, I can’t think why I didn’t ask him if he was alright. But then I don’t think I ever asked Ben how he was doing. The idea never really crossed my mind, so after exchanging small talk I very quickly started to moan about Sarah’s apparent lack of appreciation for all I had given her.
‘She told me the other night that I didn’t take a big enough interest in her. Can you believe that? After all I’ve done for her.’
‘Yes,’ said Ben, ‘but was she not just saying she’d like to spend more time with you?’
‘She didn’t say she wanted to spend more time with me, she said I didn’t show enough interest - that is, I don’t buy her enough expensive gifts.’
‘Is that what she actually said?’
‘No, Ben, but that’s what she meant.’ I pulled a face at him straight out of our childhood, as if to say ‘catch up’, before knocking back what was left of my glass o
f red. I was regretting sharing this with Ben now, annoyed that he wasn’t instantly taking my side.
‘Not taking an interest to me suggests she’d like you to ask more about her or how she’s feeling, how her day’s gone. That kind of thing.’ I now see he was suggesting this in what was supposed to be a helpful way, but at the time I took it to be deeply patronising.
I laughed dismissively in response. ‘Good, God. You should write for Cosmopolitan seeing as you seem to understand women so well. But then you always have been the sensitive sort.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you’ve always been into feelings and expressing yourself - it’s your artistic streak. Nothing wrong with that,’ I’d smirked, before gesturing to the waiter for another bottle.
‘I’m just trying to point out what’s in front of your nose, Harry. Sarah actually seemed pretty down the last time I saw her. I’ve been worried about her.’
He’d further taken me aback by fixing me with a no-nonsense glare which I countered with vitriol. Ben’s bad mood was starting to really piss me off.
‘Clearly, you think I’m some kind of Neanderthal who doesn’t even know his own wife, is that it? Or are you just wishing she’d given a creative, tortured soul like you the chance so you could have counselled her with hours of emotional therapy each day?’
‘Are you finished, Harry?’ Ben had asked with miraculous composure.
‘I think so.’
‘Good,’ he’d smiled. ‘Then I’ll sensitively fuck off.’
I wish I’d asked him to stay, that I’d listened to him for just a moment. So much could have changed in that instant if I’d only swallowed my pride. We could have formed a closer relationship, but instead we just drifted apart. If I could have stopped talking about myself for one minute I might have been able to find out what had been troubling Ben for so long. Why he seemed so down. I had never stopped to think about how desperately lonely his existence must have been and how his lack of self-esteem must have been crippling him. I could only ever think of myself. Ben had of course been right, as he usually is when it comes to people. All he had ever needed was for someone to show a little faith in him and give him a chance instead of just assuming he was an eternal loser. But sadly I’d had to die to wake up to life.
November had arrived and was making its presence felt, the bitter wind causing Ben to grimace as he walked up the High Street towards Emily’s studio where Jason was completing the collection of work for New York.
It had been several weeks since Ben had last seen him and he was growing concerned for his young friend. Usually Jason would send him a text just to check in now and then if they hadn’t spoken in a while, but he’d received nothing.
He had messaged Jason the other day to see how he was and received a short reply, ‘Fine, just wrecked!’, which told him very little. So here he was to see for himself.
He buzzed at the studio door and only had to wait a couple of seconds for Jason to reply.
‘Hullo.’
‘It’s Ben, thought I’d drop in and see how you’re getting on.’
‘Come on up. It’s chaos mind.’
Ben jogged up the single flight of stairs and opened the door to find Jason standing by a desk that was surrounded by piles of paper that looked like they’d been tossed onto the floor either mindlessly or out of frustration.
‘How you doing?’ Ben asked, taking in the scene of artistic carnage around him.
‘Bad day,’ Jason mumbled. ‘I’ve only got a couple more pieces to do but I’m struggling. I’m not used to working to order and with important people expecting something of me. No one’s ever expected anything of me before.’
Ben picked up some of the papers on the floor and noticed Jason had started to make sketches on them but had abandoned them after a few strokes of the pencil.
‘I’ve done so many faces, I need to do something different.’
‘Have you drawn a pregnant woman yet? I’m sure Sarah wouldn’t mind if you think that would work.’
‘I couldn’t ask her, that doesn’t feel right.’
‘She’d let you take some pictures of her, I’m sure. I can ask her today if you’d like?’
‘That would be brilliant, thank you. She would be amazing to draw.’
Ben noticed how Jason’s eyes lit up when he talked about Sarah; he clearly admired her. She was undeniably beautiful after all, and she had the strong, distinctive looks that were an artist’s dream. It was a reminder to Ben that she wouldn’t stay single forever, and he bristled at the thought.
‘No problem.’ Ben moved quickly to change the subject. ‘I brought over a couple of things I’ve been working on if you have time to have a look. I thought it might take your mind off work for a few minutes.’
‘Did you bring some of your sketches?’ Jason said, moving closer to see what Ben was pulling out of the leather folder he had brought with him.
‘Just two that I’ve been working on recently,’ he said, handing Jason a couple of sketches he’d done of the harbour at Newhaven that he so loved to look out over.
‘I’d recognise those rocks anywhere,’ Jason smiled. ‘You’ve done a beautiful job.’
‘Well, my talent isn’t a patch on yours.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. What else you got in there?’ Jason gestured to the folder, eager to see more.
Ben pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that he’d carefully tried to smooth out the other evening, with little success. He handed it to Jason who looked momentarily stunned.
‘It’s very like your work,’ isn’t it?’ Ben said.
Jason was eyeballing Luke’s drawing with something that appeared like suspicion.
‘This was drawn by a boy who Harry once tried to help. I’m afraid he was a bit of a lost cause though,’ Ben informed him.
‘Shame,’ Jason said, handing him back the picture.
‘I just wanted to show you it because it struck me the other night that this feels like serendipity in a way. Harry wasn’t able to help Luke fulfil his dreams, but we’re getting a second chance with you.’
Jason looked down at the floor, emotion getting the better of him. ‘I’m really grateful.’
‘I couldn’t be happier for you,’ said Ben, reaching out to pat his young friend reassuringly on the back. ‘You look really tired so I’m going to go and let you get finished.’
‘Sorry Ben. My conversation’s been crap, I know. I’m just worried about New York. I’m not sure I’m good enough.’
‘Good enough? You’ll blow them away. I don’t think you have any idea how talented you actually are, Jason. But you’re about to find out.’
They made a fantastically mixed bunch at the airport. Ben and Emily were dressed in regulation middle class uniform, each having opted for a slight variation on casual trousers and fitted shirts. Next to them in the check-in queue stood Jason who by now was beginning to do quite well for himself as was illustrated by his outfit; an impressive ensemble of designer T-shirt and jeans, paired with very expensive-looking white trainers. Behind him, Gary and Sandra Weir were squabbling over who was supposed to have been looking after the passports when Sandra suddenly produced them from the bottom of her over-sized gold bag and waved them excitedly in front of her husband’s ruddy and angry face. They too had dressed for the trip. Gary was spilling out of a blue polo shirt that was way too tight around the waist, while Sandra was similarly pushed for space in a pair of figure-hugging, white calf-length trousers and a bright pink blouse.
Jason had told Ben that his mum and dad leapt around like lottery winners when he’d announced Sarah would be paying for them to travel business class to New York so they could attend the private view. His mum wept with joy and his dad threw his arms around the pair of them. As for Jason, he could barely contain his pride that finally he and his family were going somewhere in life. But he felt ashamed by how much he wanted to distance himself from them as they swore and cackled loudly through the airp
ort causing all around to stop and stare at the unruly duo holding up the queue. Despite their lack of social grace, he was pleased they were able to come with him on this trip which officially marked their rise out of the depths of poverty and into the ranks of civilisation where you at least had a fair shot at actually living your life. He had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t stop working for a minute until he had bought them a house in a good area, where they could live in peace and without fear of the drug dealers down the landing who’d stab you as soon as look at you if you dared challenge them on the many reasons why they were spreading fear and misery.
As they boarded the plane an hour later, Ben and Emily couldn’t help but laugh when Gary – having finally found his seat after much noisy deliberation with his wife – loudly announced: ‘Sandra, look at this, hen. Leather seats and there’s mare space than oor front room.’
From that moment on, every morsel that was delivered to him by the air stewards would be declared, ‘absolutely, bloody fantastic’. But Gary saved his best accolade for the evening meal, which he colourfully described to the American businessman sitting across the aisle from him as, ‘the best fuckin’ chicken I’ve ever tasted’.
And the pantomime didn’t end when the plane touched down. After waiting an hour in the queue at passport control, Sandra nearly got them all put on the next flight back home with her unusual answers to the immigration officer’s questions.
When asked where she would be staying in New York, she answered: ‘In the pub.’ Sadly, only Gary laughed at this joke, prompting a stern response from the officer: ‘Mam, you answer the question truthfully or you will be denied entry to the United States.’
‘Awright, keep yer shirt on,’ Sandra snapped back before tutting loudly.
Ben, Emily and Jason stood wide eyed as they watched the scene unfold. Fortunately, however, the officer seemed to be in a forgiving mood and eventually smiled and waved them on.
From the Outside Page 16
