How Elizabeth wished she could talk to her like she used to, to seek her wisdom and her counsel.
The old Ella would have known what to do about Roger. She would have taken one look at the cut on Elizabeth’s temple and told her to leave him. Then she would probably have found her wayward son-in-law and given him a peace of her mind. She would also have known how to console Jonathan and reassure Wendel. Furthermore she would know how to deal with this unscrupulous and highly ambitious partner that was so hell bent on removing them from the firm. But sadly Ella could do none of these things as her mind was no longer her own.
Elizabeth sat on the bench for a while longer trying to compose herself. It had been an unpleasant end to an emotional week but eventually, feeling drained of energy, she climbed back into the Mercedes and reluctantly headed back to the city.
She had been on the road for less than ten minutes when a call came into her cell. She saw the caller ID and smiled, it was Ronny, the very man she needed. At last a friendly voice to comfort her. She flipped open the phone and said, “Hey, there, you. I’m so pleased you called. I’ve had a terrible day.”
“Hi, Elizabeth,” said Ronny, uncharacteristically solemn. “I’m afraid I’m not going to make it any better. I’ve got some very bad news.”
“Oh, God, What?” Said Elizabeth, “That bastard hasn’t tried to get rid of Dad now has he?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”
“Don’t say he’s actually done it - that Dad’s had to resign too?”
“No. He’s not had to resign, Elizabeth. I’m afraid I don’t know how else to say this but - I’m so, so sorry - he’s dead. Dad’s dead and–” the voice on the end of the line cracked with emotion, “And so is Jonathan.”
Upon hearing the words, Elizabeth felt nauseous and her head began to swim, her vision blurred as darkness suddenly came over her. As she blacked out with shock, the Mercedes, travelling at over fifty miles an hour, careered off the road, bumping unchecked over the rough grassy verge and crashing through a mile marker and on through a fence into a field full of grape vines. The car eventually came to a halt about thirty feet in, stopped by a tangled mass of wrecked vines. Elizabeth was slumped over the wheel, the voice on the phone, which was now laying in the foot well, shouting to her over and over again, but she was oblivious.
* * *
In her hospital bed, two days later, Elizabeth was nursing a broken leg and some very bruised ribs, but that was all secondary to the pain she felt in her heart. She had spoken again to her extremely concerned foster brother who was relieved to hear her voice and after making certain that she was up to it, he told her in more detail what had happened.
Jonathan, shamed and ruined and unable to prove his innocence had taken his own life. He had been found hanging in his bathroom. Upon hearing the news of his beloved son’s suicide, Wendel, Elizabeth’s father, suffered a massive heart attack and had died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
The loss of both her father and brother on the same day, within hours of each other, was unbearable and as Elizabeth lay in her bed grieving, she knew the blame for their deaths lay squarely at the feet of that greedy, unscrupulous partner who had framed Jonathan. Peter Bearing.
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Northamptonshire, England, 2008
He had been asleep for only about an hour when the harsh beep, beep, beep of the alarm woke him. Groggily he threw out a hand and slammed it down on the LED clock, his fingers quickly finding the button to turn off the infernal din before his head burst.
Jake Sawyer had only slept sporadically throughout the night, half an hour here, ten minutes there but he certainly hadn’t gotten a full night as he was too anxious to sleep. Today was too big a day, too important. His whole future was riding on it.
He hadn’t really been tired during the night, as his mind was too active, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say and how he hoped it would all play out. But, of course, now he was tired. That last hour he must have fallen into a very deep sleep and the harsh beeping of the alarm had violently shaken him out of it.
Slowly he sat up and as he threw off the duvet the cold of the morning hit him immediately. It was freezing but he stood and pulled on his boxers and an old t-shirt, then grabbed up his towelling dressing gown and quickly slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around himself, shivering as he did so. He stuffed his feet into a decrepit pair of sheepskin slippers as he stumbled over to the window and pulled open the curtains. Momentarily he was blinded by the pure white of the morning. Where he had expected to see spiky brown trees, dull green grass and the row of drab grey houses opposite, he saw instead a winter wonderland. Everything that had been so ugly the night before had suddenly been beautified by a light dusting of snow. But flakes were still falling and the sky looked fit to burst with a lot more. “Shit!” said Jake aloud. “Just what I need.”
Jake lived alone now in the cheap, rented flat. None of the furniture was his, not even the bed. The only things that belonged to him were the few clothes in the half empty wardrobe, a laptop, a mobile phone and a few photographs of his children which he had dotted around the place in mis-matched frames. Everything else had either been taken by his estranged wife or sold to keep his failing business afloat, including the family home and car.
But today, all that was going to change. Today was going to be his salvation, his and Angie’s and Zack’s and Poppy’s. Today was the day when he was going to turn it round and when all their lives would reboot. Today the crushing, unrelenting weight of debt and worry would finally be lifted. The new contract was certain, in the bag, needing nothing more than Jake’s artistic signature along the bottom before the first, desperately needed instalment was transferred into his business account, and then he could breath again. He’d even planned to take Angie and the kids out to Pizza Hut for a celebratory meal. Nothing fancy, just enough to prove to Angie that things had changed. That he was back on top. A success, just like before. When she loved him. He could show her, prove to her, that he finally had a way to get out of debt.
The two year contract, putting together a monthly magazine would not only give them a fresh start it would also give him the time he needed to rebuild his business, to win other contracts and new accounts. A vital shot in the arm.
Admittedly it was not the most creative work, but it was regular and it was for Plancom, one of the biggest companies in Europe. Not some small little company with no budget, but a huge corporation with massive resources. Which meant no problems getting paid and right now, that was all that mattered. A safe account with a safe income.
Jake had to pitch for the job. His company, Sawyer Design, was up against two others - both larger than his which was, essentially a one-man-band. But even so, Jake knew the contract was his. The creative director of the magazine, Bob Hart, was an old friend and ex-colleague of his and he had guaranteed, with a nudge and a wink over a pint the previous week, that Jake’s would be the winning pitch.
The contract was being awarded today, in Manchester, and Jake’s signature, he had been told, was just a formality.
All he had to do was get to Manchester, a two hour drive away in normal conditions, but with an inch of snow on the ground that could easily turn in to three or four.
It was now 7am. The meeting was at 4pm. That meant he had to be on the road by twelve at the latest. No problem, all he had to do was call in at the office to grab his portfolio and he could get off, just take a slow, steady drive up, no sense in risking anything as the meeting was far too important.
Bracing himself, Jake stripped and jumped into the tepid, spluttering shower in the small, dank bathroom of his one bedroom flat, wishing more than ever that it was the hot powerful stream in the spacious wet-room of his old family home and that Angie was downstairs waiting for him with a nice cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast. Just like she used to be before
he went off to work.
“Soon,” he said to himself as he scrubbed the grogginess away, “Let’s just get today done and dusted and then everything will be fine.” Jake’s biggest hope was that he and Angie would set up home together again, in a nice area, with a nice school for the kids. He didn’t ever let himself think, for fear of believing it, that she was, in fact, gone for good.
Jake was thirty-three but looked much older. His glasses were out-dated, newer, trendier ones were an unnecessary expense. His beard was bushy and his sandy hair long and unkempt, both were flecked with grey. Once he had been supremely fit, a school boxing champion - he even had a black-belt in karate somewhere. Now though he was pudgy and out of shape. Exercise was a thing of the past, something that happy people did in their spare time. Once he had girls queuing at the door, now they didn’t even look twice. It was not hard to see why.
Jake could barely look at himself in the mirror as he brushed his unruly wavy hair. He should really have had it cut but twenty quid for a haircut - were they kidding? Hair-cutting was just one other thing that Angie used to do. He hadn’t had to go to a barbers for years - the last time it cost him less than a fiver, which was sometime back in the nineties.
By the time he was dressed and ready to leave the snow was coming down harder but he didn’t even own an overcoat any more. And he was wearing his one and only suit. A smart blue Armani which was about the only thing of value he had left in his wardrobe. That and the shiny black Paul Smith loafers he had on - which were only worn on very special occasions.
Jake looked at the skies and then at the icy driveway, not wishing to spoil his suit and shoes, but the car was only a few feet away so it shouldn’t be too bad. The car was an old, second hand Mondeo badly in need of a service, but a car nonetheless and dry too, with a working heater.
He made a dash for the car and got to it without slipping over. Jumping quickly inside, he shut the door and thrust the key into the ignition, wanting to get the heater on as soon as possible as his hands were already like ice.
There was a horrible wheezing sound as the engine slowly turned over then nothing. “Bollocks!” Jake said. “Not today, please not today!”
He tried again and the same thing happened. Then again, but this time it just clicked. “Fuck!” Jake yelled. Then he composed himself, trying to remain calm. “Okay, okay,” he said. “It’s just cold. No need to panic. Give it a minute.”
Half an hour later the car still wouldn’t start. He’d tried then waited, tried then waited again, but still nothing. It was now 8.15am and the pressure was building.
Jake had no breakdown cover but he’d phoned several garages and recovery services anyway. They were all extremely busy due to the weather and could not get to him for at least several hours. No good, the clock was still ticking.
Jake decided that a hire car would be the answer. It would wipe him out financially but he had to get to Manchester whatever the cost.
He rang three before he found one that could help him. Everyone it seemed had the same problem. All he needed was his driving license, last month’s unpaid electricity bill and his passport as proof of identity. After collecting all three, he set off as quickly as he could to the nearest bus stop a quarter of a mile away and stood there for fifteen minutes in his best suit and shoes until the shuttle bus turned up. By the time he sat down he was soaking wet and frozen to the bone.
The bus was slow and so was the traffic, the weather getting steadily worse as the morning went on. But he finally reached the car hire depot, after yet another long walk from where the bus dropped him off, by 10.15am.
Using the three forms of identity, he hired himself a BMW 4x4, paying the £300 rental fee by cheque, knowing full well that it would undoubtedly bounce if he was not awarded the contract. Fortunately he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
The BMW was far too pricey but it was the only 4x4 they had and in this weather it was what he needed to guarantee his safe arrival in Manchester. It was worth it too because it carved through the snow without so much as a slip.
By now though, Jake was absolutely freezing. His suit was soaking and his shoes were ruined. He’d have to go back to the flat and change. Quickly. But the BMW was well up to the task and he arrived back in no time. He shot upstairs and changed into a pair of clean jeans, a denim shirt, his old corduroy sports jacket and a knitted brown tie. He changed into some fresh warm socks and slipped his feet into his trusty tan brogues. It was a much more casual look than he had originally intended but at least he was still reasonably smart and looked suitably ‘arty’ which many people expected from someone in his profession, so he could carry it off quite easily he felt.
It was 11.15am by the time he was back in the car and on the road. Still forty-five minutes ahead of schedule. Warm, dry and in a very nice, very reliable 4x4. After calling by his office to get his portfolio he was on his way at last. It was 11.30am.
However, by now there was over two inches on the ground and it was becoming pretty treacherous even on the main roads. The gritters were out but they were fighting a losing battle.
By the time he was on the motorway traffic was almost at a stand still with the roads getting ever more worse. Slowly he inched his way towards Manchester, the time ticking steadily away. It was absolute mayhem on the roads, broken down and abandoned vehicles littering the motorway and cars skidding and slipping about endlessly. Even the BMW skidded a few times but in four-wheel drive there was never any danger of Jake getting stuck. It was the other cars holding him up, not his. But still the snow kept falling.
By 2.30pm he was still only a third of the way to Manchester and with hope giving way to desperation he knew, finally, that there was no chance of him making the four o’clock meeting.
There was nothing for it but to call Bob Hart and explain the situation.
But when Jake called Plancom and asked to speak to Bob, he was told that Bob Hart no longer worked for them. Bob Hart, it seemed, had been ‘let go’ along with his PA.
With a sense of rising panic, Jake called Bob on his mobile to find out what was going on.
“It’s true, mate. The bastards fired me this morning.” Said Bob. “Someone told ‘em that me and Julie have been having an affair and they sacked us both there and then. Instant dismissal. I can’t bloody believe it.”
“But you’re a director, Bob,” Jake said, “Surely they can’t just get rid of you as easy as that?”
“Director in name only I’m afraid, mate. It was just a fancy title to go with my fancy salary, but I had no shares. Still, I’ve got a bit put by so I think me and Julie might go away for a bit. Australia, Thailand - maybe Bhali, I’ve always fancied that, seeing a bit of the world. Julie’s up for it so I reckon it’ll be a laugh. Every cloud, mate, as they say.”
“Yeah, sure, Bob, that’s good,” Jake said, “But what about the contract? What do I do about that?”
“Not my job now, Jake, sorry. I ‘spect bloody Tess will be in charge of it.”
“Tess? Who’s Tess - do I know her?” said Jake, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.
“Tess fuckin” Brennan, cold-hearted bitch. If you’d met her you’d certainly remember her. Bloody man hater - except for the bosses of course, and she crawls all up their arses whenever she can. I reckon she’s the one who shopped Julie and me. Can’t prove it though, but I’m pretty sure it was her.”
“Do you think she’ll still sign off on the contract?” Jake’s heart was in his mouth as he waited anxiously for the answer.
“Can’t honestly say mate, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Bob said. “Best thing you can do is get there as quick as you can and try to get on her good side - not that she’s got one.”
“Yeah, but Bob, do you think–” Jake began.
“Look, sorry, Jake, but it’s been a bit of a traumatic day what with one thing and another,” Bob interrupted, “And truth
fully mate, I’ve really got to get going and I’ve just about had enough of Plancom for the rest of my life - so, good luck with everything and I’ll speak to you when I get back from wherever, okay? I’ll let you know if I hear anything but I’m persona non grata now, so I can’t promise.”
That was pretty much the extent of the call and as Jake hung up he could feel the panic wash over him. Tess Brennan. Cold-hearted bitch. Man hater. Jake had never met her but he had to call her, appeal to her better nature, explain that he was going to be unavoidably late because of the snow. Maybe she was not as bad as Bob had said. Surely he was just bitter.
Jake rang, but he couldn’t get passed Tess’s PA. “Ms Brennan is not available but if you’d like to leave a message....”
Of course, Jake did leave a message but it was with a growing sense of doom. Somehow he already knew the outcome of the day’s events. He knew that he was only going through the motions. Defeat, failure, disappointment upon impending disaster were all too familiar to him now. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, everything always seemed to turn to shit.
He used to be an optimist - confident, successful, happy. He was a talented designer - good at his job but also good with people and everything he touched seemed to turn to gold. He married Angie, had some great times, holidays, cars, a fantastic life. Then the kids came along. Zack first, then Poppy eighteen months later. Great kids. Great kids.
But then everything just seemed to go so terribly wrong. A business hiccup, a downturn in the economy for a while, a bad decision or two. Then the loss of a major client, then another - both victims of the first recession. But he struggled on for years, helped by bank loans and re-mortgaging.
Angie left after the second missed mortgage payment, taking the kids with her to her parents. She came back and left twice more after that but when the bailiff’s came round and threatened to take the furniture, she finally left for good.
Perfect Day Page 57
