Robin drew his eyebrows together. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to think about this stuff at all.’
‘You have to. And sorting it out now is better than after when it will be so much harder work because you’ll be tired and confused. Can’t you remember the state I was in when my mother passed?’
Robin could. He hadn’t been far behind Charlie in the upset stakes either. He’d adored Charlie’s mother.
‘Let me tell you what I’ve picked. It can only be Vera singing “We’ll Meet Again”,’ said Charlie.
‘Ooh, that’s naff.’ Robin winced.
‘I don’t care, I want it. And I want people to sing along, and to sway as they’re doing it. And don’t even try to negotiate probate, I’ve left instructions with Reuben to do all the legal stuff. You can trust him, you know you can.’
Reuben was Charlie’s nephew, both he and Robin were very fond of him. Not so much his sister Rosa who strangely had only started visiting when they’d heard Uncle Charlie was ill. Circling like a starving vulture, Robin had said. He wasn’t fooled by her sudden concern for her uncle’s well-being.
‘I’ve left the clothes I want to wear in the third bedroom wardrobe. In an old Savile Row suit box. I thought I’d meet my maker in the dark grey suit we got married in. Yellow cravat and I’d like a white Yorkshire rose in my buttonhole, just like on the day.’
They’d had bespoke matching suits, even down to the matching shoes.
‘Underwear, socks, it’s all in there. You can leave off the top hat. It made my head sweat.’
‘You’ve done that too?’ Robin looked at him incredulously.
‘Yes, Robin. I want to save you as many duties as possible. I know you, you’ll dither for ages worrying that you’ve picked the right things – are these the socks he would have chosen? – so I’ve taken it upon myself to do this. Don’t come and see me lying there inanimate in the Chapel of Rest, remember me as I was.’
Robin nodded. He was grateful for that because he didn’t think he could bear seeing Charlie lying there still. Charlie and still didn’t go together, he snored and twitched even when he was deeply sleeping. ‘Is it okay if I come and sit with you though?’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie. ‘Just don’t expect me to converse. I’ve also been having a think about where you can scatter me. Best to cremate me first.’ He nudged Robin who let out a spurt of laughter, despite the tears pricking his eyes now.
‘Don’t, Charlie.’
‘We could always find humour in anything, you and me, Robin.’
‘Not in this.’
‘I want maximum black regalia, no bright colours or rainbows. I want full blown gravitas, black horses, no flowers except from you – something with white roses in it and feel free to stink the place out with Stargazer lilies, I’ve always liked those. Donations in lieu of flowers to The Little Hospice down the road. This is all in the letter stapled to my will.’
‘Then we don’t need to talk about it.’
‘I want to. I need to explain so there’s no surprises for you, no shocks. Your brain will be the equivalent of a mashed beetroot. Anyway, I want Father Derek to conduct the service in Tuckwitt Church, not that awful Father Aubrey who talks ad infinitum and bores everyone stupid, then I’ll go on to the crematorium by myself and—’
‘You will do no such thing.’ Robin refused that request, point blank.
‘Yes I will. You say goodbye to me at the church, then go and play host at Tuckwitt Manor. People will need to be fed and watered by then and you should mingle, it’ll cheer you up. As for my ashes… in the letter it says I want them to go at the bottom of the garden but I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to be sprinkled with my mother and father in the sea at Whitby. I don’t think I’m going to be leaving Yorkshire alive, Robin. I shall end in the place I started.’
‘Don’t be so bloody stupid.’
‘There’s a certain serendipity in dying in the area in which you were born. It’s as if I’ve come home for that reason.’ Charlie had said his goodbyes to the south when he set off. He wouldn’t be back this time, he knew it.
‘Don’t forget to keep up with my donations to the Yorkshire greyhound rescue centre,’ he continued.
‘I won’t.’
‘Oh, and don’t let Rosa convince you that I want that “Do not stand at my grave and weep” poem read out at the service, I fucking hate it.’
Robin chuckled again, even as his tears fell.
‘I promise.’
‘She’ll lie and tell you it was one of my favourite poems. It isn’t. It’s morbid. I want a limerick. There was an old jeweller called Charles. Who traded in diamonds and parls… but he wasn’t one for the garls. Something like that.’
‘I am not doing that. I’ll find something classy.’
‘I wish I could hear your eulogy. Will you speak of me in glowing terms?’
‘No, I’ll say you were a ridiculous old fart.’
‘You’ll do me proud, I know you will. I’d like to be there at my own funeral. I will do my best to attend.’
‘Well sit at the back, otherwise I’ll have a heart attack and end up joining you,’ said Robin. ‘The two of us can end up in the sea at Whitby then, distributed from the same urn.’
Charlie smiled. ‘I will try and come back and let you know I’m all right, but it won’t be in the form of a white feather or a robin or a Red Admiral because that’s overdone, isn’t it? What shall it be then? Let’s decide now.’
‘A diamond dropping from the sky. One big enough to give me concussion.’
‘Too obvious.’ Charlie thought for a moment. ‘I’ll leave a cherry on the floor somewhere.’
‘Oh very clever, so someone slips on you and goes flying.’
‘A cherry, not a banana skin, Robin. All right, something else then.’ His eye caught the beautiful scene framed by the large picture bedroom window. ‘I know, I’ll come down to see you in snow form. You can stand by the French window and watch me fall gently into the garden.’
‘I’ll be in Bermuda with my new lover for the winter months so I’ll miss you dropping by, sorry.’
‘Freak snow, like this. You won’t want me popping by every five minutes, you’ll have your new life to lead. But when the weathermen are scratching their heads because the snow is unexpected, you can presume I’m partly to blame for it.’
Their volley of banter stalled now. Robin couldn’t respond because his heart was breaking in his chest. Who could ever hope to fill Charlie’s huge, solid, perfect footsteps?
Charlie lifted the phone from Robin, put it down on the bed, took his hand; it was shaking like a frightened bird.
‘I want you to find someone who makes you happy.’
‘I have and he does. Mostly.’
‘You’re a young man, Robin.’
‘I feel ancient. Fifty-five isn’t that young.’
‘Fifty-five is spring chicken age. I was forty-seven when we got together romantically, if you remember. I won’t stand for you moping around covered in cobwebs like Miss Havisham, do you hear me?’
‘White’s not my colour.’
‘I know, it makes you look bleached.’ Charlie felt the weight of Robin’s big hand in his own. Solid, strong, tender – this hand stood for the whole of him. ‘Find someone that makes your heart sing, my darling, you aren’t meant to be lonely. Someone should have the gift of you after I’ve gone. I shan’t rest easy knowing you’re being maudlin and crying yourself to sleep.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, I’ll be clubbing every night. Off my tits on cocaine.’
Charlie let loose a froth of laughter at that. ‘Don’t be frightened of falling in love. Just be careful and don’t let anyone love the money more than you. I don’t have to tell you this, you’re sensible, but you might just be a bit vulnerable. What about Reuben’s friend, the architect? He’s very good-looking.’
‘Ugh. He smells of yeast. I just couldn’t.’
‘What about Daniel, Sol’s widow?’
‘Daniel bores me rigid. He has three topics of conversation, himself, himself and politics. I imagine Sol threw himself into the grave head first to escape.’
‘Find someone gorgeous who’d love you if you were rich or poor, like I found you. There are lots of diamonds out there waiting to be discovered.’
Robin broke down then.
‘Charlie, how do I live without you?’
‘For goodness sake, don’t go all LeAnn Rimes on me.’
Robin snorted involuntarily. ‘Oh look, tears and snot. What a mess you’ve made of me.’
He stood up to get some loo roll to clean himself up, came back into the bedroom to find Charlie sitting, smiling like a beatific Mother Teresa.
‘Thank you for this Christmas present. It means the world.’
‘I love you,’ Robin blurted. ‘I never said it enough. I hardly ever said it at all, but I hope you know I do and I will always love you.’
‘LeAnn Rimes and Dolly Parton. I’m impressed.’ Charlie stopped joking then. ‘I know you do, my dearest Robin and—’
‘But you needed to hear it more, Charlie. You’re my soulmate, I don’t feel worthy enough for you. You’re the kindest, most beautiful man in the universe and I don’t know what I did to deserve you but whatever it was, I’d gladly do it again. The thought of being without you—’
Charlie reached over to his bedside drawer, pulled something out. A ring box. He placed it in the centre of Robin’s palm. Robin opened it to find a stunning thick platinum hoop studded with yellow diamonds. It was beyond exquisite.
‘Something to remember me by. Something to remember this perfect moment by,’ said Charlie.
‘It’s never real is it?’ Robin half-gasped.
‘I don’t do fakes. You know it’s real.’
Robin put it on; the diamonds twinkled like sunshine as he moved his hand around. Of course it fitted, because Charlie had designed it and he was a master at his craft.
‘Merry Christmas, Robin. You have made my life happier than I could ever have thought possible and whatever your future holds, and whoever it is with, I will be looking down on you with my love and wishing you well.’
Robin crumpled against Charlie, who held him and they both savoured the closeness of each other, pressed it and shaped it like a diamond, to be kept for a treasured memory.
Chapter 24
‘Disappointed with your Christmas present?’ asked Bridge, taking logs out of a hessian sack to put in the basket next to the fire. She had been deliberately watching Jack’s face as Mary opened up her present and he seemed keen for her to like it.
‘No, it was lovely,’ said Mary with a fixed smile, the two rows of her perfect neat teeth butted together, like soldiers defending the untruth.
‘A voucher for a snog in the woodshed would have been better though, eh?’
‘Shh,’ said Mary, checking behind that Jack hadn’t chosen that moment to walk into the bar lounge.
‘To be fair to Jack, it was a tough call finding something around the inn that would be suitable as a present. I mean’ – Bridge gave a little laugh – ‘I got a tin of tomatoes, for God’s sake.’
‘It clearly meant a lot to you, though.’
‘Because Luke and I have a long-shared history.’
‘Yes, well.’ Mary shrugged, she wasn’t convinced.
‘House of Quill stationery is stupidly expensive. Don’t you think that he might have given it to you because it’s an indicator of how he sees you: someone of quality and worth coveting?’
‘No,’ replied Mary, flatly. ‘I think it’s an indicator that he sees me as an old young fuddy-duddy. Useful yet boring. He’s never been that great at Christmas presents if I’m honest.’
‘Oh?’ said Bridge, wanting more.
‘The first year I became his PA, I got some hand cream and a giant bottle of old lady perfume. Then the next year a talcum powder gift set and fudge. This year, a tartan headscarf, a matching shopping bag and a box of jellied fruits. Presents you give to frumpy aunties, not to women that might cross your mind outside office working hours.’ Mary lobbed a log onto the fire, which told Bridge exactly what she thought about Santa Jack and his bum gifts. Bridge opened her mouth to say something of comfort, realised there was nothing she could offer and just let out a long breath of frustration for Mary instead.
* * *
In the kitchen Jack took a few moments to look through Charlie’s book of wisdom. He wondered if these were his standard mantras or if Charlie could read his mind because they seemed to have been tailor-written for him. The last one particularly hit home.
Don’t expect to get a good woman if you aren’t a good man. Meet the requirements of your requirements.
His list of requirements wasn’t that long – but hypocritical, he realised. He’d wanted to be trusted, without trusting himself. He’d wanted to be appreciated for who he was, not his bank balance, and yet he’d used the trappings of his wealth as a magnet. He’d wanted to be loved, without letting the lock on his heart open in order to love back.
‘Penny for them,’ said Luke.
‘Sorry,’ said Jack. ‘I was just looking through Charlie’s present to me. He’s a very sagacious man.’
‘May I?’
Luke put down his peeling knife and took the notebook from Jack’s hand, flicked through it.
‘Be the best version of yourself that you can be.’ He nodded. ‘One of my sayings. I think I am the best version of myself now that I can be. I’m certainly in sync with my expectations of myself.’
‘I’m not,’ said Jack.
‘Meet the requirements of your requirements,’ Luke read aloud. ‘Yep, he’s right again. Oh boy, is he.’ He laughed then, as if he were sharing a private joke with himself. He turned the page. ‘Yep, he’s right about the comfort zones too. I like this very much. Ships are safe in harbours but that’s not why ships are built. Oh yes, praise be.’ He handed the book back to Jack. ‘We didn’t talk much about your business last night, did we? It was all opera singer stuff.’
‘Pardon?’ said Jack, bemused.
‘Mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi,’ trilled Luke, as if he was tuning up to perform ‘Nessun Dorma’. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist. Anyway, tell me, what was it that drove you to take Butterly’s out of its comfort zone and turn it into such a behemoth, Jack?’ He tossed him a bag of sprouts then for him to prepare.
‘I just saw the potential in expand—’
‘The real reason, Jack. What caused the fire in your belly to burn so fiercely?’
Jack put the book down on a shelf so it wouldn’t get stained and picked up a knife. ‘Not sure really.’ An obvious lie.
‘Okay,’ said Luke, preparing to trade, ‘with me it was getting back at Bridge. I wanted her to not only eat her words, but to throw them up with nauseous jealousy and eat them up again. I wanted to show her what I was made of. There’s a lot of juice in hate, so I thought. Looking back I don’t think it was hate, I think it was pain. That’s what turned the ignition on in me. Now you.’
‘Okay then. My father,’ said Jack. ‘I wanted him to be proud of me. That was my fuel.’ He gave a nervous laugh, scratched the back of his neck before continuing. ‘Sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? A grown man wanting his father to notice him. I never knew what he truly felt about me, you see. For a long time I thought he sent me away to school because he didn’t want me around.’
‘Not at all,’ said Luke. ‘I get it. Ironically your dad’s froideur probably helped you make that business what it is today. Maybe if he’d showered you with his affection, you wouldn’t have tried so hard to make him proud of you.’
Jack thought about that, then dismissed it. ‘Maybe if I’d known that he did love me, I’d have worked even harder for him.’
Luke flashed him a wry smile. ‘You’ll never know. All you do know is that you – you – made Butterly’s big. Jesus, Luke, two million scones per day, that’s like – wow. Now take a leaf out of my book of philosophy and work to live
, not live to work. And Charlie’s right about the requirements thing: you want a partner, but your missus will want a partner too. Make sure you don’t keep her waiting around in the background for you to give the crumbs of your attention to, while you give the full cupcake to people you do business with. Find some balance. In fact, Jack, in the nicest possible way… get a life.’
Jack nodded. Luke had just exposed the template of his father’s existence. A man who had died rich, bitter, unhappy, successful… and so very lonely.
* * *
‘So what did you people out there get for Christmas then?’ Radio Brian asked his captive audience. ‘I got some Brut, because it’s always nice to have smellies at Christmas, isn’t it, and a book with a very intriguing title: Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. I wonder what that’s about?’
‘Surely he’s heard of it,’ Bridge curled her lip Elvis-style. ‘I thought everyone had.’
‘I thought it was Captain Corelli’s mandarin,’ said Luke. ‘Isn’t it about an Italian who loves oranges?’
‘Idiot,’ said Bridge.
‘…And my favourite chocolate – a giant Toblerone,’ Brian went on.
‘He’ll never manage to bite into one of those with just his gums,’ said Charlie, polishing the cutlery with a Souvenir of Yorkshire tea towel before he put it on the table. ‘He’ll end up sawing half his face off in the process. I would have thought he’d be much better off with something gentler on his mouth, like Turkish delight, unless Mrs Radio Brian enjoys the floorshow.’
‘Or jellied fruits,’ put in Robin, newly arrived from the kitchen having popped in there to check on his turkey.
‘Yes, because nothing says you don’t care about someone more than a gift of jellied fruits,’ Luke replied.
Bridge noticed that Mary’s head gave a slight reactive jerk. Jack’s, however, didn’t.
‘Lazy present,’ said Robin. ‘Charlie’s niece Rosa always buys him a box of those for Christmas. She’s never once taken the time to ask me what would be a good present fit for him.’
‘Okay, what else constitutes crap presents?’ asked Luke, sitting by the fireside with a pre-prandial glass of sherry. Mary had insisted they all had one. Nothing conjures up the anticipation of the Christmas dinner to come like the aroma of sherry, she’d told them as she’d poured them out.
I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day Page 19
