Open Your Eyes

by Paula Daly

  Frankie Ridonikis wrote the kind of books that Leon termed ‘upmarket commercial fiction’, but Frankie would have described himself as a literary writer.

  He wasn’t, Leon said.

  Never would be, Leon said. He was a storyteller, plain and simple. They would never let Frankie Ridonikis on to their prize lists. He would never be up for one of the big literary awards. And I said: Who gives a shit so long as he gets to write books for a living? But people did, apparently.

  ‘And if it’s not in poor taste,’ Frankie was saying now, ‘I have a couple of bottles of fizz in the car as well.’

  ‘Frankie!’ admonished Oona. ‘You said you wouldn’t.’

  Frankie gave Oona a withering look. ‘No, Oona, you said I wouldn’t. I didn’t say anything of the sort.’

  Minutes later, he was sorting out the contents of the fridge to accommodate the wine. ‘There are a few nice reds there as well,’ he said to me, gesturing to the countertop. ‘Be sure to grab one, keep it for yourself for later in the week, when you fancy something decadent. The Malbec would be my personal choice.’

  It felt good to have some adult conversation that didn’t revolve around Leon’s progress, or the police investigation, or the perpetual question hanging over all of our lives: Who attacked Leon?

  I smiled at Frankie. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  He rose and hugged me to him. ‘We’re here for you. We’re always here for you. We want to do more. Let us.’

  Frankie and Oona weren’t friends as such with Charlie and Erica, but they’d met one another on numerous occasions, always through us, and seemed to get on well enough. Though sometimes I did sense, for all Frankie’s bonhomie and charm, he could feel threatened by Charlie, as, quite simply, Charlie earned more money than him. I’d read once that women check each other out when walking into a room to see who is the prettiest, whereas men try to gauge who would win in a fight. But I’m not sure that’s true. I’ve certainly witnessed more than a number of men being thrown off balance by Charlie’s wealth. It was surprising. They became quite unlike themselves: defensive, mildly malicious, as if Charlie was compromising their masculinity in some way.

  In between courses Oona wanted to know about Leon’s progress. ‘The Tate’s been maddeningly busy, Jane, and I’ve not managed to visit Leon for a couple of weeks now. How is he? As in, how is he really?’

  ‘Much the same. He seems OK.’

  ‘Is he scared?’

  ‘You mean scared of the future?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know what I mean. I’m just trying to imagine what he must be feeling, and I think my overriding reaction to what happened would be fear.’

  I thought about this.

  ‘Do you know what,’ I said, after a moment, ‘I don’t think he is scared. It’s such a strange thing, but it’s like he doesn’t know what he was like before, so he has nothing to compare it to. He gets frustrated and angry when he can’t do things, when he can’t remember, but I wouldn’t say he’s afraid. He just seems to accept that this is what he’s like now. He doesn’t know how bad he is, if that makes sense.’

  Halfway through the sea bass I broke the other news.

  ‘So, we have no money,’ I said bluntly. ‘There’s no money left in our account.’

  Erica, first to react, put down her cutlery. ‘How on earth can that be?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t get access to Leon’s own account without power of attorney, and I don’t know what to do in the interim. Please don’t think I’m begging for money, that’s not what this is, I have a credit card with some credit available on it, and I can borrow a little from my mother until I see a solicitor. Really, what I’m looking for right now is advice … if you have any.’

  I felt foolish. Embarrassed. But if Leon’s brain injury had taught me nothing else it was that people really did want to help. You just had to swallow your pride and ask them.

  Oona reached across the table and covered my hand in hers. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ she whispered. And she looked at her husband, Frankie, as if he should say something comforting too.

  ‘Why on earth is there no money?’ Frankie boomed. ‘Surely Leon is being paid by HarperCollins? The money doesn’t just stop coming regardless of what his current situation is.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s possible that there’s some glitch on the account, some reason why the money hasn’t been transferred from Leon’s business account into our joint one. That’s what I’m hoping. Obviously, if that’s what the problem is then it’s easily sorted out. If not …’ I shrugged helplessly. ‘If not, then …’

  Frankie wiped his mouth on his napkin. ‘Jane,’ he said firmly, ‘here’s what you need to do. Get on to Jon Grayling first thing tomorrow morning and demand he tell you what the score is. This just doesn’t happen. It has to be the bank’s fault.’

  Jon Grayling was Leon’s agent.

  In all the years Leon had been with Jon Grayling I’d never met or spoken to him. His offices were in London and he didn’t come north unless he had to. He was close to seventy, a wizened, humourless man, people said, and I could think of nothing worse than calling him and admitting I had no money for groceries or nappies.

  ‘Any other options?’ I said feebly.

  ‘It’s the fastest way to get yourself some answers,’ Frankie said. ‘And his bark is way worse than his bite. He likes to portray himself as some kind of forbidding gatekeeper, but he’s just an old fool, if you ask me. Leon should switch to someone who actually looks like he’s alive. I’m sure he’d do better with someone younger. Anyway, that’s beside the point, he’s Leon’s agent and he will know to the penny how much Leon has been paid and when and what monies are due to him. Call him, Jane. Call him tomorrow.’

  ‘Is he allowed to tell me the details of Leon’s earnings?’ I asked.

  ‘Officially, probably not,’ Frankie said. ‘But I’d say there are extenuating circumstances.’

  Erica smiled my way. ‘In the meantime you only need to ask and we’ll help out,’ she said softly. ‘You know that, don’t you? I’d hate to see you and the kids going short after what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you. All of you. I didn’t want to put this on you tonight but with Leon incapacitated it’s made me realize how bloody vulnerable I am without him. In every aspect.’

  Everyone nodded. Everyone except Charlie. He was quiet. Noticeably quiet.

  In fact, he’d not said one word since we’d started eating. Did he think I was begging? Did he think I was expecting him to come to my aid because he was the most affluent member of our gathering and should therefore put his hand in his pocket?

  God. I hoped not.

  He had his eyes lowered and was spending an inordinate amount of time chewing each mouthful.

  ‘Charlie,’ I said carefully. ‘I do hope you don’t think I was insinuating that you should help me out with—’

  ‘What?’ he said, his face confused. ‘Sorry? What?’ As if he’d not been listening. As if he’d been lost in a reverie and I’d just snapped him back.

  ‘I hope you don’t feel I was hinting that—’

  ‘He doesn’t think that,’ cut in Erica. ‘Do you, Charlie?’

  Charlie looked mildly stunned and took a gulp of wine. We waited. He didn’t look like Charlie. He looked troubled.

  He took another mouthful.

  ‘Jane …’ he began finally, ‘I don’t know how to say this …’

  Erica put down her glass and frowned at her husband. Whatever Charlie was about to say Erica was not privy to it.

  ‘I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news but there is no money,’ Charlie said softly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Oona.

  ‘There’s no money in Leon’s business account,’ he said.

  The news hit me at the back of the head.

  ‘How could you possibly know that?’ said Erica crossly. ‘How on earth could you possibly know the det
ails of his—’

  ‘Because …’ Charlie paused, took a breath. ‘Because Leon came to me for a loan.’

  Silence.

  ‘A loan for how much?’ I asked carefully.

  ‘That’s not important,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I think it is.’ My tone was measured, belying the fact I was utterly floored by Charlie’s divulgence.

  ‘Eighteen thousand,’ Charlie said.

  I felt a cold sweat spring up between my shoulder blades. My scalp seemed to shrink on my skull.

  ‘Eighteen thousand?’ I replied. ‘For what?’

  ‘Leon wasn’t specific. He came to me a few months ago and said he needed it to tide him over. He said some royalty payments, or perhaps it was the advance on the next book, had been delayed. Whatever it was, he was running low, and he didn’t want to increase the mortgage again.’

  ‘Again?’

  At this Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘Look, I don’t really know the ins and outs,’ he bumbled. ‘I was just trying to help. I assumed you knew about it.’

  ‘But why did he come to you?’ Frankie cut in. ‘Why come to you, Charlie, and not me? I would have lent him the money.’

  Frankie seemed quite put out about this and I’m sure would have pursued the matter further if Oona hadn’t shot him a look and said, ‘Sweetheart, let’s try to help Jane, shall we?’

  ‘Did you have any sort of repayment schedule?’ I asked Charlie and he said he did. I wasn’t surprised. Charlie was a good businessman. ‘How much is left on the loan?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jane. All of it.’

  My mouth fell open. ‘He’s paid back none of it?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘Not as yet. But he assured me it was coming,’ he said quickly. ‘He assured me he would have all of it very soon. He was naturally apologetic about missing the early repayments but said he would settle the debt in full just as soon as he received the next chunk of money from his agent.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ I said, mortified. ‘You’ve been keeping this to yourself all this time, the whole time Leon’s been in hospital? I’m embarrassed.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said.

  I looked at Erica. ‘Please tell me you knew nothing of this?’

  Erica held up both palms. ‘Don’t look at me. He tells me absolutely nothing about his business affairs. Do you, Charlie?’

  Charlie half smiled. ‘It was between me and Leon,’ he explained. ‘No need for anyone else to know. And besides, Jane, Leon will soon be back to firing on all cylinders, churning books out like never before, and this monstrous trauma you’ve experienced will seem like a distant memory.’

  The table fell silent.

  They were all thinking the same thing: Leon would not be back to firing on all cylinders and writing books again any time soon.

  Leon had trouble remembering what he’d had for breakfast and who his wife was. At the rehab unit, Leon needed a list of instructions simply to make a cup of tea. He would become distracted halfway through the process, putting the milk back inside the fridge before he’d poured it into the cup.

  ‘That might not actually happen,’ I said quietly. ‘Leon may never write a novel again.’

  ‘Oh, Jane!’ cried out Frankie. ‘You must be positive! You can’t be beaten by this, it’s—’

  ‘Frankie,’ I said, ‘please, don’t. Positivity is not what I need right now. What I need is help in finding a practical way through this. You’ve all seen enough of Leon by now to know he’s not going to be coming home the same person. I need to make changes. If I start hanging on to the dream that Leon will pick up where he left off and everything will be OK then I’m being delusional.’

  Erica reached for her napkin and dabbed at her left eye. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffled. ‘Sorry, Jane. I don’t mean to be emotional when you’re managing to be so brave. Sorry.’

  I glanced around the table and it was clear by their collective expressions, relief but marred by some guilt, that they’d discussed this subject in my absence. ‘Do you think I should sell the house?’

  ‘No,’ said Charlie immediately. ‘No, Jane, you mustn’t. Forget about that money for now. I don’t want you worrying about paying me back when—’

  ‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘that’s very kind, but I was meaning because of the bank. The mortgage hasn’t been paid. The bank’ll want their money, even if you’re willing to wait for yours. How much do you think the house is worth?’

  Everybody seemed reluctant to answer.

  ‘Charlie?’ I prompted.

  ‘Hard to say,’ he replied. ‘I could get you an approximate valuation right now on my phone but …’ He paused, stalling for time. ‘Well, the thing is, the house is probably not worth a lot more than you paid for it. So, yes, you could sell it and come out with … how much did you put down?’

  ‘Close to forty thousand.’

  ‘Forty would buy you some time. You could find something smaller or even rent. But if Leon has remortgaged, which I’m pretty certain he has, then you may find yourself with not very much left at all.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  Why the hell had Leon remortgaged? How the hell had Leon remortgaged without my knowing?

  ‘Oh,’ I said again.

  ‘Here’s what I would do,’ Charlie said. ‘I would make an appointment with your mortgage advisor as soon as you can and explain the situation. The banks are not sympathetic to people missing their payments without good reason, but if you go in and tell them what’s happened to Leon, tell them that he’s the breadwinner and that he’s out of action, they will give you a break on the mortgage without turfing you out of here straight away.’

  ‘They would do that?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘They would!’ Erica chimed in excitedly. ‘I heard of a family who were given more than a year’s grace after the husband was made redundant from Unilever over at Port Sunlight.’

  That was something.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I can do that tomorrow. I also need to get back to work. I’m going to find out if I can pick up more teaching hours. The programme at Walton Gaol is usually available. No one ever wants to do that.’

  ‘Call Leon’s agent first,’ said Frankie. ‘That’s the priority. Call him and insist he send you a printout of what Leon’s had recently, and then tell him you need to know when the next payments are due and how much they’re for. Ask him to chase any outstanding money owed. Publishers can be bastards, Jane. They hold on to it until you’re practically claiming income support.’

  I told him I would.

  Then he said, ‘I can’t believe Leon has no money. Why didn’t he say something? Why pretend he was flush if he had nothing left at all?’

  ‘If I knew that, Frankie,’ I said, ‘I wouldn’t be—’

  But Frankie interrupted, aghast, ‘Christ …! What if he owes money elsewhere? What if the attack was the result of Leon not paying other creditors?’ He sat back in his chair, stunned. ‘Christ,’ he repeated. ‘Jane, you really need to tell the police about this. What if he owes money all over the show …? It’s not safe for you here; you have to get out—’

  ‘Frankie!’ Oona said. ‘Stop it. You’re panicking her. Your mind is running away with itself. Ignore him, Jane, he has an overactive imagination.’ She leaned in. ‘I do have to ask though: did you really have no hint at all that Leon was in this financial predicament?’

  I shook my head. ‘None at all.’

  ‘You didn’t check statements?’

  ‘We’re paperless.’

  ‘But you never even snooped on his computer, to see what you could find? Even after he was attacked?’

  ‘It didn’t occur to me. Why would it?’

  ‘Well,’ Oona said, her eyes sprung wide, ‘perhaps it’s high time you started.’

  15

  While the others were cleaning up the kitchen, I called Detective Inspector Ledecky. I told her about Leon’s account and said that t
hough it could simply be a screw-up at the bank, I thought it best she knew what was going on.

  Because what if Leon did owe money to the wrong people? What if they came back? What if they’d already been back?

  Ledecky admitted that one of the reasons the investigation was proving to be so tricky to solve was because it appeared motiveless. I had been asked, back at the start, if Leon had any enemies, and I’d said no. Because with the exception of Alistair Armitage, heckling Leon at literary events, and someone keying his car earlier in the summer – which we’d put down to bored kids – I’d never known anyone to have a go at Leon. I’d also been asked if we had any financial problems, and I’d answered honestly at the time: ‘No, we’re secure. We certainly don’t owe anyone money.’

  That looked as if it was no longer true, and Inspector Ledecky assured me they would investigate this development thoroughly. She didn’t say whether she was still investigating me thoroughly, and I didn’t ask.

  Now I was at Leon’s computer. It was the first and only time I’d switched it on without his knowledge.

  Leon’s computer was sacrosanct, the place where he created his masterpieces, and so no one was allowed near it except him. He wouldn’t even let me clean the thing in case I deleted an essential piece of information, so the screen was covered in finger marks, and there were biscuit crumbs and grains of sugar wedged between the keys.

  Throughout the rest of dinner, I’d been eager to get up to his attic office to have a look at it. Impatient for the guests to leave so that I could do as Oona had suggested and snoop. Also, DI Ledecky had mentioned that they might want to look at Leon’s computer again, in light of the current financial development, so I didn’t know how much time I had.

  Once everyone had left, I quickly checked on the children: Jack had wriggled down the bed and Bonita was curled up on his pillow. I popped her underneath my arm and deposited her outside the door before looking in on Martha. Martha was lying on her back in her crib, arms flung up high on the pillow, as if she’d been told to drop her weapon. I leaned over and stroked her hair. I touched her cheek and, reflexively, she made a slow, sucking action – something she’d continued to do since being weaned. She was still so small. So innocent. What if there was no money now to take care of her and her brother?