“We’re on our way.”
Kath replaced the handset and yanked at her pyjama top. She swiped her jeans from the floor, pulling them over her underwear without bothering to change them. As they dressed, the silence between them was drowned out by their own private thoughts. Each of them knew what the other would be thinking – struggling to come to terms with how rapidly their son had declined – since he left school it seemed.
“How much is bail money, James?” Kath whispered. She thought if she couldn’t hear the words it would be like she had never said them.
He stopped tying his laces and looked up. “I’ve no idea, love. I’ve never had to bail anyone out before.” He continued the intricate job of tying a double knot in his black fine-grain leather shoes which he normally kept for best. But he wanted to make a good impression at the station. Show them that as parents they were responsible and devoted to the best interests of their son. He wasn’t from a socially deprived or broken home. He came from a loving enviroment where all four of them mattered in equal measures.
“I never thought I’d be bailing one of my own kids out, Kath.” His voice broke and Kath clutched his shoulder.
“It’s maybe just a phase, Jim,” she told him unconvincingly. “He’ll grow out of it.”
The taxi pulled up outside Cottley Police station. The driver asked no questions. He could see by the ghostly transparency of his passengers that things weren’t good.
He pulled away into the darkness.
Kath stood at the foot of the steps which led to the entrance of the station. Her reluctance to climb them grew stronger by the minute. She was mortified. How had it come to this?
“Come on, love. I want to get him home.”
“Me too.” She sniffed. “But at the same time I want to kill him.”
“Me too.”
Kath took the first step, followed by the second until she was at the top. Her usually strong, muscular legs were floppy and weak.
“Only he can’t come home, Jim, he doesn’t live with us any more. Remember?”
James saw the pain in her eyes. He wanted to protect her so much from this but he couldn’t. He also wanted to shake his son for what he was putting his mother through.
“It’s a short-term solution, love. He’ll be back on the straight and narrow before we know it and home with us, where he belongs.”
Inside, the station was remarkably busy. A number of drunk and disorderly cases had just been brought in. Some were singing in jovial chant, others turned the air electric blue with their foul mouths and abusive language aimed directly at the officers.
“Oi, Pig, I need a drink!” barked an unsightly male character with trousers stained at the crotch and what looked to be dried-in vomit on the chest of his dirty fleece.
He stared at the new arrivals, spitting at the floor and a wad of phlegm landed inches from Kath.
James grabbed his wife’s hand tightly. He headed towards the reception desk, waiting impatiently for the uniformed officer to complete his paperwork and lift his head.
“Can I help you?” he asked eventually, pushing his paperwork to one side, evidently stressed.
James cleared his throat. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
“Our son, he was brought here.” His face was flushed with disgrace. “We got a call from –”
“Name?”
“Jason Hamilton.”
“Take a seat, please.”
James spun around. The black plastic seats were taken up by the overflow of recent arrivals. One empty seat remained, covered in a liquid which he imagined to be urine.
“We’ll stand, thanks.”
They huddled together in a far corner of the room. They didn’t belong here – their son didn’t either.
“This place is horrible,” Kath whispered in his ear, her hand still clutching his. “Imagine what it’s like in prison, Jim.”
Horror bled through James’ veins. Prison was where his youngest son would end up if he didn’t turn his life around and fast, but it would be over his dead body, he swore. No son of his would ever be behind bars.
Kath wondered at the illicit statement which was read out by Roni so matter-of-factly. She was still convinced the women might think it was she who was seeking advice through the persona of her son. But it wasn’t her and she was so intrigued as to which of them it could be. None of them was a criminal. Then again, her son wasn’t either.
Helena went to speak to Sophie, but hesitated. Again. She had done this all morning and she couldn’t quite bring herself to confess the scurrilous texts she was receiving and with increased frequency from Nathan. The first batch she had ignored – been downright rude and dismissive in response to them – but the last couple of messages had carried a threatening undertone. Worse, a violent undertone, and Helena cursed the day she ever confided in him about Sophie.
At the time it seemed perfectly normal to share her burden, they were going to be together forever, start a family. It just hadn’t worked out that way – a metaphor for her own life.
Sophie strutted into the living room to be greeted by the May sun whose rays had appeared only in the past five minutes. She squinted as she looked out of the open French doors at the activities down below.
“The sun always shines on the righteous,” she told Helena smugly. “Didn’t I tell you it would be a perfect day for it?”
Helena shook her head at her best friend’s cockiness.
“What are you all of a sudden? The Met Office?”
“A woman of many talents is what I am. A superhero who can also forecast the weather. Michael Fish combined with Linda Carter,” Sophie giggled. “Yep, that’s what I am . . . couldn’t have put it better myself!”
“Hhm. Do your many talents cover illicit subjects, might I ask?” Helena was jesting with her but Sophie didn’t see the humour.
“No. You may not ask. That’s not fair, Hel. Rules are rules. Obey them or you’re out.”
Sophie stepped outside, plonking herself down on a chrome patio chair. She strapped her shoes around her slender, permanently hair-free ankles.
“I was only joking, Soph. Lighten up.”
“You know what I’m like over that constitution. It’s there because we’re governed by it and we’ve all signed it, honouring our committment to the club. Anyway, that’s my life’s work, that document, and I’m still proud of it.” She laughed at her own admission. “I never even wrote an essay at school which was as good as that constitution! I’m damn well proud of it.”
“Quite right. Sorry, Soph. My lips are sealed . . . but my thoughts aren’t!” Helena chortled.
Sophie slid her other foot into the shoe’s excessively high instep. She froze as she recalled the time – not so long ago – where she herself had broken the rules so blatently, noting how quickly she had forgiven herself for it. But it wasn’t for her own sake – she offered herself a get-out clause – it was for a friend in need and Sophie had to make her friend see that her life was for the taking and not just for giving and she could not regret her actions, contradictory as they were to everything she believed the club should be about. She had never seen Jude so happy.
“What’s up?”
Sophie continued to dress her foot, snapping quickly from her guilty regression.
“Nothing. Just thinking about Jude and how different she is since she started work. She doesn’t say much but you can see it in her eyes. ‘Your eyes are the window to your soul,’ my gran used to say and she’s right. I can see right through Jude if I look into her eyes for long enough. They tell the truth and nothing but.”
Helena turned away. Her eyes blinked rapidly. She had never thought of Sophie being the kind of person who set about noticing things like that. Deep things. Sophie had always appeared to take life in her stride and only really notice what was in front of her – when it came to people that was. When it came to work she could notice a spec of dust from three hundred yards away and smell a rat in a different continent.
&nb
sp; “Ready?” Sophie called out.
“Yes, ready . . . Sophie?”
“What?”
Helena looked sheepish.
“You’re not really going out in that skirt, are you? Don’t you think it’s a little short?”
Sophie roared with laughter.
“I expect those comments from frigid Roni, not from you. What’s got into you?”
“It’s just that all the husbands will be staring at you the whole day – it might make the wives feel uncomfortable.”
Sophie’s grin turned to stone in a flash.
“Well, isn’t that just their problem and not mine. I’m not hiding my legs just because there happen to be a load of men on board who think with nothing but their dicks, Hel. I am what I am and they can fuck off if they don’t like it.”
Helena picked up her bag, muttering under her breath. “Oh, they’ll like it alright.”
But she already knew that Sophie would know that and it was that which made her angry.
‘One of your husbands is shagging someone around this table.’
I wonder who that could be, she thought with an unusual bitchiness which reared itself after her unfair scolding.
Sophie couldn’t keep herself covered up even for the sake of her friends. She had to dress to impress as always even if the occasion didn’t suit. Helena wondered if her aggravation was because she rarely got a look in when it came to attention – when she was with Sophie at least – but at the moment Helena knew she was receiving more than her fair share of male attention delivered through speedy glances or the turn of a head. This was the only time that Helena had ever got cross with her best friend. What was the harm in dressing in a pair of jeans or long trousers once a year? Especially on a boat. Everybody had to conform sometimes.
But then Helena remembered what she had done – on more than one occasion now – which was far worse than the flash of a leg or the exposed flesh of a firm cleavage. Her actions were something she would have to live with forever. But if she played her cards right and her numbers came in, she would be able to put it right. It would all be fine.
The Trophy bobbed merrily, basking in glorious splendour.
Clive and Tom were on deck, wiping down the white-leather seats and making sure the yacht was shipshape before it was opened to their nearest and dearest.
Dozens of bottles of champagne filled the fridge in the eight-berth cabin below and the overflow was placed upright in an electric cool-box which Clive had running off the generator. The caterers would be coming shortly with the finger buffet and home-made canapés which would be served for lunch and throughout the day and Clive knew they – as a family – would impress their friends once again.
Fond as he was of material belongings, his big house, expensive car and gadgets of every description, Clive loved opening up his home and the yacht to share his wealth in a bid for the ultimate enjoyment. His own enjoyment firstly. He’d wondered many a time why Pete didn’t share his views. The Tudors was a work of art, quite magnificent, but it wasn’t lived in. Probably his wife’s influence, he had surmised long ago.
Clive’s stomach sank as he recalled his argument with Jude. For the first night in many he had slept as peacefully as a baby because he now knew that Jude wasn’t having an affair but he was still angry that she had lied to him and because of it he wasn’t giving in easily. She created the mess she was in and she would have to be big and ugly enough to fix it. Sometimes, he felt, Jude could be naive. So naive that she didn’t see the alluring way in which John was looking at her when he could see it clear as day from across the street. She was better off away from work and from the letches who might cross her path. Jude had made Clive feel nervous for the first time in their married life.
Kath and James were dressed and ready to leave for the big day but they couldn’t go without trying to understand what had gone on the night before. They were exhausted but there were things that had to be said.
In the taxi home Jason had said nothing. Kath had sent him straight to his old bedroom to sleep on it. They would say all that needed to be said in the morning. As much as they were relieved to have their son home, they had treated him like he was a petty criminal, behaving aloof and standoffish towards him. He wasn’t going to get an easy ride this time.
“Why did you do it, Jason?” Kath was furious with her son but she refused to let go of his hand. Her grip carried a mixture of love, animosity and anguish and she couldn’t quite work out which one was which.
“I was only keeping a lookout, Mum, I swear to God!” he implored. “The guys told me to keep dixie . . . said they were breaking in to steal the cricket bats for a bit of fun . . . they said they were going to hide them under the tree next to the clubhouse.”
It was clear that he felt stupid and used.
“I didn’t know they were gonna rob the place, Mum, honestly . . . I swear.”
James paced the newly fitted carpet. His feet squashed down on the flower-heads and twisted-leave patterns and even with his short legs he managed only seven steps before he reached the other side of the room. Kath said it was small, he had always found it cosy but today it closed in on him.
“The other blokes didn’t tell the same story as you though, Jason . . . and they’re supposed to be your friends? They said it was your idea to rob the place . . . so who’s telling the truth?” James scoffed. “If it’s you, son, and you are telling the truth then it’s gonna be your own stupidity that’ll take you down. You weren’t brought up to be a criminal, Jason!”
Jason kept his head down through the entire episode. He knew he had let his parents down big-time. Yes, he had taken from them but it was a bit of money here and there. That aside, he wasn’t a criminal. He just didn’t quite know who he was. What he was.
“There won’t be a next time.”
Their heads shot in Kath’s direction. She dried her eyes and dropped her grip on Jason’s hand. ‘Perhaps a spell inside might be the making of him.’ Kath recalled how Sophie dared herself to be outspoken, the sign of a true friend. ‘I’m not saying it won’t be the hardest decision of your life.’ But what did Sophie know about losing someone you loved with all your heart? A piece of her would die if Jason ever went inside. Kath knew that something had to be done to frighten her son into taking the straight and narrow. ‘It might just be the making of him,’ Sophie had told her earnestly.
Once again Sophie was right. She was impartial to the situation and her words were harsh but carried the hallmarks of selfless wisdom.
Kath’s tone was chilled and both Jason and James froze as her coldness filled the air with arctic temperatures. “Next time, Jason, you’re on your own and there will be no bail out. You’ll be left inside to suffer until you’ve served your time and learned your lesson. Do you understand?”
She wasn’t Elizabeth, disowning her son for no apparent reason than his choice of female companion. She was a loving, devoted mother who was learning that she had to be cruel to be kind. She would never be cruel for cruelty’s sake but it was time for the cruel love to kick in.
“Ships ahoy!” they yelled at Tom as he unravelled the bowline, having already freed the stern-line seconds earlier.
Clive reversed the yacht from its berth, pushing back slowly until he had sufficient room to turn and motor forwards.
The first of many pops exploded.
Tom held on to the mast rig as The Trophy slowly drifted out, away from its home where it had been static for many months. It creaked with joy as it broke free from confinement.
Anna clapped her hands gleefully. This was her favourite day of the year and if Sophie Kane was there she would be a happy girl for the rest of it. Sophie reminded Anna of her Barbie dolls, only Sophie Kane was a real-life Barbie doll and Anna could think of nothing but playing with her all day.
“Bon voyage!” she yelled out.
“We’re hardly emigrating, Anna.” Tom smirked at his sister.
Clive steered The Trophy around a smaller y
acht which was homeward bound. Giving it a wide berth, he veered to starboard, heading towards a rocky opening that was marked by two huge stone boulders which penetrated deep into the bed of the sea. Once he passed this point the rules would be different, the speed could pick up and they could officially start the party without disturbing those relaxing in the port, choosing instead the safety of the harbour.
They wouldn’t be in the open sea – he didn’t plan to go that far – but they would be far from the exclusive clubhouse where they could make as much noise as they wished and take the speed up to six knots before shutting off the engine, simply drifting until either the time dictated or until the weather assigned otherwise.
Another loud pop exploded, firing a cork high above. It elevated like a blasting rocket, reaching high on the mast.
Will looked up, tracking its movement. He stepped back in an attempt to catch it as it landed, trying to gauge its course and guarding his own step at the same time to avoid an accident. There were too many handbags on board today for his liking, although he liked the owner of one of them particularly. Well, two of them to be precise but he had always preferred blondes. So his ex-wives would say.
The cork plopped as it hit the water and Will raced towards the longest bench on board the yacht and dropped to his knees.
“Excuse me,” he spoke quickly, pretending not to have seen up Sophie’s miniscule skirt. Black underwear. His favourite. He grabbed a large netted pole which was carefully hooked beneath the custom-made white-leather seats and, racing to starboard, hung over slightly scooping up the cork and swinging the net back on board. His first catch of the day. He hoped it would not be his last.
“Aah!”
Roni let out a squeal as water from the net splashed over her, but Will didn’t care. There were fines for littering and he left those undesirable marine behaviours for other people. Much as the Yacht Club was filled with wealthy, affluent types, there were many too who had inherited money and with that money came no class. Those people had no etiquette, no idea how to handle themselves in the swanky world of yachtsmanship. Will could suss them a mile off. He had witnessed beer cans floating in the water, drunken men urinating overboard and one couple having sex on the deck in broad daylight while families with children passed by. He had heard later they were high on cocaine.
Some Like it Hot Page 21
