The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper

by Phaedra Patrick

  “I’m going to try and find him. Do you still see him?”

  “Only every day.” Jeff rolled his eyes. “He’s such a sweetheart calling in to make sure I’m okay. I had a bit of a heart scare a while back. Mike has taken on the role of my guardian angel, whether I like it not. Every day I get questioned about what I’ve eaten and if I’ve been exercising enough.”

  “He’s a caring young man.”

  “He is that. Heart of gold, that one. He’ll be back on his feet soon. He just needs to stay away from wrong’uns and he’ll be fine. So, what are you going to do with this money, Arthur?”

  “My son lives in Australia. He’s invited me out there.”

  “Well, you should spend that cash. Blow it all on something that makes you happy. You can make memories out of money, but you can’t make money out of memories, unless you’re an antiques dealer. Bear that in mind, Arthur, my old son.”

  * * *

  Next Arthur took the tube across London. He knocked on the door of De Chauffant’s house but there was no reply. The upstairs curtains were closed. He had separated off some money in his pocket for Sebastian.

  A woman appeared on the doorstep next door. She carried a briefcase under one arm and a Chihuahua under the other. “I hope you’re not a bloody journalist,” she snapped, setting both dog and case down on the ground.

  “No. Not at all. I have a friend who lives here.”

  “The writer?”

  “No. Sebastian.”

  The woman jerked her head. “Young lad with a European accent?”

  “Yes. That’s him.”

  “He moved out a couple of weeks back.”

  “Oh.”

  “He had a lucky escape if you ask me. He was arm in arm with an older man. Smartly dressed. They seemed very much together, if you know what I mean.”

  Arthur nodded. He had visions of Sebastian still being locked in servitude. It sounded as if he had met someone else.

  “Better than looking after that narcissistic old bastard,” the woman said.

  “So you knew them both?”

  “The walls are paper thin. I heard their rows often enough. The way that writer shouted at that poor young boy was despicable. He died this morning. It’s not been on the news yet.”

  “De Chauffant? He’s dead?”

  The woman nodded. “A cleaner found him. He was a young thing, terribly shocked. He knocked on my door and we phoned for an ambulance. He vanished as soon as it arrived. So now I’m waiting for the journos and fans to turn up. I thought you were one of them.”

  “No. I’m just Arthur. Arthur Pepper.”

  “Well, Arthur Pepper. It goes to show that you never know what goes on in people’s lives, huh?”

  “No. That’s right. May I trouble you for an envelope and paper?”

  The lady shrugged, reentered her house and then handed over the stationery. “There’s a stamp there, too, if you need it.”

  Arthur sat on De Chauffant’s top step and put four fifty-pound notes in the envelope. He wrote a brief note. “For tiger food, from Arthur Pepper.”

  He wrote out the address for Lord and Lady Graystock and dropped the envelope into a postbox.

  For his next port of call, Arthur headed first to the tube station where he had encountered Mike for the first time. He felt like a seasoned traveler now with his training shoes, backpack and wallet wedged firmly into his pocket. He listened for the lilting sound of flute music but instead all he heard was a guitar. A girl with a face full of piercings sat cross-legged on the ground. Her stripy woolen scarf doubled as a guitar strap. Her rendition of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was hauntingly beautiful. Arthur dropped twenty pounds into her guitar case and then took the bus to Mike’s apartment.

  His friend wasn’t there.

  Arthur stood in the corridor in National Trust statue mode. He listened carefully and looked around him to ensure he was alone. The corridor was empty. He could hear the faint noise of a television from one of the upstairs apartments. It sounded like a game show. His heart pounded as he rang the doorbell on the apartment next door to Mike’s. He waited but no one answered. Good. Just what he hoped for. He pressed the buzzer again for good measure. He crouched and took his box of tricks out of his rucksack. Sifting through it he took out a set of picks. Studying each in turn, he selected the most apt one for the job. He used to be a good locksmith. He jiggled it into the keyhole, listening, turning, feeling. There was a click, then a louder one. He had done it.

  “Hello,” he called gently, sticking his head around the door. He thought back to how scared he had felt the night of his surprise party when he thought intruders were in the house and hoped that no one was home. He wasn’t here to scare or confront. He just wanted to do what was right.

  The layout of the apartment was the mirror image to Mike’s next door. Firstly he pulled a chair and wedged it under the handle. If anyone did come home it would give him time. The flat was on the second floor of the building and with his weak ankle he could hardly risk jumping out. He had to move quickly.

  As he moved around the apartment, he slid out books and opened drawers. He stood on tiptoes to look on top of cupboards and slid his hand under the mattress and felt around. His search yielded a pile of Nuts magazines. Perhaps Mike was wrong when he thought his neighbor had stolen his gold Rolex. If it was here, he would find it.

  He did find suspicious piles of jewelry dotted around. There was a clump of gold chains on the bathroom windowsill, a stack of laptops on the kitchen table. The bedroom yielded an array of designer handbags neatly laid out on the duvet as if ready to be photographed. Then he spotted a small black box in the bedside cabinet. Inside sat a gold Rolex. He took it out and looked on the back. The engraving was as Mike had described: Gerald. He slipped it into his pocket. In the front room he picked up his rucksack, zipped it up and slung it on his back.

  It was then that he heard a noise. A rattle. The sound of keys sliding into a keyhole and then trying to open the lock. Oh, God. His body froze. Only his eyes moved, sliding from one side to the other as he thought what to do.

  “Damn door is stuck.” He heard a man’s voice and another rattle of the lock.

  He looked around him. The chair was still wedged under the door.

  “I can’t get the bleedin’ door open,” he heard.

  There was no response so he figured that the man must be speaking to himself. He heard footsteps moving away and the muffled sound of a doorbell as the man tried a neighbor.

  Arthur swept the chair away and then scanned the apartment. He had to get out of here. But how? He moved swiftly to the window. He saw that the drop must be at least ten feet. He would surely snap his ankles. But there was no other way out. All he could do was jump, hide or leave the way he came. The man’s wardrobe was a tiny Victorian thing. He couldn’t cram himself inside that, and how would he cope if he broke both of his legs from the jump?

  There was only one way left...

  Slowly opening the door, he half expected to come eye to eye with Mike’s neighbor. If he was capable of stealing a watch and all the loot in his apartment, then what else might he do? He opened the door by a few inches and peered out. At the end of the corridor the man stood. He wore a dirty string vest over too-big trousers. His hair was matted and dyed black. If Arthur left now, then the man would surely see him. He cursed himself for even having this madcap idea. He should have left Mike to sort out his own battles. But even so he was glad to have the Rolex stashed in his pocket. He stepped quickly into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him. The click wasn’t loud enough for the man to hear. Arthur’s heart thumped. Badum, badum. It seemed so loud he was surprised that no one else could hear it.

  He walked speedily away in the opposite direction.

  “Hey!” a man’s voice shouted after
him. “Wait.”

  Arthur speeded up. He could see the exit door now, just a few more strides and he would be out of here. “Hey!” The shout came again and he could hear footsteps quickening behind him. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, mate.”

  Arthur turned around. The man handed him the plastic lid of his ice cream box. “I think you dropped this.”

  “Thanks.” He was still carrying his box of tricks. The lock picks lay on the top. “I didn’t realize I dropped it.”

  “No probs.” The man was about to move away. “Are those lock picks?” he said.

  Arthur looked down and nodded. “Yes.” He waited for the punch in the nose, or for his arm to be grabbed as the man marched him to his apartment.

  “Great. I’m locked out of my flat. Can you let me in?”

  Arthur swallowed. “I can try.”

  He made the job look more difficult than it was. He wriggled a pick in the lock. He huffed and puffed. Finally he opened the door. “Fantastic. I’ll make you a brew,” the man said. “To say thanks.”

  Arthur recalled Mike saying the man seemed like a charmer until you knew he was a thief. “That’s fine,” he said. “I really must be off.”

  As he left the flat he was sure he heard the man muttering to himself, asking why the chair wasn’t where he left it.

  He considered writing a note or posting through some money, but he knew how proud Mike was. Instead, he lifted Mike’s letterbox and pushed the watch through. The small thud it made when it landed on the doormat gave him a feeling of satisfaction like no other.

  Journey’s End?

  “FACTOR FORTY?” LUCY SAID, reading off her checklist.

  “Yes,” Arthur replied.

  “Lip balm?”

  “Check.”

  “Does it have an SPF?”

  Arthur picked up the navy blue stick and peered at the small white writing. “Yes. Factor fifteen.”

  “Hmm,” Lucy said. “You could do with a higher one.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll see what I’ve got in my makeup bag.”

  “It’s fine. I have been on holiday before, you know.”

  “Not anywhere as far, or as hot,” Lucy said firmly. “I do not want a phone call telling me that you have sunstroke.”

  Arthur changed the subject. “Did you go to the cinema with Terry?”

  Lucy smiled. “We had a lovely time. We’re going for a meal on Friday, to that new restaurant in town. He absolutely loves kids, too,” she added.

  Arthur had asked Terry to keep an eye on the house. “Frederica likes watering first thing in the morning so she has moisture for the full day.”

  “You’ve told me five times,” Terry said. “And I will switch your lights on every night and close your curtains so that people will think you’re still at home.”

  “Good. And if ever you want me to look out for the tortoise, that’s fine.” Really, he had no idea what he would do with the little fella, but he felt good for offering.

  “Have you packed your sunglasses?” Lucy started again.

  “Yes.”

  “Hold on. Are those the ones you wore when I was little?”

  “I’ve only ever had one pair. They’re quality ones. Tortoiseshell.” He put them on.

  “I suppose they’re quite fashionable again now.”

  Arthur flipped the lid on his suitcase shut. “I have everything. If I’ve forgotten anything I can pick it up at the airport.”

  “You’ve never actually been to an airport before, except to see Dan off.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  They both laughed. It was something Lucy used to say when she was a teenager.

  “Seriously, though, Dad. A month abroad is a long time. You need to be prepared. It’s not going to be like your holidays to Bridlington with Mum.”

  “I hope not.” He laughed. “I want to try new food and culture.”

  “You certainly have changed. I wonder what Mum would say if she could see you now.”

  Arthur picked up his sunglasses. “I think she’d be pleased.” He glanced at his watch. “The taxi is ten minutes late,” he said.

  “You have plenty of time.”

  As another ten minutes ticked past, Arthur began to worry. “I’ll phone them,” Lucy said. She carried the phone into the kitchen. “Right. They said they didn’t have a note of your booking. They’re going to get someone here as soon as possible but they’re short-staffed. It’s rush hour and so it might be an hour.”

  “An hour?”

  “I know. It’s not good enough. We need to get you on the road now. If you get stuck in traffic... Is there anyone you can ask for a lift?”

  “No,” Arthur said, but then he did know someone, a friend he could rely on for life.

  Bernadette and Nathan arrived at the house ten minutes later. “You do know the way, don’t you?’’ He could hear her voice before the doorbell sounded. Briiiiing.

  “How does she make it sound so loud?” Lucy asked.

  Arthur shrugged and opened the door.

  “Don’t worry, Arthur.” Bernadette bustled in. She pressed a carrier bag into his hand. “Some fresh sausage rolls for the journey. Nathan will get you there on time.”

  Nathan nodded. He obediently picked up Arthur’s case and travel bag and put them in the trunk. Then he got into the car and waited. Lucy and Bernadette stood in the hallway. Arthur felt like a schoolboy with two aunts waving him goodbye.

  “I always take some cereal bars,” Bernadette added. “In case I’m not keen on the food when I get there.”

  Arthur gave Lucy a huge hug and a kiss. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

  “You’d better do.” She nodded and then left the house. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Bernadette seemed quite choked up. “I’ll kind of miss you, Arthur Pepper,” she said.

  “You have plenty of other lost causes to attend to.”

  “You were never a lost cause, Arthur. Just one who had lost direction a bit.”

  “Who will I hide from now?”

  They both chuckled and he noticed for the first time how clear her eyes were and that they were a kind of olive green with brown speckles. He loved how she embraced life and held it tight against her ample bosom, never letting it go.

  “You never gave up on me,” he said. “Even though I gave up on myself.” He reached out to hug her. Bernadette hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward. They held each other for a few seconds before pulling away. He would have liked to have held her for longer and the feeling took him by surprise. She fitted against his body well, as if it was a place that she was meant to be. “See you in a month,” he said brightly.

  “Yes,” she said. “You will.”

  Nathan commanded the traffic. He nipped in gaps, took side roads, skipped a couple of traffic lights on amber. All the time he was calm. He hummed and tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the music that was so quiet Arthur could hardly hear it. “I’ll get you there, no worries,” he said. “My friends are well jell of you, y’know. Everyone wishes their granddads were like you, y’know, adventurous and stuff. I sort of told them you were like a surrogate granddad to me, seeing as I don’t have one of my own.”

  It was a role that Arthur was keen to develop further. He had already made a mental note to stock up on icing, flour and those edible shiny balls when he got back, in case Nathan fancied a spot of cake-making together one day.

  He sat back and marveled at this transformation in the young man. He had judged him by his hair, and that was a mere fashion that disguised a sensitive nature. “Is your mum okay now?”

  “Yeah, thank God. I was worried that I was, you know, going to be an eighteen-year-old
orphan. That would have sucked. Thanks for being there for her. It’s good to know that when I go to catering college she has a good friend to look out for her. Scarborough’s not too far away, either.”

  “I’ve been to the college,” Arthur said, smiling about the life-drawing class. “The art department is lovely.”

  “I can cook for you as well as my mum.”

  “That’s great. Though please don’t make me marzipan cake.”

  “Don’t worry. I hate it.”

  “Me, too. I don’t know how to tell your mum that, though.”

  “Me, neither.”

  The airport was as bright as a dentist’s studio and the shops were stuffed with jewelry, teddies, clothes, perfumes, alcohol. He wandered around and bought some marbles and a cuddly elephant and a travel book for himself. He opened the front page and there was a map of the world. England was a tiny smudge. There is so much to see, he thought.

  When his gate number was called he felt as if he had grasshoppers in his stomach. He joined a line of people and held his passport open on the correct page as instructed. He shuffled away along the queue. A small shuttle bus took him to the airplane. He hadn’t imagined it would be so huge—a shiny white beast with a Roman nose and red tail. A friendly lady with a blond bob welcomed him aboard and he found his seat. He sat down and strapped himself in, then absorbed himself in the activity around him—people finding their seats, announcements, a free magazine in a pocket of the seat in front. The lady next to him offered him her spare inflatable neck cushion and a mint candy. The engine roared up. He watched the cabin crew’s emergency instructions intently, then he leaned back in his seat and gripped his armrests as the plane tilted upward.

  He was on his way. On his next journey.

  The Future

  ARTHUR SAT ON the edge of his sun lounger and dug his bare toes deep into the hot white sand. His cream linen trousers were rolled to the knee and his loose-fitting white cotton shirt was half-tucked into his waistband. The heat enveloped him tightly. It made him feel lethargic, slower. Sweat prickled under his arms and formed on his forehead like tiny glass beads. He liked it, this feeling of being in an oven.