‘But they’ll cause quite a stir. I can see my man here is already getting ready to pounce. Don’t worry, we won’t take it personally.’
‘I hope not.’
Even as he voiced the hope, Duncan knew that it was in vain. However hard he tried to separate his personal and professional dealings with the Weedons, Geoffrey made it impossible. It was not Linda’s affair with Derek that had set them at odds, but his own alleged betrayal of their boyhood friendship when he went away to school. For all Geoffrey’s claims that he was just a businessman, Duncan sometimes suspected that his whole career had been driven by a desire for revenge on the social and cultural values that Lancing represented, and from which he felt excluded. A true child of the Eighties, for whom price was the only measure of worth and free enterprise of free choice, he had bought a series of ailing companies and tumbledown properties and, through a mixture of shrewd deals and sharp practice, turned himself into Francombe’s leading entrepreneur. Whenever Duncan condemned a world in which cops no longer chased robbers through the woods and shot them with pointed fingers but, instead, sat in a video arcade and zapped them with heavy weaponry, or families no longer splashed and swam in the Olympic pool but gorged themselves on junk food while watching BMX races in the wheel park, Geoffrey launched a counterattack, accusing him of being out of touch, narrow-minded and, most damning of all, elitist.
‘I look forward to seeing the plans,’ Duncan said.
‘You do that,’ Derek replied. ‘But a word to the wise. This is Geoff’s biggest project to date. He won’t take kindly to interference.’
‘Say goodbye to your father, Jamie,’ Linda said. ‘We’re late picking Rose up from Granny.’
‘I’m hungry,’ Jamie said.
‘Then say goodbye … Look, there’s Ellen.’ Linda waved at Ellen, who walked towards them with Neil.
‘I work with teachers every day,’ Ellen said, after a brief exchange of greetings. ‘But the moment I come here as a parent, I feel like a little girl again.’
‘I’m the same with nuns,’ Linda said, ‘and I’m not even Catholic.’
‘Still, the important thing is that they’re happy with this one,’ Ellen said, stroking Neil’s hair.
‘Leave it out, Mum!’
‘Well done, Neil,’ Duncan said. ‘It can’t be easy moving to a new school where they all know each other. Still, they’re a friendly lot here, aren’t they, Jamie?’
‘You said we were going home, Mum,’ Jamie said, his slighting of Duncan almost as marked as his coldness to Neil. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Of course. Growing boy alert! ’Bye, all.’
‘’Bye, Jamie,’ Duncan called out as his son rushed into the street. ‘See you on Sunday.’
‘You said you’d speak to him!’ Jamie stopped short and turned to Linda.
‘It’s your father’s day,’ she replied.
‘But me and Craig are going cycling.’
‘It’s your father’s day.’
‘Your grandmother’s looking forward to seeing you,’ Duncan said.
‘Oh great!’
Jamie stalked off, followed by Linda, who remonstrated with him, and Derek, who answered his phone.
‘Boys,’ Duncan said, shrugging. ‘Not you,’ he added quickly to Neil, who failed to respond. ‘Shall we go? I’m afraid the car’s a couple of streets away. I can drive it round.’
‘I’m happy to walk,’ Ellen said. ‘How about you, Neil?’
‘Not bothered.’
‘We’re all agreed then,’ Ellen said brightly.
They made their way out of the yard, past the patchy lawn lined with pollarded trees, and into the ill-lit street.
‘Good day?’ Duncan asked, as he steered Ellen clear of a pothole.
‘So-so. The family of one of my clients on the Edmund Hillary estate are being harassed by neighbours because two of the kids have learning difficulties. I spent all morning with their case worker and the Health and Housing team trying to get them moved.’
‘Any luck?’ Duncan asked.
‘In principle. The problem is finding them somewhere safer. But this afternoon was great: my regular Thursday drop-in for kids and their parents. We had a real breakthrough with one little girl who managed to brush her teddy’s teeth.’
‘Big deal,’ Neil said.
‘It was for her. Now I’m shattered. I’d no idea that coming back to work would be so intense. It’s not just that I’m older (which of course I am), but the job’s changed. There’s a whole lot more to fit in: home visits; conferences; reporting … We never used to write up so much. Plus there are the new health regulations. You can’t just chuck toys in a drawer at the end of a session. Everything has to be carefully wiped.’
‘The last thing you need is to go home and start cooking. What do you say to some fish and chips? Do you like fish and chips, Neil?’
‘Everyone likes fish and chips.’
‘But Francombe fish and chips are special. The fish is freshly caught and the chips: well, they’re special too. And the Mr Wu Fish Bar is the best in town.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Ellen said. ‘We must get a portion for Sue.’
‘Andiamo…! Oh, just a sec.’ Duncan stopped to inspect a flyer tacked to a lamp post.
‘Is it an appeal for witnesses?’
‘No, for a missing dog. Sorry, old habits die hard. My father taught me never to pass a lost pet notice without jotting down the details. Nine times out of ten it’ll come to nothing, but you may get a decent human interest story – you know, the little kid who’s lost the kitten she was given for Christmas, or even a bona fide scoop, like when we spotted that several Staffordshire bull terriers had disappeared and helped the police to break up a dog-fighting ring.’
They reached Duncan’s Volvo Estate, which proved as obdurate as ever.
‘How old is your car?’ Neil asked.
‘I bought her in 1992. You do the maths.’
‘You’re kidding me! My dad drives a Porsche Panamera.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Duncan replied, eliciting a grateful look from Ellen. The image of her former husband in his Porsche turned his own struggle to start up Rocinante into precisely the kind of virility test that he found ludicrous in others, the comparison growing more pronounced as he pumped the accelerator so hard that it risked flooding the engine. Finally, the car juddered into action and they headed for the Front.
‘Are there a lot of blind people in Francombe?’ Neil asked.
‘Not that I know of,’ Duncan said. ‘Though there are certainly plenty who don’t read newspapers. Why?’
‘Look!’ Duncan glanced in the mirror to see where Neil was pointing. ‘That’s the second man today I’ve passed walking with his hands out like that.’
‘They’re drunks. You’ll come across many more if you’re in town on a Saturday night – which I don’t recommend. They stretch their arms out in front of them to protect themselves when they fall.’
‘So this is the kind of dump you’ve brought us to,’ Neil said to Ellen.
‘It’s not that bad,’ Duncan said. For all its tawdriness, he retained an affection for his home town. Yet, as they drove along the Front, past the rows of Victorian villas that had been converted into DSS hostels, their once elegant façades as run-down as their residents, he pictured how it must look to a newcomer. Unemployment, bankruptcy and drug use in Francombe were among the highest in Britain. Moreover, the influx of refugees and asylum seekers had created a host of social problems in a town where, previously, the only black faces had been in the minstrel shows on the pier.
‘It’s no wonder the kids lose hope,’ he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘With youth clubs and other facilities cut, they gather out here with bottles of cheap supermarket booze, waiting for trouble. There’s a group of them now.’
‘Stop the car!’ Ellen screamed.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Just pull over, please.’ Duncan did as she asked. ‘Look, Neil!
Isn’t that your sister?’ Duncan followed her gaze. He had not met Sue but if he had identified the right girl, the boy with whom – or rather round whom – she was entwined was Craig. She could not have picked a more inauspicious introduction to the youth of Francombe. Although too loyal to admit it, Linda clearly mistrusted her stepson. She had once let slip that she never left him alone with Rose after he expressed an unhealthy interest in her toilet arrangements. Duncan wondered if he had targeted Sue as the one girl who was ignorant of his reputation. He must have moved fast since he had known her only a few weeks. He winced as he realised that this was as long as he himself had known her mother.
Ellen leapt out of the car and Duncan followed a few steps behind, uncertain whether she would view his presence as an intrusion or as a support.
‘You should be at home,’ she said to the dark-haired girl wearing overemphatic eye make-up and lime-green leggings.
‘Well, I’m not,’ Sue said, emphasising her defiance by swigging from a bottle.
‘Is that beer?’ Ellen asked.
‘No, it’s Fanta,’ Sue replied, to general mirth.
‘Get in the car at once, please.’
‘I’m with my friends, Mum!’
‘You were supposed to be doing your homework.’
‘I’m with my friends!’ She took another swig from the bottle and swung on the balustrade.
‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’
‘Look who’s talking!’
As mother and daughter glared at one another, Craig greeted Duncan. ‘Evening, Mr N.’
‘You two know each other?’ Ellen asked.
‘Craig’s Jamie’s stepbrother; Linda’s stepson; Rose’s half-brother.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not as pervy as it sounds,’ Craig said, grinning.
‘Then perhaps you’ll tell my daughter to come home since she’s taking no notice of me.’
‘Mum! I can make my own decisions.’
‘You heard the little lady,’ Craig said to Ellen. ‘No can do.’
‘I’m sixteen. Old enough to appear in porn.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t think that’s true, actually,’ Duncan interposed.
‘Who are you?’ Sue asked.
‘He’s Mr N. Aren’t you, Mr N?’
‘What porn?’ Ellen asked, her voice ringing with alarm.
‘I didn’t say I’d done it. See what she thinks of me!’ Sue appealed to her friends who, bored with the altercation, were staring out to sea. ‘What kind of sicko are you?’
Ellen stood stock still, as if wondering how she had come to be the one under attack. ‘Well, now you’re here, you may as well enjoy it,’ she said, sounding strained. ‘Just so long as you promise to be back by ten and not to drink any more alcohol.’
‘Whatever,’ Sue said and, swaying perilously on the rail, flung her arms round a startled Craig.
Duncan and Ellen returned to the car, where Neil was slumped in the back seat.
‘Would you drive us straight home, please,’ Ellen said, shaking.
‘What about the fish and chips?’ Neil asked.
‘You didn’t really want them.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘Another time. We’ll have a pizza at home.’
‘Just great!’ Neil said, kicking the back of Duncan’s seat.
‘Don’t worry,’ Duncan said to Ellen. ‘She’ll be fine.’
‘How can you be sure? Did you see her clothes? I didn’t buy them. Where did she get the money? Has she said anything to you?’ She turned to face Neil.
‘She never tells me anything. She hates me. They all do.’
‘If your sister’s in trouble, I’m relying on you to let me know. You’re the man of the house now.’ Duncan questioned the wisdom of placing such a burden on a thirteen-year-old boy but he knew better than to interfere.
‘I don’t want to be. It’s supposed to be Dad.’
‘You know that’s not possible.’
‘It’s your fault.’
‘How? I didn’t commit a multimillion-pound fraud.’
‘He did it for you. So you’d have money to buy things. You wanted a new kitchen.’
‘Maybe, but only when I thought he’d earned it. If I’d had my way, I’d have torn out every piece of granite.’
‘You’re a bitch!’
‘You’ve no right to speak to your mother like that,’ Duncan said, unable to hold back any longer.
‘And you’ve no right to speak to me at all. You’re not my father. Just because you’re fucking her.’
He stumbled over the word as if it were as hard for him to say as for them to hear. After a shocked silence, Ellen asked him where he had learnt to talk like that and ordered him to apologise to Duncan. Duncan, insisting that no apology was needed, experienced a welter of emotions: sympathy for Ellen and her two disturbed children; fear that Neil’s misreading of their relationship would seal its fate; doubt that he could help with her adolescent son given his problems with his own.
No sooner had they turned into Ellen’s drive than Neil flung open the car door, ran into the house and up the stairs.
‘Come in,’ Ellen said wearily, as she led him into a sitting room dominated by a biscuit-coloured sofa designed for a far larger space. ‘Can I get you anything? A glass of wine?’
‘If it’s no trouble.’
‘There’s a bottle open in the fridge.’
They were distracted by heavy footfall overhead. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll run out of steam. He’s not as strong as his rage.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Other than turning back the clock? I won’t be a moment.’
As she went into the kitchen, Duncan surveyed the room, trying to glean as much about her as he could. He glanced at the brass firedogs and antique bellows beside the log effect fire, the pewter mugs and Capodimonte figurines lining the windowsill, and the illustrated books in the alcoves, as decorative as the knick-knacks that held them in place, before resting his gaze on the framed Magritte exhibition posters from Vienna and New York, intrigued to know whether she had bought them there or here.
‘Chateau Sainsbury, I’m afraid,’ Ellen said, returning with two glasses.
‘Fine by me. I’m the opposite of a connoisseur. I was traumatised by my father who regularly sent wine back, even at my great-aunt’s funeral.’
‘I swore to myself that when I had kids, I’d do things differently from my mother. But they’ve turned against me just the same,’ Ellen said, to the echo of Neil’s clomping. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that.’
‘Don’t worry. She’ll be home soon. A sore head in the morning should teach her a valuable lesson.’
‘I meant Neil. Such ugliness.’
‘The sad thing is that it’s not even true,’ Duncan said warily.
‘That’s the story of my life.’
‘Stories change. New chapters and so forth.’
‘Well, we have moved to Francombe.’
‘That’s just a change of setting; I was referring to characters. The tall, sandy-haired divorcee, slightly frayed at the edges, who’s been introduced as the love interest. Ring any bells?’
‘It might if it weren’t for the “frayed”. He seems in remarkably good shape to me.’
‘Thank you.’ Duncan felt dizzy. ‘I assure you that the feeling’s mutual.’
‘Even so, I’d hate to rush things. Believe me, it has nothing to do with Neil. We’ve known each other such a short time. Are you sure we’re ready?’
‘I’m one hundred per cent sure, but I’m sure enough to wait. Take as much time as you need. Well, as long as there’s still an “r” in the month.’
‘We have to be honest with everyone: Linda … the kids. After Matthew, I couldn’t bear to do anything furtive.’
‘What’s furtive?’ He moved towards her. ‘The lights are on; the curtains are open.’ He put his arms on her shoulders and, giving her every chance to break away, kisse
d her full on the lips. He felt her whole body tremble before she relaxed into the embrace. After a while he withdrew and, holding her face in his hands, gazed deeply into her eyes. All at once they both burst into laughter, which he silenced with a second, more confident kiss.
‘Where’s my pizza?’ Neil’s voice rang through the house, forcing them apart.
‘Duty calls,’ Ellen said.
‘I know the feeling. Do you want me to leave?’
‘Yes … no … yes … no. Why not stay for some pizza?’
‘Do you have enough?’
‘It’s a twenty incher. Don’t laugh!’
Four
Charlie is Our Darling
by Brian Gannon
Thursday, 31 October 2013
Charlie Lyndon wants to be cloned. While there is currently no risk of one of the country’s most unique talents being duplicated, the BAFTA award-winning actress claims that it needs at least two of her to cope with her hectic schedule.
‘Although with my luck,’ the pint-sized star says with a mischievous twinkle, ‘she’d turn out to be a younger, prettier, more talented and certainly taller version of yours truly and end up putting me out of work.’
Lyndon, known to millions as the Reverend Penny Herring in the BBC sitcom, The Vicar’s Husband, is appearing at the Crystal Room of the Metropole Hotel on Sunday, 3 November in Dear Mistress, her highly acclaimed one-woman show about Dr Johnson’s close friend, Hester Thrale.
I met Lyndon at her elegant Georgian home in London’s fashionable Spitalfields. She spoke of her pleasure at returning to Francombe, which she came to know in the mid 1980s, and her sadness at the recent decline in the town’s fortunes. ‘That’s why I’m happy to give this performance in aid of the Francombe Pier Trust.
‘I fell in love with the raffishness: the salty tang in the air; the peeling façades – and that’s just the buildings; the day trippers out for a taste of candyfloss and how’s your father,’ she says with her trademark chortle. ‘I suppose the rot set in with all the package holidays to Spain. But then I should know about that,’ she adds, referring to one of her rare flops, in ITV’s Costa Packet.
Lyndon, who is currently filming the role of Mrs Noah for the BBC’s updated Genesis series, relishes the chance to return to Mrs Thrale in a play that she co-wrote with The Vicar’s Husband mastermind, Angus Carmichael, and has performed in cities across the globe.
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