‘Neither were you except in the court of Henry.’
‘Not quite.’
‘But the hearing was closed; how did your name leak out?’
‘Your pals, the Weedons, I presume, or else the parents of the other children. The general reaction hasn’t been too hostile. A few raised eyebrows and lowered glances. A couple of poison pen letters and defamatory posts on my Facebook wall.’
‘Are you on Facebook?’
‘Not any more. Most of my congregation seem to be either unconcerned or oblivious, although one old dear, totally bewildered by dogging, told me that she didn’t mind what I got up to myself but I had no right to involve Brandy. On the plus side I’ve received support from the most unlikely people, including Benjamin Kabumba, pastor of the Switherton Baptists, who quoted a proverb he’d learnt in Uganda: “You don’t judge the sweetness of a chicken by the dirt on its feathers.” I expect it loses something in translation.’
‘So things are looking up?’
‘Up to a point. Last night I dreamt I was in hell. I say hell but it bore a distinct resemblance to the Pudsey Road estate, except that the houses were all in flames and the estate agents were devils straight out of a medieval woodcut. One, who was showing me round, said that he was sorry but every property was taken. “Don’t worry,” I replied, greatly relieved, “I have an appointment to view some in heaven.” The next moment we passed a house with a large For Sale sign on the gate. “Look,” he said. “This one will suit you perfectly.” I turned away to find For Sale had been replaced by Sold and I was being sucked down the path into the flames.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I woke up in a pool of sweat.’
‘Sounds nasty,’ Alison said as she joined them. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but may I steal my brother?’
‘Of course,’ Henry said, moving away.
‘Are the musicians all set?’ Alison asked.
‘Should be,’ Duncan replied. ‘Last time I checked, they were having tea. I’ll pop back to the dining room.’
‘It’s the most generous, inspired present. I only hope Mother appreciates it.’
‘Me too. It might go some way towards absolving me for being the world’s oldest “boomerang kid”.’
‘She loves having you here; she told me.’
‘In principle, yes, but not when I put the plates back in the wrong place or grill when I should fry (or vice versa) or turn off the radiators in rooms we don’t use or leave her to watch TV on her own or … you get the picture. The fact is, of course, that she wants me here but as an obedient little boy, not a middle-aged man with a will – or, at any rate, a mind – of his own.’
‘If it’s not working out, you don’t have to stay.’
‘The sad truth is that I do. There’s nowhere else I can afford, at least not until I’ve sorted out my life. And at the rate I’m going … Besides she needs someone with her. She grows dottier by the hour: poring over catalogues; ordering things with the sole intention of sending them back – last week it was a foot massager. The other day I came home to find a fortune teller in the kitchen. What was that all about?’
‘There are other possibilities, for her if not for you. Sheltered housing. A private home – I’m not talking Castlemaine. A paid companion. You mustn’t throw your life away.’
‘You might have thought of that twenty-odd years ago when I still had a chance to do something with it.’ Alison looked pained. ‘I’m sorry. That was mean.’
‘We can’t change the past, Duncan. That’s why I’m trying to help now. You always wanted to write. What’s to stop you?’
‘Talent, I suspect. What was once an ambition now feels like a threat. Shut up, Duncan! This is a celebration. People are looking at us and wondering what’s wrong.’
‘It’s bound to take time to get back on your feet. You put your soul into that paper.’
‘And gave my heart to Ellen. All in all if you cut me open you wouldn’t find much inside.’
‘I wish I’d met her. I was hoping to have the chance today.’
‘I was hoping to marry her in the spring.’
‘You really loved her?’
‘Yes. I never expected it would happen to me again. Not just because I’m forty-eight and set in my ways, but I’ve kept such a tight rein on my emotions that it’s hard for a single one to slip out.’
‘And there’s no chance of you patching things up?’
‘None at all. I thought one benefit of growing older was that life stopped being about either/or. Not, apparently, when it comes to “Duncan or Neil?”. I miss her so much: I miss her smile and her charm, her integrity and her sparkle and her seriousness and, yes, the sex.’
‘To some of us a break from that would be a relief. No more lying back and counting the cracks in the ceiling.’
‘You still make love with the light on?’ he asked, relishing an intimacy with his sister that he had not known for thirty years.
‘It’s a turn of phrase, you twit!’
‘You sound like Mother. Don’t you remember: “The two great delusions of modern life are that men should enjoy work and women should enjoy sex”?’
‘Stop it! You’ll make me spill my drink.’
Duncan glanced over at Malcolm surreptitiously picking his teeth and wondered if he gave the impression of always having somewhere better to be even when he was in bed. ‘There must be parts of it that excite you.’
‘The post-coital cigarette.’
‘But you don’t smoke.’
‘And your point is?’
He was framing a reply when Jamie came up to them. ‘I’ve been to the kitchen,’ he said.
‘Is there a problem?’ Duncan asked.
‘Since when has Granny been a ballet fan?’
‘What? Oh, I see. There was a mix-up at the cake shop. The assistant thought I ordered Happy Birthday Adele, Seven instead of Seventy-Five. She claims I agreed to a ballet shoes design but she had such a thick accent I didn’t like to ask her to repeat anything. Still, no harm done! They were able to add the extra letters, even if it was a squeeze.’
‘Can’t you ever do anything right?’ Jamie asked.
‘That’s no way to talk to your father, Jamie,’ Alison said gently.
‘You see him a couple of times a year,’ Jamie replied. ‘You don’t know what it’s like growing up with him.’
‘You forget I grew up with him in this very house.’
‘Yeah, but you were older.’
‘I’m sorry if that’s how you feel,’ Duncan said. ‘I don’t know what more I can do.’
‘Stay away from pond life like Neil Nugent. I told you he was a psycho.’
‘You were right and I should have listened. But think about what you’ve just said. If Neil’s sick, then he needs our help.’
‘He’s the reason people called me “Paedo”. I swear I’ll kill him if he ever comes back to school.’
‘Then we can thank our lucky stars that he won’t.’
‘Let me tell you a story about your father,’ Alison said. ‘I haven’t always given him the credit he deserves and I’m sorry. But it’s far more important that you do.’
‘What story?’
‘Something that happened to him at school.’
‘I must make sure the musicians have everything they need,’ Duncan said.
‘No, wait! You should hear it too,’ Alison said. ‘There was a boy in his class who had a collection of birds’ eggs – rare ones he’d built up over the years – which three older boys wantonly smashed.’
‘Hang about! Didn’t you tell me this already?’ Jamie asked Duncan.
‘Yes.’ Duncan turned to Alison. ‘So there’s no need to bore him again.’
‘I’d like to bet he didn’t tell you what happened next. Your dad went in to breakfast the following morning with six eggs – ordinary hen’s eggs he’d pinched from the kitchens. In front of the entire school he walked up to each of the thugs in turn and cracked them open on
their heads.’
‘You told me you felt ashamed because you did nothing,’ Jamie said to Duncan. ‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want to set you a bad example.’
‘What’s bad about it?’
‘The story didn’t end there. I was beaten up by the boys and beaten by the headmaster, who wrote to my parents saying that I was a disgrace to the school and the next time I stepped out of line I’d be thrown out.’
‘But why did you do it? Didn’t you say you disliked the guy?’
‘I disliked bullies even more. Anyway, it was a long time ago. I don’t know why your aunt’s dug it up now.’
‘Because it’s the code you’ve lived by ever since and the way you ran your paper. I don’t know if it’s the same today, Jamie, but when I was your age we were constantly being told by teachers, vicars, Guide leaders and the like that the key to behaving well was to follow your conscience. Your father is the only person I know who does that without tinkering with it first.’
‘Basta!’ Duncan said. ‘This is meant to be Adele’s day. Save the tributes till I’m seventy-five.’
He hurried into the dining room where the table, gleamingly polished and groaning with food, had been pushed against the end wall, beneath the portraits of his father and grandfather from the Mercury boardroom. Fourteen chairs were set out in rows opposite the music stands for the Gardner Quartet, a group of young graduates from Sussex University who had been steadily building up a reputation across the South-East. Until now the only twentieth-century piece in a repertoire founded on Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert and Brahms had been Samuel Barber’s Serenade. Duncan, however, had commissioned them to play Stafford Lyttleton’s String Quartet No. 2, Opus 11 as a birthday offering for his mother.
Having managed to keep their presence secret not just from his mother but from anyone who might have spoilt the surprise, he confirmed with their leader, Celia, that they were ready to start before summoning the guests from the sitting room.
‘Goody goody, food!’ Enid Marshall said, with an eagerness that betrayed her circumstances.
‘Any moment,’ Duncan said. ‘First, we’re going to enjoy some music. Would you all please take a seat. Not you, Tim, or you, Jamie. I’m afraid the three grandsons will have to squat on the floor but there’s room for everybody else.’
‘What is this, darling?’ Adele asked, looking apprehensive.
‘It’s my birthday present to you, Mother. So you take the place of honour. Pretend you’re Marie Antoinette. Yes, that’s right, Mrs Lightwood, you sit next to her,’ he said, mildly piqued that she had not left the chair free for Alison or himself. ‘Is everyone comfortable? Good. Chris!’ he yelled into the kitchen. ‘Whatever you’re doing can wait. You and Paul should come and listen to the music … Now, as most of you know, my mother’s father was a brilliant composer. Sadly, we haven’t had much opportunity to hear his work in recent years. So I’m thrilled that the wonderful Gardner Quartet are here to play us his Second String Quartet in E minor. Please welcome the Gardner Quartet.’
Leading the applause, he drew people’s attention to the door, but instead of the musicians Paul and Chris walked in; the former looking sheepish, the latter bobbing a curtsey as they headed for the two empty chairs in the back row. Moments later, the musicians filed in without fuss, took their seats and began to play. Duncan listened intently as a moody viola solo opened the unfamiliar piece before the violins launched into the traditional folk melody of ‘The Cherry Tree Carol’, which was repeated in a series of increasingly intricate variations. The second movement was lighter, freer and faster, beginning with a duet between the two violins, which was taken up by the cello and woven into a rich contrapuntal pattern. The third movement was more sombre, with the first violin’s plaintive theme picked up by the other instruments, interrupted by a flurry of discords and brought to a sudden, disconcerting end. The final movement reprised the ‘Cherry Tree’ motif, initiated by the cello and echoed by the rest of the instruments, culminating in a lyrical coda.
With Jamie leaning against his legs, Duncan was palpably aware of his gradual surrender to his great-grandfather’s music, although he was under no illusions that the head resting on his knees did so for anything other than support. He turned expectantly to his mother but, seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks, wondered whether he would have done better to have saved the performance for a less emotionally charged day. His mind was eased when no sooner had he stood up to congratulate the musicians than she pre-empted him.
‘Thank you. Thank you all so much,’ she said. ‘You don’t – you can’t – know what it means to me to hear my father’s music played again in my house and played so beautifully. You’ve shown that it will live. Even if it’s heard only once in a hundred years it will live.’
‘It’s been a voyage of discovery for us,’ Celia said. ‘We’re keen to include it in our repertoire. Plus there’s a new record label based in Brighton that wants us to bring out a CD of English rarities. All things being equal and if you approve, we’d like to record it.’
‘Oh dear,’ Adele said, sinking heavily into her seat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Celia said. ‘Have I said the wrong thing?’
‘Far from it,’ Duncan replied, ‘you couldn’t have said anything better.’
‘Duncan? Where’s Duncan?’ Adele asked frantically.
‘Here, Mother, at the end of the row,’ he said, amused that even now she should switch so freely from genuine feeling to play-acting.
‘Thank you so much, darling,’ she said. ‘It’s the most beautiful present I’ve ever been given.’
Duncan glanced at Alison, who beamed at him. ‘Right, let’s move the chairs out of the way,’ he said, ‘and tuck into Chris’s delicious feast.’
‘The musicians first! They’re the ones who’ve been working,’ Adele said, smiling at the quartet, who looked grateful for their elevation from performers to guests.
As the musicians stood up to put away their instruments and the audience to put back the chairs, Chris moved forward. ‘Not so fast! Before you all smear food on your faces or down your frocks –’
‘What does he mean?’ Lillian Faulkes asked crossly.
‘I’ve been instructed to take some photos.’
‘Oh no,’ Adele said. ‘I’ve changed my mind. My eyes are all puffy. I must look a fright.’
‘You’re gorgeous! Now don’t shilly-shally or the lettuce will go limp. If you ladies would sit on the front row, with the birthday girl in the middle. Then if you, Vicar, and you, Mr Neville, and you …’ He looked at Alison. ‘Silly of me but I don’t know your name.’
‘Neville-Bruce.’
‘Mr and Mrs Neville-Bruce,’ Chris said, sounding flustered by the double barrel, ‘and Paul – yes, you too – could stand behind them.’ Duncan took his allotted place between Alison and Henry. ‘Then the three grandsons and the musicians – yes, don’t think you’re going to escape – can crouch or kneel on the floor in front.’ As Tim, Graham and the quartet moved into position, Jamie hung back.
‘No offence, guys, but I want to stand next to my dad.’
Stupefied, Duncan watched as Jamie slipped in between Henry and himself.
‘Right, everyone, smile,’ Chris said. ‘This one’s for Crimewatch.’
The joke had the desired effect and Duncan felt his face light up, only for the glow to suffuse his entire body when moments later, hidden from the camera, Jamie reached for his hand.
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to many people for assistance in my researches, among them Bryan Allan, David Bradbury, Jennie Brindley, Allan Brodie, Robert Burnett-Hughes, Dan Carrier, Helen Cockerill, Rhiannon Edwards, Alice Gallimore, Charles Glenville, David Horbury, Camilla Lake, Duncan Lewis, Louis Mander, Jeffrey Manton, Carole Steyn, Penny Thexton, and the staffs of the Camden New Journal and the Ham & High.
I am, as ever, deeply grateful to Hilary Sage for her help with the text.
BY THE SAME AUTH
OR
The Celibate
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Easter
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The Enemy of the Good
Jubilate
The Breath of Night
Copyright
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First published by Arcadia Books 2015
Copyright © Michael Arditti
Michael Arditti has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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