by F. C. Clark
I scrape my hair into a ponytail, slip on some clothes and grab the Jones Tailors keys, but first I leave a note for Luke.
Dear Luke,
Can’t find my tie for today – gone to look for it. I won’t be long.
Love you,
x
I rest it on his pillow and leave.
Within twenty minutes I draw up outside the shop. The quiet street off Savile Row feels a little eerie: it’s five o’clock and the dark sky is starting to lighten. Quickly, I unlock the door and close it behind me. I switch the lights on and turn off the alarm. I shiver in the chilly morning air. This is my first visit to the shop since I lost Mr Jones. When I close my eyes I can hear his voice – and the sound of sewing machines running. I glance across the room to his desk, where he used to sit, looking at me over his glasses. I smile and fight back the need to cry.
‘Right, where are you, tie?’ I mutter.
I go over to the corner of the room, where we left boxes and hanging rails from the show. I open the lids and clear the mountain of clothes – but there’s no sign of my tie.
‘Shit. Where the bloody hell are you?’
I’m running out of options. I go to his desk and switch on the lamp. The desk is covered with paperwork, although it looks reasonably organised. He was neat and tidy in every aspect of his life. No tie. I sit in his chair and rifle through the drawers on either side. Nothing, except some sketchbooks and a small leather-bound book that looks like a diary.
First, I open the sketchbook. I touch the charcoal drawings and hold the book close to my chest. Pull yourself together, Kate, I repeat mentally. Next, I open the small brown book. The first page reads 1967. As I flick through the pages, I realise the book is what I thought: a diary. But diaries are personal, and Mr Jones was incredibly private. Nonetheless, I open it at a random page and begin to read. I realise he’s in Paris. I am certain this must be the year he bought the fabric for my wedding dress.
I begin to read his story. As I read, I can picture him and the journey he was on. The story he told me is now coming to life once again.
Suddenly, the present day comes back when there is a bang on the door. I look towards the window and notice the blue sky. Shit, how long have I been sitting here?
Quickly I scurry to the door. Luke stands there with a face like a busted arse. I fiddle with the lock and finally open the door.
‘Sorry, I lost track of time.’
‘Jesus, Kate, you could have said where you were going. A note with no address is not good enough.’
He barges past me and takes out his phone.
‘I found her at Jones Tailors. Come and get my car. I’ll drive Kate’s home,’ he says – I assume to Max. He runs his hands through his hair. ‘How many times have I told you not to disappear? I’ve been calling you.’
I pat my coat for my phone. ‘Sorry, it must be in the car. I couldn’t find my tie and there is no way I can go to the funeral without my tie.’
‘Your tie?’ he says with an air of frustration.
‘I woke up at four o’clock – again. Then I realised my tie was missing.’
He releases a low breath. ‘Tie.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I assume you have it?’
‘No.’
‘Let’s look for it together. We need to get ready.’
‘OK.’
We begin to search. Actually, Luke looks thoroughly while I move things around randomly, not really looking but mentally taking stock of items that meant nothing and now mean a great deal. Resting on the cutting table is Mr Jones’s cloth measuring tape. It has frayed edges and numbers that are barely visible – nonetheless, it was his favourite.
‘Kate.’ I look at Luke, who is holding up a black tie. ‘Is this it? Your name is on the back: handmade by Mr Jones for Kate Sutton.’
‘Yes.’
‘We need to go.’
I nod, fighting my emotions.
‘It’s OK. Let’s get today over with and then you’ll feel better.’ He pulls back, observing my reaction.
‘I’m so bloody mad, Luke. Mad he’s left all this and left me. I could scream and hit something, I’m that bloody angry.’
‘Then scream and hit me.’
‘What? I would never hit you.’
‘Then scream. Let it out.’
From nowhere I unleash a scream. Even Luke looks shocked.
‘Better?’ he asks.
‘Not really.’
‘You have quite a pair of lungs, Mrs S.’
He picks up a long, heavy cardboard tube.
‘Use this to hit the wall.’ He points. ‘Be careful of our babies.’
Without hesitation, I pull my arm back and swing the tube with all my strength. It smashes against the wall.
‘God, that felt good.’
‘Do it again,’ Commander Sutton says.
I hit it again, this time harder, so hard the tube breaks in half.
‘Here.’ Luke passes me another.
‘I am so angry, Mr Jones… So fucking angry.’ I hit the wall again and again and again, then suddenly I drop the tube and fall into Luke’s arms.
‘Ready to go home?’
‘Sorry I didn’t wake you. I’m not thinking straight at the moment.’
‘Nothing new there, baby.’ He smiles, trying to lighten my mood.
As Luke drives my Bentley home, I sit next to him and read Mr Jones’s diary.
‘What are you looking at?’ His eyes flit from the road to my lap.
‘A diary I found. Mr Jones wrote it while he was in Paris. I’m sure that’s when he bought the fabric for my wedding dress.’ I look at Luke. ‘Listen. I know I will never be able to have the love I want, but at least G knows how I feel.’
‘Who’s G?’ Luke asks.
‘I have no idea. Mr Jones always told me it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I think he was talking about G.’
‘Possibly.’
‘How sad. He never admitted it, but there was sadness in his eyes when he spoke about Paris.’
Later on, Luke and I stand side by side in front of the large French mirror in our bedroom. He takes my hand. We look identical in our Jones three-piece suits.
‘He made good suits.’ God, I feel proud of him.
Luke squeezes my fingers. ‘We need to leave.’
‘I just need to collect the white roses from the kitchen.’
We arrive at the church car park, which is busy. I see familiar faces: the Harper Jones crew, friends, our family. Mr Jones had no living relatives; without doubt I was his family.
Luke looks at me.
‘I’m here if you need anything. I’m worried about you.’
‘Just stay with me and I’ll be fine.’
Max opens my door and I step out. I can feel people watching me. Mum and Barney walk towards me.
‘You look lovely, darling,’ Mum says and gently touches my cheek. ‘Did you manage to eat anything?’
‘No. I feel sick, even more so today.’
‘It’ll pass, but you need to rest later, OK?’
‘I will, Mum. Where’s Dad?’
‘Over there talking to Jerry. The flowers are beautiful.’
‘I can’t face everyone. I just want to run home,’ I say.
‘After the service, if you want to leave, you can leave. I can tell everyone you’re not up to it.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘She’s right. When you’re done in, babe, get Sutton to take you home. Good turnout.’
‘Yeah. Your suit looks lovely.’ I touch the front of his jacket.
‘How could I not honour the man himself?’
I look at Luke, who watches me like a hawk, waiting for me to crumble. It won’t be long, Sutton.
Luke
guides me inside the church. We sit at the front, ready for the vicar to begin the service. But first the undertakers carry the coffin down the aisle to ‘Adagio’, which Mr Jones often played at work.
Planning the funeral was harder than I thought it would be, with my sparse knowledge of what Mr Jones liked and disliked – other than tea and fine clothing. So I decided to choose simple hymns and prayers, no fuss and frills. I chose the suit his father made for him to be buried in. He wore it on our wedding day, and I know how much it meant to him. In his pocket I placed a Harper Jones handkerchief, a scan picture of the babies, and a note from me.
Luke continues to hold my hand, and in the other I hold two white roses. After we sing the second hymn, ‘Jerusalem’, the vicar looks across at me. ‘Kate would like to say a few words.’
I stand and walk forward to the lectern, gripping my notes.
‘Bear with me,’ I say. ‘This is really difficult.’ Already tears are rolling down my cheeks. ‘Mr Jones was a man of quality and refinement, a true English gentleman. I will never meet another person like him. It goes without saying that he was talented, not only as a tailor and a designer, but also with his outlook on life and his words of wisdom, which he shared with me on many occasions.’ I take a breath and look at my audience. ‘He taught me more than I realised, questioned me when he didn’t agree with me, and made me view things in a different light, and for that I will always be grateful.’ I retrieve a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my eyes. ‘Was it fate that I worked for him and that he made Luke’s shirts? I believe he brought us together.’ I glance at Luke. ‘He once told Luke I was like silk: treat me well and I would last a lifetime. If not, then I would disintegrate. This got me thinking: what would he be? And I decided on cotton. Reliable, strong and multi-faceted, he was all of those and so much more. I loved him with all my heart, and I feel cheated he has left this world, and me.’
Luke jumps up and comes over to me. Just in time. I crumple into his arms, sobbing. He guides me back to the pew. I can’t take much more.
Barney leans towards me. ‘Well done, babe. You did him proud.’
I can’t speak. I have spoken all I can for the day.
After the funeral service there is the burial. Finally, the guests start to leave and I’m alone.
‘Kate.’
I look at Luke, then bend down to place the white roses on the earth. ‘These are for you, Mr Jones, from the babies. I – we – will always love you.’
Luke thought it would be best to hold the wake in one of the large meeting rooms at Sutton Global, keeping the palace as our sanctuary and not infringing on Jones Tailors or Mr Jones’s flat above the shop. In retrospect, it was the perfect idea.
The caterers have laid out platters of sandwiches and pastries. I requested an afternoon tea. I also made several fruitcakes, as this was Mr Jones’s favourite guilty pleasure.
Thankfully, people are chatting without needing too much from me.
‘Oi, princess Harper, give us a hug.’
I turn to Barney. He squeezes me tight.
‘Good gathering, babe. Mr Jones would have loved it.’ He pulls away. ‘You look like shit.’
‘I still keep throwing up.’
‘You poor cow. Looks like you’re expanding.’
I look down at my trousers, which I could not do up this morning. ‘I know.’
‘Have you spoken to Adam?’ I ask. I desperately need side-tracking. ‘Spill.’
‘Yeah, I have. I think he’s coming over in a few weeks. But don’t tell Rosie just in case it goes tits up.’
I smile for the first time today. ‘I’m really pleased. Let’s hope you don’t fuck it up.’
‘There she is, my Harper girl. No bullshit from you.’
Again I smile. Only Barney could make me smile today.
Harry walks towards me with Molly.
‘Come here,’ she says and hugs me. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m exhausted, Harry.’
‘You looked so pale standing up in the church,’ Molly says.
‘It’s done now, thank God. I can’t think about it any more.’ Kiki is heading in our direction.
‘You did him proud, Kate.’ Kiki rubs my arm reassuringly. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine, what about you?’ I ask.
‘Bearing up, but today is about you and Mr Jones.’ Silence falls. Kiki waves at a waiter who walks towards us and hands us all glasses of wine – and orange juice for me. ‘A toast.’
I nod and bite my lip, feeling fragile.
‘I’ll start,’ Barney says. ‘What a talented bloke, a true gent.’ He raises his glass.
‘I second that,’ Molly says.
‘One of a kind – they broke the mould with him,’ Harry says.
‘Absolutely,’ Kiki says and looks at me.
‘He was—’ I swallow hard. ‘He gave me Luke.’ We raise our glasses.
‘Mr Jones,’ we say together.
‘Listen, I can’t think straight at the moment, but Luke is off to Dubai sorting out his hotel. I thought we could go to Sandbanks for a couple of days. I’ll message you dates.’
‘Great idea,’ Barney says.
Needing some time alone, I collect my bag and slip out of the room. Max catches me at the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Walk with me to my office. I haven’t been in there since…’
As Max walks with me, I see Luke watching us through the glass wall.
As soon as Max opens the door, I freeze.
‘God, I feel sick…’ A cold burst of air covers my skin in goose bumps.
‘Maybe you’re not ready.’
I shake my head. ‘No, I need to do this. Mr Jones would want me to.’
‘Then take it slowly.’ Max holds his hand out for mine. I take two measly steps forward.
‘You’re in. You’ve done it.’
I smile. ‘I can do this.’
I walk further into the room. I look at the floor where Mr Jones died.
‘Kate, you need time. Believe me, I know.’
Of course he knows… His pain would have been far worse than mine – he lost a child.
‘I want to be on my own. I promise I’m not going anywhere, although there’s a good chance I might be asleep in five minutes.’
‘OK.’ He leaves me be.
Feeling mentally exhausted, I sit down on the pink Louis sofa. With silence around me, I remove the diary and tape measure from my bag, feeling the worn fabric. I set it on the table and open the diary to the page I stopped at earlier.
Again, I’m caught up in his story, discovering Paris and him falling in love with G. I continue to read. His writing is amusing; I never realised he was funny.
‘Kate.’
I look up to see Luke. He’s not alone.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘This gentleman wanted to speak to you. He is a close friend of Mr Jones.’ The man looks to be a similar age to Mr Jones.
I stand and hold out my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘I have heard a great deal about you,’ he says.
‘Really?’ I frown, wishing I could say the same to him.
‘I will leave you to it. Come and find me if you need anything.’
‘Please, take a seat, Mr…’
‘Gerald Watson, but please call me Gerry.’
‘So, tell me, how did you know Mr Jones?’
‘Jefferson…’
I shake my head. ‘He’s always been Mr Jones to me.’
‘His great-grandfather was Jefferson, and the name was passed down to him.’
‘Oh.’ It’s clear I really don’t know much about him. ‘I take it you were at the funeral. Sorry, it was a bit of a blur.’
‘It was a beautiful service and you spoke well.’
‘Losing him has crushed me… I know that sounds ridiculous.’
He takes my hand. ‘Not at all. He thought the world of you – he told me that you adopted him into your family.’
I chuckle. ‘It wasn’t difficult. We hit it off since… Well, probably from when he interviewed me.’
‘We met once a month for dinner. I remember him telling me about a young lady who had started working for him, and he told me some of your stories and dilemmas. We would laugh about them.’
‘So, you were good friends.’ I look away. ‘Honestly, I feel guilty that I worked him too hard.’
‘No, I think you’re being unfair to yourself. When he told me about Harper Jones, he was excited, and for the first time in a number of years he felt alive. Kate, you gave him something he never thought possible – his dream. You must never doubt your decision to go into business together. I hope you will continue in his memory.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘You must. Do it for him – allow his dream to be fulfilled. He deserves that.’
‘I stopped at the shop earlier. I couldn’t find my tie. It was hard being there without him.’
‘I knew you were wearing a Jones creation – and so is your husband.’
‘And you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Although my trousers are too tight… did you know that I’m pregnant?’
‘Yes, he told me.’
‘Did he?’ I say.
‘He was thrilled for you.’
‘He won’t meet the twins.’ I shut my eyes for a few seconds.
‘Do you know what you are having?’ he asks.
‘No. I have another scan in a couple of weeks, but we don’t want to know.’
‘I met him just before you flew to New York.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but he never mentioned you. He kept his life under lock and key.’
‘He was a private man.’ Gerry picks up the leather-bound notebook lying next to me. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I found it this morning when I was looking for my tie. Mr Jones spoke about his trip to France.’
‘I remember it like it was yesterday.’
I frown. ‘You were there?’
