Don't Marry Thomas Clark

by Celia Hayes

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your grandfather wished you to marry.’

  ‘What… What did he want me to do?’

  ‘To… marry,’ he is forced to repeat, showing some discomfort.

  Rupert looks like an upset child, while William, however, seeks desperately to hold back a laugh.

  ‘Did he… Did he say anything else? Is that it?’ he asks in a whisper.

  ‘He laid out the rules.’

  ‘The rules for what?’

  ‘Mr. Clark, your grandfather imagined that you might resort to a marriage of convenience in order to circumvent his provisions, so he established the conditions necessary to protect himself from your eventual non-fulfilment.’

  ‘And what might they be?’ he asks, sinking into the chair as he awaits the coup de grâce.

  ‘There is to be a six-month period of cohabitation in the old family home, during which you are to share your free time, bedroom, car and so on with your future spouse. At the end of this…’ he hesitates, trying to find the most appropriate term.

  ‘…imprisonment?’ Thomas comes to his rescue, still clinging to the arms of the chair.

  ‘Errr… At the end of this initial phase, you will finally celebrate your marriage, which must be carried out in community of property. The union must last at least ten years for your possession of your inheritance to become effective, after which time it is no longer revocable. In this time you will be obliged, as previously, to share your living quarters, bedroom and free time. In short, you must demonstrate that you are actually a married couple, or else…’

  ‘Or else what?’

  ‘Or else you’ll lose everything.’

  Everything… thing… ing… ng…

  The last sentence hits him right between the eyes and takes his breath away.

  ‘No… I… I don’t think I quite understand,’ he falters, as the room begins to spin wildly.

  ‘Bring him a glass of water!’ orders Rupert, startled by his sudden pallor.

  William makes to rise from the chair, but Thomas motions him to stay where he is.

  ‘What is there to understand?’ trills Cameron, who appears not to grasp the reason for so much commotion. ‘You have to get married. You know? Married. United in holy matrimony, plight your troth, conjoin,’ he reiterates, tiptoeing over Thomas’s traumatized reaction with all the grace of a bison.

  ‘But… But… But it’s impossible. It’s unheard of!’ cries Thomas, emerging from his silence with a shocked expression. ‘It must be a joke. I cannot believe…’

  ‘I assure you, your grandfather was very clear, and there is no possibility of there being any misunderstanding,’ insists Cameron, attempting to reassure him.

  ‘And did he also specify whom I should marry?’ asks Thomas with a trace of sarcasm. He certainly does not expect an affirmative answer.

  ‘Actually, he did,’ replies the notary, nearly causing Thomas to topple from his chair. ‘It’s all written down here, you see?’ and he indicates the precise clause of the will. ‘It is Miss Sandy Price – is this name familiar to you?’

  Familiar? ‘Familiar’ is not the right word to describe the principal torment of his childhood.

  ‘Sa… Sandy?’

  This news falls on his future with the violence of a tornado. He could have imagined anything – anything except Sandy Price. What can he have done to deserve such punishment? He was always there, always attentive. Maybe he could have dedicated a few more hours, particularly in recent years, but can one failure to appear for Christmas really have such devastating after-effects? Clinging desperately to his last thread of hope, he asks in a barely audible voice, ‘And if she doesn’t want to marry me?’

  ‘Don’t worry, your grandfather was a prudent person,’ he reassures him. ‘Whichever of the two pulls out tacitly waives any rights to the inheritance.’

  ‘You’re trying to tell me that if I refuse to marry her, she inherits the lot?’

  He can sit down no longer. He jumps up from his chair and rushes over to the desk, his haste such that he almost stumbles in the folds of the carpet.

  ‘That would be the obvious deduction,’ replies Cameron.

  The calmness of his reaction mitigates Thomas’s agitation, so he decides to temporarily put aside his murderous instincts and concentrate on the practicalities of the situation.

  ‘So, to sum up, if I marry her I have to share all my property with her and if I don’t marry her she will inherit everything?’ As he tries to draw up an accurate picture of the situation, the menacing look never leaves his face.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if neither of us wants to get married?’

  ‘Everything will be donated to charity. This is a full list of the associations between which the assets generated by the sale of properties and shares would be distributed,’ he says, handing over a freshly printed sheet of foolscap paper which Thomas snatches and scans rapidly, an expression of concentration on his face. There are all types of organizations, from the animal protection groups that he has never heard of to council day care centres.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he mumbles, biting his lip, ‘the Thames Bowling Club would get twenty million pounds?’

  ‘After taxes,’ corrects the notary.

  ‘After… After taxes,’ he repeats through clenched teeth, trying to resist throttling him.

  ‘Your grandfather always had a fondness for that pleasant pastime,’ says Hill with a smile, remembering the eccentric passions of the old man. ‘It is normal that he would remember his former club.’

  ‘Obviously,’ says Thomas, struggling to hold back a scream.

  Cameron Hill senses that the tension in the room is building and decides to intervene on behalf of the deceased. ‘Mr. Clark, I’m sure Sir Roger had only your welfare in mind. Please note that he clause becomes null and void in the case that you can prove the impossibility of the union.’

  ‘Really?’ whispers Thomas, glimpsing a light at the end of the tunnel into which this cruel twist of fate has hurled him.

  ‘Of course! Your grandfather specified a number of conditions regarding the request. If you will wait one moment, I will read them to you right away,’ he answers, adjusting his glasses. ‘“This Act will be invalidated if you can demonstrate the following conditions for one spouse or both, before the marriage is celebrated: arrest for crimes such as manslaughter, multiple murder, violence against minors or women, or any term of imprisonment exceeding two years. You are also released from any obligation in the event that either of the couple should be afflicted by certified permanent physical dysfunction, such as coma or vegetative state caused by trauma, or death.”’

  ‘Are you joking? No, seriously – are you finding this amusing?’

  ‘I would not dare!’ exclaims the notary indignantly.

  ‘So what do you have to say about all this?’ Thomas shouts, slamming both palms down on the desk. At the limit of his endurance, he towers over the slight figure like a cat with its nose in an aquarium.

  ‘That you have two months. Good luck!’ he replies, not at all intimidated, as he passes over a copy of the will.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Come on, Frank, there’s got to be a loophole.’

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t see a way out, other than proving that he was not of sound mind, but that wouldn’t be easy – it would be long, expensive and, above all, we wouldn’t be certain of the outcome. Everybody liked your grandfather, who do you think would testify?’

  Thomas slumps down into his chair, exhausted. He’s known Frank since they were at school together: if there was even the slightest chance of getting him out of this mess, Frank would find it.

  The young lawyer picks up the will and starts reading through it once again, and at the same moment, Margaret, his PA, enters carrying a tray with two sandwiches and a couple of drinks.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘A quarter to two, Mr. Clark,’ she replies efficiently.


  ‘Already?’

  The time has flown by without them noticing. He’s been there since nine and they’ve achieved absolutely nothing.

  ‘Shall I put it down here?’ asks the woman, as she places the tray on the desk. Frank nods and she, having nothing else to add, tiptoes out of the room so as not to disturb them further. As soon as she saw those gloomy faces, she knew right away that they were dealing with important matters – and anyway, what better time to make a couple of quick phone calls to Brazil?

  ‘Tell me, who is this Sandy?’ asks Frank, as he emerges once more from the piles of papers.

  ‘The granddaughter of an old friend of his. She lives in Cork with her family, but they’re from Canterbury originally. They used to come over every summer for a month or two, and grandfather used to put them up,’ he replies.

  So embroiled are they in the question that they both ignore the sandwiches, Thomas especially. For the last two days his mouth has been so dry that he’s been struggling to swallow at all.

  ‘Were you ever a couple?’

  ‘God, no!’

  ‘So what’s so special about her? I mean, with all the women out there, why her?’ asks Frank again, trying to find a way to explain this reckless act.

  ‘How the hell would I know?’ explodes Thomas, who has been brooding on the question too long to express himself more gracefully. ‘The only relationship I’ve ever had with Sandy was when we were on holiday together. They made me take her along with me wherever I went, but apart from that, nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No, Frank, nothing.’

  ‘Not even a little flirting?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘A kiss and a cuddle in the barn?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘A quick fumble in the bushes?’

  ‘NOTHING!’ he thunders categorically, leaving no room for any doubt about his possible emotional involvement. ‘We hardly spoke to one another, and it went on like that until she decided to go to university. She moved to America four or five years ago and since then I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘I don’t understand you,’ muses the lawyer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Is she really that horrible?’ Frank asks after a few minutes of silence, a question which, for the moment, Thomas struggles to understand. ‘I mean,’ he continues unabated, ‘does the idea of marrying her really seem so terrifying to you?’

  ‘Have you lost your mind too?’

  ‘Listen, it looks to me like you don’t have a choice. But with the life you lead you’d only have to see her, what? Two or three times a week? You can carry on with your routine undisturbed and, if you really don’t want a wife, just consider her a flatmate that you have to establish a peaceful cohabitation with.’

  ‘If she was just a flatmate, I wouldn’t be forced to sleep with her!’ answers Thomas.

  ‘Thomas, let’s be frank – they’re not asking you to donate a kidney. And it says here that you have to share a bedroom with her, but it doesn’t say what you have to do once the lights are off.’

  ‘Haven’t you read further down? I have to be faithful for the duration of the marriage. Are you expecting me to live like a monk for ten years?’

  ‘If you’re discreet about it you won’t run any risks. Proving the infidelity of a spouse is much more difficult than movies and TV shows would have you believe.’

  ‘That still leaves one crucial detail,’ whispers Thomas barely audibly, forcing Frank to lean over his desk to be able to hear it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I have no intention of getting married, and even if I did, it would never be to Sandy Price!’ shouts Thomas suddenly into his ear, making him jump.

  ‘So what is the problem, then?’ asks Frank, unable to understand his friend’s reaction, ‘Is she ugly?’

  ‘Oh…’ mumbles Thomas. ‘It’s not as if she’s hideous. She’s small, pale, skinny…’ He tries to describe her with an expression somewhere between indifference and contempt.

  ‘OK, but she’s not repulsive.’

  ‘No,’ he is forced to admit, albeit reluctantly. ‘She’s not actually repulsive.’

  ‘Well, then? Come on, you only have to put up with having her around the house. The worst that can happen is that she puts Laura Ashley curtains up in the study,’ jokes Frank, trying to put his friend’s worries into perspective.

  ‘You’ve no idea what we’re dealing with,’ Thomas says. ‘You don’t have the faintest idea of what it means to spend more than a couple of minutes with that… that psycho! She ruined my childhood and adolescence. Just imagine, I used to spend all the time before the summer holidays in a cold sweat,’ he admits, his head in his hands. ‘Why?’ he asks miserably. ‘Why me? This can’t be happening… not to me. Anyone but her.’

  ‘Psycho? What do you mean? Thomas, look, if she has mental health problems we can petition the court. I’m sure that with a proper psychiatric report…’

  ‘No, no…’ says Thomas slowly, swinging his head despondently. ‘She’s sharper than the two of us put together, believe me.’

  ‘Then you’d better start getting used to the idea,’ suggests Frank in no uncertain terms, placing his hands palm down on the desk to either side of his laptop. ‘If you want to inherit your grandfather’s fortune, you don’t have a choice.’

  ‘No…’ moans Thomas, in last, desperate denial.

  ‘Have it your way, then. Maybe you’re right. I’m sure you won’t end up homeless. How much do you stand to lose? Let’s have a look…’ He opens the testament in the middle and scans through a few lines. ‘Wow…’ he bursts out in amazement at the sight of all those zeros in a line. ‘That’s a nice little nest egg! Who did he say it would all go to? The Thames Bowling Club?’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest!’ says Thomas, throwing a pen at Frank, which his friend dodges with a chuckle.

  ‘What’s the matter? You rather he’d bequeathed it to the cricket team?’ But he receives no answer. ‘You know what, Thomas? Fuck you! That’s a ton of money. If I was in your place, I would have already had “Take me, I’m yours!” tattooed on my arse, so stop complaining, call this girl, invite her out for a coffee, talk to her about the good old days and ask her to marry you. Let’s be objective: you haven’t seen each other for years – there’s at least a ninety per cent chance that she’ll just think you’re a nutter and tell you to piss off. Then you’ll inherit everything and not be forced to shell out a penny.’

  ‘And do you really believe that she’ll say no, knowing about the will?’ asks Thomas despondently. But the more he thinks about the last question, the more he starts to feel that he might to be on the verge of solving all his problems. On the other side of the desk, Frank is starting to feel the same way. He seizes the document and begins to leaf through it restlessly. The pages race through his hands as he opens it, closes it again, slams it down on the desk, smooths it out, crumples it up, and finally lifts his face and looks silently into the eyes of Sir Roger’s grandson.

  ‘So?’ Thomas finds the courage to ask, holding his breath.

  ‘It doesn’t say anything,’ Frank whispers incredulously.

  ‘It’s not in there?’

  ‘It’s not in there!’ Frank reassures him with a laugh.

  ‘You’re a bloody genius.’

  ‘You’re a bloody genius!’

  ‘No, you’re a bloody genius!’

  ‘No, you’re the bloody genius, mate!’

  ‘No, you’re the bloody genius!’

  They both jump up from their chairs in prey to the euphoria of the moment, unable to fully comprehend the incredible series of coincidences that have, miraculously, turned the situation on its head. Apparently, nobody found it necessary to specify that Sandy should actually be informed of the existence of the will: a blunder that cancels out every obligation.

  At the idea that he might actually be free, Thomas starts breathing normally again. For the previous two days he hasn’t eat
en, hasn’t slept and has hardly left the house. He doesn’t quite know how, but he has managed to escape that most terrible of disasters: Sandy Price. A walking plague of Egypt. The same unbearable four-eyes who used to rummage through his drawers, hands covered in jam, and who dragged in her wake enough chaos and devastation to embarrass Attila the Hun and a whole host of Valkyries. A shiver of pure terror runs down his spine as he thinks back to the atrocious tortures she perpetuated on poor old Hairball, his beloved Persian cat. How many times did he find her locked in the fridge? And how many times dressed up as a pirate, or an ancient Greek? And what about the time she painted a toothless smile on Hairball’s face? Does he really want to remember? No, better just to consign those memories to oblivion.

  ‘I’ll just see her, ask her to marry me and… that’ll be it!’ he says, still stunned by the news. ‘All I have to do is not mention the will.’

  He collapses into his chair, exhausted but happy and at total peace with the universe.

  ‘No, you absolutely must not say a word,’ says Frank, waving an index finger in front of his nose.

  ‘And if she were to ask me why I wanted to marry her?’ asks Thomas, doubtfully. ‘What should I say?’ He opens his eyes wide, overwhelmed once again by panic.

  ‘Calm down. There’s no need to worry, we just need to come up with a proper plan,’ the lawyer reassures him, assuming a professional tone and returning to his seat at the other side of the desk. He holds the will in his hand, as carefully as if it were a holy relic. ‘Let’s take things one step at a time,’ he resumes, ‘the first thing to do is to contact her. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No, I haven’t the faintest idea, but I could try and find her parents.’

  ‘Great. And bear in mind that she might already be engaged or married, and if, as you said, she moved to America, she might not want to return to England. In that case, I’d recommend written communications: emails, letters, telegrams,whatever you like, as long you have something in hand to show the court.’