Arden

by Nick Corbett

  Luke and Joe get up, pat each other on the back, head off in opposite directions. As Joe passes the dog owners, he notices a poodle sniffing the backside of a bulldog. The bulldog is so fat, it can hardly breathe.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to do, Bunny, is it?” says the lady owner of the poodle.

  “For goodness sake, be a gentleman, George!” commands the male owner of the bulldog.

  It is eight o’clock in the morning, the last Saturday of April. The weather is blustery and fresh. Joe stands on the grey pavement in front of the Victorian terraced house where he has rented a room in a basement flat for several years. All of his worldly possessions are packed into a few cardboard boxes and plastic bags, piled up by the kerbside. Joe glances at his watch again. When he looks up, he sees the shiny metal grill at the front of an elegant Bentley. It looks like an upturned nose, gliding towards him, stealthily. The car pulls up. Luke is behind the wheel of the beautiful, highly polished, 1969 black Bentley. Serena sits next to him. They are dressed stylishly, like a picture from a fashion magazine. Serena waves at Joe; beaming smile. She gets out of the car, greets Joe with a kiss on the cheek. The thought of spending some time with Serena is appealing.

  Serena is to be dropped off at her parents’ house, in Hertfordshire, from where Elias will be collected. From there, Joe, Luke and Elias will drive over the Chiltern Hills into Buckinghamshire, for an auspicious cup of tea. At eleven o’clock they are due at Chequers, the official country residence of the Prime Minister. Their invitation from the Prime Minister’s wife was sent via Luke’s cousin, James Montgomery. James told them he will also be at Chequers with his wife Hilary, having stayed overnight following a dinner party for the French President. James had also said there might be an opportunity to meet the Prime Minister, although he was due to fly out to Washington that day. The Prime Minister’s wife has requested that Elias bring his violin.

  Joe and Serena stand behind the Bentley, chatting about Elias.

  “My mum adores him. I think she wants to adopt him,” says Serena.

  Joe smiles and turns to Luke.

  “There’s definitely something about Elias and people’s mums. They all want to take him home with them.”

  “Come on, we’ll help you get your gear into the car,” replies Luke, opening the cavernous boot. The luxurious scent of the leather interior combines with Serena’s perfume, forming a heady mix. Joe breathes it in.

  “Is this all you’ve got?” asks Luke, bringing Joe back to earth.

  “Oh, yeah. Not much is it?”

  Luke shrugs his shoulders.

  Luke showed Joe the old Bentley many years ago, when they were at school together, but Joe has never ridden in it. Serena turns to him.

  “Do you want to sit upfront, Joe?”

  “No, it’s okay, I’ll do the royal wave from the back.”

  All aboard, they drive off. The Bentley purrs, gently, gliding above the road. They are ensconced in walnut veneer and leather. They make stately progress through London. They reach Kensington High Street surprisingly quickly. Looking out of the window, there is a slender tower rising above a gleaming Art Deco department store. At the top of the tower, wind ripples through the canvas of a Union Jack; patterns of light and shade, red, white and blue, against a pale sky. At street level, morning shoppers stare at the Bentley, wanting to know who is travelling in the flash car. Joe sees them, feels self-conscious.

  “Joe, you’re right about taking out the clutter along the high street, it looks so much better.”

  “I agree,” says Serena. “Do you reckon it’ll serve as a model for other places?”

  Joe is pleased to hear that Luke and Serena are interested in his work. He leans forward, his head between Luke and Serena.

  “I hope so.”

  “My dad was asking questions about you recently,” Luke adds. “Since we got back from Cyprus, you’re a bit of hero to him.”

  “Oh, what was he asking about?”

  “He wants to know what your work situation is.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Unemployed.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t sound so good.”

  Joe changes the subject. “I’ll miss Kensington.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about leaving?” Luke asks this just as they drive past Joe’s old office.

  “No, I’m doing the right thing, but I do feel a bit sad, though. I’ll miss some of the people I’ve worked with.”

  “You can always stay over in our Kensington apartment,” says Luke.

  “Thanks mate,” replies Joe, falling back into the soft leather seat. It seems bizarre to him that he’s gliding down Kensington High Street in the back of a Bentley.

  The traffic is surprisingly light for central London. They are soon heading north, up the Edgware Road.

  “I need to get some petrol,” says Luke. “In fact, with what this does to the gallon, we might have to stop a few times.”

  Joe wonders if that’s a hint. He rummages in his pockets, reveals a ten pound note, waves it beside Luke’s head.

  “Here, for the petrol.”

  “No, it’s okay, put it away. I’m doing my dad a favour, he’ll pay for this.”

  The Bentley graces a bright yellow petrol station with unexpected glamour. Luke gets out, fills up the tank. Inside the car, Serena turns to Joe.

  “Are you excited about going to Chequers? It’s a great privilege, it’s never open to the public.”

  “I know. I’m quite excited. It’s a shame you can’t come.”

  “Yeah, I’m a bit annoyed about that,” replies Serena, glancing at her watch. “I’m on the stage in a few hours. The show must go on.”

  Joe nods. Serena continues.

  “Your friend Hannah isn’t going either, I hear.”

  “That’s right, she’s in New York, her mum’s sixtieth birthday treat.”

  “Ah. Where are you going to be living, Joe?”

  “I’m going to stay with my grandfather for a bit, then I’ll find somewhere to rent. I like the idea of having my own place. I’ve been sharing for years.”

  “Do you think it’s going to be a cultural adjustment for you, after so long in London? I love doing rep theatre, places are so different, but it can be a culture shock.”

  The question flummoxes Joe, he thinks for a moment. “Home’s, home. I don’t think it’ll be a culture shock.”

  “What work will you do?”

  Joe doesn’t know, he feels slightly embarrassed. “I’ve got some savings. I can afford to take a couple of months off. I don’t want to rush into anything.” He pauses, giving himself time to choose the right words. “I know it probably doesn’t make sense, just leaving like this, without a job to go to, but I feel I’m doing the right thing.”

  “I think you’re very brave.”

  Joe smiles back at Serena. It’s impossible not to notice how perfectly formed her lips are, or how bright her blue eyes are.

  Suddenly, a group of lads gather around the Bentley. One of them knocks on the windscreen. Joe shudders at the memory of the Syrians bashing the Range Rover in Beirut.

  “Just ignore them,” he says, feeling vulnerable.

  The youths leer presumptuously at them, through the windows. Luke returns from the shop, engages the lads, they quickly back off. Soon the engine is purring again. As they pull away, Joe waves at the youths. One of them gives him the finger. The Bentley resumes its stately progress northwards. Luke beeps the horn, long and hard when they cross over the M25. They’ve left the metropolis.

  “You’ve done it Joe, you’re a free man!” says Luke, triumphantly.

  A comfortable silence fills the Bentley. They pass woods, hills, and then there is a pretty Edwardian train station. It’s the one Elias uses to get into town. They turn a corner, drive down a cutting, through a chalk ridge. Beech trees climb the steep slopes, thrusting branches towards the car. Verdant leaves, soft as baby’s skin. The Bentley turns another corner, there�
��s a blinding burst of sunshine.

  “I can’t see a thing through this windscreen! Where’s the road gone?” yells Luke.

  “Watch out!”

  The wheels go over rough ground.

  “Argh!” They all cry out as one.

  Luke regains control of the car.

  “Careful honey!” gasps Serena.

  “That was close! I thought I was going to lose it then. My dad would not be happy.”

  Serena turns to Joe. “Fortunately, my parents’ home is just over there. I think we’ll make it, alive.”

  Joe pulls himself forward, looks to where Serena is pointing. Between the trees is a pair of substantial Victorian villas. They stand well back from the lane, isolated from any village. The Bentley turns into the private drive.

  “You’re coming in to say hello aren’t you?” asks Serena.

  Luke turns around to Joe. “Is that okay with you? We’ve got some spare time.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Serena rushes out of the car, runs up the garden path, excited at being home. Joe and Luke follow, at a more leisurely pace. They breathe the invigorating country air. A lamb bleats further up the hill. There is the whisper of a trafficked road, very far away. A dog barks within the house.

  The dark green front door is open. Joe and Luke step into the lobby, walking over shiny black and white ceramic floor tiles, which continue into the hallway. The dog is barking madly. The smell of home cooking greets them. Serena embraces her mum. A small gold coloured dog runs around at their feet, beside itself with joy at the return of a lost child. It’s jumping up at Serena, trying to get in on the hug. Serena’s mum comes over to Luke, greets him with a kiss on the cheek. Joe stands awkwardly, waiting to be introduced. His eyes drift up to the ornate cornices and then down at the pictures hanging in a line. The house feels antiquated but very homely.

  “Oh, Liz, this is Joe,” says Luke.

  “Ah, Joe, it’s good to meet you at last! Are you excited about going to Chequers? I hear you might even meet the Prime Minister.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. It’s good to meet you too.”

  Liz smiles kindly, she takes Joe’s arm and speaks in a confidential tone.

  “I don’t know the details of Elias’s trip to England, but I just want to say we’re really enjoying him living with us; he’s no trouble at all.”

  Joe smiles back. “I’m pleased he’s settled in.”

  Liz ushers them all into her enormous kitchen.

  “I’ve just cooked a lasagne. I was going to freeze it, but are you boys hungry?”

  Joe nods, he warms to Liz and her rolling rural accent.

  “Mum! You can’t give visitors lasagne for breakfast,” interjects Serena, looking at her watch.

  Liz glances at her daughter. “Boys can eat lasagne at any time. I don’t want them meeting the Prime Minister on empty stomachs.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a bit,” says Luke. “We’ve got twenty five minutes.”

  “Okay, it’ll be ready soon,” replies Liz. She turns to Serena. “Would you be a love and take some around to Mrs Williams next-door? The poor old dear doesn’t know what day of the week it is anymore, she won’t mind having lasagne for breakfast.”

  Elias’s lanky frame comes trundling down the stairs. He enters the kitchen with a smile. He has put on weight and shines with good health. His big brown eyes are as wide as saucers. He hugs Joe, then Luke and then Serena. Elias wants Luke to show him where Lullingdon is on the map. He’s going to be staying with Luke there, for the weekend. Serena turns to Joe.

  “Can I introduce you to my dad, Joe?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come on, I think he’s hiding in the lounge.” Serena escorts Joe back down the hall. They hesitate beside a half-open door. A man’s voice can be heard, engaged in a telephone conversation. Liz shouts from the kitchen.

  “Serena! Can you help me please?”

  “Hang on!” yells Serena. She turns back to Joe. “My dad’s name is Henry, go in and say hello. I think you’ll get on really well.”

  Joe is now left standing alone in the hall, feeling awkward. The little golden dog appears, sits down on his foot. Its warmth feels reassuring. After a full minute of waiting, Serena’s dad emerges with an air of puzzlement. He has a short beard and a kind face. He wears a long knitted cardigan, so naff it borders on cool.

  “Hello, I’m Henry,” he says offering a handshake.

  “Hello, I’m Joe. I’m a friend of Serena and Luke. We’ve just arrived from London.”

  “Oh, the great Babylon. You’re going on to Chequers, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do come in.”

  Henry ushers Joe into a spacious, light-filled lounge. Sunshine streams in through a big bay window. There is a pleasant view over a country garden. The dog follows Joe like a shadow. Henry stands beside the window. Joe makes himself comfortable on the enormous, floral-patterned settee. Henry tells Joe about his cricket team, country walks, good pubs near Chequers. Joe feels the warm sun on his face, his concentration drifts. His eyes wander over the family photographs hanging on the walls. Henry and Liz were clearly childhood sweethearts, very good looking in their younger days. All the photos are of them, their kids and the dog. One of the photos makes Joe smile - Henry and Liz as teenage hippies, sitting on the roof of a canal barge, flowers in their hair.

  Henry fetches a battered road atlas from a homemade magazine rack, sits on the settee beside Joe. The blue cover of the road atlas has a date embossed upon it in gold, 1968. It’s the first road atlas Henry ever owned, purchased after he passed his driving test. He gives Joe detailed advice about the route to Chequers. Joe is perplexed. He sees the yellow blob of Hemel Hempstead, but it’s far too small. The M1 is shown, but not the M25. Henry looks at the maps as if he’s staring over a hoard of treasure. His fingers follow roads through the Chilterns, as he mumbles about short cuts and landmarks. Joe wonders if Henry is in denial that the country has changed so much.

  “So, where do you play cricket, Joe?” asks Henry.

  “Eh? Oh,” but before Joe can reply there’s a yell from the kitchen.

  “Lasagne’s ready!”

  The dog, which has been lying beside Joe, one paw resting on his shoe, bolts to the kitchen. Luke and Elias are tearing down the stairs. Joe stands to attention, restrains himself, trying to keep some decorum.

  “After you Henry,” he says, gesturing towards the door.

  “No, no, you go ahead, it’s far too early for me to eat anything.”

  “Oh, okay,” says Joe, already out of the door. He takes a seat beside Luke at the big family breakfast table. Behind them are French doors, overlooking a lawn in need of mowing. Dark green woods march up the hill. Luke, Joe and Elias tuck into lasagne. The rest of the family sit with them, drinking tea. After lasagne, Luke clutches his belly.

  “Thanks, Liz; my stomach’s beginning to hurt now.”

  “There’s homemade chocolate cake, yet” replies Liz.

  “Oh, can we take it with us? We’d better go now.”

  “Of course you can. I’ll wrap some slices for you.”

  Joe is wondering if it was wise for them to have eaten quite so much, prior to their propitious meeting. He feels he could stay in that homely house for at least a year. He’s glad that Elias is living there. He looks at his watch.

  “We mustn’t be late for the PM!” he forces himself to say.

  Goodbyes are said and then Joe, Luke and Elias make their way out to the Bentley. Elias is carrying an overnight bag and his violin case. Joe sits upfront with Luke, while Elias has the spacious backseat to himself. The car pulls off. They chat in an easy way as they glide through the Chilterns. Joe turns to Elias.

  “How do you feel about going to the Prime Minister’s house?”

  “Okay,” he replies nonchalantly. “His wife’s nice, I met her after a concert.” Then in a much keener tone. “I’m excited about going to Birmingham.”

>   Joe and Luke turn to each other and chuckle. They’ve agreed that, after Chequers, they’ll take Elias to Birmingham for the weekend. He’ll stay with Luke and his family at Lullingdon. They have got surprise tickets for him to visit the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. They are also going to take him to the pub.

  It is a short drive to Chequers, following quiet, country roads. They pass a bold green sign with an ornate coat of arms, proclaiming, “Buckinghamshire”. From that point on, doing acrobatics in the sky above them, is a bird of prey, a red kite. Sometimes there is a pair of them. They are large birds with long fingered wings, wedge-shaped tails. Sometimes they swoop low, seem inquisitive about the car. They remain in view all the way to Chequers; an aerial escort. The Bentley is climbing now. The landscape around them is a bright picture, painted with broad, green brushstrokes. Wooded fingers rest upon the ridgeway. The soil is chalky.

  They chat about what to say to the Prime Minister, hoping that he hasn’t left for Washington. Joe turns to Luke.

  “Do you reckon he knows about our Lebanon expedition?”

  “I bet my cousin, James, has told him.”

  Joe turns back to Elias.

  “Have you been able to get in touch with your grandad yet, Elias?”

  Elias’s face drops. “No, I never get a reply to my letters.”

  Joe regrets that he didn’t allow Elias to say goodbye to his grandad.

  “I’m sure he’s okay,” he says, hoping desperately that the old man hasn’t died of a broken heart.

  They approach a village. There are white painted gates either side of a welcome sign; it is a cherished place. Cottages are built from speckled flint that looks like crushed diamonds; thatched roofs, decorative red brick, stately grandmothers, children on shaky bicycles. A pack of serious cyclists, in colourful, figure-hugging Lycra, whizzes by. The driver of a vintage car waves at the Bentley, as if it’s in the same club. Luke indulges the camaraderie, waves back, beeps the horn.

  They are on higher ground now, following the ridgeway. It’s England’s most ancient route, used by tribes since the dawn of time; no more villages. The red kite swoops low, flying parallel to the car, at the same speed. A very large crow flies towards the kite, like a fighter jet, out of the sun, so it can’t be seen. At the last moment, in mid flight, the kite turns upside down, talons reach for the crow; just misses. The crow turns on its wings, disappears back into the sun. The kite gives a piercing, shrill call. Joe and Luke have seen what happened, they stare at each other, eyebrows raised.