Rigg and the judge looked at one another.
‘Have you anything to say to this, Mr Toan?’ the judge asked.
Rigg was so shocked by what he’d just heard that he had to swallow hard before he could speak. ‘I haven’t done anything of a criminal nature, Your Honour,’ he said. ‘I declared everything. I was quite open.’
‘That isn’t Mr Shearing’s opinion,’ the judge said drily.
‘I’ve been badly advised,’ Rigg pleaded. ‘I was led to understand that I was to receive a large inheritance when I was thirty five, Your Honour.’
‘Did you receive this inheritance?’
‘No, Your Honour. Not a penny. I could have paid off all my debts if I had.’
‘What means do you have to pay your debts now?’
‘Well none, just at present, Your Honour. However there is my mother’s capital and property to consider. I shall inherit everything when she dies, being the only son, as I’m sure you understand. The house alone must be worth in excess of eighty thousand. I don’t know the value of the contents, exactly, but it will certainly be considerable.’ He was recovering from his shock now – becoming himself again. ‘I think it’s safe to say there’ll be no problem about paying off debts once I own the house. It’s really only a matter of time.’
Alison caught the judge’s eye.
‘Mrs Toan?’
‘Mr Toan’s mother is in a nursing home,’ she said. ‘She suffered a stroke after Mr Toan’s last visit. The house and its contents have been sold to cover the cost of the home.’
Rigg’s mouth dropped open with renewed shock and stunned disbelief. She couldn’t have had a stroke, he thought. She’s as tough as old boots. She’s putting it on.
The judge checked his facts. ‘So what you are saying, Mrs Toan, is that there will be no inheritance whatsoever.’
‘No. None.’
That’s not possible either, Rigg thought. There has to be money. They’re all talking rubbish. What a good job I’ve got Carmen.
‘I see,’ the judge said, He spent several minutes writing notes. Then he looked up and spoke to Rigg, directly. ‘It seems to me, Mr Toan,’ he said heavily, ‘that you have behaved shamefully throughout this affair.’
Rigg looked away and declined to say anything more. Once I get that shop on the High Street, I’ll paint it blue, he planned. Blue and white with cane chairs. And an aspidistra in the window.
‘There is also,’ the judge went on, ‘the matter of two outstanding debts which you share jointly and severally with your wife and which she has indicated she is unable to pay. Given that this case is an application for bankruptcy at which all your liabilities are to be taken into consideration, you might care to accept responsibility for these particular debts.’
Alison looked at her husband. Her heart was beating so strongly she could feel it shaking the cloth of her blouse. Agree to it, she willed him. Do one good thing at least this afternoon.
Rigg’s face was devoid of expression. ‘As you wish,’ he said. This is all academic. When my new shop opens, I shall be coining it so fast that debts like that will be nothing.
Is that it? Alison wondered. Does this make it legal? But there wasn’t time to ask because the judge was speaking to her again.
‘Mrs Toan,’ he said. ‘I see here that in – um – October 1990, you supported your husband’s application for a voluntary arrangement. Do you have anything to say on your husband’s behalf?’
‘No, Your Honour,’ Alison said, ‘except that I am doing what I can to obtain a divorce from him.’
The judge nodded his head as if that were eminently sensible behaviour.
‘Your application is granted, Mr Shearing,’ he said. ‘Mr Rigby Toan is declared a bankrupt. Mr Toan, in due course, you will be informed of the date on which you are to present yourself for examination by the Official Receiver. Good morning, lady and gentlemen.’ And he rose to leave the room.
Quick, Alison thought, pulling her document out of her bag. Quick, quick. If I don’t do this now I shall lose my chance.
‘This is for you, Rigg,’ she said. ‘It’s a petition for divorce on the grounds of separation by consent.’ And she held it out to him.
Harvey Shearing was on his feet and looking surprised. The judge had turned. He and the clerk were both looking at Rigg. It was all highly irregular, but for a few seconds they all waited. And Rigg, feeling the official pressure all round him and still in a trance of shock and disbelief that she could be doing such a thing, held out his hand and took the petition.
It’s not over by a long chalk, Alison thought. He’s got to sign to show he accepts it. But at least he’s received it. He can’t pretend he hasn’t, not with a judge as a witness. And he can’t ignore it any longer. I’ve taken the first step. At last.
Outside the building, gulls were wheeling and mewing. The sun had come out and beyond the promenade, the waves were tipped with white light, like cut glass.
‘Now,’ she said to herself, ‘where’s the nearest phone?’
It took an age to find one, but at last she was inside one of the new time-capsule containers and dialling Morgan’s number.
His voice answered almost at once. ‘Morgan Griffiths.’
‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘He’s accepted the papers. Oh Morgan, darling! It’s over! He’s taken on all the debts. I’m in the clear. And they’ve bankrupted him.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m triumphant,’ she said. It was the exact word for how she felt – relieved, vindicated, victorious, cleansed of all the worries and horrors of her life with Rigg, emerging from the long battle with a new sense of worth and a new strength of purpose. Triumphant. The world was full of dreadful things – debts and dishonesty, lies and cruelty, battered wives and beaten children, wars and revolutions and terrorists – but there was still hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box, even at the end of the twentieth century. Change was possible. People could change. Governments could change. Her children didn’t have to grow up like their father. Her life with Morgan could be different.
‘Time for celebration,’ Morgan said.
‘Time for a new charm for my bracelet,’ she said, dangling it for him to hear.
‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘What do you want? A scroll or somethin’?’
‘No,’ she said and paused, smiling to herself. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a wedding cake.’
There was another pause while Morgan digested what he’d heard. When he spoke again his voice was warm and full of love. ‘That sounds like a proposal.’
‘It is, my darling,’ she said, aware of how very much she loved him. ‘I’ve found something out this afternoon.’
‘Have you cariad? What?’
‘I’ve found out how old-fashioned I am. I want to get married and settle down and live with you for the rest of my life.’
It sounded as though he was chuckling. Or crowing. ‘Morgan?’ she asked.
‘My dear Miss Alison,’ he clowned, speaking in a high falsetto. ‘This is so sudden.’
‘My intentions are honourable, Mr Griffiths,’ she answered. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Try an’ stop me, cariad,’ he said. ‘Just try an’ stop me.’
A Note on the Author
Beryl Kingston was born in Tooting in 1931. She was eight when the war began and spent the early years of her education in many different schools, depending on her latest evacuation. As an undergraduate she attended King’s College London, where she read English.
She married her childhood sweetheart when she was 19, with whom she has three children. Kingston was an English teacher before embarking on a career as a full-time writer in 1980.
Discover Books by Beryl Kingston published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/kingston
A Time to Love
Fourpenny Flyer
Gemma’s Journey
Maggie’s Boy
Sixpenny Stalls
Tuppenn
y Times
For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been
removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain
references to missing images.
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain in 1994 by Century
Copyright © Beryl Kingston 1994
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
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publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
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eISBN: 9781448213429
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Maggie's Boy Page 38
