He carried on, back into the sunshine and around the lake whose depths teemed with trout. Above their lazy swimming, multi coloured wild fowl paddled away obliviously. Heading into the woods the long shadows held him in thrall as their grotesque shapes told him of ghosts and galleons, Wendy and Peter Pan, wizards and goblins……….
He strode on looking at this, smelling that, and after a couple of hours he meandered his way back to the house feeling much better. Much more alive.
He put his shoes and cane back into their respective housings and went back to the lounge. Opening the door he saw, in the fading evening light, Luke and Lliam sitting there, waiting for him. Although he was surprised to see them his face instantly beamed with affection at their presence.
‘Boys, what are you doing here?’
The boys neither replied nor moved. For an instant it did not register. ‘Boys……..?
A fear gripped his heart and he wanted to run. But why? But where?
‘Boys……?’ he said softly, his voice trembling, a foreboding enveloping him.
He moved to Luke and saw the rope tying him to the chair; looked across to Lliam and saw the same. Their faces were badly bruised and red burn marks left weal's where they had obviously been tortured. He looked slowly behind him because he knew the people that had put them there were still in the room but there was no one there. No one moved out of the shadows to kill him.
He untied Lliam and cradled his head lovingly in his arms and softly wept. When the enormity of his life without them permeated his brain his weeping turned to a dreadful empty tortuous wail. Moving over to Luke he enveloped him with as much love as the world could spare, rocking him gently side to side like an innocent baby. Recovering a little composure he moved them gently to the floor where they could lie comfortably in peace. He sat down by them, holding their hands and slowly rocked as the tears flooded from his stinging eyes. The only people in the world who he had loved were dead.
Dead…
He wanted to scream at the top of his voice but what was the point? What was the fucking, shitting, arseholing point?
Hathaway had quite forgotten who had put them there or why. At that point he didn't give a shit if they were still in his house and blew his head off.
I don't give a fuck! He screamed silently in his head to an unseen foe. I don't give a fuck!
Why would anyone kill his boys? Why? He moved their heads to his lap, stroked their hair lovingly and sat there in a daze of despair. For two hours he cradled and caressed them. In his more coherent moments he dwelt on who had done this dreadful thing and he knew. He knew.
The bastards who had sent them to North Korea and had pulled the plug had decided that no witnesses was the best policy. And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't fight a superpower for Christ's sake! Surely there could have been a better way? Why hadn't they talked to him?
Anything can be resolved….anything……..
The boys could have just retired….gone away….anything….it could have been sorted. Bastards!
Why? You fucking, moronic, arrogant bastards? He screamed into the gloom and to a God that wasn't listening…….
H Chapter 64
Talking is good for you…
H heard nothing off Hathaway for nearly a month but thought little of it. For H and the people of H's world time was generally of little consequence. It only became an issue if there were consequences that arose from poor timing. Other than that……
Going through the clubs figures at home he got a phone call. ‘H Ernest here’
‘Ernest where have you been? I got quite concerned about you and made a couple of enquiries but you were still alive so I left it until you contacted me.’
‘Couple of problems H. Sorry. Some very close friends of mine died unexpectedly and I had to help sort things out. Funeral, graves, that sort of thing, sorting out loose ends…..that sort of thing’
‘Sorted now?’
There was a perceptible pause and H knew that Hathaway was struggling to keep his emotions in check.
‘Yes, sorted now’.
‘You ok Ern……..?’
H never called Hathaway Ern but now…….. maybe now was a good time.
‘Do you ever think life is a cock-up H? You work your arse off, you make a few quid but……… But…….’
H said nothing.
‘The two people that died were the closest thing to family that I had in the world. Alright I know I've got my own and I love Patricia and I'll spend whatever it takes to give her a nice wedding but my wife is a frigid leeching piranha. How is that right? A wife that is not a wife…? Then what the fuck is she?……..’
H listened to Hathaway. H had never heard Hathaway talk like this. His social and domestic side had been a closed book and certainly shows of emotion were unheard of. What was going on? Who had died? H didn't even know Hathaway was close to anyone. You just don't know people……
‘…………..I mean just because you sign a piece of paper in the eyes of some god and overseen by some clown in a skirt you're married? What the fuck does that mean? She's a ………..’
H let Hathaway go on. Whatever was on his mind was being directed at his wife so let him get on with it. H listened but didn't listen and found himself thankful that he had Benny. He reflected and realised how much his personal well being had changed since they had been together; he also realised that it had become a way of life and one which he took for granted. It also occurred to him that Benny had been shot because of him. He knew that already buts its importance had eluded him. And if he had died and Benny lived what would have happened to Benny? He had made no provision for Benny at all; he had assumed life would go on and that would be that but if he had died there was no Will.
For everything that Benny had given H she would get nothing…… Absolutely fuck all. His mother would automatically get most and the arseholing Chancellor would get the rest. Fuck that!
‘………. and I've had enough. I'll get this wedding over with and work out where to go next. But there has to be something else H…….? I don't know whether it's living in a monastery or selling up and putting a few quid into charities but I've had enough. Know what I mean H. Know what I mean………?’
And in a way H did. But in the meantime, before Ernest found his monastic calling, there was the little matter of lots of scam money waiting to be collected down on the south coast.
H Chapter 65
Take a note…..
H had a word with Big John who decided it would be nice to take the Mrs and kids for a day out to the south coast. He took the tatty old Vauxhall Omega and they meandered around the sea coast, going into small coves with the kids until tea time beckoned then wandered up a track until he found the farm house. He got out of the car and ambled to the door which opened before he could knock it.
‘Yes?’
Big John beamed and put on his useless expression.
‘Mister Hampton I'm sorry we're a bit late but we got lost. I'll just get the stuff out of the car and the kids want to go to the loo, so if you can give us a minute’
‘You've got the wrong place mate’
Big John fished in his pocket and found a piece of paper. ‘Lower farm, Mr and Mrs Hampton, cheep and cheerful bed and breakfast’
Big John looked at him expectantly…..
‘Mate, I told you, you've got the wrong place.’
‘Where is it then? Asked Big John.
‘How do I know? You've got the address and this ain't it’.
‘Just a minute’ said Big John and ambled back to the car ‘He says it isn't them’
‘Don't tell me you've got us lost…..again…..you dozy clown’. His missus said ‘Well the kids need a loo so ask the man if we can use his and we'll go’.
Big John ambled back over to the door and explained the problem.
‘Can't help you mate, you'll have to find somewhere else’
He ambled back and explained to his wife who got out of
the car and stormed to the door. ‘You can't help the kids? Why can't you help the kids? They only want to use the loo! It's not much to ask is it? The kids to use the loo?…….What have you got against my kids? They're well behaved aren't they? Aren't they………?’
At that point the door opened wider and another man said ‘What's going on?’
Before his compatriot could say a word Mrs Big John launched into a tirade about cruelty to children, the NSPCC, paedophiles and perverts generally.
‘For fucks sake’ said the latecomer ‘let the kids use the loo and let's get on. Just the kids’ right?’
‘Right’
The kids ran from the car, piled in the house, scampered around until directed to the loos then ran back to the car.
‘Thank you very much’ shouted Mrs Big John through the car window as they turned around and headed back down the lane. After thirty minutes Big John found a Cafe and they settled down to a healthy tea time full English breakfast.
‘Right’ said Big John ‘you first Emma…..’
‘I saw two men dad but I heard two others speaking in another room, so I had a quick peak……’
‘Describe the rooms Emma……..’ and he gave her a pad and a pencil….
Big Tony sent one of his men down to watch the two-ings and fro-ings and then exactly a week later they paid the farm another visit. As dusk descended a large JCB chugged its way up the lane to the farmhouse…… and kept going straight through the front door! Several men followed with guns.
It was all over in seconds.
The occupants were trussed up and gagged and the money, with the equipment, put into a lorry that waited on the drive. Big John had also been told to establish who was the forger of the team, which he achieved with enthusiastic display of violence, and he was taken away into the night.
A few hours later the currency was on its way to Portugal where Hathaway's contact would sell it on for about forty per cent of its face value which was about two point five mil. Hathaway would get sixty percent and H forty. The forger had been re-employed by a London mob looking for a touch more expertise in the dodgy money area.
Everyone was happy.
H Chapter 66
The Wedding
Hathaway looked very dapper in his superbly tailored Saville Row suit, hand made Salvatore Ferragamo shoes and deep blue silk tie that he had bought in Xi'an when he had been to see the Terracotta Army at the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor.
It was eight weeks after the death of the twins and whilst he still sunk into despair when alone with his thoughts he had cast off the melancholy for this weekend and for his lovely daughter who was marrying a boy from a local well to do Spanish family.
Whilst having no interest in religion he was happy to take it as it came and he found the traditional Roman Catholic wedding fascinating. When they were at the altar his new son in law gave Patricia thirteen gold coins as a symbol of his love and unquestionable trust; pledging that he placed all of his goods into her care and safekeeping. Acceptance by Patricia meant taking that trust and confidence unconditionally with total dedication and prudence. Ernest found himself thinking that if he had had a Roman Catholic wedding he may now be financially much better off and giving his wife a good fucking…..
The symbolic coins, so Ernest learned later, originated in the 17th century; twelve of the coins representing the twelve apostles and the other the giver.
He watched, fascinated, as a large lasso, el lazo, made up of entwined orange blossoms was placed around their heads in a figure of eight to symbolise unity.
In a peculiar way Ernest was moved by this outward display of love and devotion and could see, perhaps, how the Roman Catholic Church had understood the needs of people and the importance of enduring pomp and ceremony much more than the Church of England. Even though it was all bullshit!
In the vast marquee on the lawns of the hotel the guests mingled and chatted amiably, fuelled by expensive food and obscenely expensive wines and champagnes. The weekend had cost Hathaway nearly fifty thousand but it was his only daughter and he wanted her to be proud of him….and his in-laws to know he was a man of substance.
Not a man who usually drunk too much Hathaway had decided it was the one time in his life he could ‘let go’ so he refilled his champagne glass and wandered outside to immediately bump into his wife. His champagne spilled and the sparkling liquid watered the grass. Hathaway made a mental calculation and thought that represented about fifteen quid.
‘Sorry’ she said.
Ernest struggled for a second. Sorry!? When was the last time he had heard her say sorry? Oh yes, it had been when she said ‘I am so sorry I ever met you’. Charming!
‘It was my fault’
‘Come’ she said taking his arm ‘tell me what's going on in your life’ and guided him over to a quiet seating area. Ernest was lost. Who was this woman? The bitch; the cow? Who was this being nice to him? Ernest assumed she must be drunk but he knew she was not. Sitting down she pulled her seat close to his. ‘Tell me Ernest…..’ Ernest? Ernest? ’……….how is everything going? Tell me about where you are now in life. Tell me…….’
She sounded quite sincere so Ernest stumbled and stuttered about his business, his life generally, the loss of ‘two close friends’ until he ran out of things to say. She listened intently and when he had mentioned his ‘loss’ she had squeezed his hand affectionately.
‘Time has moved a long way since we were married Ernest’ she said softly ‘things have happened, things been said, things misconstrued……….’
I didn't misconstrue you sucking off the pool boy, thought Hathaway and immediately felt guilty. Whatever was going on he didn't really need to drag that up…..again.
‘……… and I would like to tell you where I am now……..’
Where I am now? Thought Hathaway, where I am now? What the hell was this? Had she become a psychiatrist?
‘…………and then I want to suggest something……..’ he heard her say.
She talked at some length about their past, their problems, their differing lives and needs and how, over time, those variances….. ‘
Variances thought Ernest, we had variances. I supposed if I had sucked off the gardener there would have been no variance…
‘…….those variances become less like peaks that we cannot climb and so restrict us, more like hills and valleys to be walked and enjoyed……..’
Ernest was lost. Variances, peaks, hills and valleys to be enjoyed. Eh..? She carried on and it seemed to Ernest that she was making an effort for a reconciliation.
Reconciliation? Surely not. He must have misheard. Damn champagne….
‘Marion’ he said ‘this is a bit difficult for me and I may be mishearing everything you have just said so could you sort of sum it up in one sentence………please’.
‘Yes….I'd like us to try again’
‘Us?’
She nodded
‘Together?’
She nodded
‘Again?’
She nodded
‘Honestly?’
‘Completely and utterly’
Ernest was ecstatic. He was joyous. This woman who had fucked half the world when they were together but who he completely and utterly adored wanted him back!
‘How?’ stuttered Ernest.
‘I will move back to England if you want me to and we will resume as man and wife. I know it may be difficult for you but I have thought about this for a long time and very much want this to happen’
He shook his head in continuing disbelief. ‘When?’ he croaked.
‘I suggest I spend the next three or four weeks getting my, our, place on the coast ready for my departure and then we just use it as an escape or we can sell it. Whatever you want……’
Our place on the coast; whatever I want. Ernest could still not believe it. ‘Have you talked to anyone else about this?’ he asked with just a hint of paranoia.
‘I've talked it over quite
a lot with Patricia and told her I would talk to you today to see if there was any chance you would have me back….’
Have you back, have you back; are you joking?
‘Would you give it a try my love?’ she asked looking deep into his eyes.
My love?
He nodded, smiled and held back tears he desperately wanted to shed.
She gripped his hand tightly, her face beamed. ‘Let's go and tell Patricia’.
They got up, enquired as to the whereabouts of Patricia and were told that the newly married couple had gone down to the lake. They walked through the perfumed garden to the lake which opened up before them as they passed through the deep red, scented carnations that surrounded it. Clever marketing, thought Hathaway, not quite casting off his businessman's hat and using his extensive horticultural knowledge, that they had deep red carnations which he knew were supposed to represent deep love and affection. A pair of black swans with three tiny fluffy cygnets glided lazily along the shore and paid no attention.
Hathaway was feeling life as he had not felt it in such a long time. It was wonderful. All this time……..
He felt joy
He felt happiness
His daughter getting married, he remarried……
Their daughter and son in law were sitting on a simple wooden seat with their backs to them and Patricia had her head cradled on his shoulder. Ernest was overwhelmed with the emotion. Not for years had he felt such raw, unconditional happiness. This was as it should be and he realised how he had yearned for it; all these lonely, barren years. Marion skipped a few paces ahead to tell Patricia and started to say ‘Daddy and I…..’ when she screamed. A dreadful, piercing, wailing scream………
Hathaway rushed to her and as he looked upon them a hammer smashed into his heart and his breath left him. The blood coming out of their chests had stopped and dried in the beautiful summer sun and their faces were peaceful as they faced eternity together…………..
H When Hell Is the Favourable Option...... Page 23
