‘Yup. A really great guy, Callum. I thought – I think we all thought – that this was it. She’s had loads of boyfriends before, she’s kind of cute I guess, but she always gets bored. Callum had her sussed and she seemed smitten. Anyway, she met Brian at a trade fair in London and that was that.’
He glares at Alex.
‘They both promise me he wasn’t involved in the decision to give me the job or I would have walked out last week.’
‘Heavens, Jon, anyone can see your talent. Of course you got the job on your own merit.’
That feels a bit better, at least. ‘Finding that out was bad enough, but then the penny dropped that this is the guy she’s obsessed with. I couldn’t believe it, honest to God, I nearly died. My sister – and my boss!’
‘I don’t imagine it’s all one-sided,’ Alex says with a grimace. ‘I was trying to be diplomatic last week when you asked about Brian, but to be truthful, everyone knows he’s a bit of a sleazebag. He’ll have come on to her, no doubt about that.’
It’s mildly reassuring to think the fault is not all Mannie’s. ‘You think? Still, whatever. It doesn’t change anything, does it?’
‘But now that she knows he’s related?’
‘You should have seen her, Alex. She was hysterical. She kept shouting, “Nothing will make me give him up. Nothing!” There was no talking any sense to her.’
‘But perhaps we could talk sense to him.’
Jon stares at her. ‘Talk to the boss?’
‘Someone’s going to have to.’
He pondered this idea. How could he talk to Brian Henderson about such a desperately delicate matter? His boss?
‘I couldn’t!’
‘Think about it.’
‘No. No, no, no.’
Walking into that glass box and telling Brian to stop coming on to his sister? His face grows bright at the thought.
‘It needs to be dealt with, Jon.’
Again there is laughter across the room. Jon glances at the men, so carefree and happy. Can he ever laugh again? Not, certainly, unless this mess is cleared up – if that’s even possible.
‘I guess you’re right,’ he concedes reluctantly. ‘Maybe my mother?’
‘I expect that will be on her agenda. But this is your job, Jon, your situation.’
He downs the rest of his pint, but it tastes like dishwater.
Alex says, ‘I’ve just had a thought.’
‘Yeah?’
She stands up. ‘Something I read recently. Listen, I’m going home.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’
‘I want to check up on it first. Can you get in early tomorrow? Eight?’
‘Sure. But—’
‘If I’m right—’ she smiles up at him. ‘—well, it might help a bit. Go rest, Jon. We’ll sort this out. Promise.’
By her car he takes her hand. He longs to crush her close to him, but not here, not like this, not yet. His free hand steals up to her face and he moves a tendril of hair from her eyes with great gentleness. ‘You’re quite something, Alex Townsend.’
She grins. ‘You’re not so bad yourself. See you in the morning.’ And she’s gone.
He spends hours thinking about her. She’s so feisty. He loves that she’s determined to solve the insoluble. He imagines he’ll be awake all night, remembering that wisp of hair, but he sleeps as soon as his head hits the pillow, worn out by the emotions of yesterday and the tensions of today.
At a quarter to eight the next morning, he’s back in the CommX offices.
She’s already there.
‘Hi.’
‘Tea?’ She has it ready for him.
‘Thanks.’
The office is empty, waiting for the day to start. There’s something pleasing about its readiness and its willingness to accommodate them now.
Alex says, straight out, as if it’s the only way she can do it, ‘I’ve been doing some reading. I think your sister has fallen victim to something called genetic sexual attraction.’
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘People tend to shy away from it because it’s about incest, but when you told me your story something clicked in my head. I read an article in a magazine recently about a couple who couldn’t have kids so they decided to adopt – this was years ago – and they adopted a boy and a girl. The boy was never any trouble, he was good as gold, while the girl was always a pain. But when the boy was in his twenties, he got engaged and they started to plan the wedding.’
Jon fidgeted. Where was the connection with Mannie?
‘Bear with me, Jon. Everything seemed to be going really well, then one day the boy’s sister – his real sister, I mean, not the adopted girl – got in touch. She’d been fostered out and ended up being adopted by a couple who emigrated to Australia. The girl had managed to track him down and was planning on coming to visit. They were all really excited – until the girl arrived.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘The boy and his real sister fell in love. Just like that. Completely and obsessively in love. The engagement was broken off and they moved in together. End of. ’
‘Brother and sister? In love?’
‘Nothing would stop them, nothing anyone said could change their minds. They had different surnames, they didn’t tell anyone outside the family, they just went off together.’
‘Christ Almighty.’
‘When you told me yesterday about your sister, I remembered the story and wondered whether there might be any kind of similarities. I did some research on the net to see if there were any case studies, and there are. There’s some theories about why this kind of thing happens.’
‘Theories? Justifications, you mean?’
‘No, just attempts to get under the surface in an objective way. Apparently, when you grow up with someone – a parent, a brother or sister, whatever – they reckon there’s some kind of built in inhibitors that stop you being attracted to them sexually. The old familiarity breeds contempt thing. You know they pick their noses, fart when they eat sprouts, whatever.’
‘And if they don’t grow up together—’
‘The inhibitor doesn’t kick in. You meet someone and maybe recognise something in them that’s really familiar and nice, maybe because you’re like that too or something, and you think, wow, this person’s like, the half of me I never knew I had. It’s strong stuff.’
‘And it can convert into sexual attraction?’
‘Yup. Not with everyone, of course. But yes. Mothers often feel an overpowering need to feel the skin of their son next to theirs, maybe something they never felt when the guy was a baby.’
‘Mothers sleep with their sons?’
‘There’s plenty of case studies, yes.’
‘Gross.’
‘That’s what I thought. But they can’t help it. Don’t you see, Jon, maybe Mannie can’t help it.’
Jon’s tea sits on the desk next to him, untouched. Alex’s explanation is startling, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Why else would she give up a guy like Cal for Brian Henderson? What was it she said, the day she confessed? It’s a mess, Jonno. A complete mess. He says slowly, ‘You might be on to something.’
‘So – next steps?’
‘No idea. How do you deal with something like that?’
‘Well for one, you go to the boss and tell him he’s her uncle – or does he know already?’
‘I don’t think so. Mum’s only told the family.’
‘That’s probably a good thing. Maybe when Brian realises, he’ll back off.’
‘That depends, doesn’t it? What if he’s got it too? This genetic whatsit.’
‘Then it’ll be harder. But it’s not always reciprocated, apparently. We have to hope it’s just Mannie. That way it’ll be easier to break.’
Jonno’s shoulders sag. ‘Jesus,’ he says, appalled. Then, ‘Jesus,’ he repeats lamely.
The door bursts open and half a dozen staff appear, chatting and l
aughing. The day is about to begin.
‘I need to think about this,’ Jonno says quickly.
‘Sure.’
‘And Alex—’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks.’
It was all he has time to say, but the look she gives him buoys him up all day.
Chapter Twenty-five
Susie is in trouble again. Maureen Armstrong is fizzing with rage. ‘I thought we agreed, Susie. No off-message interviews.’
‘You agreed, Mo,’ Susie says with every outward appearance of calm. Frankly, in the scheme of what’s happening at home, Mo’s rages seem insignificant.
‘Tom’s incandescent.’
‘I imagine he is.’
‘Don’t you get it, Susie? You’re making our education policy look ridiculous.’
‘That’s because it is ridiculous.’
‘Susie, you can’t head off unilaterally in your own blessed direction, not if you want to be a member of this Party. Your constant criticising is doing us no good at all. I’m going to have to forbid you to talk to the media.’
Susie smiles sweetly. ‘That’s going to look great, isn’t it? I can see the headlines now. “Party gag on Scotland’s National Treasure”.’
It’s an unfair trick, but she’s quoting an article that appeared in one of the Sundays, where she was – amazingly, in her opinion – featured in a list of ‘National Living Treasures’.
She can almost hear Mo growl in frustration. ‘Susie, how can I put this any more clearly? Joe Shearer’s job as Education Minister is seriously at risk. I’ve heard rumours that the opposition is going to force a vote of no confidence next week. It could bring down the government. We’ll need every vote to save the day – including yours.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Mo, and I do understand the concepts of collective responsibility and Party unity. But arts education matters to me. Really matters. I’m not simply spouting words and I’m not just being awkward about this. I care.’ She sighs. ‘Actually, I’m not sure I can vote with the Party on this one.’
Mo runs her hands through her crop of flaming hair and back again, leaving it standing up like a cockscomb. ‘I know you care. Joe knows you care. The First Minister knows you care. But there’s such a thing as the greater good.’
‘And what, pray, is the greater good in this instance?’
That silences Mo, as she knew it would. The Media Manager turns on her heel and stalks off, frustrated.
‘That was something to behold,’ Karen says cheerfully.
The day she was elected to the Parliament was one of the greatest days in Susie’s life. Politics isn’t a career she prepared herself for, or trained in, or really gave very much thought to until passion for her cause drove her here. It’s been fun – but the best part has always been getting home from work each day and talking it all over with Archie. No matter how late the hour, he has always been there, waiting for her, eager to learn about who she has met, what she said in the Chamber, the ideas she has had, who she’s been able to help.
Today, steering the car the last couple of miles from Hailesbank to the cottage, weariness seeps through her bones. The Rivo debacle is still troubling her deeply. It’s all very well sacking Ricky Waring, but that won’t solve their problems, not by a long way. The challenge, as always, is money.
The best way to make amends for only half keeping an eye on the job she committed herself to do by joining the Board is to raise fifty or sixty thousand pounds, and quickly – but who does she know who can flash around that kind of money?
Jonno has retired to bed. Archie, presumably, is in the studio, because he’s not in evidence in the cottage. Susie opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of white wine and squints at the level. Not bad. Jonno’s drinking has dropped since he started working and that, at least, is something to be thankful for.
She pours herself a glass and goes through to the sitting room. She has just flopped down on the sofa when the phone rings. She’s tempted to leave it, but thinking that perhaps Jonno is sleeping already, she heaves herself up again and goes across to her desk to take the call.
‘Susie? That you?’ The Scottish accent tinged with American is unmistakeable.
‘Maitland? Hi! Are you in Scotland?’
‘Sadly, no. This a good time to talk?’
‘Excellent. It’s great to hear you. What’s new?’
‘I’ve made a bit of a breakthrough, actually. Did I tell you about the movie I wanted to make? The historical based on the final days of the Jacobite rebellion?’
‘No. Tell me now.’
‘It’s by a young playwright, a girl. I saw her work a few years ago at the Fringe in Edinburgh, a short drama about Bonnie Prince Charlie. It made him out to be a bit of a fool.’
Susie laughed. ‘Well, he was in many ways, though you might make a few enemies by showing him in that light.’
‘He was idealistic too, I guess. But what I really liked about her interpretation was the way she’d done Flora MacDonald, really challenging, a teenager who spoke her mind, even in front of the Prince. She wasn’t cowed or intimidated. So I asked the playwright for a treatment with Flora at the heart of the story, not as an add-on, and took an option. And the funding’s come through to make the movie! I’m so excited.’
‘That’s fantastic, Maitland. Are you going to star?’ She couldn’t see Maitland as Charles Edward Stuart and besides, he was too old by far.
‘No, no, darling, I’m going to direct. My debut.’
‘I’m so excited for you.’
‘Thing is, Susie, I’d love you to be in it.’
‘Me? Really? I’m way too old for Flora.’
‘Sure. But there’ll be something else. Her mother, perhaps, or a lady at Court. Not a big part, maybe, but a return to the screen. It’s long overdue, honey.’
‘Maitland, that sounds delicious. But I have a career.’
‘Politics? Call that a career? Darling, you’re an actor, born and bred.’ The sound of coughing splutters down the line. ‘Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of phrase, huh? But you know what I mean. It wouldn’t take long. We could fit your shooting round your schedules.’
‘I’ll give it some thought, I promise. It’s certainly a very attractive idea.’
‘Good. Do that. Anything else new, darling?’
Maitland is one of the few people she has confided in. She’s tempted to tell him about the latest developments, but the line isn’t great and the complexities are too major to convey properly in a long-distance call. ‘Too much to talk about. But Maitland—’ she hesitates. She’s had an idea but it’s a bit cheeky.
‘What is it, honey?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No, there is something, do tell.’
‘Well—’ Nothing ventured ... ‘You know you were saying you wanted to do something in Scotland. For Scotland, I mean? There is something that might appeal.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Remember we talked about community arts, schools, all that stuff?’
‘Sure. You were pretty passionate about it. Converted me. Not that I really needed converting.’
‘There’s a small community-based organisation I’m on the Board of. It helps young people who’ve lost their way to find meaning and purpose through the arts. But there’s been a problem with the Director, he mismanaged funds, I won’t bore you with it, but the upshot is we need to find some money. Rather quickly.’
‘How much?’
‘Fifty thousand. Pounds. Minimum.’ The whistle down the line tells her all she needs to know. ‘I know. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It was just an idea.’
‘No, hold on, darling, I was just a bit surprised is all. Tell me more.’
She fills him in on the details and plays her rapidly improvised masterstroke at the end. ‘I could perhaps persuade the Board that we could rename it. After you, I mean. The Maitland Forbes Foundation, something like that—?’
He chuckles. ‘It’s got a certain ring, ha
sn't it? You clever thing, you know how to tempt a guy. Listen honey, I’ve gotta go. I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no either. I’ll get back to you in the next couple of days. Is that okay?’
‘I can’t ask any fairer than that. Thanks, Maitland.’
‘You’ll think about the film?’
‘Likewise.’
‘Bye, sweetie. Take care of yourself now.’
‘Bye.’
She replaces the receiver thoughtfully.
‘Who was that?’
‘Mannie!’ She swivels round to see her daughter hunched in the doorway. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I heard you on the phone, so I tried to keep quiet.’
‘Are you all right? You look terrible.’
‘Oh Mum—’ It comes out as a wail, and then her daughter is in her arms, wracked by sobs.
‘Goodness, Mannie. Here, come and sit down.’
It’s all she can do to calm her. It takes ten minutes, perhaps more, for the hysteria to subside and to make any sense of the incoherent words that are stumbling out of her daughter’s mouth.
Hate myself ...
Callum ...
Can’t understand ...
Falling apart ...
Work’s a disaster ...
‘Shhh. Shhh. There, child. Hush now.’ She cradles her like a baby, rocks her to and fro, holds her close so that her warmth and nearness might lend solace and comfort. ‘You drove all the way here? Darling child, you look exhausted. Now,’ she commands more authoritatively as Mannie gradually gains some semblance of control over herself, ‘tell me everything.’
She knows most of it already. The chance encounter with Brian Henderson in London, the feelings that were aroused even then. Meeting him again – while they were both waiting, Mannie has worked out now, for their mothers. ‘It was that day I waited for you in the café in Princes Street, Mum. He said he was waiting for his mother, too. I didn’t know, then, that his mother was Joyce Henderson. How could I?’ Her voice is beginning to rise again, the hysteria threatening to return.
‘You couldn’t have known.’
‘I really fell for him. I couldn’t help it.’ The tear-stained face is turned up to hers pleadingly. ‘I didn’t want to. Everything was going so well with Callum. But I couldn’t leave it alone. My feelings for Brian were like a scab that just had to be picked at. I started to text him, like, all the time? Then I met him for dinner and that just made it worse.’
Loving Susie: The Heartlands series Page 23
