The Last of the Bowmans

by J. Paul Henderson

  By now, she held her erstwhile lover in low regard, and was of the opinion that she and her unborn child would be better off without him. Although she was aware that it had taken the two of them to tango that night, she blamed him more than she did herself for her predicament. He’d promised to pull out before ejaculating, but in the event had stayed put and come inside her. And then, after this act of selfishness, he’d simply discarded her with as little thought as the tissues he’d flushed down the toilet that night. And this, no doubt, is what he’d want her to do with the foetus – discard it, abort the complication.

  Abortion for Gillian, however, was off the table. If not a good Catholic girl, she was still of the Catholic faith and believed abortion to be a sin. She’d already decided to carry the baby for the full term and then have it adopted. She’d knocked on Greg’s door, therefore, not in the hope of love or a proposal of marriage, but for financial and possibly emotional support.

  She hadn’t known Greg’s telephone number or even his last name for that matter, but at least she’d known where he lived. She’d walked there from work one evening and nervously rung the bell. His father had come to the door holding a can of paint and a small paintbrush. He’d been wearing a collar and tie and a flat corduroy cap, and had given her the most wonderful of toothless smiles.

  ‘When he told me you’d gone to live in America, I burst into tears. I think it was the hormones as much as anything – certainly not the thought of never seeing you again! He told me to come in and gave me one of his handkerchiefs to dry my eyes on. I still have it. He asked me if I’d eaten tea yet and offered to make me a sandwich. He said he’d opened a can of Spam only that morning and could easily get some cherry tomatoes from the greenhouse. I thanked him but said no, and told him that I’d settle for a cup of tea if he didn’t mind. He boiled the kettle, mashed real leaves and then poured the tea into two of his best china cups. I was touched by that. Someone making that kind of effort for a person they didn’t even know.

  ‘When I told him I was pregnant, he didn’t seem all that surprised. He just gave a big sigh – he used to sigh a lot, if you remember – and said that he’d been half-expecting some girl or other to show up at his door with this news for years. You can imagine how special that made me feel!

  ‘Anyway, he apologised to me on your behalf. He said your heart was in the right place, but was unsure if your head was. If he was honest, he said that he didn’t think you had much common sense and wondered how reliable a husband you’d be. When I told him I had no intention of marrying you and had just hoped for your support, he brightened up a bit and said that if it was okay with me he’d be happy to help in any way he could. Not many fathers would have done that, Greg. He was head and shoulders over mine.’

  Lyle had become Gillian’s friend and father figure, a constant in her life. He’d helped out with her living expenses, driven her to the hospital for appointments and had been sitting in the waiting room when she’d given birth to a child bearing a striking resemblance to himself.

  The moment she held the baby in her arms was the moment she’d given up any idea of having the child adopted. The beautiful newborn – or Bicycle Boy, as Greg transposed in his head – would be hers forever. And no one had been more pleased to hear this news than Lyle, who had immediately gone to the bank and arranged the standing order – at his, rather than her, suggestion. It had been her idea, however, to name Bicycle Boy in his honour.

  Gillian had gone to Lyle’s house only the one time – the day she’d been looking for Greg. The woman next door, his father had told her, was a Nosey Parker and a dreadful tattle-tale, and suggested it would be better if he visited her which, at least once a week for the next fifteen years, he did. He’d gone there for meals, for company, for haircuts and to babysit for Gillian when she went out with friends, or on the rare occasions she had a date.

  Lyle had got on famously with his grandson who’d known him only as a family friend. He’d bought him birthday and Christmas presents, played games with him, and taken him for walks and to the swings in the park. In return, Bicycle Boy had drawn pictures for him, written him cards and presented him with bits of stone and pebbles. The most precious gift of all, however, and the one Lyle prized most, was the small boy’s love.

  There was a time in his early life when Bicycle Boy had asked about his father, who he was and where he lived, but eventually he stopped asking and came to accept that his family comprised only him and his mother and, for this, was all the more special. He was a fine boy, Gillian had said, the finest boy in the whole wide world. He was doing well at school and had lots of friends. He was happy and considered others, and would grow up to be a man who treated women with respect and not as a random pin cushion for his prick!

  Gillian said that she’d never fully understood the reason for Lyle not telling Greg about the child, but as she herself had no intention of telling him, hadn’t been unduly concerned by this particular nor by Lyle’s insistence that their ‘arrangement’ remain secret, something for only them to know about. The bank, of course, got to know about it when they approved Gillian’s mortgage for the salon she now owned, and so too did Ben, after Gillian accepted his proposal.

  ‘We’re getting married in November and your father was to have given me away…’

  At this point, her voice had wavered and she’d looked away.

  ‘He was just the most wonderful man, Greg. You don’t know how lucky you are to have had him as a father. I miss him terribly. I still can’t believe he’s gone. Every time the bell rings and someone walks through the door, I keep expecting it to be him…

  ‘He was supposed to come for Sunday lunch. I’d made Yorkshire pudding with sage and onion stuffing, the way he liked it, and we’d waited and waited. I phoned his house but there was no answer, and I thought he must have forgotten and gone out somewhere. I called again the next day and when he still didn’t answer, I knew then that something was wrong. I called the police – I didn’t know who else to call. I told them a friend of mine might have had an accident and gave them his details, my details, and then waited on the phone for what seemed like an eternity. A different person came on the phone, a woman, and she told me that she was very sorry but a man by that name and description had been knocked down and killed the previous Friday… he’d got years left in him, Greg. Good years. It’s just so unfair.’

  She’d bought the local newspaper every day after that – something she normally refused to do on the grounds that it was fit only for fish and chips – and scanned the death notices for details of Lyle’s funeral. She’d read the editorial that painted him as a pathetic old man who’d sat at home and drunk himself to death, and afterwards called the newspaper and angrily told them to get their fucking facts straight before they printed such shit!

  She’d decided not to take Bicycle Boy to the funeral – in part to spare her son the ordeal of the service, and in part to forestall any chance meeting with Greg. He’d been distraught when she’d broken the news of Lyle’s death to him, completely heartbroken.

  Ben would have gone with her – he’d liked Lyle – but had to be in Nigeria on business that week. Going to the crematorium alone, however, had made it easier for her to slip in and out without drawing attention to herself and having to explain her connection to Lyle. When Greg had splish-sploshed his way into the chapel wearing only flip-flops, shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, she’d known for certain then that she and his father had made the right decision: Bicycle Boy was better off not knowing his father.

  ‘And now comes the difficult bit. I think it’s best if you return to America and forget all about Lyle. There’s no role for you to play in his life. He’s started to look to Ben as a father now and I want to keep it that way. Ben wants to adopt him.

  ‘And I don’t want your money, either, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t have been able to manage in the early days without your father’s generosity,
but I don’t need the money now. Ben and Lyle had already agreed that his contribution would end on the day he married me.’

  Although Greg had pretended to be hurt by the idea and accept Gillian’s suggestion only reluctantly, he’d felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The entire proposition was music to his ears. Of course, he’d apologised to her, admitted that his past behaviour was inexcusable, but had also tried to mitigate his guilt by telling her he hadn’t known anything. If his father had told him, he would have returned home and stepped up to the plate.

  Needless to say, he was lying. If not honest with Gillian, he was at least honest enough with himself to know that without an extradition order he would never have returned to England. He was glad his father had kept him in the dark about Bicycle Boy and assumed the responsibility that should have been his; forever grateful that his father had allowed him to forge a life in America unencumbered.

  He looked at his watch and realised he’d forgotten to call Billy. He kept the conversation short, gave his brother only the barest bones of the story and told him he’d explain the full situation later.

  He took another sip of the whisky and thought of Gillian. He was glad they’d left on amicable terms. She’d even suggested he return to the salon for a trim before he went back to America. ‘It will be on the house,’ she’d smiled. ‘We can’t have you going back to America with all those split ends!’

  He’d forgotten just how striking a girl Sudge Diamanti had been and realised he was still attracted to her. She was, however, unattainable – she’d made this more than clear to him – and this, no doubt, was a part of the attraction. But what if he did manage to attain her affection and walk back into her life, how long would it be before he’d tire of the relationship and walk out of it again? He had no idea. There were no guarantees in life. It was a chance he could never afford to take, and a chance that Gillian would never give him.

  He thought of Cyndi. What would he do if she told him she was pregnant? Would he marry her, settle down and become a family man at long last? Without having to think too hard about it, he quickly realised he wouldn’t. He’d suggest she have an abortion, stand by her during the ordeal and then…

  And then… after a suitable period of time, he’d move on.

  It was what he always did.

  Fire

  Greg was surprised to find his father already in the dining room when he returned to the house. ‘You’re a bit early, aren’t you, Dad?’ he said.

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s you that’s late,’ Lyle said, looking at his wrist.

  There was no watch there. It was strange, he thought, how old habits didn’t die with a person. He shifted his view to the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Four minutes past eight,’ he said. ‘You’re four minutes late.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t realise the time. I stopped off for a curry on the way home.’

  ‘On the way home from where?’

  ‘Gillian Diamanti’s house,’ he replied nonchalantly, and then watched as his father looked away and repositioned himself in the chair.

  ‘You know then?’ Lyle said. ‘You know about the boy?’

  ‘I do now, but I went there thinking he was your son.’

  ‘My son?’ Lyle chuckled. ‘I’m flattered you thought that, lad, but why my son?’

  ‘Because of the standing order you paid Gillian, because of the way you pretended not to know it was her at your funeral, and because… well, because the boy looks just like you.’

  ‘He also looks like you, if you hadn’t noticed. And the boy’s got a name, Greg. You should call him by it.’

  ‘That’s the other thing – he has your name!’

  Lyle beamed. ‘I was cock-a-hoop when Gillian called him that. It really made my day. I could have died happy that night.’

  ‘And £36,000 the richer,’ Greg said. ‘Why did you never tell me I had a son?’

  ‘Do you want the truth?’

  ‘Of course, I want the truth, Dad. Why did you keep him a secret from me?’

  Lyle adjusted the dress around his groin and then spoke to his son matter-of-factly.

  ‘I thought there was a good chance you’d screw his life up, Greg – screw up Gillian’s life too while you were at it. I didn’t want to take that risk. You weren’t a nurturing person in those days and you did daft things. I was forever having to get you out of trouble. I just did what I always did and cleared up the mess after you. It was force of habit as much as anything.

  ‘But I’ll tell you one thing: it was the best mess of yours I ever did have to clear up. My life changed for the better when Gillian and Lyle came into it. She’s a lovely girl and that boy of hers – my grandson – well: he’s just the nicest kid you’re ever likely to meet. I was glad to help them.’

  ‘You didn’t think that was my responsibility?’ Greg asked.

  ‘Of course I thought it was your responsibility!’ Lyle snapped. ‘But I also knew that you’d do everything possible to side-step it. Apart from that, you’d just gone to live in America. How would it have helped anything if I’d dragged you back here? It would have ruined your life as well as Gillian’s, and it was easier for me to fix just the one life. Besides, I thought I owed it your mother.’

  ‘My mother? Why did you think that?’

  ‘Because she always had high hopes for you, Greg. Always thought you’d do something special with your life. She loved both you and Billy, but she loved you in a different way. If a parent can have favourites, then you were hers. I did it for your mother as much as I did it for you – if you can understand that. I didn’t want her to be disappointed… anyway, did you see the boy? And how did you and Gillian get along?’

  ‘I saw Bi… Lyle, but we never spoke or anything. He smiled at me though, and I think I left Gillian on good terms. She’s promised to cut my hair before I go back.’

  ‘She’ll probably shave your head!’ Lyle laughed.

  ‘You really think so?’ Greg said, alarmed by the idea.

  ‘No, but she’s got some fire in her, lad. It’s probably that Italian blood running through her veins. Are the two of you going to keep in touch?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad. I’m not sure there’s much point. Gillian doesn’t want me to play any role in Bi… Lyle’s life, and she said that Ben was hoping to adopt him.’

  ‘He’s a good one, is Ben. Solid as a rock. I liked him the first time I clapped eyes on him. I was supposed to give her away at their wedding, did she tell you that?’

  ‘Yes, she told me. She got upset just talking about you. She loved you a lot, Dad – thought of you as a father as well as a friend.’

  Lyle smiled sadly. ‘Are you mad at me, son? Annoyed with me for not telling you about them?’

  Greg was silent for a moment, thinking.

  ‘No, I’m not mad at you, Dad. I should be, but I’m not. A decent person would be mad at you, but I’m not that person. You know that as well as I do. The truth is I’m thankful to you for what you did. I’m glad you didn’t tell me. But I’m going to do something for Gillian and Lyle now – if Gillian will let me, that is.

  ‘I figure it this way. You’ve given Gillian £36,000, and this is money I should have given her. When we sell the house, I’m going to deduct that amount from my share of the proceeds and give it to Billy. In the circumstances I think that’s only fair, and it will help him if he decides to start his own business. The rest of the money I’ll give to Gillian to keep in trust for Lyle. I’ll probably ask Billy to arrange things so it looks as though you’ve left him the money and that way she won’t be able to refuse it. What do you think of the idea?’

  ‘I like it, Greg. I like it a lot. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s me that should be thanking you, Dad. Thanks for taking care of them… thanks… well, thanks for everything.’

  The day of Lyle�
��s last night on earth dawned. The sky was overcast, rain threatened and Greg was unsure what to do. There was, in fact, little for him to do. The house was now decorated and ready for market, and the problems that had brought his father back to earth were in hand. This time next week, Greg reflected, he would be back in Texas.

  The day passed slowly. He made breakfast, washed plates, read a book, lay on the settee, made lunch, washed plates, tidied the house, fell asleep, listened to the radio, made dinner, washed plates, and then kicked his heels until his father appeared.

  Lyle had pulled out all the stops that evening and was wearing a midnight blue ruched ball gown. The mink stole was again draped over his shoulders and his old corduroy cap perched on his head.

  ‘This is it then, lad. The big night. I’m a bit nervous, to tell you the truth. That Big Dipper all over again. And then what? It’s the not knowing. I’m going to miss the loft. What did you have for your dinner?’

  ‘I just boiled some eggs, Dad. I wasn’t all that hungry.’

  ‘I used to like eggs,’ Lyle said. ‘Liked them runny though and not hard. I liked dipping pieces of bread into them. We called the bread “soldiers”.’

  ‘I remember, Dad. That’s what Billy and I still call them. Katy calls them that, too. Would you like to listen to some music?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but thanks for asking, lad. I know Gilbert & Sullivan isn’t to your taste. I wish you liked good music, though.’

  Greg remembered the times his father had knocked on his bedroom door and told him to turn his music down: ‘It’s just noise, Greg. There’s no melody to it. You’ll have Mrs Turton banging on the wall.’

  ‘I’m glad we got to see each other again, Greg. Glad we had the chance to talk. When you’re alive you think you have all the time in the world to talk, but you don’t. You put off things you should say and then all of a sudden it’s too late to say any of them. I’m not sure I ever told you this when I was alive, son, but I love you – and make sure you let Billy know how much I loved him too.’