Family Baggage

by Monica McInerney

  ‘What is it with you and my love life?’ He moved forward into the traffic again.

  ‘I like you. I think we’re going to be friends. And I worry about my friends. So am I right? Do you secretly love – what’s her name?’

  ‘Melissa.’

  ‘Melissa. Is it a case of being jealous of your brother? Of having to take yourself out of the office because it was too much for your heart and your nerves to work so closely with your brother’s wife?’

  ‘Nina, can you stop it?’

  ‘Your nerves taut as piano wire as you brushed against each other by the photocopy machine.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘Eyes meeting eyes across the formica lunch table.’

  ‘Shut up, Nina.’

  Her smile disappeared. ‘Don’t you tell me to shut up.’

  He stopped at another red light and looked over. ‘I’m sorry. You hit a sore point. No, I don’t secretly love Melissa. I openly loathe Melissa. And I hate what she’s done to our family business.’

  ‘But it’s successful, isn’t it?’

  He nodded. ‘Very, these days.’

  ‘You hate that she’s made it successful? I can see why you’d hate it if she ruined it, but isn’t success a good thing?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s the way she does things. She rides roughshod over everyone. Makes decisions without asking us. She’s taken over.’

  ‘So who works in the family business? You don’t. Your parents have passed away …’

  ‘My sister Harriet. My brother James. Melissa. Lara. And Gloria, an old family friend. She’s been working with us for centuries. Mum and Dad left her shares in the company in their will.’

  ‘So it’s not completely a family business then? More half and half.’ She counted names off on her fingers. ‘In fact, the non-biological family are winning. You’ll have to go back and work there so there’s more of you than them.’

  Nina had an annoying habit of getting right to the point. ‘I don’t want to. It’s the last place I want to work.’

  ‘Then you can’t complain if they make decisions without you, can you?’

  He opened his mouth and then shut it again. He’d liked her at the start. Now he wasn’t sure at all.

  He stayed quiet for the rest of the journey, telling himself he was concentrating on the road. These were difficult driving conditions, after all. She made one or two attempts to break into his silence, but he wouldn’t bite. She was messing up his head, with all these opinions and nosy remarks about Melissa and the travel agency. He was regretting asking her to come with him to Ireland now. Come to think of it, had he asked her along? She’d invited herself, hadn’t she?

  The music from the radio filled the car. It suited him that way. He indicated as the sign for Bristol Airport came up. The rain was still beating down. They had just driven into the hire car area when she leaned over and switched off the radio.

  ‘What’s it like up there, Austin?’

  He manoeuvred the car into a parking bay, not looking at her. ‘Up where?’

  ‘On your high horse.’

  He stopped the car and turned to her. Enough was enough. ‘Do you ever give up?’

  ‘Nope. Are you going to sulk like this the whole way to Ireland, because it won’t be much fun if you do.’

  ‘I’m not sulking.’ They were having to speak loudly over the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the car.

  ‘Aren’t you? You’ve just decided to have some quiet time while you’re in a car with another human being? You don’t like teasing much, do you? I can be respectful if that’s what you’d prefer. But I thought there was more to you than a sulky boy, Austin. I thought you were more interesting than this. More fun.’

  ‘This isn’t supposed to be fun. We’re trying to find Lara, remember. This is serious.’

  ‘And life goes on while we try to find Lara. Conversation goes on, manners go on. As life has always gone on, no matter what else is happening around a person.’

  She kept getting to him. It needled him again. ‘Well, aren’t you the philosopher. A graduate from the school of cheery optimism, I see.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I have been ever since my husband died.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, yes, I am optimistic. I have been ever since my husband died.’

  He stared at her. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘He died four years ago. We’d been married for three years. Something like that changes the way you look at life, Austin. It made me appreciate it. It’s also made me impatient.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You didn’t know.’

  ‘What happened?’ It was his turn to ask the blunt questions.

  ‘It was an accident. A silly stupid accident. He was playing Sunday football with a gang of our friends, a social league, out in the park. And the goal net wasn’t secured properly and someone knocked against it. The bars tipped over and hit him on the head. Trapped him.’

  ‘You were there?’

  She nodded. ‘We got him to hospital but he never regained consciousness. He died two days later.’

  He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was apologise again. ‘I’m so sorry, Nina. About your husband. And for sulking. You’re right. I was.’

  ‘I forgive you. You know what I mean, though, don’t you? You know how it feels when someone you love dies. It makes you look at everything in a different way.’

  He did know. ‘But mine wasn’t the same as your situation. My parents had a good life. And they died within weeks of each other. It almost felt like the right thing for them.’ Not that he hadn’t been devastated when they died. And he still missed them, badly. But slowly, he had recovered. He had got used to it, at least.

  She put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry to talk about it like this, in a car park. But I wanted to explain why I am like I am. I haven’t got time to hang around and wait to find things out, or to put up with people sulking. Especially when I like them so much when they’re not sulking.’

  Austin acknowledged the dig.

  ‘And I’m sorry if it’s hard to take sometimes. But I try to grasp life now, Austin. All and as much as I can, while I can. So please, if you get mad at me over the next few days, say you’re mad, would you, and we’ll try and sort it out there and then? We haven’t got time to mess around.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘And stop saying sorry.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘Now you’re talking.’

  They climbed out of the car, grabbed their bags from the boot and ran through the rain into the airport building.

  Clive drove the bus out of the Land’s End car park just as the rain started again. The group hadn’t been that impressed with their time there. An amusement arcade had been built on the spot where Willoughby and Lady Garvan had run into each other’s arms in episode fourteen, ‘The Case of the Jilted Jockey’. Still, they all enjoyed a stroll along the coastal path, peered over the cliff at the sea churning and boiling against the rocks far below. They queued patiently to have their group photograph taken in front of the signpost showing the distances to New York, John O’Groats and the focus of all their pointing fingers – Merryn Bay – 11 897 miles away. Harriet did a headcount as they came onto the bus. So far so good, she still hadn’t lost anyone. She was about to give Clive the nod to drive on when Mrs Lamerton stood up and coughed, self-importantly. Harriet’s heart sank. She had seen them all whispering about something as they walked back. Please don’t let her say they didn’t want to go to the Minack Theatre. Harriet was longing to see it.

  ‘Harriet, we’ve been talking amongst ourselves and we were wondering if that TV and video up there works.’

  Harriet glanced up at the small TV built into the plastic casing behind Clive’s seat. Clive had heard the question and leaned around. ‘Of course it does, Mrs L. This is one of the best buses
in our fleet. Not the biggest, but everything on it is in first-class working order. Including myself.’

  Harriet saw Miss Talbot nudge Mrs Randall.

  Mrs Lamerton reached into her bag. ‘In that case, Harriet, would you mind if we watched “The Case of the Vanishing Vicar” as we make our way to the Minack Theatre? To familiarise ourselves?’

  ‘Watch the whole episode? But it’s only a few miles from here.’

  ‘We could take the long way, couldn’t we?’ They’d obviously looked at the map. ‘It would add to the whole experience to see it on video before we saw the real thing.’

  Harriet couldn’t say no.

  It took Clive only a minute to get the video running. There was a cheer as the Willoughby theme tune started and the familiar sight of a man walking across the field appeared on screen.

  ‘Patrick, it’s you!’ Mrs Kempton said happily.

  ‘Can you turn it up, Clive?’ Miss Boyd called out.

  ‘Can we pull the curtains on the bus, Harriet?’ Mr Fidock asked. ‘It’s a bit hard to see otherwise.’

  Harriet knew from James’s script that they were about to pass some of Cornwall’s most beautiful coastline: coastal paths and towering cliffs, long sandy beaches and wind-ravaged trees. And they wanted to watch TV. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  They drove into the car park of the Minack Theatre as the closing credits came up. No one had said a word for the past thirty minutes, gripped by the storyline. Clive had been driving at about five miles an hour. The volume had been turned up to maximum. Mrs Kempton grabbed Patrick’s arm at several tense moments during the episode. It ended on another cliffhanger note – Willoughby looking down the barrel of a gun being held by the fugitive vicar, on the stage of the Minack Theatre. The scriptwriters had obviously specialised in cliffhanger endings. There were sighs as the credits started to roll.

  ‘There’s your name, Patrick!’ Mrs Kempton said, pulling at his sleeve again.

  Harriet leaned over and asked Clive to turn the video off. She reached for the microphone and started reading from James’s script. ‘Welcome to the Minack Theatre, everyone. As you’re about to see, this outdoor theatre is truly one of the most beautiful theatre spaces in the world. Unfortunately we are here too early in the season to see any of the plays but come with me and stand among the carved stone seats, halt awhile and surely you will be able to hear the ghosts of actors past, calling out their lines, enchanting audiences old and young.’ Oh, shut up, James, Harriet thought crossly. She put down the script. ‘If you’d all like to follow me, we’ll begin our tour.’

  Mrs Lamerton pulled back her curtain. ‘But it’s raining.’

  ‘No, it’s just a slight drizzle,’ Harriet said.

  Mrs Pollard was peering out of her window too. ‘It’s looks very windy. And we’re on top of a cliff, aren’t we? Isn’t that dangerous?’

  Harriet was surprised she’d noticed where they were. None of them had looked outside the bus for the past half hour. ‘I promise you it’s safe.’

  ‘I think I’d feel safer in here,’ Mrs Douglas said.

  ‘Me too,’ Mrs Kempton said. ‘Clive, does the video work even if the bus isn’t running?’

  ‘It should do. What was happening at the end of that episode? All that shouting? I could hear it but not see it.’

  ‘It was Reginald Camphor, the vanishing vicar. Willoughby tracked him down to the theatre, in the middle of one of the performances, and the vicar pulled out a gun. He’s threatening to shoot Lady Garvan unless she tells him where she put the safe with all the diamonds.’

  ‘Which one was Lady Garvan?’

  ‘The aristocratic one,’ Mrs Lamerton said.

  ‘So who was the other female voice I heard?’

  ‘That was Mrs Flanders, the elderly postmistress. Haven’t you seen Willoughby before, Clive?’ Mrs Lamerton took another cassette out of her large handbag. ‘I’ve got the first episode here. “The Case of the Prodigal Postman”. It’s my favourite.’ She put on a deep voice. ‘There are some mornings when I wake up and see the blue of the sea and feel the freshness of the wind—’

  A chorus of voices joined in. ‘And I know I’m home.’

  ‘Put that first episode on, Clive,’ Mr Douglas called out.

  ‘No, let’s have part two of “The Case of the Vanishing Vicar”,’ his wife said. ‘We can look at episode one on the way back to the hotel.’

  ‘Yes, part two of the “Vanishing Vicar”,’ Mrs Lamerton said firmly. ‘Hands up who agrees with that?’

  Thirteen pairs of hands went up. Harriet was astonished. ‘Does anyone want to come to the Minack Theatre?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘You seriously want to stay on the bus and watch videos?’

  Mrs Lamerton had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. ‘Would you mind, Harriet?’

  Patrick stood up. ‘Of course she wouldn’t. Would any of you mind if Harriet and I went to look at the theatre while you were watching videos?’

  Clive had already pressed play. Patch was barking in the background. Mrs Lamerton was looking at the screen as she answered. ‘No. Take as long as you like.’

  By the time Harriet and Patrick bought their tickets and walked down the steps to the amphitheatre, the light rain had stopped. There were three small tour groups roaming through it. Harriet stopped at the bottom of the steps. It was the most spectacular sight she’d seen on the trip.

  It was a perfect amphitheatre, set into the side of a cliff, long rows of seats curving around a stone stage area. There was no backdrop, just the pure view of ocean and the coastline stretching for miles. The sky was dramatic, blue in parts, with huge billowing white and grey clouds darkening in the distance. Far below them was a curved beach, tucked into a cove. She could see a path winding down the cliffside to the sand.

  Everything was in place for a theatre performance. A lighting area, a director’s vantage point, even a separate higher stage for tower scenes. It was something from ancient Greece transported to modern Cornwall.

  ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Patrick said, beside her. He’d been watching her reaction.

  ‘It’s absolutely beautiful. Has it changed since you were here last?’

  ‘All those centuries ago?’ He smiled. ‘No, except we almost have it to ourselves. It was overrun with crew and actors when we were here. It wasn’t quite the same. It’s better today.’

  They made their way along one of the rows of seats, stopping in the centre. Celtic emblems were etched into the stone. Grass was growing on the footpaths between the seats. The sea was in front of them, blue and grey with flecks of white, reflecting the sky.

  He took her hand as they sat down. It was a simple gesture but it sent a spark of desire through her.

  ‘Talk to me, Harriet. If you won’t let me kiss you in public, you have to talk to me instead. Tell me everything.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘With the bad news. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m thirty-two.’

  ‘And you’re still single?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’re not pining for poor Simon?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ She hesitated. Did she tell him all that had led to her splitting up with Simon? The anxiety attacks? The breakdown? She stayed with the simple truth. ‘I broke it off with him. I realised I didn’t love him enough.’ She paused. ‘And you, Patrick? Were you really married?’

  ‘To poor Alicia and Caitlin, you mean?’ A glimmer of a smile. ‘No, Harriet, not to them. But I was married. For nine years. To an American woman. We were divorced nearly five years ago.’

  ‘And do you have children?’

  ‘One stepson. He lives in Boston. We see each other still. We’re close. He’s great.’

  ‘And now? Are you with anyone now?’ It felt important to ask all these questions.

  He shook his head. ‘I was seeing someone until about six months ago. But it wasn’t working for either of us. It’s be
en me and work since. Too much work, I think sometimes.’

  ‘What do you do, Patrick? When you’re not being Willoughby?’

  ‘I haven’t told you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, you’re right, I haven’t. There always seemed to be better things to talk about. I run a casting agency. A different sort of actors’ casting agency.’

  ‘You’re not an actor any more?’

  ‘No, I haven’t been for years. I was no good at it, and it was no good for me.’

  ‘No good?’

  ‘You saw it yourself. I had an attack of the nerves before every performance.’

  She remembered the night of the cocktail party. She had thought the nerves he’d shown were just part of the process, a way of getting his adrenaline running. It had worked, too. He had been the perfect guest star that night.

  ‘I decided it was my body telling me to give it up,’ he said. ‘That I wasn’t good enough.’

  ‘But you were good. I thought you were great in Willoughby. And you’ve been so good with all the group, too. They love you.’

  He smiled. ‘Thank you, Harriet. But it was more than being good or being bad. More than feeling nervous, too. It was a matter of choosing a different sort of life.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It’s quite a long story.’

  ‘I’d like to hear it. I’d love to hear it.’

  ‘Really?’ At her nod, he continued. He was still holding her hand. ‘After Willoughby was axed, I went to America with an actor friend of mine. Two British actors planning to take over the world. I’d been offered that role in the terrible soap, the one I told you about, so I was set up immediately. I met my wife around that same time. She was a producer on the program. Then the show folded. She got another job very quickly, but I couldn’t get any work for a long time. My father was a carpenter, and I’d helped him out when I was young, so I did that for a while, picking up work here and there. My friend got some acting roles, but things were fairly desperate for both of us career-wise. Then he saw an ad one day, for department store Santas. For a joke, he put both our names down. We got called in the next day and started there and then.’