by Fabian Black
“I won’t draw her again.”
I didn’t need to ask whom.
“Anne has her life. I have never been a part of it. I’ve never had a claim on her, so why should she make claims of me.”
“I’m sorry, Dee-Dee.”
“No. It’s good. I’m done with her now. She has no claim on me. I feel free in a way. I can look forward instead of looking back waiting for her to be something for me. Uncle Desmond gave me more than material possessions. She can try to take them, and she might succeed, but she can never take away the love and affection he gave me. It’s mine forever. I’ll carry it with me.”
I went back to his apartment with him to get my briefcase. Before taking my leave I reminded him about making an appointment with his solicitor. “Email me when you’ve done it. I can pick it up on my mobile. I’ll check it during my lunch break. I’ve written my details on the dresser. Will you mail me?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good, because I’ll be annoyed if you do one of your vanishing acts again.” I embraced him. “Goodnight, Dee. Try to sleep.” I walked away down the corridor, conscious of him watching. I turned when I reached the fire doors to wave before pushing them open and going home.
Chapter Twenty
He kept his promise. He called his solicitor and emailed the details. The appointment was made for Saturday morning at nine, a bit earlier than I would have liked on my weekend off, but no matter.
The offices of Winpenny and Pegg, solicitors at law, as he had said, were old fashioned, but not Victorian. They were snuggled beneath the roof of a Georgian town house, one of the oldest in the area. It was imposing and dignified, but somehow comforting, suggesting a solid line of continuity from inception to the present day.
The appointment was with a Mr Alan Winpenny the younger, some distant relative of the original founding Winpenny. I suppose with a name like Winpenny it was almost obligatory to enter the legal business. He turned out to be a small round-faced man who looked to be in his fifties. The atmosphere and history of the premises appeared to have influenced his dress. A lavishly embroidered waistcoat saved his sober grey suit from accusations of austerity. Dee-Dee was fascinated. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. I knew he’d have to comment.
He did. “Your waistcoat is beautiful, like a floral painting.”
Mr Winpenny appeared pleased by the compliment. “My wife made and embroidered it in the Georgian style.”
“She’s a talented needle artist,” said Dee-Dee solemnly.
“Thank you, young man.” He beamed. “I’ll pass on your compliments. Now, how can I help you?”
We got down to business. In the event the meeting did more than put Dee-Dee’s mind at rest.
Mr Winpenny assured him Anne was unlikely to get anywhere by contesting her uncle’s will. He confirmed it was too far down the line for one thing and for another she had not been a dependent of Desmond. She had been a woman of independent means at the time of Desmond’s death and in no way reliant on him for support and maintenance, unlike Dee-Dee. At that point Mr Winpenny smiled at him. “He was your legal guardian. He was perfectly entitled to leave everything to you. There were no grey areas in his will.”
The guardianship was news to Dee-Dee. His jaw dropped. He clamoured for details. His reaction on discovering his great uncle had been appointed his legal guardian before Anne trundled off to New York was one of transparent delight. A guardian was like a parent, he said, so his uncle had been a kind of father. It made sharing his name even more special and meaningful. His eyes weren’t the only ones to fill with tears, but fortunately Mr Winpenny and I managed to keep ours from falling.
After kindly handing Dee-Dee a box of paper tissues, he went on to say the terms of the will had been carefully thought out and drawn up. He also reminded Dee of something he’d forgotten. After the original reading of the will, he’d been taken aside and advised if he needed funds over and above the specified yearly stipends then he had only to make a request and it would be considered. There was no guarantee it would be granted by the trust managers, but it would be considered.
“I don’t remember.” He said sadly. “I was too upset to take anything on board. Life was a blur from the moment uncle Desmond died. It didn’t get properly clear again for months afterwards.”
In Mr Winpenny’s opinion a cost of living rise was not unreasonable. He couldn’t make the decision on his own, but he would discuss it with the other trustees and let Dee-Dee know in due course. He was certain it would be granted.
Dee-Dee came away from the appointment much happier in mind and spirit, except for a bubble of anxiety, which surfaced in the car as we travelled homewards.
“Si,” he glanced across at me. “Do you think I should request money for Anne, to pay off her tax bill?”
“To be honest I doubt the trust managers would allow a huge withdrawal of money. Their duty is to administer and protect your inheritance, for you. Clearly Anne doesn’t know anything about the terms of the trust or she would probably have tried to make you ask for a release of funds. It’s maybe best she doesn’t know? Your uncle did right by her during his lifetime and he thought ahead to protect you after his death. He might have been fond of Anne, but he wasn’t blind to her failings. She isn’t destitute, Dee-Dee, not by any means.”
“I guess.” He sighed and fell quiet, staring out of the window. His dreamy look made an appearance as I parked the car at the bakery. “I’ve just thought, Si. I was uncle Desmond’s ward, just like in his one of his stories.”
“You and your heroine addiction.” I turned off the engine and turned to him, grinning. “Have you considered a weaning off programme?”
“Fucking terrible pun.” He blew a raspberry and then asked if I wanted to go to his place for a coffee.
“Have you got fresh milk, bread, bacon?”
“None of the above, I’m afraid. I have yet to go shopping.”
“In that case come up to mine. I’ve got all three. How do you fancy tea or coffee and some bacon butties for an early lunch?”
“Yes please, I’m starving. I only had a handful of dry cornflakes for my breakfast.”
“You need to acquire a proper breakfast habit.”
“I will, one of these days.”
The discovery of his uncle’s guardianship continued to loom large in his thoughts, as we lunched on bacon and salad sandwiches.
“I wonder why he didn’t tell me he was my legal guardian.”
“Maybe he did,” I topped up my mug from the teapot, “and you don’t remember. You were only eleven.”
“Surely I’d remember something like that. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t mean anything to me or I wouldn’t understand?” He made to take a bite of his second bacon sandwich, but put it down on the plate. “Or maybe he thought I’d be upset at Anne signing away her parental rights?”
“Are you?”
He considered for a moment and then shook his head. “Nah, she never really displayed any parental qualities so it hardly matters. Shame she didn’t meet your father. They could have competed in a shitty parent contest.”
“True.” I smiled. “Never mind, Dee-Dee. Sounds to me like your uncle always intended to take care of you and wanted guardianship to help make sure your legal entitlement to his estate was less likely to be challenged.”
“I’ll never know how it came about, but I’m glad it did. Sounds batty I know, but I feel I have a greater sense of identity now. He wasn’t just my uncle once removed. He was my guardian, someone who wanted me.” Giving a happy sigh he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “This is nice. I’m going to start buying bacon again. It tastes good.”
“Why did you stop buying it?”
“Couldn’t be bothered to cook it.”
“You take it out of the packet and bang it under the grill. A few minutes later it’s done. It hardly qualifies as cooking.”
“It does in my book.” He grinned and pulled a face. “You haven’t forgotten
I’m making dinner for you this evening?”
“I’m looking forward to it, as long as it isn’t a handful of dry cornflakes.”
“It won’t be, I promise. You can use my shower too, and my washing machine, like I did yours when I was skint.”
“There’s no need. I was glad to help out.”
“You’ve been brilliant, Simon.”
I smiled. “Do you want more tea? I think there’s a cup left in the pot.” He nodded and I topped up his mug with what was left in the pot.
He took a draught and made to set the mug down, then hesitated. “Si,” he said, a thoughtful look coming over his face, “what would you do if I flung this cup on the floor and broke it, on purpose?”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“I’m being hypothetical. I’m not saying I’m going to do it, just say, if I did, what would you do?”
I laughed. “Expect you to clean up the mess and buy me a replacement mug.”
“That’s all?”
“Of course that’s all. What else could I do?”
“Nothing.” He sighed, setting the mug on the table. “It’s a good job you’re not my one.”
“I didn’t even know I was a candidate.”
“You’re not,” he said, unabashed. “You don’t have an alpha bone in your body.”
“Sorry, Dee-Dee. I’m not cast in that mould, and anyway…”
He finished for me. “You’re not looking for a relationship. You’re an island and determined to remain independent.”
There was no rancour in his voice.
“Something along those lines. You and me, friends, yeah?”
“Always.” Putting his weight on his forearms he leaned across the table and placed a comfortable kiss on my forehead before standing up properly. “Thanks for lunch and everything. I’ve got shopping to do. I’ll see you tonight, about sevenish okay?”
“Early sevenish or later sevenish?”
“Surprise me,” he grinned.
I saw him to the door. After washing up the pots I settled down to do some note reading, but my mind strayed back and forth between thoughts of James and Dee-Dee. Note reading was doomed. In the end I went out for a long walk, enjoying the late summer afternoon. The days would soon be shortening, bringing cooler weather.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dinner with Dee-Dee was fun. In keeping with the precedent he’d set I arrived at his apartment sharp at seven. After insisting he remove the unnerving vampirish red contacts he was wearing (he made an unconvincing vampire, he’d only sob over his victims) I solemnly handed over a bottle of wine along with a drawing I’d done. “Can’t have you stealing all the art honours. As you’ll see I favour the primitive school.”
He maintained a straight face as he withdrew the picture from the envelope it was in. “Thank you.” He studied it. “It’s a beautiful self-portrait, even if you have made yourself a bit skinny. I’ll treasure it.”
“Good, because stick men are going to be the next big thing in art. You’ll be able to sell it for a fortune in years to come.”
Taking it across to the fridge he stuck the drawing, titled ‘me under a winter tree’ on the door with a magnet and then cracked up with laughter. His natural eyes looked much nicer sparkling with amusement than they had covered by Dracula lenses. It set the tone for a light-hearted evening.
As Abba and then Barbara Streisand played a medley of songs we dined on pepperoni pizzas and salad washed down with red wine.
After we’d washed up, he asked if I would like to see his paint canvases. I was touched, realising he was offering to show an aspect of himself he usually kept private.
I was fascinated as I viewed painting after painting. His main gift and strength was in the drawings he did, in their incredible detail. He knew it, but said he yearned for greater expression, for what he called something bigger than thumbnail. The paintings were largely abstracts and fantasy works, sweeping stretches of imagination and emotion. They weren’t all to my taste, but they were all inventive and some of them were quite brilliant. I was awe struck.
“Why didn’t you go to art school, Dee? You’ve got the talent.”
He smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. “That kind of world isn’t for me, Simon. I couldn’t cope with the pressure of competition or the constant social interaction. I’d buckle. I do what I do for the love of it. I do it my way at my own pace.”
“What if your alpha man happens along and says you have to go to art school, or at least start exhibiting, no choice.”
“Then he wouldn’t be my alpha man, because he wouldn’t be acting in my best interests. He’d have failed to understand me and would be serving some aspect of his own ego instead of taking my needs into consideration. I don’t want to be bullied, Si. I just want to be cared for.”
“Maybe he’d consider making you fulfil your potential as being an act of care?”
“It wouldn’t be caring to make me do something I’d find upsetting.”
“I suppose not.” I glanced around the room at the bare walls. “You should at least display some of your paintings in here, if only for your own pleasure.”
“I might one of these days.”
There was nowhere to sit in the studio so we went to his bedroom. He’d put a large striped throw and some cushions on his bed, so it served as a couch. He’d bought them specially, he said, in my honour.
We sat and drank wine while listening to music and talking. He talked about life with his uncle, and then randomly and at length about a brown dog, which had wandered into the bakery grounds one day. It was stuck in his head. He kept meaning to draw it to get it out, but hadn’t got round to it.
I talked about my family, friends, and tentatively about James and the heart stopping moment he told me he’d met someone special and our arrangement was no longer necessary, but we could be friends if I wanted. It was a crumb. A fresh wave of humiliation made my skin burn and my eyes sting. I should have walked away there and then, but I’d hung around like a pup winding the ankles of the master who had just kicked it.
Dee-Dee’s eyes filled with tears on my behalf. “I don’t like James. He’s insensitive. Maybe he should have had a caveat around his neck instead of a cravat. Then you might have stayed away from him.” He gave me a hug. “Do you want me to draw a bad picture of him, Si? We could throw things at it.”
The absurdity of the remark cracked us both up at the same time. We started cackling like a couple of hyenas.
We both got a little bit drunk, he more than me, but there was no loaded atmosphere to encourage us to take off our clothes. We’d partitioned the episode off and were comfortable with each other, as if sex had never happened. It felt right and natural.
I went to the bathroom to avail myself, returning to find him slumbering peacefully, curled on his side, hugging a cushion. It wasn’t cold as such, but I folded the throw over him, made sure everything was off that needed to be off and went home, quietly closing the door behind me.
The days and weeks passed at a rapid rate. We got to know each other better and became firm friends. I liked to hear him talk, skipping from one thought to another with his eclectic mix of innocence, wisdom, mild mysticism and earthiness.
I learned to recognise his moods. I knew violet contact lenses signified his long gone lovelorn friend was haunting his mind, and he was heading for a sad straight day where he’d visit her grave and sit in remembrance. I knew he was feeling depressed when he adopted eerie alien lenses and viewed the world from blank black eyes.
If Anne ever saw a lawyer Dee-Dee never knew about it. There were no legal letters, no calls. She made no effort to get back in touch with him, just as James made no effort to get in touch with me.
Taking a leaf from Dee-Dee’s book I made an effort to train my eyes forward, instead of looking back and longing for something I could never have. Eventually I thought less about James, accepting I had been a transient phase in his life, something experienced and moved
on from.
Christmas came. I always spent the holiday with my family, usually staying with my mother for several days. I invited Dee-Dee to accompany me, unable to bear the thought of him spending the holiday alone, as he had since his uncle’s death. He was hesitant at first, fearful of doing or saying something inappropriate. I teased him, saying I’d told mum and sis all about his nutty nature and they were looking forward to meeting him.
When he still hesitated I told him if he didn’t come I wouldn’t go. It would be his fault I missed out on my favourite meal of the year, one of my mum’s Christmas dinners. The blackmail worked.
We set off early on Christmas Eve. He with his things packed in a Tesco carrier bag because he didn’t own any suitcases. He had bought simple gifts for my mother and sister, boxes of expensive chocolates, which were beautifully wrapped. He also bought a bottle of wine for Pete who would be joining us on Christmas Day. There was a gift for me too, which he insisted I open before we set off. Thank heavens I did. It was a framed drawing. The subject matter wasn’t exactly conventional, but it was beautiful in its own unique way. All the same I blushed puce as I gazed at the intimate portrait of my privates.
He gazed at me, his face the picture of innocence. “I told you I wanted to draw it. It was stuck in my head. I had to get it out.”
“You’re naughty.” I wagged a finger at him.
“I didn’t think you’d want to open it in front of your family.” He grinned. “You’ll have to hang it on your bedroom wall, for your eyes only, and whoever else’s you take in there.”
“It’s fantastic, Dee, a powerful piece of art. Thank you.” I embraced him.
I think it’s fair to say he was a hit with my family. I’d mentioned him in conversations, but not in any great detail. Mum and Jo’s faces lit up when they saw him. Jo cornered me in the kitchen soon after our arrival.
“Oh my God, Simes. You never said he was delicious.” Her smile wavered a little. “How old is he by the way, you’re not cradle snatching are you?”
