Going Away and Other Stories Page 10

  I tried even harder to push her away.

  ‘You . . . can’t be rejecting me! Roland, say something nice please.’

  I said, ‘Well, I like you of course, Rosamund. You’re a very attractive girl with lovely hair, but I’m old enough to be your father.’

  Images of what it would be like being married to Rosamund flashed through my brain. My ordered life in my flat would be disturbed. We’d have to buy a house with a studio for her and I should have to commute to work – oh, how awful!

  Meanwhile, she’d become very still, but her arms were still locked around me. I’d given up trying to push her away.

  ‘You’ve rejected me, haven’t you? You’ve rejected me! I never thought you would be so cruel. I need you in order to paint well. If you turn me away I shall never paint again.’

  It was so pathetic that I thought for a moment of saying something silly like, ‘I’ll think about it.’ But I didn’t. I could tell she was crying. And then, to my horror, she started to shake again just like she’d done before. And slowly her knees gave way and she slid down onto the ground. Last time she’d kept on shaking. This time her body gave three convulsive jerks and then she was still. She lay there on her back staring at the sky.

  I raced off to find Margot. She was a nurse, she would know what to do.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ was all she said, then phoned for an ambulance on her mobile.

  ‘Take me to her,’ she said grimly.

  When we got there Margot crouched down and felt Rosamund’s temple.

  ‘Oh God, she’s dead! Poor little Rosie – my best friend. Why did she have to come here again?’

  I stood there not knowing what to do or to think while my sister lay sobbing beside Rosamund’s body.

  When the paramedics arrived they tried to resuscitate her but gave up after a few minutes.

  Margot’s recriminations can be imagined! And it was even worse when Rosie’s will was found. She’d left me everything!

  I regret that I couldn’t find any dealers who completely shared my enthusiasm for Rosamund’s new work, but the pictures did all sell quite quickly for a few hundred each. But I’ve kept one. It hangs over the mantelpiece in my flat and I think it’s very good. It’s green, purple and mauve and the middle of it somehow disappears into the distance – I can’t explain it better than that. Rosamund had written on the back the title of the picture. It was ‘Seeking Paradise’.

  Uncle Toby

  I was feeling far from happy as I left the Underground at High Street Kensington and wheeled my suitcase behind me up the High Street and then into Campden Hill Road where my uncle Toby lived. It was late July four years ago and although only 9:30 it was already very, very warm. I thought of Eileen and our children, Freya and Joe, who would probably by now be on the beach in Norfolk, and wished I was there with them. But I didn’t know then that my time with Uncle Toby was, for me, to be life changing!

  ‘Well, hello my boy. Very glad to see you. You’re looking well!’

  Uncle Toby was bizarrely dressed in well-worn yellow cord trousers held up with an MCC tie around the waist, an open-necked white shirt, a bright green waistcoat and a blue blazer. He was propping himself up with a silver-handled walking stick and fanning his face with a Panama hat.

  ‘Pretty warm isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘Look, I’m all ready. My bag’s in the car parked across the road – so let’s go, shall we?’

  Uncle Toby’s car was a large and elderly Mercedes but I knew that it had air conditioning, and that was something to look forward to, I thought, as I put my case in the boot beside his somewhat battered leather suitcase.

  ‘You know the way to get onto the M11 I’m sure,’ he said, ‘because I’d like a nap. Bit tiring having to do all my packing myself. Not used to it. No chauffeur, no housekeeper! A bit bereft! So grateful you could help out.’

  With his silver-handled walking stick between his knees and his Panama over his eyes, Uncle Toby proceeded to go to sleep, snore gently and dribble slightly.

  And so I negotiated the Mercedes through the London traffic and up the M11 and then the A11 to Norwich.

  ‘Look, you’ve got to do it, Paul!’ Eileen had said when the letter from Uncle Toby (or ‘UT’, as we knew him) arrived two weeks previously.

  Dear Paul, I regret to tell you that I have not been at all well. And now at the same time my chauffeur who’s been with me for ten years and my housekeeper who’s been with me 25 have both come up for their retirement. I feel that at this stage in my life I may have to make other living arrangements. However, for the time being I am rather wanting to visit my old school and various other places of my foolish youth around Norwich and wonder if you, as my only close relative, would be prepared to drive me in the Merc and generally look after me. It will probably be the last opportunity I have as I’m a bit shaky on my pins! I know you teaching chaps have long holidays from mid-July onwards so maybe sometime within the next few weeks would be convenient for you. We shan’t be away too long. Needless to say, I shall pay all expenses.

  ‘You must do it, Paul,’ Eileen said very forcefully. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity to make sure he leaves us his money.’

  ‘But there’s nobody else to leave it to.’

  ‘You never know. Cats’ homes and the like!’

  ‘You know I planned to use this summer holiday trying to finish my PhD. Almost all the main writing is done. All I’ve got to do now is to put it in order. This will bugger my plans up completely!’

  ‘No it won’t. UT says you won’t be away long!’

  I had been working on my PhD thesis for a laughable twelve years. I’d started with good intentions, but the birth of two children and the dreadful consequences of having our house repossessed had put paid to them. It was easy to be wise later and see that we borrowed more than we could afford to repay if interest rates went up. But the bank had said that it would be okay, and we had Eileen’s salary as she was still working then. However, as if it wasn’t bad enough having the house repossessed, it had been sold by the Bank for £40,000 less than the amount we had borrowed and I was horrified when I was told that we would have to pay the £40,000 off by monthly instalments! That outgoing on top of the rent of the flat we had to move to in Battersea left hardly any spare money. Yes, so Eileen’s point about inheriting from UT was very relevant. In fact, the thought of it had kept me going. UT had been a solicitor and then an MP and then the director of various companies and never married.

  I really did want to finish my PhD but it was such hard work. I had started it with the idea that when I obtained it I could get a university post teaching history instead of displaying my historical knowledge to large classes of largely immigrant children at an inner London comprehensive. They had English as a second language and weren’t very interested in history at all! And although I never consciously acknowledged it, I suppose the hope of UT’s money must have contributed to my lack of progress with the PhD. With the inheritance I had visions of being able to buy another house and of being freed from the awful anxiety I constantly felt about not having enough money to pay for essentials.

  As we drove into Norwich UT opened his eyes. Just under four hours it had taken us and we had had to stop in Newmarket as UT said he wanted to urinate! Arriving at the hotel, although he had slept most of the way, he announced that he was going to lie down and have a small meal sent up to his room. It did seem that he was not at all well! He suggested that I might like to have a late lunch somewhere and wander around Norwich, which I’d never been to before. It was not as hot as it had been in London and everything seemed very pleasant, particularly the area around the cathedral and its close, which was near to the hotel.

  But by about five o’clock I thought I should be getting back. UT was in the entrance hall just finishing an animated conversation with the rather attractive blonde receptionist lady.

  ‘Glad you liked the cathedral, my boy, I always thought it was very fine, even when I was at school. I’ll give y
ou a proper guided tour tomorrow morning. It is very instructive on the development of ecclesiastical architecture over several centuries as it took so long to build. Then in the afternoon, if I feel up to it, we’ll have a look at the shops. Meet you in the bar at seven for a drink before dinner.’

  Because I knew that UT had an almost pathological dislike of mobile phones, Eileen and I had agreed that I would not carry mine around with me, but if Eileen wanted anything urgently she would leave a message.

  To say that Eileen was tense about life would be an understatement. To call her a drama queen would be incorrect because she didn’t enjoy the frequent crises that we both seemed frequently to have to deal with at that time. So I was not surprised when I arrived in my bedroom and saw that there was a message from her on my mobile.

  Help. Call ASAP. Eileen.

  ‘What’s the trouble?’

  ‘Ah, thank God you’ve rung. Freya is ill. I think it’s chicken pox. I can see one spot, but I’m not sure. I wanted to take her to the doctor we used last year when we were staying here but the car won’t start. And I don’t know the doctor’s telephone number.’

  ‘Oh dear. What’s the matter with the car?’

  ‘I told you – it won’t start. It just splutters!’

  ‘Well you’d better call the garage.’

  ‘I don’t know their phone number and I don’t know their name. So I can’t ask Directory Enquiries. Don’t we belong to the AA or something?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You’d better phone them. You’ll be able to get their number from Directory Enquiries, and if we aren’t members you’d better join.’

  ‘I’m in a terrible state, Paul! I’m having diarrhoea.’

  ‘Well take some Imodium.’

  ‘I don’t have any with me.’

  ‘You can get some when you get the car started.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. How are things with UT?’

  ‘Fine, I think. Leave me another message to let me know how you get on.’

  Although this was par for the course, every time Eileen had one of her mini nervous breakdowns, as I’d come to think of them, I worried!

  I slept badly that night. Throughout the tour of the cathedral the following morning, during which UT explained at great length the changes in the architectural style from Norman onwards as the building of the cathedral slowly progressed eastwards, my mind, although I pretended to be listening, was really focused on what might be happening to Eileen and the children. Particularly as I hadn’t heard from her. Yes, goodness, UT’s money would make a great difference. So many things can be solved quickly and easily if you can just use your credit card and not worry about it. The bungalow we had hired for the second year running at the coast was little more than a glorified beach hut. Several of the floorboards were rotten and there were cockroaches in the kitchen. But it was very, very cheap. How nice it would be to be able to stay in a really comfortable hotel!

  But UT was now leading the way out of the door in the south transept of the cathedral so we could look at and admire the flying buttresses at the east end.

  ‘And that’s about it!’ he said. ‘Ah, forgot. Should have shown you the cloisters, but that’s probably enough for one morning.’

  So we made our way up the close and back into the city.

  ‘It’s nearly time for lunch. What I fancy is a Cromer crab and a pint of beer. How would that do you?’

  ‘Very good, Uncle. But I thought you wanted to look at your old school.’

  ‘Yes, well, I was talking to the receptionist in the hotel, as you saw, and she was telling me about the school now. Although the buildings haven’t changed much, they don’t take boarders any more. It’s got about double the number of pupils it had in my day, and lots of them, God help me, are girls! It’s totally changed. No point in looking!’

  After finding a fish restaurant that had the desired crabs and beer, we consumed our meal and then UT proposed what he called a ‘quick whizz’ round the centre of the city. It was strange how his walking and general demeanour became much more spritely when he was obviously enjoying himself. But after looking at the market and his making some loud and derogatory comments about the architecture of the City Hall and the sartorial inelegance of the inhabitants, he announced that he was feeling tired, sat down on a bench and asked me to find him a taxi to drive us back to the hotel.

  ‘And tomorrow,’ he said in the taxi, ‘I’d like you to drive me to Cromer where the crabs come from. That’s where I learned to swim, you know.’

  Please call was the message from Eileen when I got back to the hotel.

  I tried to sound jovial as I spoke to her.

  ‘How is it all going?’

  I could feel the tension down the phone somehow.

  ‘It’s definitely chicken pox and I think Joe’s got it too.’

  ‘Oh dear! Did you see the doctor?’

  ‘No. Once the car was repaired I went down to the village stores and they gave me the doctor’s number. But when I rang the surgery, the doctor’s receptionist said not to bring the kids there as they might be infectious. I eventually spoke to one of the doctors, a woman, but she didn’t seem to want to visit us as we were only holidaymakers. She just said that I should put some calamine on the spots and both the children should get better. The spots are all in Freya’s hair now and she keeps screaming all night because they’re itching. And this morning there are five or six very naughty youths on motorbikes. They keep racing up and down the track over the dunes and making a terrible noise. I’m very frightened, Paul!’

  ‘Well, do you want me to come?’

  ‘No, no, no, no. You must stay. I just wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Well, if it gets too bad, call the police.’

  ‘Still going well?’

  ‘Yes. Cathedral this morning and walk round the city this p.m. Tomorrow to Cromer.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be far away from us. Have a good time!’

  ‘You know Cromer is either freezing cold or boiling hot. Generally the former!’

  UT was right. The hot weather had suddenly given way to a grey sky and the temperature had plummeted. When we got to Cromer there was a sea mist which prevented UT from being able to point out the exact spot where he had managed his first strokes swimming in the sea.

  ‘Of course, we didn’t have heated swimming pools then. Everybody’s getting soft these days.’

  We had to look at the fishermen on the pier and I had to listen to reminiscences about summer shows at the pier pavilion and the launching of the lifeboat in rough seas. We then set off to walk round the town. This involved a pretty steep climb up a slipway by the moored crab boats. UT was panting with exertion when he suddenly stopped in front of a shop which said in large gilt letters across its window ‘Unisex hairdresser’. Behind the lettering a young blonde lady, obviously of Eastern European origin, was cutting an elderly lady’s hair.

  ‘Just look at that hairdresser girl! Isn’t she a stunner? … Er … I’m going to have a haircut this afternoon I think. You just stay there.’

  And so saying, UT proceeded majestically into the shop, the bell on the door making a loud clanging as he did so.

  I knew that in his younger days UT had had a certain reputation with the ladies, and can remember reading about him in the gossip columns. But that must have been years and years and years ago!

  ‘Yes, I’ve made an appointment for three o’clock,’ he said returning and grinning. ‘So let’s go and get something to eat now so that I shan’t be late.’

  As I ate another crab and surveyed my uncle’s hair I came to the conclusion that it really didn’t need cutting.

  While UT had his hair cut I walked on the beach watching people trying, rather unsuccessfully, to surf. The sun had come out and, as UT predicted, Cromer suddenly became very hot! I met him again as arranged at quarter to four by the church. He took off his hat.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  I thought his hair looked roughly
the same as before, but it smelled strongly of something that had obviously been sprayed on it.

  ‘What a lovely girl, Paul. Cut it very carefully. So nice and friendly. It may surprise you, but I’ve asked her out to dinner tonight.’

  ‘Oh, where?’

  ‘There are several places along the coast road she said. I’m sure we’ll get in somewhere.’

  He was in a very good mood on the drive back to Norwich and kept up a constant stream of conversation.

  ‘All these dreadful little bungalows that are springing up everywhere. Don’t know how people can live in them – absolutely soulless!’

  ‘Well, they just want somewhere to live; that’s all,’ I replied.

  ‘I know. A nice little bungalow bought with a mortgage and a little Ford or Vauxhall in the drive on hire purchase or whatever they call it nowadays. Did you notice those candles burning in Norwich Cathedral? Votive candles they’re called I believe – sort of in place of a prayer. You put 50p in the box and light a candle and that’s instead of praying. Funny business. It was called a Popish practice when I was young and certainly they wouldn’t have had it in the cathedral. Just shows. The Church of England simply does not know what it’s doing or where it’s going. Always did try to please everyone, of course, a bit like the Liberal Democrats. Agniezka, she’s called, the hairdresser. Polish of course. Been here a couple of years. Likes it. Her English is quite good although I was a bit puzzled by some of the things she tried to explain.

  ‘Ah, here we are. I’ll have a short rest before we set off. Better start at six thirty to be on the safe side. Now I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll do this dinner on my own. You just drop us and I’m sure you’ll find somewhere nearby to eat and spend the evening. If you give me your mobile number I’ll phone you when we are ready to be picked up.’

  *

  ‘Eileen, it’s me. How is everything? … This is my first opportunity … You’ve been on the beach? Good – in spite of the chicken pox! … Well, the weather got better, didn’t it, in the afternoon. … And the motorcyclists have gone? I see, somebody called the police. Good. … Yes, it was quite nice in Cromer and it got quite hot after the mist cleared. But do you know the old boy’s picked up a young Polish hairdresser and is taking her out to dinner this evening? I don’t know if it’s serious. … Well, what can I do about it? … Yes, she’s a nice-looking girl from what I’ve seen of her. About thirty I should have thought. … I agree, we don’t want him getting married in his dotage. … Yes, he’s at an awkward age, I know. … No, I don’t think she looks too predatory – just after a free meal at a good restaurant maybe. … Look, calm down! The children must be feeling better if they’re on the beach. I’ll ring you later this evening when we get back to the hotel, so keep your phone switched on.’