Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (15 page)

“I will, Oliver, and thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Chapter

Thirty-Five

I’m quite impressed with my time keeping of late; another hearty breakfast and I arrive at the site before eight. In the past, I have often looked at security personnel and thought “Would I trust you to look after my piggy bank, mate?” The voice in my head usually screams back “
No way!
” But the guys employed here come across as very decent people. One of them takes me to the perimeter fence gates and points out how feeble-looking the padlock seems to be.

“Any kid could force that open without any great effort. I’d change that if I was you, mate.”

He is right.

“Where would I get a decent padlock around here?”

He throws the names of a couple of firms at me, and one of them is close to Jess’s offices, which gives me a thought. “Is there any chance you could come back and cover me for a couple of hours—say, ten-thirty to twelve-thirty?”

“As long as I’m back in bed by two. I need my beauty sleep.”

He’s a fairly ugly sight, so it obviously hasn’t worked for him up to now.

“Great. I’ll drop you some cash when I come back—a bit more than your hourly rate and cash in hand?”

“That would be great, Guv’nor.” I am tempted to say “call me Danny” but I am suitably attracted to the name Guv’nor.

I get out my phone and send a text:

Coffee at 11?

Jess replies instantly.

Where? Ice cream parlour? It’s a date.

Our fourth date—things are heating up.

***

As Edwin Pedlar walks slowly down the aisle of St Mary’s, he is beginning to grasp the full extent of his uncle’s legacy, and his observations as he makes his way to the front pew seem to offer a kind of metaphor for John Pedlar’s life. At the rear of the church are assembled a ragtag collection of individuals, dressed casually, no different than if they were popping down the pub. They are shuffling nervously, heads bowed, uncertain. In the next few rows are people dressed more appropriately in dark suits and dresses, black ties. The front two rows are the elite; the tailored outfits, the immaculate make-up, the red carnations secured in the button holes. If Edwin had a choice he would rather be sitting at the back with the “ruffians.” His father turns around and smiles at him. He has been crying, which makes Edwin Junior think that maybe this is where he should actually be.

***

The traffic is light this morning, so I arrive at the ice cream parlour a few minutes early, but after my disastrous timekeeping for our first date, I am not in the slightest tempted to delay getting to the ice cream parlour. As I turn the corner, I start to feel slightly anxious as how I should greet her. If I’m too affectionate in a public place, it might embarrass her; maybe take her hand and give her a light peck on the cheek? She is standing outside the shop. She walks towards me and kisses me fully on the lips. Wow! I can cope with this. We exchange a few pleasantries and then she asks me what my plans are for my “moving weekend.”

“I’ve arranged for the security people to cover the site from three pm. I’m going back to the old site, borrow the company van, go to the flat and load what I can into it, and suss out how many trips I will need to make. Thinking about it, I need to buy a smaller three-piece suite to fit into the lodge’s front room. I might have to go furniture shopping.”

“Oh, if you’re doing that, there is a small manufacturer on our estate about fifty metres from my office. They make some lovely stuff.”

“Lovely stuff—that sounds perfect. If I’m quick, I’ve got time to call over there now.”

“Let me come with you. If you like anything, I might be able to wangle you a discount.”

“I’ve never stopped a girl wangling me in my life. Sounds good to me.”

She gives me the dirtiest look, but in the nicest possible way—do you know what I mean?

***

The service has been very moving. Edwin’s uncle was a much-loved man, so the large turnout comes as no surprise, but Edwin still feels overawed by the man’s position as a headline act. Most of the people who have spoken up to this point have spoken affectionately, but sombrely, about his uncle. This was not how John Pedlar envisaged his final exit. Edwin walks up to the pulpit, mouthing “I love you” to his father as he passes. He clears his throat to speak.

“On behalf of my family, we would like to thank everyone who has taken the time and effort to attend my uncle’s funeral. As a young boy, Uncle John was a mythical figure, someone in the family whose name was whispered in hushed tones, so by the time he returned to the family fold, I had built this image in my mind of him as a tramp trailing a scruffy mongrel behind him. The actual Uncle John was quite different—he was interested, attentive and above all, funny. He would constantly pluck this funny little one-word or one-line comment out of thin air. He took my adolescent problems and made them disappear. He helped to make me become a man. I watched this quiet strength at its best when he supported my father after my mother’s passing. He seemed to be ever-present through those dark days and weeks.” Edwin stops, folds up his notes, and puts them in his jacket pocket.

“That is the end of my eulogy—not because I haven’t a thousand more thoughts about John Edward Pedlar, but because I can tell he’s getting irritated at me right now for not following his instructions. For all of you who would have liked to stand up here and say a few words, this is a chance to honour my uncle with a simple deed. Hold on to your hats, people.” He gives a thumbs-up to someone standing on the far left of the church.

“Uncle John, as some here will know, was a massive Queen fan. The group, not the person, although he liked her as well, in his own way. John requested that he leave this earthly coil with a bang, so as a final musical piece for this ceremony, he asked us to finish with the song “We Will Rock You.” This involves, as Queen fans know, a stamping of the feet and the clapping of hands, as loud as possible. The Reverend Smith has made it known he is happy for as many rehearsals as it takes for us to make this church roar to the sound of thunder. So to quote uncle John once more: ‘Hold on to your hats, let’s go for a ride!’”

In a few minutes, two hundred metres away, in the lounge bar of the
Rising Cow
, the staff turn their heads in the direction of the church and smile, and together raise their glasses.

***

The furniture workshops have a small showroom at the front of their building. I am so glad Jess is with me because I am very much out of my comfort zone.

“What sort of suite are you looking for?” asks the salesman. Does the guy take me for a genius? What sort of question is that to ask a man?

“Mm, something that is ready to buy today?”

The sales guy looks at Jess; she shrugs. I smile rather pathetically. Jess does her best to try and help him out.

“It needs to be compact,” she explains. “His new living room is not that big.”

I swear the salesman’s eyes light up at the word “his.” I leap into the fray.

“I think we would like something comfortable, not too formal, and not too expensive because it might just be a short-term stay.” Did you take note of the word
we
? Take that, you smarmy Lothario.

“Mm. I tell you what; if that’s the case, this one here might well fit the bill”—he guides us over to the back corner of the showroom—“depending on where you will be positioning the suite. This one is cheap,” he says as he tilts the sofa forward, “because it’s perfect other than this nasty stain on the lower back edge.”

Jess makes a loud intake of air, as if a dead body has been exposed lying under the sofa. She has beaten me to the punch and goes for the kill.

“Only ten percent reduction for that hideous mark—are you serious?”

I like the suite. I can picture it in the lounge at Cotswold Lodge and the stain would actually be permanently out of sight. So what do you think, Lothario; are we a team or what?

“I could go to twenty-five percent off. Any more and I would have to speak to the boss.”

Jess says nothing. The salesman takes the hint and heads off to the office.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” I ask rather uncertainly.

“Of course it is. Over to you now—let me see what you’re made of.”

A challenge, eh? I’m up for that. Ten minutes later we have agreed: half price including delivery tomorrow to Cotswold Lodge; a handshake today and cash tomorrow.

“I need to get back.” Jess is the first to say it.

I don’t think she wanted to say it any more than I did, but I have a busy day in front of me.

“See you tomorrow,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

We kiss and hug. Obviously.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

By the time I make it back to the hotel, I not only need a shower, I need to rethink my plan, because otherwise it is going to take me all day shuffling backwards and forwards in the small van, which is totally incapable of transporting my fairly new double bed, bought a few months ago in my “positive period,” which the arrival of Jess in my life has revived. I need that double bed in Cotswold Lodge this weekend! When I get downstairs to the reception area, Edwin is already waiting. He looks drained.

“Hi, Ed. Do you want to make this quick? I’ve booked myself a table for dinner, but I doubt that is something that interests you at the moment.”

“Do you know, Danny, the funny thing is I’m famished. There was so much food laid out at the wake, but my mouth was dry and I couldn’t face eating a thing. I’d love to join you, if that was possible.”

“Of course it is. Let’s go on through.”

We chill out for a few minutes, going through the menu and ordering. Edwin declines the chance to share a bottle of wine and orders a jug of still water.

“It looks like you’ve had a hard day,” I say.

“It’s not been easy. I’m more than glad that it’s over.”

“You were close to your uncle, I take it?”

“Surprisingly close, considering the first time I met him I was twelve years old.”

“Why was that?”

“A few years ago I would have struggled to answer that, but over time I’ve pieced everything together and I think I have most of the answers.”

It’s up to Ed if he wants to elucidate; I don’t guide him one way or the other.

He smiles over at me and says, “Let me run my eyes over the contracts before the starters arrive.” He goes through them slowly before a waitress arrives with the starters.

“Could you ask Oliver to pop over to our table when he gets a chance, please?” Edwin asks her.

I make no comment. When Oliver arrives, he nods at me.

Edwin says, “Oliver, could you witness this document for us please?”

All three of us sign in the relevant places and Oliver makes his exit.

“He’s a nice guy,” I say.

“One of the best. Lots in common with Uncle John. Lots.”

Again I decide to leave it at that. We exchange a few comments over our main courses. The silences are in no way uncomfortable. There is a calmness about his nature which is somewhat infectious.

“Shall we have a coffee in the lounge?” Ed suggests.

We order a cafetière and find a quiet spot in the corner of the lounge.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about my uncle to you; it’s just that personal matters don’t seem right to discuss in the middle of a dining room.”

I look around us; he has found a spot with no one within hearing distance.

“My uncle was three years younger than my father, and I would guess lived his entire life in my father’s shadow. Dad has never failed at anything in his life. He left university and went straight onto the board of directors of granddad’s company, and he pushed the company forward in gigantic strides. We try and stay low-key, but this is a large company as far as family businesses go.”

“So I gather,” I say with a smile.

“So John was expected to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but he did not even last a term at university. He dropped out and disappeared, for several years I’m guessing. Even now we don’t discuss those missing years within the family. Granddad spent small fortunes trying to track him down and when he did find him, he immediately disowned him.” He draws a breath and sips at his coffee. “He’d been living on the streets anywhere between Manchester and Swansea, which was where he was eventually found. Totally dependent on drugs and alcohol, weighing next to nothing. Incoherent, by all accounts.”

I can see he wants to offload on me, but needs to sip at his coffee to think, to compose himself fully before he goes on.

“My father was furious with his father for keeping this information from him. He told Granddad he was off to Swansea and he would be back whenever he came back. John was still in Swansea, and the homeless community there was quite a small supportive group, so Dad found Uncle John within the first few hours of getting off the train. He says…” Edwin has stopped. His emotions are being stretched.

“Excuse me, Ed, I need to go to the loo. I’ll only be a minute.” I am fascinated by this story, but even not knowing the details, I feel I should grant Uncle John some space and respect. By the time I get back, Ed has ordered another cafetière. He carries on as if we have not had a break.

“When my father tells me the story of his reconnection with his brother—and it has been told a few times recently—I cannot help but get emotional. It says much about who I am.”

I nod.

“When Uncle John saw my father striding towards him at that bridge underpass, he stood up and stumbled towards my father, and they embraced. My father says he held him for at least an hour with no words spoken, just my uncle sobbing away, his body heaving with the effort. Dad says it was as if John had been sat there for years waiting for him to arrive. Dad was glad that John made the first move towards him because Dad doubted he would have recognised him otherwise. We are talking about twenty years ago, and even by then my father was one of the first people to carry a mobile phone. He stood there holding my uncle, and arranged for a taxi and a hotel room without moving from the spot. Next week Dad and I are going back to that very spot. Dad needs to go there and so do I.”

“I understand that.”

“John was in a terrible way. On that first night, he started getting withdrawal symptoms and pleaded with Dad to give him some money for a drink and one last fix. But over the next two weeks Dad stayed firm. He never let John out of his sights for a minute. They developed a routine of walking for an hour along the beach and then spending at least two hours in the library. My father had forgotten how much his younger brother liked to read, but more importantly, John himself had forgotten. In some sort of weird way the reading, with the help of the prescribed methadone, slowly replaced the real stuff. After the first week Dad allowed John a glass of beer as a reward for getting through the day, but Dad quickly realised that was a mistake, and John remained teetotal for the rest of his life.”

“What? Surely it cannot have been that simple?”

“Oh no, not at all. Dad brought him home to live with us. I was moved out of my room, so I started off totally begrudging this old guy my space.”

“Old guy?”

“Yes, he looked ancient to me at the time. Goodness knows how bad he looked when Dad found him.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dad took him back to meet their father, which went surprisingly well—the prodigal son and all that. They gave him a job driving a company van—simple things, delivering and collecting stuff. But John had to be back at the house before six, and he had to produce a receipt for his lunch. My mother was determined that three square meals a day would provide an answer to his problems.”

“The problems which drove him to drop out of the rat race.”

“Yes.”

It occurs to me before I jump to conclusions that I do not even know what John Pedlar looked like. “Have you a photograph of him?”

“Yes, from today’s order of service.”

“Can I see?”

He reaches inside his pocket and passes it over. A lovely gentle face, one of those smiles which draws you in. Shall I say what I am thinking, and if I do, how can I word it? I pass the photo back. “Lovely-looking man, quite dapper. Was he gay?”

Edwin nods. “He began to accept that he was gay at university, and developed a crush on one of his fellow students. The guy treated him like dirt when John approached him casually—nothing too obvious, so he thought. But it threw John’s head into turmoil and he turned inwards, rejecting all thoughts that he might have been a homosexual. It was unthinkable. So he ran from the university into the arms of local drug dealers and quickly descended to the bottom of the food chain.”

“That is so sad. He was born twenty years too early. Maybe he would have found things so much easier nowadays.”

“It took years before he actually accepted it himself. He was gay, but he remained celibate to his dying day. He had more friends in the gay world that anyone I know, but there was nothing that went beyond good social contacts.”

“Such as Oliver?”

“Such as Oliver, who has a steady boyfriend who is a dancer. He’s always away on tour, so Oliver and John spent a lot of time together. They were very close; Oliver is heartbroken.”

“Was it that easy for him to withdraw from the drugs and alcohol?”

“The strange thing is that because it was
not
easy, it eventually made life easier for him. It gave him a focus. He would get up every day to face the challenge.”

“In what way?”

“Dad was recommended to this guy in Bristol who had developed this theory that drug and alcohol abuse was linked to an individual’s inability to communicate properly. That there was a direct correlation between those individuals’ inability to articulate and their ability to read. So he got a bit of funding to run a reading group for people with drug and alcohol abuse problems. Dad got John onto the programme and it transformed his brother’s life. Over a period of time, John had taught himself to run his own reading groups. At the same time he had become an important member of Edwin Pedlar and Sons, and Dad convinced Granddad to invite John onto the board. After that, John divided all his time between helping Dad take the company forward and supporting the recovery group, which he converted into a registered charity.”

“Wow—what a great story.”

“It’s not over yet. There is a meeting at the solicitor’s next Wednesday to read his will. He was single, had no real overheads, had a great income in the way of salaries and dividends, and was also very sharp in his own property dealings. I have a strong feeling the charity might be getting a large financial boost on Wednesday.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I’m an executive officer of the charity, and I do not need any more problems to cope with in my life.”

I smile. “Once again, I understand that point of view.”

“It sounds selfish, doesn’t it, but it’s not really. I worry that I won’t be able to do his memory a proper service.”

“If I was you, I’d cross that bridge when you get to it.”

“Yes. I will have to. Anyway, enough about me and my family. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

I give him a brief outline of my life, possibly over-emphasising Jess’s role.

“So on top of everything else, you’ve got to move home all in one day. Best of luck with all that.”

“I know, self-created pressure. The biggest hurdle to overcome is getting the double bed over here.”

“Why?”

“I’ve only got a small van which will take everything else within two trips, but there is no way in the world a double bed is going to fit in there.”

He studies my face for a few seconds.

“Let me help. We’ve got a couple of large vans. One of them has just been serviced, so it’s pretty well immaculate on the inside. I’ve got a few hours free tomorrow. Let’s meet up and I’ll help you load it all up in one go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I need something to take my mind off of things, and a bit of physical work sounds perfect.”

“I tell you what, I’ve got a three-piece suite and some flowers being delivered about noon. If we could meet before nine, we would make it over the bridge and back again in plenty of time for that. Would the early morning suit you?”

“Couldn’t be better. Arsenal are the early kickoff on the telly; that starts at twelve forty-five. Sounds like a perfect plan to me. I must get going now, but I’ll see you at the site about eight-thirty.”

I stand up and we shake hands.

“See you then.”

As he walks away I’m thinking, an Arsenal fan eh? I’m becoming surrounded by them.