Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Mrs Miller and I are now bosom pals and she has established that I have at least twelve holiday days due to me, so I arrange to have Friday off to collect the new car and go home, searching in a ten-mile radius from the new unit. I have lists from every agent in the area and have marked off five places of specific interest. My entire life has been spent in either high-rise blocks or bulk-standard boxes on new housing estates. I fancy some old-world charm, a cottage or something with character. Prices are dearer than where I live now, but I’m looking to rent and there seem to be some great options available.

Not working the whole day on Monday and Tuesday afternoon means that if I want to take Friday and Saturday off, I need to put in twelve-hour shifts to keep up with all my administration and paperwork duties, so by Thursday night I’m feeling shattered but also fairly excited. First thing Friday, I ring my friend Mr. Elworthy to confirm that my new car is ready for collection. Then I ring two estate agents to see if I can view four properties that interest me. Unfortunately, only one property is actually vacant and the other three are only for weekend viewing, but I decide it will give me a good chance to get to know the area, and an outside viewing of the other three will decide if I want to take a closer look. My office is only around the corner from the train station, so I park up my van and take the train to Bristol, where British Car Leasing have their pitch. It’s a two-mile walk across the city but it is a lovely day, I am in no hurry, and the taxi company’s ten pounds is better in my pocket.

“Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”

I shake Mr. Elworthy’s hand and try and hide my surprise that he is confined to a wheelchair. I say “confined,” but he fairly nips along to the yard, where my new car is waiting. Dark, miserable blue? No, it is not. I am not a car freak, as you would already have gathered, but my girl is a real looker, a bright, light-blue metallic. I go weak at the knees at the sight of her.

“Let me quickly go through the controls for you.” Mr. Elworthy literally flies out of his wheelchair and into the driving seat within a split second. How did he do that? From whichever way you look at him, Mr. Elworthy is an impressive guy. Everything seems straightforward enough and I cannot wait to play with the satellite navigation.

“Just follow me back to the office and sign the release forms for me.”

I’ve got to jog to keep up with him. I sign and he gives me a pink copy of the release form.

“There we are, Mr. Pearson. Enjoy your car.”

“Thank you, Mr. Elworthy. Your service has been first class. I’m really impressed how you don’t let your disability hamper your life. I find you quite inspirational.”

He is obviously not comfortable with compliments, or maybe with even the acknowledgement of his handicap, but I meant every word I said; a fine man and an inspiration.

Anyway, enough of that. Let’s have a look at that satellite navigation. Where shall I go?

***

“JB Roberts here.”

“Miss Roberts, this is May Ting calling you from Paris. Could you please make a note in your diary that a delegation will be with you on Monday week, the sixteenth. They will be with you at nine a.m. Thank you.” With that, the call is disconnected. At times, the French were people of very few words.

Jess buzzes her intercom button.

“Gemma, make a note that the French will be here nine a.m., a week from next Monday.”

“Lordy—what do they want now?”

“Goodness knows. It’s either very good or very bad news.”

“Well it can’t be anything bad, can it? Surely everything was sorted out at their last visit.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Oh well, onward and upward.”

***

“Hey, Rob—this is the life.”

“Hi, D. Are you driving?”

“I certainly am, my man, with the benefit of a hands-free telecommunication system.”

“Wow. Is the sat-nav working?”

“Of course it is. Do you want my current grid reference?”

“That’s really not necessary, D. I can’t hang about; I’ve got a hearing to attend in two minutes.”

“Oh, okay.” Solicitors—sometimes they are rubbish!

So, who else can I call? Not my dad, mainly because he could be anywhere on the planet at this point in time, from wallowing in Wormwood Scrubs to bathing in the sun on the Costa del Sol. We have not spoken for at least five years, but I miss his cheeky nonsense. Much the same with my mother; she is on her sixth husband/partner. As she gets older, they get younger. We have nothing in common other than we both miss having Dad in our lives. That leaves my sister, who I could reach easily within ten minutes. I look up her number and dial.

“Danny!”

“Oh, I was hoping to surprise you.”

“Your name comes up on my mobile.”

“I was wondering, if you were in, if I could pop around for a coffee.”

“Of course. Jeremiah is at playschool this afternoon. Come on over.”

Jeremiah is five years old with pink-tinted hair and earrings. I think you might already have a clear picture of my sister. Still, I love her dearly, and I realise that she has something in common with Jess. My sister was christened Clara Joan, but has always insisted on being called Chantelle. I call her Chan, because if I say it quickly in company it sounds like I’m saying Sian, which I feel sounds reasonably acceptable. But for all her kooky ways, she has got herself a good life. Her husband, Derek, worships her and over the years has built up a good business as a jobbing builder. So there is no shortage of money and their three-bed semi looks like the entrance to a Texas ranch if viewed at a distance.

“Danny!” My sister knows how to hug. I look her up and down.

“You look fabulous. I love the purple highlights.”

“They are good, aren’t they? I had a double whammy done with Jeremiah. We look like twins.”

There is no point in my saying anything.

“Come on in, the coffee pot is already bubbling away.”

Of course it is.

“Is that a new dining room table?”

“Well spotted. We decided that Jeremiah should have his meals with us at the table.”

“Didn’t you already have a dining table?”

“Yes! But we wanted to make a clear impression on Jeremiah on the importance of family time together.” Poor Jeremiah. Poor Derek. “So I see you have a new flash car. There had to be something to bring you to this neck of the woods.”

“Oh, that’s unfair, Chan.” But true, very true. My feelings of well-being fly out of the window. “No, you are right. I should get out to see you more often. I have no excuses. When is Jeremiah’s birthday? Whatever happens, I will get there and bring something special for my little nephew.”

“Oh, you mustn’t spoil him. We want him to grow up as unspoilt and natural as possible.” As natural as any five-year-old with purple highlights can be.

“How is Derek?”

“He’s good. Working all the time. I don’t know why he doesn’t ease up a bit.”

Reality is a distant planet in another galaxy for my sister.

“Would you like a ginger snap?” she asks. “They’re delicious. I bought them online from Fortnum and Mason.”

I despair.

She studies me.

“You are looking different.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something about you, Danny. You look sort of…happy, content. You look a bit younger than last time I saw you. After that snotty cow stitched you up. Your choice in women, Danny, honestly…Oh my God, that’s it! I get it now. You’re in love. My big brother’s got a girlfriend. My brother’s got a girlfriend.”

I need to stop her clapping her hands before she gets to the chorus. “Chan, it’s nothing special. We haven’t even gone out on a date as yet.”

“Well, before you do anything you had better introduce her to me. There is no way I am letting you get lumbered with another cow like that Jane. Never liked her. Never, ever liked her.”

Now the strangest thing in the world goes around in my head. I am aware that it is very important to me that Chan approves of Jess, and that Jess can somehow stomach Chan. If I had a pound for every time Jane slagged off my sister, I could afford to get myself a new dining table. I change the subject. “Have you seen the old dear recently?”

“No, not at all. Mind you, the old man crashed out here for a night last week.”

“What!”

“Yes—he was on his way to a job in Scotland.”

“Oh, no!”

“No, a proper job. He does some courier work at the moment.”

“Oh no!”

“Honestly, Danny, you always think the worst of him. It’s a proper job, delivering parts and stuff.” Knowing him, it is likely to be stolen body parts, but Chan loves her dad, so I desist from commenting. “Anyway, bruv, you are not changing the subject that easily. Who is this gorgeous girl?”

My sister has an air of positivity about her which is incredibly endearing.

“How do you know she’s gorgeous? She might be a dog.”

“Don’t be so sexist. Talking of dogs, we’re thinking of getting a cocker spaniel.”

I feel the need to make my exit.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

After driving around the area for a few hours, I am developing a real fancy for living here. There is definitely an old world charm. There is no shortage of money about, and all the villages seem to bereft of boarded-up shops and pubs. However, I’ve looked at the outsides of twelve houses and I am most certainly underwhelmed. It is pretty clear why they are available. It is not long until dusk and I need to be heading back home; I have things to do. There is one property left which is a bit further out, but from which I, with the help of my trusted friend Stan (every sat nav should have a name), can find a route back without too much difficulty. There are no photos to help me, but the agent assured me I should have no difficulty identifying the house.

In fact, I do miss it. It was easy to miss because it stands at the end of a drive with enormous wrought iron gates and a large, embossed sign:
‘
No Entry to Cotswold House’.
The property I am looking for is called Cotswold Lodge. And there it is. This magical-looking, ivy-covered lodge. Too big for a hobbit to live in, but you get the picture. It is isolated with nothing behind it but acres of farmland. I am smitten and pick up my mobile. This is too important to use my hands-free.

“Hello, Mr. Pearson here. I called in earlier about rental properties.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“At present I’m parked outside Cotswold Lodge. Is that the correct rental figure on your blurb?”

“Of course.”

“I would like to view it as soon as possible.”

“The first available viewing would be on Sunday morning.”

“Nothing at all for Saturday?”

“No, we already have two appointments booked for Saturday and the current tenants are rather too elderly to cope with many interruptions.”

“Is there any point in me going on Sunday? Surely it will be snapped up by then.”

“Lord Brabham is very fussy about who rents his properties, so I am certain he will not agree to granting a lease with the first people to walk through the door.”

“Fair enough. Can you book me in then, please?”

“Would eleven-thirty suit you, Mr. Pearson?”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

***

Saturday.

A big day for me and maybe even a big weekend. I have hardly slept more than twenty minutes at a time. Eventually, I did fall asleep to wake up almost immediately. So it is nearly ten o’clock in the morning by the time I get out of bed, and I still feel deprived of sleep. I have decided on my attire for my date; it has to be my best suit with a white shirt and yellow tie. I set them out on a hanger above my door. Underpants I am sure are not that important—I am not that sort of guy—but I dither about for ages choosing some black boxer shorts. Now an indecision over socks: bland or funny? Bland seems sensible for a first date. Feeling pretty good until I have a proper look at my shoes—they are rubbish. Girls are into shoes; these will just not do. I better get down to the High Street and buy something decent, and while I’m there, send some flowers to Chan, to show my appreciation.

***

“Good morning, JB. The usual?”

“Well no. I thought I might try something different today.”

“Ah, I see. I thought Clare had made a mistake over the time slot. No problem, what can we do for you?”

“I have not got a clue. I just fancy something to freshen me up. Like I said, something different. What would you do if you were me?”

“Well, your hair is in great condition and it has a lovely tone, but I’ve always thought some light highlights would look great on you.”

“Mm, blonde highlights you mean?”

“No, not quite that golden, and maybe trim it back a bit more than usual.”

“Are we talking expensive here?”

“JB—you, of all people!”

“Okay. I’m sorry, go for it. I leave it all in your hands.”

“Good girl. I hope you’ve got nothing planned for the next few hours, because talking of hands, you need a manicure whilst you’re here.”

“Oh God, why don’t I keep my mouth shut sometimes?”

The short conversation makes JB realise that she is too much of a control freak for her own liking. Maybe it would be a good idea to hand the reins over to someone who was trained to do these things.
Close your eyes girl and let her get on with it.

For several hours Jess avoids looking at the clock or the full length mirror in front of her, and actually drifts off to sleep, before the hairdresser wakes her.

“So what do you think?”

“It’s going to take some time to get used to, but I do like it.”

“JB, you look stunning. So who’s the lucky man?”

“Why should a man be involved?”

“Duh.”

“Well, as it so happens, I am meeting someone tonight, if he turns up.”

“JB, look in the mirror. He is going to turn up.”

***

I’m feeling so good that even the off chance of seeing nasty Jane walking along the High Street does not wind me up. I have to spend an hour ducking and diving to keep out of her way, which makes me question: What did I ever see in her? Distance has definitely not made my heart grow stronger. She actually has quite hard features when I look closely. I spent most of our marriage with my head down, so I never really noticed. I have sent Chan a super-big bunch of flowers with a card saying:

To the best sister in the world
.

And sometimes I think she is. And shoes—how expensive are they nowadays? I could buy a decent meal out for two for the price of these two plain black leather beauties. My mobile is ringing.

“Hi, D.”

“Hi, Rob.”

“How are you doing? Everything set for tonight or has she cancelled?”

“Rob—you are a ray of sunshine in a dull, lifeless world.”

“Only joking. How’s the car?”

“Brilliant—the sat nav is fantastic. How I got by without one before is beyond me.”

“You lucky bastard. Let’s meet up on Monday so you can take me for a spin.”

“I’ll see what Stan says.”

“Stan?”

“That’s what I call the sat nav.”

“Cool!”

“Yes, Monday evening would be great. In the meantime, wish me luck.”

“Best of luck, D. Knock ‘er dead.”

Not exactly appropriate, but I know what he means.

“Cheers, Rob.”