Going Up and Going Down (28 page)

For five
months, I opened my purse each morning before work and looked at the cheque
that Bill Douglas had handed to me. Five seconds was all it took each time. I
would return it to the secret zip compartment after its brief airing. I
couldn’t bring myself to do anything with the damn cheque, yet it made me
incredibly sad to look at it every day. But I couldn’t get out of the habit.
(It had become yet another of my obsessive routines.) I didn’t want to bank it,
but I didn’t want to tear it up and put it in the garbage.

I had a new
cleaning job now at a different hotel, having been fired for the considerable
length of time I had taken off after David had died. I didn’t need to work from
a financial point of view. My job was merely a way of escaping from the house,
and I needed to clean somewhere, anywhere. My obsessions were at their worst.
Anthony hadn’t failed to notice how many times I had cleaned throughout the
house in the previous weeks, and I had felt sickened by his vicious remarks,

“You seriously
need help, Helen, you are mentally unstable.” And then,

“Get a life.
Get a job.”

“I had a life,
and a job, until you fucked it all up for me, Anthony!” I bit back.

I felt I was
unable to return to my career in accountancy. My ability to concentrate on
business, figures, or simple matters like reading a novel or watching a movie
was at an all time low – non-existent in fact. I knew it was only a matter of
time before I would need professional help for my mental problems. I could not
have carried on like that indefinitely. I didn’t need to be told why this was
happening to me again. I knew the cause, but I wasn’t able to control the
obsessions.

I had told
Anthony I had a new job. He’d assumed it was accountancy. I didn’t lie to him -
just failed to correct his assumption.

My mobile rang
at ten o’clock one morning, and looking at the screen I saw that it was Bill
Douglas calling me.

“Good morning,
Bill, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“Hello, Helen.
I am very well, thank you, my dear. And yourself? I hope I haven’t caught you
at an inconvenient time?” Considerate as ever. I laughed.

“It’s always
convenient to speak to you, Bill. I’m keeping busy, it’s the best way to deal
with things, and I am managing to cope. What can I do for you?”

“The reason for
my call, Helen, is that Catherine…um…David’s daughter has finally been in
touch. She would like to meet up with you - fairly soon if you can manage that.
She…um...mentioned tomorrow – if that is not too short notice for you? She
understands if it won’t be possible.”

My hand was
shaking as I took in what he was saying. I knew I wasn’t really ready for
meeting David’s girls at that point.

“That is fine,
Bill, I can meet them at any time she wants and Catherine can choose where she
would like us to meet up. Would you mind asking her and getting back to me with
the details please?” then as an afterthought,

“Bill…would you
mind telling…asking Catherine…that I don’t have a nice picture of David, if she
could oblige please…all I have is the picture from the newspaper.”

“Certainly,
Helen. I will call you back as soon as I have made contact with Catherine
again.”

We both hung
up. Thirty minutes later he called me back to tell me to meet Catherine and
Ruby at St James’ Park, near ‘Inn the Park’ at eleven. Bill had failed to ask
how I might recognise them, so I asked if he would contact them again, to say
that I would wear denims, a black jacket, a cream chiffon scarf with orange
butterflies, one of David’s favourites, and I would be carrying a black Radley
shoulder bag.

I was so
nervous the next morning, wondering what his girls would think about me,
whether they would even like me; and I also wondered how much of David I would
be able to see in
them. 
Would it be David’s eyes that I saw, when we
finally came face to face?

I wanted to be
early for our meeting. I planned to stand somewhere out of sight so that I
could catch a glimpse of the girls (if I could recognise them) before they saw
me. I didn’t know if it was a good idea or not. I thought I might be tempted to
run, should I see a hint of hostility in their faces. They had no reason to be
hostile towards me but I couldn’t help feeling like the other woman. I was also
feeling guilty that David had left me money that rightfully belonged to their
inheritance. I didn’t feel right about the meeting at all but I was doing it
for David – he had wanted it.

It was ten to
eleven when I arrived at St. James Park. I kept a little distance from ‘Inn the Park’ for a few minutes, but eagerly looked in that direction to see if I could
manage to pick out the girls before I made my approach. But for the fact that I
was looking out for
two
young ladies, I might have spotted Catherine
sooner than I did.  She was obviously looking around for somebody she had
agreed to meet, so I took this as my cue to start walking towards her. I could
see that she was tall, about 5ft 10” and dark haired, and, when I was just ten
yards away from her I knew I was looking at Catherine, David’s eldest daughter.
Her eyes were those of her father, in fact all her facial features were
unmistakably his. I saw her quick glance at my attire and finally she made eye
contact with me. She walked tentatively towards me and offered her hand, which
I took in both of mine,

“You are
Catherine, am I right?”

“Yes.
Catherine. And you are, Helen? she enquired.

We gave each
other a nervous hug, and I could feel the tension in her shoulders, a tension
mirrored by my own.

“Sh…shall we
walk for a little while? Or would you rather go inside and have coffee, or
tea?” I asked.

“Yes, to the
walk. I am sorry my sister can’t be here, she is, being rather troublesome at
this moment in time. I thought it best to come alone. I hope you don’t mind,
Helen? She can come along next time, if she’s in the right frame of mind.”

So there was
going to be a next time. She didn’t even yet know me. I was touched by her
confidence.

“That’s not a
problem, Catherine. If she wants to, I will look forward to meeting her next
time in that case.”

We walked along
the path for a few seconds, and her next words stunned me,

“You loved my
father?”

“Very much! He
was so special, we would have been together now, if it wasn’t for...”  I
couldn’t bring myself to say the word and she looked at me sympathetically, and
immediately understood,

“I know. I hate
the word too.”

She turned to
face me as we continued to stroll.

“Dad told us
about you, Helen - how much he loved you. You were very special to him too. You
must be hurting? That he ended it with you…to protect you?
And
that you
found out about his death through the media. If only we had thought to look for
his mobile phone. We found it three weeks later, your number is on there…I
could have called you. I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you.”

Her eyes had
glazed over, but her grief was plain to see.

“No more so,
than the way it must have been for you and Ruby. I want you to know that David
was everything to me. I never understood why he ended our relationship. He told
me that it was his work, the amount of time he spent travelling; he said it
caused the break-up between him and your Mum - that was the reason he gave me.
He said he was ending it to protect me from all that. Somehow I didn’t really
believe it to be true. I know now though, don’t I? I’ve forgiven him for
keeping the truth from me…even though it still hurts.”

“How did you
meet?” she asked me after a brief silence.

How was I to
answer that one? I didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t need to know the truth.

“I met David
through business, a mutual acquaintance introduced us. It snowballed from there
really.”

We walked on
for fifteen minutes in silence, she linked her arm into mine, and I was touched
by the show of warmth from someone who had been a stranger to me just half an
hour before. I liked this girl, she was genuine; she wanted the cold, hard
facts about my relationship with her father, but she showed compassion for my
loss, whilst still dealing with her own.

“Would you like
to go for a coffee, or perhaps something to eat, Helen? Or are you in a rush to
return to work? I have no wish to hold you up, if so.”

“I’ve booked a
days’ leave. We can do whatever
you
would like. I’m quite hungry too.
First eating place we come to okay with you, or did you have somewhere in
mind?”

“I like Pizza
Express, there’s one in Victoria Street.”

“Pizza Express
it is then.”

We ordered food
and found a quiet corner where we could sit and talk without the distractions
of the comings and goings of other customers and staff. I loved hearing her
talk about David. What type of father he had been, the practical jokes he had
played on them all throughout his marriage to Heidi, his hobbies, anything at
all – and she obliged. She talked about University and her dream to become a
forensic scientist. Another topic that caused her plenty of distress was Ruby
and the havoc she had caused before David’s death and ever since.

Our food
arrived, so there was a lull in the conversation for a few minutes as we ate. We
ordered a second bottle of wine between us. I was certainly not expecting the
next question she threw at me and my stomach sank.

“Why haven’t
you paid in the cheque that Bill gave to you? You’ve had it for five months
now.”

She looked
straight into my eyes, waiting for the answer that I was struggling with,

“I…I...never
wanted David’s money. It was David that I wanted, still
do
want. I can’t
take it. I don’t need it, Catherine. I have more than enough to keep me
comfortable. It belongs to you and Ruby, it doesn’t belong to me.”

“It is not
our
money, Helen. Our father wanted you to have it,
and
the balance when the
estate is finally sorted. Ruby and I are very wealthy. We have far more than we
will ever get through. This is rightfully yours. Dad wanted you to have it, so
do it for him, for
your
David – pay it into your bank…tomorrow.”

My emotions got
the better of me, I couldn’t look into her eyes at that point, I didn’t want
her to see the tears that rolled down my cheeks; and she knew. She quickly
moved around to join me on my side of the table, put her arm around me, and she
laid her head on my shoulder. I turned towards her and enfolded her in my
arms.  We sobbed silently on each other’s shoulder for a few minutes, then
giggled together like schoolgirls when we realised that we had a small
audience. She moved back to her side of the table. I told her again,

“I loved him so
much, Catherine, he was everything to me.”

“I know that, I
can tell how much you loved him. I would not be sat here with you otherwise.”

After I had
settled the bill, to much protest from Catherine, we left the restaurant and
wandered aimlessly around London for most of the afternoon. Sometimes
Catherine’s arm was linked in mine, and when it wasn’t, my arm was linked in
hers. We called into a bar or two - a gin and tonic for me, a pint of Fosters
for Catherine, (it was good to tell she was at Uni); the odd shop here and
there…if and when something in the windows caught our attention. I was not
looking forward to saying our goodbyes. I felt as if I needed to be near her. I
felt closer to David than ever when I was in her company, and I liked to think
that he was looking down, giving an approving nod at our new friendship.

That moment of
parting did come around all too soon, and at seven o’clock we exchanged mobile
numbers, promising to stay in touch. Catherine promised me that she would try
her best to get Ruby to come along to meet me next time. After we embraced for
the final time that day, her hand rummaged in her handbag and she passed me a
white envelope,

“A couple of
photos of Dad – I remembered. The one of him by himself was taken just a few
weeks before he was diagnosed.”

“Thank you,
Catherine. I won’t look just yet, I will save them for when I’m alone - I know
I’ll get upset. I’ve enjoyed today very much, thank you.” and quickly added, “I
will pay the cheque into the bank, if that is what you want me to do.”

“It is. Bye,
Helen, we’ll speak soon, yes?”

“Count on it.”

I watched as
she walked away from me. I felt such a rush of affection for her. She was
certainly a credit to David…and Heidi. So mature…and so like David. It crossed
my mind that maybe that was the reason behind my feelings towards her.

After my
pleasant afternoon with Catherine, I went home (fortunately, Anthony was out),
poured myself a large glass of wine and went upstairs to the privacy of my
bedroom. Once I had taken a few sips, I carefully opened the envelope that
Catherine had given to me. Both the pictures were mounted and had been facing
each other in the envelope before I had taken them out. The first one that I
turned over was a picture of David with his girls. It was dated May 2007 and
had been taken in Sicily on the top of Mount Etna. I remember David telling me
about that particular holiday during our pillow talk all those months ago. The
skies were incredibly blue, there was plenty of snow on the ground, and all
three of them were huddled together shivering with their fleeces on. I
recognized Catherine easily now, but have to say that Ruby’s looks were neither
like David nor Catherine, so I assumed that she took after her mother. She was
certainly an attractive young lady. David had told me how hot it been on the
beach in Taormina, and yet, just an hour’s drive away, at a height of 3350
metres above sea level, the temperatures had been -12C with the wind cutting through
them like knives. The second photograph was of my David, and he smiled up at me
as I gazed lovingly at him and stroked his cheek. He was almost as handsome on
paper, as he had been in life. I smiled back at him and watery-eyed, asked him
in a whisper,

“Why did you
have to go and leave me, David? I’m missing you so much, and it hurts.”

My sadness
engulfed me and I sought an answer in those beautiful eyes but they couldn’t
give any response. His lips, whilst smiling, could not produce any words to
console me. I propped the photograph up against my bedside lamp, sipped at my
wine and my eyes scanned every corner of the room, hoping for, and trying to
catch a glimpse of his hazy image watching over me. I took some comfort from
that possibility.

The following
Monday when I finished work at the hotel, (and after a full weekend of giving
the matter some careful consideration), I went to my bank and paid in the
cheque. Had it not been for Catherine questioning me as to why I hadn’t done
so, I think I might have just added it to my collection of keepsakes. Once the
cheque cleared, I would be transferring the money to my offshore bank account.
It was time to bail out of the marital home, and furthermore, time that Anthony
got the life that he deserved.