Heaven's Door (8 page)

“Not exactly, I just know that I'm not one.”

Jad laughed again. “Well whatever you are, Vicky, you've brightened my day.”

“The pleasure was all mine, sir,” she said. “Anyway, I must go so you can get your rest. Start reading Mr Copperfield; I'm sure you'll soon get off to sleep.”

She stood up, placing George's book on his bed, “I'll see you again soon,” she said.

“
Very
soon would be even better.”

“Go on, I bet you say that to all your nieces.”

*

Mags heard the tell-tale creak of the main gates and was already at the front door when the car crunched to a halt on the pebbled drive. The moment she saw Tom get out of the car she experienced that same euphoria that she had felt on each of the many times he had returned home on leave from active service. It was as if he had just fought his way back again from oblivion.

She rushed into his arms, almost catching him off-balance as he said his goodnight to Paul. They clung together for a long time then she eased back out of their embrace and smiled.

“Well, if that was Hanker the Anchor's idea of foreplay, I'd hate to get on the wrong end of her aggression.”

Tom laughed. “I just assumed you'd phoned her and warned her off,” he said.

“It did cross my mind …”

They kissed again briefly then walked up the steps to the front door together.

Week 1; Friday, 27 March…

“The meeting concludes that the stretch goals set for the Crown Prosecution Service at the onset of the New Justice Regime have been met and, in some cases, exceeded, and I think that the Justice Committee can take some satisfaction from its own involvement in that process.” The chairperson checked his watch. “Meeting ends at 4.23 pm and, on behalf of the committee, I'd like to thank the Home Secretary and the Ministerial Director of Justice for their attendance and participation today.”

The distinguished figure of the Right Honourable Sir Ian Beecham, in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and dark grey tie beamed at Tom and Grace and then at the other members of the group. The words barely registered with Tom, who had spent the best part of six hours failing to make eye-contact with Grace in spite of her sitting directly opposite him.

Committee Room 15 of the Palace of Westminster was set out in its usual format with a top table and five others arranged in an open horse-shoe in front of it to accommodate the fourteen members of the Justice Committee and their two guests. One seat on the top table was occupied by Sir Ian and the other, currently vacant, was for any witness called to provide information and answer questions. In the centre of the horse-shoe a young man in a light grey suit and a full black beard sat at a small table taking notes of the meeting on a laptop. The room itself was ornately wood-panelled and the green leather-upholstered chairs each bore the crown and portcullis insignia of the Houses of Parliament.

The members stood to allow their guests to leave first. Grace thanked Sir Ian and set off quickly along the corridor, with Tom almost running to catch her.

“Grace, for God's sake,” he said, grabbing her arm then releasing it immediately as the rest of the group left the committee room behind them. Grace took the opportunity to rush off again, with Tom calling after her.

“What about Deverall? You said we could talk about that.”

Grace stopped. She half turned towards him.

“Speak to Georgia,” she said, and then disappeared into the Upper Waiting Hall.

*

Tom and Mags were waiting for them in the hall. Tom wore a pale-blue lounge suit with open-necked purple shirt and Mags a black off-the-shoulder dress.

Their dinner guests came down the wide staircase together, side by side, Jack in a cream linen suit and black tee shirt, leading his sister slowly and very formally with a raised, out-stretched hand, like a royal couple joining a reception in their honour. Katey wore a short, pale blue evening dress, very low at the front, with a white velvet choker, and sparkling white tights above blue stiletto-heeled shoes. Tom observed that his daughter seemed less enthusiastic about the comic charade than her brother, but at least she was there, he thought, and that was the main thing. She even managed a brief smile when Tom bowed and Mags curtsied as they reached the bottom of the staircase.

The dining room was large and airy, the only furniture being the oak table, four dining chairs and an antique sideboard. Three walls were plain white and displayed a number of Mags's paintings. The other comprised floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the side garden.

Mags served the meal which passed with polite, rather than relaxed, conversation. As they finished their coffee, Katey raised her wine glass and tapped it with her teaspoon in a request for silence.

“As Bob Cratchit famously said, ‘I'll give you…'” she held out her glass towards Mags, “‘the founder of the feast.”'

“The founder of the feast,” echoed Tom and Jack.

Mags smiled.

“If my recollection of
The Christmas Carol
is correct,” she said, “then the founder of the feast should be your father. He paid for it.”

“Not so,” put in Jack. “Your recollection is
in
correct, Mother. Father, as I see it, in the context of this impromptu dramatisation of the well-loved Dickens classic, is Bob Cratchit himself. The founder of the feast, then – his employer, Ebenezer Scrooge, in the story – must be the prime minister.”

“If you don't mind,” said Tom, “I think I'd rather drink to Ebenezer Scrooge.”

They all laughed, and he raised his glass again.

“All together, then,” he said. “One, two, three …”

And – all together – they shouted. “Ebenezer Scrooge!”

Tom replenished their glasses and they sat in silence for a while.

“So, Mum,” said Katey, “when are we going to hear what all this is about?”

“What's all what about?” said Mags.

“Well,” said Katey, “why are we here, suddenly, all together, acting in this very civilised way? There's got to be something, hasn't there? This is the first time since my seventeenth birthday that the four of us have been in the same room together, behaving ourselves. What's that, eight months?”

“And
that's
exactly the reason, Katey,” said Mags. “It's
because
it's been so long. I thought it was about time we showed that we
could
behave ourselves when we're together. That's all. Don't you like it when we don't fight? Would you rather we argue all the time?”

“Hey, I don't make the rules,” said Katey, raising her hands in her mock gesture of surrender. “You and Dad set the rules
and
the standards, especially when it comes to arguing and fighting. So what's happened?” She turned to Tom, her mouth smiling, eyes challenging. “Home Secretary, will you take the question?”

“No,
I'll
take the question,” said Mags, determined to keep Katey and Tom apart for as long as possible. “Your father and I have discussed our differences and have reached an understanding. We have concluded that our views,” she added, carefully selecting her words in an increasingly official tone, “albeit still at variance on some fundamental issues, are not mutually exclusive and are capable of parallel existence. Going forward, we feel that, notwithstanding the aforementioned differences, a level of reciprocal tolerance will enable us to work together for the benefit of the family unit.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Tom, spontaneously; with genuine appreciation. Jack added a brief round of applause.

“Wow!” said Katey. “That must have been some discussion to bring about Mum's complete surrender so quickly. So how are you going to do it, Dad? You know, keep your side of the bargain?”

Tom said nothing, returning the questioner's look with a blank stare. After a brief, silent stand-off, Katey went on.

“I mean, how are you going to dismantle the NJR so soon after the government has wasted all that money in implementing it?”

Again, no response.

“Because, in spite of Mum's wonderful speech just now, I know for a
fact
,” Katey continued, volume increasing, “that that would be the
only
way you and Mum could get anywhere near a truce. Otherwise, all the bitterness and fighting over the past three years or so would have been pointless. A waste of time. And totally irresponsible, in the context of good parenting.”

Still Tom did not say anything.

“Well?” she said, getting angry now. “Do I have to submit all this in writing?”

“No,” Tom spoke at last. “I'm just waiting for a question worthy of an answer.”

There were loud ‘here-we-go-again' sighs from both Mags and Jack.

“I see, same game,” said Katey. “Don't have an answer so it must have been a shit question!”

There was silence for a moment. Then Tom laughed out loud, looking affectionately at Katey and shaking his head.

“God, Princess,” he said, “you are bloody good when you get going. I just wish I could have you on
my
side occasionally.”

He looked at Mags and then Jack.

“Don't
you
think she's good?”

They were both beaming. Katey shrugged in resignation and rose from the chair.

“Okay, if I am to be scoffed at and ridiculed for trying to find out why my parents have suddenly and inexplicably decided not to kill each other, then I think I'll leave you and …”

“Oh, come on, Katey,” said Mags, “please don't spoil it. It means a lot to me to have the three people I love most with me right now.”

“Yes, short-one,” put in Jack. “They'll start picking on me if you disappear.”

Katey hesitated, looking at Mags. “That's a cheap trick, Mum, saying that, trying to make me feel bad.” She hesitated, just a moment, and then sat down again. “However, it worked,” she added, glancing across at Tom. “Anyway, I guess that would be no way for royalty to behave.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Tom got up, picked the wine bottle from the ice bucket and examined its contents.

“Nearly finished,” he said. “Shall I open another? Katey? Jack?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jack, looking at his sister who half nodded, half shrugged.

“And what about the chef?” asked Mags.

“You're on the Talisker with me,” he said.

“I suppose resistance is pointless.”

There were smiles all round. Tom dispensed the wine and whisky and resumed his seat.

“And now, back to Katey's question…”

“Haven't we got past that?” asked Jack.

“No, certainly not,” said Tom, now seriously. “What your mum said before – and said so eloquently – was absolutely right, but if that doesn't meet Katey's data requirements, then I think she deserves a fuller explanation. I'd like to think that the fact we're all here tonight means that we care about each other both as individuals and collectively as a family. In which case we need to be open and honest and trust each other's good intentions.”

He looked across at Mags who smiled .

“Okay, Princess, ask away.”

*

“Thanks for a great evening, you two,” said Katey as she rose to go to bed around midnight. “I've really enjoyed it, and I didn't think I would to be honest. It's great to see you both like this, loving instead of fighting. I actually thought the ‘what's all this about?' might have been you announcing a separation. How wrong can you be?”

There was a catch to her voice as she spoke and a hint of wetness in her eyes as she kissed first Mags and then Tom, wrapping her arms around him and holding on for a long time.

“Come on, short-one,” said Jack. “I'll read you a story if you like just to make it a perfect ending.”

He kissed Mags and hugged his father, and then they both left the room.

Tom and Mags smiled at each other and held hands in silence for a while across the table.

“I've been thinking,” said Tom. “I need to go to Lochshore very soon. If I can arrange it for, say, the middle of next week, we could perhaps stay up there somewhere and have Friday to Sunday together, possibly part of Thursday as well. What do you think?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Mags said. “You don't want me at Lochshore, though, do you?”

Tom thought for a moment. “No,” he said, “but if we can arrange a separate itinerary for you and a travelling companion for a couple of days, we could still travel up together.”

“Great. I wonder what Hugh Jackman's doing next week.”

“He's busy; I've checked.”

“Oh, well, what the hell. I'll do it anyway.”

*

Week 1; Saturday, 28 March…

Tom was up early, going down to breakfast at 6.30 to give himself plenty of time before his weekend driver picked him up to take him to the constituency office in Marlburgh for his Saturday surgery. He took his toast, coffee and juice into what they called ‘the morning room', a huge conservatory overlooking another large pond and a range of bird-feeders in the side garden. At seven o'clock he looked up in surprise to see Katey in the doorway, coffee cup in hand. She was wearing a short pink robe and a pair of flip-flop slippers. Her hair was un-brushed and wild.

“Okay to join you?” she said, in a hoarse voice and with her eyes struggling for focus.

“Of course.” Tom moved round the table and pulled out a chair for his daughter. She sat down heavily, not quite fully awake.

“Are you working today?” she asked, the words competing with a wide yawn.

“Leaving in half-an-hour,” said Tom. “Want to come and play boss and secretary?” he added.

“I'd love to, but I'm meeting Jay at eleven. Got to report back on last night. He figured you might be going to bar me from seeing him.”

“You're kidding me, aren't you? Why would he think that?”

“He thinks you don't approve of him. Actually,
I
think you don't approve of him as well.”

“That's not so, Princess, honestly. He's a nice guy and I like him. That's the truth. But don't forget, I'm your dad and it's my job to be unreasonably protective and to resist anyone wanting to whisk away my little girl. And anyway, you're only seventeen and he's the only boyfriend you've had. You can't …”

“Mum tells me that she met you when she was seventeen and never ever wanted to be with anyone else. In fact, you may be interested to know she told me that only a couple of months ago, years after you two fell out and before you made it up again. She's never wavered in all that time. So what's wrong now with being in love at seventeen?”

“But that was totally different …” Tom began.

“Why was it so different? Because you were white and rich?”

Tom was silent for a few moments before replying.

“I'm sorry you feel like that, Katey. In your report to Jason, tell him I'm happy that my daughter is in such good hands. I know he looks after you really well.”

Katey looked at him with sudden tenderness and tears came to her eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” her voice trembling. “You can't know how much that means to me.”

She rose from the chair and put her arms round him, holding him for a long time. He could feel the warmth and wetness of her tears on his neck and struggled to keep his own emotions in check. They broke from the embrace and her wet face smiled at him with an expression he had not seen for too many years. Then she turned to leave with a whispered, “See you later. Love you.”