As Easy as Murder (7 page)

‘Good. I’m looking forward to meeting him. What’s he like?’

My son had met his Aunt Ellie on a few occasions, at first with Oz, and since then once or twice when we’d been visiting my dad in Auchterarder, and Grandpa Mac had picked him up and taken him to Fife for the day. He knew his cousin Colin as well, and Harvey, his newish uncle, but Jonny had been away on each visit, so their paths had never crossed.

I took a photograph, the one that goes with me everywhere, from my bag; Tom and Charlie, taken a few months before, on the beach in winter. ‘He’s the one without the tail,’ I said. My nephew’s eyes misted for a second or two as he looked at it. ‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘He is like his father, isn’t he?’

Then I had another thought, a very big thought. ‘Where do you live, Jonny?’ I asked.

‘This week? Brush has rented a house for Uche and me, plus Lena and her crew. It’s not far from here, in a place called Caldes de something or other. We’re all staying there.’

‘No, not just this week; I meant permanently.’

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me that awkward Blackstone grin. ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve just left college, so I don’t have a place yet, other than Mum’s house.’

‘But you’ll need one, won’t you, for the weeks you’re not involved in a tournament?’

‘I suppose, yeah.’

‘Somewhere with decent weather and near good practice facilities? Somewhere central to the European events you’re playing?’

‘Yeah, but to be honest I haven’t thought much about it, not yet. I’ve been too full of this week.’

I took the plunge. ‘Then come and live with us; make our
place your European base. It ticks all those boxes, the weather’s a hell of a lot better than St Andrews, plus it’s forty minutes from an airport. We’ve got room, Tom and me.’ Then a question that I’d overlooked popped into my head. ‘Or do you have other involvements? Do you have a girlfriend?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m between, you might say.’

‘Then what’s to stop you coming to stay with your old . . . scratch that, middle-aged auntie?’

He blinked. ‘Nothing, I suppose. But things tend to get busy around me; the phone’s going all the time. Uche would need to be close by as well. My caddie goes where I go, during the day at any rate.’

‘We can find him somewhere . . . when I think about it, I could squeeze him in as well.’

‘No thanks, I wouldn’t want him that close.’ He grinned. ‘Neither would you, for that matter. Uche’s a night owl; he’s a playboy. Lovely guy, but he needs to get his mind more focused if he wants to make it as a golfer.’

‘There are places available around St Martí that would give him his freedom, don’t you worry.’ I smiled at him, feeling a warmth akin to the way that Tom makes me glow. ‘Are you up for it?’ I asked again.

‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘if you’re sure.’

Strangely, I hadn’t been surer of anything for quite some time. ‘Entirely. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come home with me tonight, and see how it feels?’

‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘But what about Tom? It’ll be a big change for him. Doesn’t he have a vote?’

‘Yes, but I know how he’ll cast it. You’ll be a hero to him; think of the bragging rights he’ll have at school.’

He grinned. ‘The dog in the photo? Is he yours?’

‘Yes, but don’t worry about Charlie; he does not have a vote.’

‘I’ll pay my way, mind,’ he warned.

I looked him in the eye. ‘And do you with your mother? The truth now; I’ll ask Mac if I have to.’

He shook his head.

‘Right you are, then. Jonny, we’re family. If you like, you can take us for a meal whenever you make a big enough cheque; that’ll be an added incentive for you. Every time you’re over a twelve-footer on the last green that’s worth a few grand, you can think of me done up to the nines in the best restaurant in L’Escala.’

T
hat’s how I came to be a den mother. That’s what Ellie christened me when, to my surprise, she called me that evening. Jonny hadn’t even arrived in St Martí when she phoned. He was still in mid-round with the superstars when I had to leave the course with Shirley and Patterson, to be back in time for Tom coming home, but he had his own wheels, supplied by his German car sponsor as part of his deal, and equipped, naturally, with a navigation system.

I’d given him my home and mobile numbers. When the phone rang I imagined it might be him, having second thoughts, or having been leaned on by the mysterious Brush . . . whom I still hadn’t met . . . to stay within camp, so when I heard his mother’s voice instead it set me back on my heels.

‘It’s a funny old world, Primavera, isn’t it?’ she began; no preamble.

‘You can say that again,’ I sighed, recovering. ‘Jonny tells me you haven’t been too well. How are you feeling now?’

‘Champing at the bit; that’s a good sign, I reckon. I’ll make it to his next event; I’ve told my surgeon as much.’ She paused.
‘This is very good of you, you know, taking my boy in like this. I’ve been worried sick about how he was going to look after himself, being dragged around Europe by that manager of his.’

‘The sweeper-up?’

‘Hah!’ Her laugh was brief, cut off short; my nursing background told me that it had tugged at her stitches. ‘Jonny thinks that’s how he got his nickname, but there’s another reason, a bit more obvious. They called him Brush when he was playing because he was as daft as one, they reckon. That was what Harvey was told, at any rate. He did some checking up on him when Jonny was choosing a management company. There were a few after him, you know,’ she added, with evident pride, ‘including the two biggest players of all, but Jonny did his own research and decided to go with Donnelly, because he liked the frankness of his approach, plus he liked him personally. On top of that he only takes twenty per cent, where some others can take up to fifty, when a lad’s starting out. I have to say that he’s done well by him so far. I didn’t expect him to be in any tournaments at all this summer, but Brush has filled up his dance card. The event down your way was the icing on the cake; he got in there at the last minute. There’s a huge prize fund, he says. Mind you, he has to make the cut on Friday to collect any of it.’

‘He will,’ I assured her, ‘don’t you worry.’

‘You’re confident.’

‘I’ve just watched him practice, and I spent some time with him on the course. There’s an air about him, a certainty, and it’s very impressive.’

‘Were you going to say that it reminds you of somebody?’ she asked, quietly.

‘Hell, no!’ I retorted. ‘When we were together Oz flew entirely by the seat of his pants. He never planned a bloody thing; everything had an uncertain outcome. Jonny seems to have his whole career mapped out.’

‘Both of those are true, I suppose,’ Ellie conceded. ‘But you have to admit that when my brother did set his sights on something, nothing stopped him. It was when he got hitched to that wee Glaswegian bitch that everything started to change.’

‘No,’ I countered. ‘It was when Jan died, surely.’

‘No, love.’ The term of endearment took me aback, but pleased me. ‘You kept him on the rails after that. I’ve never said this to anyone before, but the fact is I never liked him and Jan together. I don’t know why; I just didn’t. Mind you I never liked her mother either, from when she taught me at primary school. To this day, I’m only civil to Mary because it would hurt my dad if I was otherwise.’

I was astonished, not only by her intuition . . . I knew, because he told me, a lot more about Jan’s relationship with, and to, Oz than she or her father did, and the background to her instincts . . . but also because I’d known Ellie for all those years, yet she’d never been so frank. ‘I’m standing here gobsmacked,’ I told her. ‘Is there any woman who’s come into contact with your family that you do like?’

‘Yes, you silly cow! You! Why do you think I’m so chuffed that you’re taking my boy in hand? I’m laughing at the very thought . . . or I would be if my wound would let me. Imagine, you, the wild
Primavera, mothering Tom, Jonny and that simpleton dog that my dad likes so much. It’ll be like the fucking
Jungle Book
in your house.’

I heard the gate bell ring, and Tom yell, ‘I’ll get it.’

‘I’d better go,’ I told her. ‘I think that could be Baloo the Bear arriving, and I haven’t told Mowgli about him.’

My son beat me to the door, comfortably, although he’d been beaten himself by Charlie, who’d stopped barking as soon as it was opened, confining himself to his usual jumping up and down in the presence of a stranger.

‘You’ll be Tom, then,’ Jonny was saying, just as I arrived.

‘That’s right,’ I told him, unnecessarily. ‘Tom, this is Jonathan Sinclair, the cousin you’ve never met. He’s coming to stay with us for a while.’

‘Jonny,’ Tom exclaimed. ‘The golfer? Grandpa’s told me a lot about you.’

Our new boy grinned. ‘He’s told me a fair bit about you too, chum.’ He held out his hand and they shook. I knew there and then that they’d be blood brothers; Jonny had treated him like an equal and that’s all my lad ever requires of any adult.

I showed him to what was to be his base, above the living room, with a view over the square and a bathroom that he’d share with Tom. The case he’d brought with him was vast; I took that as a sign that it was more than a trial visit. He noticed me looking at it as he dumped it beside the bed. ‘That’s only half of it,’ he told me. ‘My clothing company sponsor bombards me with stuff. Give me your size, and Tom’s, and I’ll get you some. Golf shoes too; and trainers.’ He smiled and I felt that shiver again, the one that
had sent me spinning earlier, the first time I saw him.

It must have showed on my face. ‘Auntie P, is this going to be difficult for you?’ he asked. ‘I mean . . . Hell, I don’t know how to say it. If I’m a reminder of . . . anybody: I’d understand if you changed your mind about this.’

‘Jonny, suppose you were, you wouldn’t be nearly as big a reminder as the guy who opened the door for you. And why should I be bothered? Don’t you like to be reminded of your uncle? I know that you and he were very close.’

‘There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think about him. I carry his picture in my bag for luck; he’s done pretty well for me so far. He’s always looked out for me, and he’s still doing it, in my head at least.’

I smiled at him. ‘Just don’t let him read your putts,’ I said. ‘That was always the weakest part of his game. Come on; I’ll show you the rest of the house, and the pool.’

‘You’ve got a pool?’

‘Yes, it’s out the back. It’s big; stretches all the way to Italy and beyond.’

His eyes shone when he saw the Mediterranean from my terrace. ‘Windsurfers!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s my other sport. If I buy a board can you store it for me?’

‘Sure, right beside Tom’s, in the garage. It’s vast; there’s room for your car too.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t think there’d be much opportunity for windsurfing in Arizona. I lived in Las Vegas for a while and there wasn’t a hell of a lot there.’

‘There is in Fife. I have a feeling it’ll be a lot warmer here, though.’

‘You can use mine for now, if you want,’ Tom volunteered, from his bedroom doorway. ‘It’s big enough for you.’ I’d taken some persuasion to allow him to graduate to a larger board, but Ben Simmers, his unofficial coach, had assured me that he was good enough and strong enough to handle it. In fact, his real passion, and Ben reckoned his real talent, was free surfing, but the big waves in the Bay of Roses come too infrequently for him to concentrate on that alone.

‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I said, ‘if Jonny has time. Tonight we have a date, all of us. Patterson and Shirley . . .’ I told my nephew who they were, reminding him that he’d met Shirl when he was a kid, ‘. . . have invited us to supper in La Terrassa d’Empúries. It’s their thank you to me for driving them down today, plus Patterson’s a golfer and he’s dead keen to meet you, Jonny . . . if that’s okay with you.’

He nodded. ‘Sure, that’s very kind of them. Do you know the place?’ he asked, not quite casually enough.

‘We live right on top of it. Why? Don’t tell me you’re a fussy eater?’

He shook his head. ‘Not me. I’m a Fifer, remember. But,’ he added, ‘I’m also a professional sportsman, and these days even golfers have drug testing.’

‘Is it so strict that you’re worried about going to a local pizza place?’

‘No, I don’t suppose it is. We’re given a list of banned substances, but you hear these horror stories about athletes being banned for buying a brand of cough mixture where the formula’s different in different countries, so . . .’

‘. . . you can’t be too careful,’ Tom concluded.

‘Exactly, cuz. The testing’s supposed to be random, but I’m the new boy this week, so I’m more than half expecting to be asked to pee in a bottle at some point.’

‘That’s bloody ludicrous,’ I protested. ‘This is golf we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Quite a few players agree with you, but everyone has to accept that it’s part of the age we live in. We play every week around the world for millions of dollars, euro or whatever, and most of that money comes from or is underwritten by sponsors. We have to show them that we have nothing to hide.’