Loving Susie (21 page)

He lowers the spoon slowly into the tea, watching as the crystals absorb the liquid and turn brown, layer by tiny layer.
Mannie.
He ignores that line of thought and forces himself to go on.

‘I think it would be true to say that the politics started because of the children. Susie couldn’t bear to see how little time was given in schools to art, to drama, to music. She couldn’t simply stand by and let it happen, she had to do something about it.’

‘Like you said, she’s a passionate person.’

‘And stubborn. Once she’s made a judgment she won’t move on it. Like falling out with her own Party because their policies don’t match up to her exacting standards.’

Like believing he had betrayed her trust and hating him for it.

‘Don’t tell me this is about fucking politics.’

‘What?’ He lets the sugar sink into the liquid and stirs it vigorously.

‘This visit, Archie. Not that I’m not pleased to see you or anything but it’s bloody unusual. Do you want to tell me about it instead of flaming wittering on?’

Archie picks up the tea and takes a big sip. It’s unbearably sweet and he grimaces and sets it back down on the table.

That day Susie had done the early morning television interview. He’d seen Brian Henderson, on the item just before she appeared. It was the mouth that had been the clue.
Susie’s mouth.
Put that mouth into a slightly softer mould and frame it in a woman’s face, and you had Susie.

He’d had a bad feeling then. If he’d listened more carefully, perhaps he would have heard that he was a director of CommX, perhaps he could have found some way to avert all this.

‘I’d better go,’ he says, suddenly desperate to be on his own.

‘Right. Good to fucking talk,’ Sandie says, her voice heavily ironic.

‘Yes. Good. Thanks, Sandie, Thanks,’ Archie says, oblivious to her tone. He’s at the door already, but he turns. ‘This tune.’

‘Which bloody tune is that, Archie?’

‘The one I wrote on our wedding anniversary.’ Archie looks at her impatiently, as if she should know. Or has he even told Sandie about it?

‘Oh, that one.’

‘I did tell you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh.’

‘What about it, anyway?’

‘It’s driving me mad. I can’t find the words.’

‘Want me to write them?’

They have a fruitful collaboration and Sandie often writes the words to Archie’s music, but on this occasion it feels wrong. ‘No. Thanks Sandie. I need to do it myself. But something’s stopping me. I’m climbing the wall.’

‘Sort out your problem with Susie and the words’ll come.’

He stares at her. What an odd thing to say. ‘Right. Thanks.’ He turns and goes out, Prince at his heels. ‘Thanks for the tea,’ he calls over his shoulder.

In the kitchen, Sandie looks at the virtually untouched mug and pulls a face.

He’s still three miles from Cairn Cottage when the engine coughs, splutters, and dies. He manages to coast in to the side of the road and comes to a final halt with the nearside wheels half in a ditch. The fuel gauge shows empty. How the hell has he forgotten to fill the thing? He’s been so preoccupied recently it’s clean gone out of his mind. Bugger it. He’ll have to walk.

‘Here boy, out you come.’

He opens the tailgate and sets off along the road, deep in thought.
Sort out your problem with Susie and the words will come.
Maybe Sandie is right, but there’s much, much more in his life to worry about than she can possibly know. He kicks at a small branch that has fallen across the road as Prince leaps to and fro, barking for it to be thrown.

‘All right, old boy, here you go.’  He throws it and watches as Prince chases along the lane to retrieve it. The dog is getting old, his movements are becoming ponderous and he lacks the bounce he used to have. I’m getting old too, he thinks – too old for dissent.

There’s a drip on the back of his neck. The sky has darkened and there’s rain starting. Blast. He hasn’t brought a jacket. Prince is at his feet, his face upturned, the stick in his mouth ready for throwing again. Well, so what if he gets wet, what does it matter, in the scale of his problems?

Brian Henderson. As he trudges towards the cottage the breath whistles through his teeth in sheer disbelief. What a twist! For Jon to end up working for the man is an odd coincidence, but for Mannie to fall for him is frankly bizarre.

Archie thinks of himself as a simple man – music is his sphere, not emotion. For years he has schooled himself to write any feelings he might have into his music rather than let them fester in his heart. Twenty-nine years ago he nearly lost Susie. When she came back to him, he promised himself he would be grateful for every moment they spent together, and that he would do anything he needed to in order to keep her by his side – even if it meant accepting the child she was carrying.

Even if it was Maitland’s.

Archie has never expressed his doubts to anyone, certainly not to Susie, and he has loved Mannie with all the passion a father can bestow on a daughter. Mannie is her mother’s daughter, there’s no doubt of that. She has all Susie’s boundless energy, her impulsiveness, her enthusiasm  but she doesn’t have Susie’s colouring or features. Nor does she have his. Her hair is dark and straight, her eyes are hazel.

Like Maitland’s.

For nearly thirty years, Archie has carried the burden of not one secret, but two and now the subject of genetic inheritance has thrown up a boxful of trouble and left him with an impossible decision. Should this, too, be laid on the table?

At a wooden stile he turns off the road and clambers over it onto a narrow path. He can take a shortcut from here back to the cottage. Now he’s soaking. The long grass at the sides of the path drags at his trousers so that the sodden flaps of cloth cling to his legs. Through the discomfort, the melody he has written plays itself in his head, the refrain insistent. It irritates him beyond belief.

The path comes to a small burn. Archie has been down here quite recently, but he sees that recent rain has dislodged the plank that had been thrown across it by way of a bridge. He’ll have to jump. He pauses, rocks back on his heels, and leaps – and finds himself lodged firmly in two feet of squelching mud at the bottom of the stream, his ankle twisted beneath him. He is stuck, and although it’s June, the water is extremely cold. He allows himself to swear, while on the bank Prince runs to and fro, barking himself stupid.

It takes Archie ten difficult minutes to drag himself out of the burn. Every stitch of clothing he’s wearing is soaked through and heavy but at least his ankle, though painful, doesn’t feel broken or sprained. The softness of the mud must have cushioned the impact of the twist. In this condition, it takes him another hour to stride back to the cottage, discomfort and despondency permeating every bone. Even the tune has deserted his brain.

Mannie’s car has gone and from the grateful chattering of the hens he guesses that Jon is feeding them, now that the rain has stopped. The back door is open and he can see Susie, standing by the sink.

She glances out.

‘Oh there you are Archie,’ she calls. ‘We wondered where you’d gone. Trust you to get out of washing up.’

He stands stock still in the middle of the yard, too angry to speak.
I could have died out there.  Drowned in that fucking stream. And no-one would even have noticed.

He turns, hunches his shoulders, and limps across to the studio. If there’s to be any comfort this day, it will only be found in music.

From the doorway of the kitchen, Susie watches him, furious with herself for her flippant words. She’d hoped to defuse the tension between them with a light-hearted joke, but instead she had clearly made things even worse.

Chapter Twenty-four

Jon spends the whole of Sunday afternoon and evening mired in contemplation of the mess. He can’t go back to CommX, everyone will know – and yet it’s what he wants more than anything in the world.

Shame cripples him to the extent that he can’t make a clear decision and he finds himself, bleary-eyed and feeling rough, half way along the road to Stirling before he has thought it through. One thing drives him forward – not his new career, not the money: Alex Townsend.

He can see her face now, her dark eyes bright and intelligent, her skin lightly tanned and smooth. He finds her cheerfulness immensely attractive and she makes him feel at ease. It’s as if he’s known her for years, she’s like an old pair of slippers.

Sod it, that’s hardly flattering! Is this the best he can come up with by way of a chat-up line?

His mood darkens as he nears the front door. He’s here, but will he stay? He enters the office realising that he has been praying that Brian Henderson is in London, or Dubai, or New York – anywhere other than Stirling – and his prayers are answered. The morning meeting is taken by Maris Jay, though it proves scarcely less bewildering than last week’s in terms of the number and complexity of their ongoing projects.

‘That’s it. Sara will type up the notes and put them on the server. Oh, and Brian will be here tomorrow,’ she adds, shuffling her papers together and standing up, ‘with news, we hope, of a contract win in London that will impact on us here.’

‘Do we know we’ve got it?’ someone asks.

‘No. But the signs are positive. Okay folks, on with the work. Jonno,’ she turns to him, ‘you all right? Know what you’re doing?’

He nods. ‘Yes. Thanks.’

‘Your Mac up and running okay?’

‘Yes. Thanks.’

‘What project are you working on?’

‘I’m doing some posters for an event at the Castle, a storytelling series for kids.’

‘Great. Okay.’ She turns away, leaving Jonno to his work and his thoughts. Tomorrow. One day’s grace. And it’s clear that no-one knows – that’s the only fact that offers him any comfort.

He sits all day at his computer, perfecting his concept for the posters, sourcing the images, clearing the idea with Stu, working on the complicated Photoshop montage. Sitting in a corner is all right, he can manage this, but tomorrow will bring another challenge and he still doesn’t know what to do.

‘Hi Jon.’

He glances up. His thoughts have been preoccupying his mind to the exclusion, even, of Alex Townsend, but now she’s here by his desk and his heart thumps with pleasure at her nearness. ‘Hi. Good weekend?’

‘Catching up. Doing the washing, seeing the folks. Nothing glamourous. You?’

‘I—’

Can he tell her? Can he trust her?

‘Something happened,’ he says. He saves his document and looks up at her. He sees concern in the bright eyes. Old slippers? God, no. This girl is pure gold, one in a million. Trusting his instincts, he says impulsively, ‘Later, Alex, after work – would you mind having a drink with me again? There’s something I’d value your opinion on.’

Don’t be busy. Don’t be rushing home for keep fit or singing or French class or whatever you do on a Monday. Please God, be free.

‘Sure. Love to. See you later, then.’

‘You don’t mind coming here again?’

‘Not at all.’ The pub in Bridge of Allan has figured prominently in Jon’s mind for the past week. He will never forget the first drink they’d had together, it was the best pint he’d ever tasted.

‘So.’

Again her top lip is rimed with foam. It’s the way she drinks beer. He watches, entranced, as her tongue emerges to lick it off, delicate as a cat’s.

‘So. This is nice.’ Lame
.

‘There was something you wanted to talk about.’

Desperately
– but now that they’re here together, he can’t find the words.

‘What’s up, Jon? Is it something I can help with? Something to do with work? Home? Girlfriend problems?’

‘No, no, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment,’ he blurts out, not wanting her to think he’s romantically involved. ‘It’s a bit delicate, actually.’

Alex puts her glass on the table and leans forward on her elbows. The fabric of her cotton top stretches taut across her small breasts, a fact that Jonno, despite his mental turmoil, can’t help noticing.

‘Oh goodee. Gossip.’

His face falls. It’s not the reaction he hoped for. ‘No. It’s nothing. Forget it.’

‘Come on, Jon!’

‘No. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s too – I’m ashamed.’

‘Ashamed? Why? What have you done?’ She leans back and puts her hand over her mouth in mock shock. ‘You didn’t nick Maris’s chocolate doughnut, did you?’

There was an outcry from the manager earlier in the day when she went to the fridge to recover the anticipated treat, only to find someone had already scoffed it. No-one has owned up.

Jon finds a smile. ‘No. I’m not into chocolate doughnuts.’

‘Some other vice, then.’ She leans forward. ‘Do tell.’

They’re not on the same wavelength. He can’t confide. He’s disappointed – but seeing this, she turns serious and catches hold of his hand. The unaffectedness of the gesture and the warmth and dryness of her touch are intoxicating.

‘Sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have been flippant. Listen, I’m here. I promise you, I’m good at keeping secrets. And I’d like to help, if I can.’

‘Okay.’ He clears his throat and looks around nervously, but the bar is almost empty. It’s still early. Across the far side of the room, two workmen are downing pints thirstily, but they aren’t in earshot. The door swings open and they’re joined by half a dozen mates. The noise levels rise, adding to his safety. They won’t be overheard. ‘It’s about my sister,’ he says cautiously, ‘and the Boss.’

Alex’s eyes widen. ‘Is this related to your question last week?’ she asks. ‘About Brian being a womaniser?’

Christ, she’s quick on the uptake. ‘Sort of.’

‘Jon – is she having an affair with Brian?’

His shoulders slump and he buries his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have started this. He should have found some other way of dealing with his problems. Now Alex is involved – and what will she think of him?

‘It’s not the end of the world. It happens. I won’t tell anyone. Probably it’ll all blow over in no time and that’ll be that. I hate to say it, but she’s not the first – but you knew that, anyway.’

He lifts his head and stares at her. ‘It’s not that,’ he says wretchedly. ‘Not just that, anyway.’

‘She’s pregnant?’

‘God, no! Actually, I don’t think they’ve slept together.’ The thought makes him feel bilious.

‘Then – what?’ Alex looks puzzled.

‘If I tell you—’

‘Jon, come on, we’ve been through all that. Just spit it out, for heaven’s sake. The suspense is killing me.’

‘We just learned the truth yesterday. Brian Henderson is my mother’s brother. My uncle. Mannie’s uncle.’

‘You just found that out? How can you just discover an uncle?’

He groans and rubs his hands in his eyes as if to clear his vision. ‘We learned a couple of months ago that Mum was adopted. Her parents had never told her. Dad knew, but he didn’t tell her either and that’s caused all sorts of ... never mind. Anyway, she’s tracked down her mother, her real mother, I mean, and last week her new mother told her. Her name’s Joyce Henderson and Brian is her son. Born two years after she gave Mum away.’

Alex sits back in her chair. ‘Christ. That’s some story.’

‘There was a family summit yesterday. Mum knows that Mannie split with her boyfriend and that she’d started seeing some married man – of course, she isn’t happy about that, you can imagine – but she had no idea that the man she was seeing was Brian.’

‘Stars above. Isn’t that incest?’

No-one has said that word, though Jon imagines it has been on everyone’s mind. He shies away from it, even now.

‘Mannie’s reaction was extreme – shock, throwing up, hysterics. Mum blames Dad for everything, like if he’d told her about the adoption they’d have sorted everything out years ago and this would never have happened. Dad marched out and went for a long walk in the rain, nearly drowned in some stream, apparently. Mum didn’t care, he told me. They’re not talking, haven’t talked much for ages but this seems to have finished it.’

He runs his fingers round the rim of his glass, which is empty. He should offer to buy her another drink—

‘What about your sister?’

‘Mannie screeched off in her car and God knows how she’s handling it because her mobile’s off and she didn’t go in to work this morning. And I—’ he pauses and stares at her, desolation all over his face, ‘—how can I go on working here, Alex? I land the job I’ve been desperate for then this happens. How can I stay, knowing what I know?’

‘Hey, hey.’ Her voice is soothing. She reaches for his hand again. ‘Take it easy. Let’s just take time out, shall we, and think?’

‘Think? I’ve done nothing else. I wouldn’t have come in this morning except for—’ He stops, embarrassed. Except for you he’d been going to say, but it’s too early in their relationship – if they’re going to have a relationship – for such admissions. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he ends forlornly.

Across the bar there’s a burst of laughter. The men are enjoying themselves.

Alex is looking puzzled. ‘How did she meet Brian? Why did she fall for him, do you think? You said she was seeing someone before it happened?’

‘Yup. A really great guy, Callum. I thought – I think we all thought – that this was it. She’s had loads of boyfriends before, she’s kind of cute I guess, but she always gets bored. Callum had her sussed and she seemed smitten. Anyway, she met Brian at a trade fair in London and that was that.’

He glares at Alex.

‘They both promise me he wasn’t involved in the decision to give me the job or I would have walked out last week.’

‘Heavens, Jon, anyone can see your talent. Of course you got the job on your own merit.’

That feels a bit better, at least. ‘Finding that out was bad enough, but then the penny dropped that this is the guy she’s obsessed with. I couldn’t believe it, honest to God, I nearly died. My sister – and my boss!’

‘I don’t imagine it’s all one-sided,’ Alex says with a grimace. ‘I was trying to be diplomatic last week when you asked about Brian, but to be truthful, everyone knows he’s a bit of a sleazebag. He’ll have come on to her, no doubt about that.’

It’s mildly reassuring to think the fault is not all Mannie’s. ‘You think? Still, whatever. It doesn’t change anything, does it?’

‘But now that she knows he’s related?’

‘You should have seen her, Alex. She was hysterical. She kept shouting, “Nothing will make me give him up. Nothing!” There was no talking any sense to her.’

‘But perhaps we could talk sense to him.’

Jon stares at her. ‘Talk to the boss?’

‘Someone’s going to have to.’

He pondered this idea. How could he talk to Brian Henderson about such a desperately delicate matter? His
boss
?

‘I couldn’t!’

‘Think about it.’

‘No. No, no, no.’

Walking into that glass box and telling Brian to stop coming on to his sister? His face grows bright at the thought.

‘It needs to be dealt with, Jon.’

Again there is laughter across the room. Jon glances at the men, so carefree and happy. Can he ever laugh again? Not, certainly, unless this mess is cleared up – if that’s even possible.

‘I guess you’re right,’ he concedes reluctantly. ‘Maybe my mother?’

‘I expect that will be on her agenda. But this is your job, Jon, your situation.’

He downs the rest of his pint, but it tastes like dishwater.

Alex says, ‘I’ve just had a thought.’

‘Yeah?’

She stands up. ‘Something I read recently. Listen, I’m going home.’

‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘I want to check up on it first. Can you get in early tomorrow? Eight?’

‘Sure. But—’

‘If I’m right—’ she smiles up at him. ‘—well, it might help a bit. Go rest, Jon. We’ll sort this out. Promise.’

By her car he takes her hand. He longs to crush her close to him, but not here, not like this, not yet. His free hand steals up to her face and he moves a tendril of hair from her eyes with great gentleness. ‘You’re quite something, Alex Townsend.’

She grins. ‘You’re not so bad yourself. See you in the morning.’ And she’s gone.

He spends hours thinking about her. She’s so feisty. He loves that she’s determined to solve the insoluble. He imagines he’ll be awake all night, remembering that wisp of hair, but he sleeps as soon as his head hits the pillow, worn out by the emotions of yesterday and the tensions of today.

At a quarter to eight the next morning, he’s back in the CommX offices.

She’s already there.

‘Hi.’

‘Tea?’ She has it ready for him.

‘Thanks.’

The office is empty, waiting for the day to start. There’s something pleasing about its readiness and its willingness to accommodate them now.

Alex says, straight out, as if it’s the only way she can do it, ‘I’ve been doing some reading. I think your sister has fallen victim to something called genetic sexual attraction.’

‘What the hell’s that?’

‘People tend to shy away from it because it’s about incest, but when you told me your story something clicked in my head. I read an article in a magazine recently about a couple who couldn’t have kids so they decided to adopt – this was years ago – and they adopted a boy and a girl. The boy was never any trouble, he was good as gold, while the girl was always a pain. But when the boy was in his twenties, he got engaged and they started to plan the wedding.’

Jon fidgeted. Where was the connection with Mannie?

‘Bear with me, Jon. Everything seemed to be going really well, then one day the boy’s sister – his real sister, I mean, not the adopted girl – got in touch. She’d been fostered out and ended up being adopted by a couple who emigrated to Australia. The girl had managed to track him down and was planning on coming to visit. They were all really excited – until the girl arrived.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘The boy and his real sister fell in love. Just like that. Completely and obsessively in love. The engagement was broken off and they moved in together. End of. ’