Out of the Blue (29 page)

“Too right he doesn’t!” someone called out from the third row.

“And some of Matt’s recent calculations have been a
little
wide of the mark.”

“You’re telling me!”

“But we’re confident,” the headmaster went on benignly, “that his recent run of bad luck is just a…blip.”

“Bloody well hope so!” piped up another boy. It was Johnny Thompson. “He lost me three hundred quid.”
What?

“He lost me five hundred,” said a thin girl sitting behind.

“He lost me six hundred and fifty,” said Jack Ellis-Jones. “I was going to go round Europe with that.”

“Well, I do think he needs to do a little more work on his percentages,” said the head carefully. “But I’m sure that’s something he’ll conquer next term. And we’re confident that he’ll be able to assist the bursar in the fund-raising effort for the new science wing.”

“What the hell is going on?” hissed Peter.

“I wish I knew,” I said.

“Well, that brings us to the end of the prize-giving,” said the headmaster, “and so congratulations to all concerned.” Matt trooped disconsolately off stage, and Peter and I made our way through the crowd to the front. He was sitting, head bowed, in the front row, dejection personified.

“Matt, what’s this all about?” I said. “What’s been going on?”

“It’s not my fault,” he mumbled as he fiddled with his book voucher. “I told them there was a risk.”

“What do you mean?” He was silent. “Katie,” I said, “will you please tell us? Has Matt done something bad?”

“No,” she replied carefully. “Not really. He was…speculating, that’s all.”

“On the horses!” I gasped.

“No, of course not,” she said. “On the stock exchange. He made loads of money to start with,” she explained. “He had a really good run. He was working it all out on his computer.”

“You were investing on the stock market?” I said. “How, may I ask? And with what? Matt, where did you get the money? We only gave you eighty pounds a term.” He shuffled his feet, sighed and then he spoke.

“I sold my computer games,” he said quietly. “That’s how. I set up a website and advertised them. I made nearly two thousand pounds.”

“Two thousand pounds!” Peter said.

“I thought you’d given them all to charity,” I pointed out.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t. I sold them all, for twenty pounds each—that’s cheap, you know. People would e-mail me their orders and then send me the cash.” Ah. That’s why he’d had so much post.

“And you invested that money in stocks and shares?” I said wonderingly.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”

“But you’re too young to do that,” said Peter. “You can’t trade until you’re sixteen. In fact,” he continued, “you’re too young even to have a bank account. So how did you do it?” Matt stared at the floor. “How did you do it?” Peter pressed him gently. “And where did you put the cash? Please just tell us, Matt. We promise we won’t be cross.”

“Well…” Matt looked at us beseechingly. I could see he was close to tears. “I can’t tell you,” he said, “it’s a secret. A big one.” A fat tear coursed down his cheek.

“We don’t want you to keep big secrets from us,” I said. “We’d like you to tell us the truth.”

“Look Mum, I really can’t. I just…
can’t
.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised Granny I wouldn’t.”

“Granny?” we said. Matt looked stricken as he realized his gaffe, and then his head sank into his hands.

“Yes. Granny,” he croaked. “The money went into her account. She put in two thousand as well, so we had four thousand for me to invest. I gave her all the tips, she did the trading, and we split the profits down the middle.”

“Are you saying that Granny has been encouraging you to gamble on the stock market?”

“Well, no, not really. We were doing it together.” Right. Now I understood why she was always so keen to speak to him.

“She even bought him that laptop,” said Katie. “To make it easier to keep in touch.”

“Granny bought you that?” I gasped. “I thought Jos gave it to you. I thought it was an old one.”

“Oh no,” said Katie, shaking her head. “It’s a brand new powerbook, state of the art.” And now I found myself wondering what Jos was doing lying to me. Why the hell did he say that
he’d
given it to Matt?

“How much money did you make?” I asked quietly.

“To begin with, a lot,” he sniffed. “I made a profit of five hundred per cent.”

“How much is that?”

“Twenty thousand pounds.”

“Good God!”

“Some of the older kids heard about it,” said Katie. “And so they asked him to give them tips.”

“I didn’t want to,” Matt said. “But Ellis-Jones and Thompson, they’re prefects, and they made me tell them which shares to buy. And at first they made lots of money too,” he wept. “But then the dot.com stocks all crashed.”

“Dot.coms?!” Peter exclaimed. “You might as well have bought lottery tickets.”

“I know,” said Matt. “I told them that. I said we should get out of that sector. I went into Bolivian silver mines for a bit, but that wasn’t much good, either. Then we tried trading in soya harvests. But they said they wanted to buy dot.coms and hold them, and they were furious when they crashed. Up until then we’d been doing well.”

“I see,” I sighed. And I did. I saw it all, as clear as day. I saw how my mother had afforded all her fabulous holidays, and why the other parents had been hostile. I understood why Matt kept going out to the letterbox, and why he’d been receiving so much post. I also saw that his intense new interest in current affairs wasn’t quite what it seemed. And I saw red, that my mother had been encouraging Matt to gamble instead of study.

“Ellis-Jones and Thompson were really angry,” said Matt. “They said it was all my fault.”

“How much was their stake?”

“A hundred. And it went up to over six hundred, then it dropped right back down to almost what it had been at the start. But I warned them that that could happen. It wasn’t as though they didn’t know.”

“Oh dear,” said Peter quietly. “So you’ve been dicing with debt. Oh well. All is explained.”

“Not quite,” said Katie. “The headmaster was having a flutter as well. For the new science wing. They’re trying to raise three million, but they’ve lost a lot, too.”

In the circumstances we decided not to stay for tea. The children collected their cases and we went home. I dreaded to think how much school work Matt had missed out on as we drove silently back in the car. Of course, it would all have to stop. We’d have to write to the parents and apologize and, oh God, we’d have to reimburse them. And I’d have to have strong words with Mum. And I wanted to know why Jos had lied to me about the computer. That didn’t make sense at all. I wondered whether he’d still be there when we got back, and was rather relieved that he wasn’t. The lie about the laptop had unnerved me, and I wasn’t ready to introduce him to Peter yet. In any case the stress of the day had left me seriously wrung out.

Graham leaped up like a rocket when I turned the key in the door, and he was so overjoyed to see Peter that he practically knocked him to the ground. He was crying, almost singing, with happiness as Peter got down on his hands and knees.

“Hello Graham darling, have you missed me?” Graham licked his ears and whimpered with joy. “Do you like having all your family in one place? Is that it, then? All your little flock?”

“Yes,” said Katie firmly. “That’s it.”

“Now,” said Peter. “Where’s Jos? Oh, Graham,” he said, looking shocked. “You haven’t…have you? Oh, that
is
naughty. I’m afraid Mummy’s going to be very cross. Faith,” he called out to me as I went into the kitchen. “I’m afraid that Graham’s eaten Jos.”

“No he has-n’t,” I replied airily as I read Jos’s note on the table.

“Honestly, Faith, I think he has. He’s got that guilty look.”

“Jos is alive and well,” I said, “he left half an hour ago.” He’d left Graham lots of water, and a few biscuits which he hadn’t touched. But now, thrilled at our return, he came in search of his bowl. Peter followed him into the kitchen and stood there, framed in the doorway like a handsome portrait.

“Would you like to have supper with us, Peter?” I asked.

“Yes, I would,” he replied.

“Great.”

“But I’m afraid I can’t.” Oh.

“What a pity,” I said breezily. “Why not?” I added fatefully, although of course I knew.

“Well, because Andie’s expecting me,” he said. I nodded. “I told her I’d be home by eight.”

“You are at home, Dad,” said Katie matter-of-factly.

“Well, yes,” he said ruefully. “I suppose I am.” He looked at me and smiled. It was a smile of painful resignation. We were standing a few inches away from each other, but we were just so far apart.

“Right,” I said brightly. “I guess we’d better not keep you, then. Thanks for taking me, I mean, taking me down, there. I mean, giving me a lift. That’s what I mean.” I glanced at Katie, who was giving me one of her old-fashioned looks—I don’t know
what
that girl’s problem is! Peter kissed the children goodbye and ruffled Graham’s ears. Then, to my astonishment, he put his arms round me, gave me an awkward hug, then pressed his cheek, for a moment, to mine.

“So long,” he murmured.

“Yes,” I said. “So long.”

“So long,” he said again. “Fifteen years.” Then he turned and walked out of the house. As I listened to his retreating footsteps I felt a great wave of regret. And I know that Graham did too. Because after Peter left, he sat at the window, looking out, and stayed like that for a long, long time.

July Continued

This morning I left Jos fast asleep in my bed and slipped off to eight a.m. Mass. I was in the mood to reflect quietly on recent events and on the concept of guilt—and penance.

“To prepare ourselves to celebrate Mass,” said the priest, “let us call to mind our sins.” I didn’t call to mind my own sins, however—I called to mind my mother’s. We’d had a bruising encounter over the phone.

“It was just a bit of fun,” she’d said.

“Fun!” I exclaimed.

“Well, Matt loves working things out, and it was our little secret.”

“I bet it was,” I said. “There’s no way Dad would have approved if he’d known about it, and you know
my
views on stocks and shares. I mean, you might as well go down the casino.”

“Darling, the stock market is absolutely fine,” said Mum calmly, “as long as you know what you’re doing.”

“Matt obviously didn’t,” I said. “But then why should he—he’s only twelve. I can’t believe you exploited your own grandson for financial gain.”

“I didn’t do it for financial gain, Faith,” she pointed out earnestly. “I had no
idea
we’d make so much. I just thought it would be good for him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That it might broaden his education. I mean, to do it successfully you have to follow current affairs. He knows all about Bolivian politics now,” she added enthusiastically. “And US soya harvests, too.”

“Yes, but he knows nothing
useful,
” I replied. “He’s way behind with his Latin, and his Ancient Greek is dire. As for his French and history,” I added, “he got D minus for those. I’m furious, Mum.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Faith,” she replied. “I really am. But I’ve thought of a way of putting things right.” So last week she and Dad took the kids to France for a month. They’ve hired a small
gîte
near Bordeaux so that Matt can improve his French, and Mum’s going to help him catch up on his schoolwork, too. That’s her penance. It was quite a good one really, I reflected as we bowed our heads in prayer, and a lot more fun than reciting strings of Hail Marys and Glory Bes. The children were thrilled at the prospect, and I was pleased, too—not least because it gives me the chance to spend a little more time with Jos. You see, when he told me about the laptop, I was really quite upset. I didn’t like the fact that he’d lied to me; no, I didn’t like that at all. But when I finally understood
why
he’d lied, I felt overwhelmed with grateful affection.

“You see, Faith,” he confessed the day after speech day, “I’ve become very fond of Matt. He’s such a great kid—they both are—and I couldn’t bear to see him distressed. Obviously I didn’t know where the laptop
had
come from,” he’d added, “but seeing that Matt was in a tight corner, I pretended it had come from me.”

“And Matt clearly wasn’t going to contradict you,” I went on, “because you’d just got him off the hook.” He nodded.

“Oh darling!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him. “You covered up for my son. That was so
wonderfully
kind and selfless of you.” He just looked at me and smiled. So, yes, Jos lied to me, that’s the truth, but he lied for a very good reason.

Now, I’m afraid to say that Katie has a slightly more sceptical take on this. She claims Jos covered up for Matt to make me feel emotionally indebted. I told her that’s a ridiculous theory, because he couldn’t know that I’d find out the truth.

“Look, Mum,” she said wearily. “Jos knew he was in a no-lose situation. Either he’s the generous donor of the laptop, or he’s the devoted boyfriend, nobly covering up the ‘sins’ of his girlfriend’s son. He must feel awfully inadequate,” she added matter-of-factly, “to go to such lengths to make himself liked.”

“That’s very mean of you,” I said crossly. “Especially when he gave you that
extremely
expensive book for your birthday—
and
that
enormous
cake. He didn’t have to do that, did he?”

“QED Mum,” she said.

I must say I find Katie’s cynicism very depressing, especially in one so young. But now, as I sat in church, I felt the strain of the last few days flood away. As the sun poured through the stained-glass windows, it scattered refracted beams in red, gold and blue, like the fragments of a shattered rainbow.

“God be with you,” said the priest, his hands upturned.

“And also with you.”

“The Mass is ended. Go in peace.”

And I did go in peace. I felt very peaceful indeed, because for once everything was well with the world. Peter was being reasonable to me; we seemed to have established a more civilized rapport. Perhaps we could become “apartners”, I thought optimistically, like Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall. At the same time my mother was trying to atone for her bad behavior by taking the children on a lovely trip; and I was dating, quite seriously now, a man who was talented, devoted and kind. I looked at my watch as I turned right into Elliot Road. It was only ten to nine. Jos would still be in bed, I reflected. Just time for us to have breakfast, and then we were driving down to Windsor for the polo. Lily had invited us to the Cartier—I’d never been before. Oh yes, all is well with my world, I realized happily as I clicked open the gate. To my surprise, I suddenly heard raised voices—or rather one raised voice. I slipped the key in the lock and went upstairs. In my bedroom, still in his pyjama bottoms, standing with his back to me, was Jos.

“Just what is your
problem,
Graham?” he yelled as I stood there, paralysed with amazement. “Just what is your
effing problem?
Eh?” Graham was staring at him with an expression of aloof disdain. “Why don’t you
like
me?
Why?”
Jos shouted, putting his hands on his hips. “Everyone
else
likes me. But
you
don’t. You have to be
different
. And I don’t know
why
you don’t like me, you stupid
mutt,
because I’ve been very
nice
to you!” Graham continued to fix him with his cool, contemptuous gaze. But this only seemed to enrage Jos more. “Boy, have you got problems,” he added vehemently, shaking his head. “You really need
help,
dog. You know that, don’t you? Do you
hear
me, Graham?” he said, wagging an admonitory finger at him. “You’re
sad!
Yes! That’s what you are.
Sad!
And let’s face it, you need
help
. You. Really. Need.
Help
. Because you have got
serious
. PSYCHOLOGICAL.
PROBLEMS
!!!”

“Jos,” I said quietly. He spun round and looked at me, his face a mask of shock. “Jos,” I repeated as Graham bounded up to greet me. “I’d rather you didn’t shout at the dog.”

“Well, I’d rather the dog didn’t bloody well
bite
me!” Jos shot back. I’d never seen him angry before. His face was puce; the veins in his temple stood out, he was trembling and seemed close to tears. Now he pointed down at his left ankle while looking accusingly at Graham.

“Er, I can’t see anything,” I said.

“Then you’re not looking properly,” he replied. I crouched down and inspected his foot, and indeed, just below the ankle bone I could see that the skin had been slightly broken.

“Oh dear,” I murmured. “Not again. I’m really sorry.”

“So am I, Faith. I’m
very
sorry. And I am also very,
very
upset that despite the fact that this dog has known me for two whole months, he continues to treat me like Bill the fucking
Burglar!
All I was doing was trying to get out of bed,” he went on furiously. “He just went for me.”

“Perhaps he thought you were going to kick him,” I suggested.

“I bloody well will next time.”

“OK I’m sorry,” I said again, impotently. “But it really doesn’t look too bad. Would you like me to put a plaster on it?” I added. Jos nodded his head, lips pursed.

“That dog is dangerous!” he called out as I rummaged in the medicine cabinet. “He could bite someone he doesn’t know.”

“Well, he’s never done that,” I replied. And I was about to point out that Jos was, in fact, the
only
person Graham’s
ever
been tricky with, but just managed to stop myself in time.

“He could bite someone in the street,” Jos went on indignantly as I returned with the pack of Elastoplast. “He could bite a child!” he added vehemently as I peeled off the backing strips. “There’s only one thing for it,” he added furiously as I applied the plaster to his bloodless “wound”. “I think you should have him done.”

“What?” I said, looking up at him.

“I think you should have him done.”

“Done?” I echoed non-comprehendingly.

“Snipped,” he snapped as I stood up again. “It would be the kindest cut of all.”

“You mean, a—vasectomy?” I ventured. I felt sick.

“No,” he said. “I mean castrated. As in having his bollocks chopped off.”

“No!” I exclaimed, horrified. “I’m not letting anyone mutilate my dog.”

“You may be forced to, Faith,” said Jos, “and it would be the right thing to do. If you really loved him,” he added, “then you
would
do it, to get rid of his vicious streak.” But he hasn’t
got
a vicious streak, I thought. “Now, I’m not thinking of myself,” Jos added, lowering his voice, “my only concern is for you. Because if Graham bites someone else, and they complain, which in this climate of victimhood they would, then he might have to be destroyed. And that would get reported in the papers.” My hands sprang up to my mouth.

“Yes, Faith,” Jos said, clicking his tongue, “that could get you some very negative publicity.”
Publicity?

“I don’t care about any effing
publicity!
” I yelled. “I just don’t want Graham being killed.”

“But that’s what they do, Faith,” Jos added, shaking his head. “If a dog is dangerous, then I’m afraid it’s destroyed.”

I had visions of Graham tied to an execution post, with a blindfold over his eyes. I had visions of him in a cell, on death row, awaiting the electric chair. I had visions of some unknown hand hovering over him with a syringe. And then I didn’t have visions any more because my eyes were blinded by tears.

“I don’t want him to be put down,” I wept. “He’s
my
dog, he’s mine, and I love him. I love you, Graham,” I sobbed as he jumped up and licked my face. “I don’t want you to die—
ever!
”

“Look, darling,” said Jos. “I didn’t mean to upset you, and I’m sorry to have to spell it out. But the hard fact is that however sweet
you
find him, Graham is what is euphemistically known as a dog of ‘uncertain temperament’. He’s savage,” he added simply. “You have to protect people from him, and you have to protect him from himself.” I lifted up a corner of the duvet and pressed it to my eyes. “And you know, Faith, don’t you, that the Dangerous Dogs Act is still in force.” Oh God, oh God, that was true. Maybe Jos was right. I didn’t know. All I knew was that the peaceful start to my day had been utterly ruined.

“Honestly, Faith,” Jos said gently as he came and sat next to me on the bed. He put his arm round me and drew me to him. “I really
do
think it’s best. And it makes them much nicer dogs, too,” he went on soothingly. “It stops them running after bitches.”

“Yes, but he’s never really done that before,” I said. “He’s not that interested in girls.”

“Maybe he’s gay,” said Jos contemptuously.

“No he’s not,” I shot back.

“Anyway, we can talk about it another time,” he added wearily as he went into the bathroom. “But we’d better get ready to go.”

I changed for the polo match, feeling bleak and depressed, while Jos had his shower. The doorbell rang; Graham ran, barking, to the door, and there was Sarah, who was puppysitting for the day.

“I’m so grateful,” I said to her as she came into the house.

“Well, it’s the least I can do,” she replied. “To make up for Peter’s appalling behavior! Poor darling Faith,” she said as she put her arms round Graham and gave him a big kiss.

“It’s nice of you to take my side,” I said as I made her some coffee. “Not all mother-in-laws would.” But I knew why she was being so sympathetic, of course, because of what her husband, John, had done. Twenty years previously, when,
she
was thirty-five, John had left Sarah for an American girl. History has repeated itself in our family, as Katie often likes to point out.

“Like father, like son,” Sarah sighed, yet again. “Maybelline!” she spat. “What a ridiculous name! And what sort of life is it for him?” she went on crossly. “Living in Florida, playing golf all day!” She sighed, then shook her head. “I’m refusing to meet her, you know.”

“Who, Maybelline?”

“No, Andie of course.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you ought to,” I said. “She’d probably give you a huge present.”

“I’m ashamed to think of the pain Peter’s caused,” Sarah carried on with a bitter sigh.

“Yes, it was painful, as you know, but we’re dealing with it now,” I explained. “I’m not quite as angry as I was—especially since I’ve met Jos.” Now I looked at Sarah and thought it sad that she’d never met anyone else. Lily was right, life
was
tough for divorcées. But I’d met Jos, and I knew on which side my bread was buttered, and I was going to hang on to him and give thanks. Because despite our little areas of, as it were, well, tension, I still think that he’s a good thing. Now, suddenly, there he was, standing in the kitchen in his blazer and chinos, looking an absolute dream. He’d calmed down completely and was urbane and self-possessed once more.

“Hello Mrs Smith,” he said warmly, holding out his hand. “How lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Sarah smiled at him delightedly. He’d scored yet another diplomatic triumph. “I’d love to come and see your book shop one day,” he added. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Well,” she said, slightly flustered by his attention, “I’d love to see you there.”

“Thanks so much for looking after Graham,” Jos went on. “He’s such an adorable dog, we wouldn’t like him to be moping while we were out enjoying ourselves.”