The Count of Eleven (10 page)

“We’ll still have made a profit if we accept thirty-six thousand for the house. Shouldn’t that more or less cover our losses?”

“And leave us with what?”

“Each other and Laura, and the bank.”

“We’ll find out about that tomorrow.”

“It wouldn’t be in the bank’s interest to turn us down, would it? All you have to do is tell them everything, surely. Would you like me to come with you?”

“No, you go and earn some money.” He hadn’t told her that he’d failed to let Mr. Hardy know about the credit card, and it would be far harder to admit it to her now. “I can be abject enough by myself.”

“So long as the manager doesn’t abject.”

“You’re as bad as me. What a team we make,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “You don’t think I’ve reduced us to ashes yet, then.”

“I think we’ve some fire left in us.”

“I believe you,” he said and kissed her opening lips. As they made love he kept remembering that he’d arranged to see Mr. Hardy at eleven. You couldn’t have too many good omens, he thought as his penis grew warm inside Julia. They fell asleep in an embrace, and that was all he knew until she kissed him awake. “Use up all the luck you have to,” she murmured.

“I’ll hold back a percentage.” He had only to tell Mr. Hardy the truth. “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” he said, gazing steadily into his eyes in the bathroom mirror. “So help me God,” he kept repeating as he left the house.

A plane made the clear sky thunder as he walked to the bank, the thunder merging into the rumble of traffic on Victoria Road. The clock beyond the reinforced glass of the counter showed one minute to eleven as Jack rang the bell at the enquiry window. The same teller as last time came to the window. “Jack Orchard for Mr. Hardy,” Jack said, adding “Of Fine Films.”

She gave him a standard smile and headed for the inner sanctum. “So help me, God,” Jack muttered, trying not to concentrate too fiercely on the clock. The minute hand had jerked erect, pointing towards heaven like an aerial transmitting prayers. He felt as if he was holding it in that position by staring at it, so that when it started to creep downwards he couldn’t help feeling that his will was growing weaker. It was only one minute past eleven, no threat there, but then it was two minutes past, which added up to “Mr. Orchard?” the manager said, so loudly that he must be repeating himself.

“The same,” Jack said. “Just admiring your he tried to explain, only to find himself bereft of words and staring at Mr. Hardy’s paunch. It couldn’t have waxed in two days, he thought, and the man’s head could hardly have shrunk. “Shall we?” he suggested desperately, bowing towards the interview room.

Mr. Hardy opened the door and followed him in. He took his place behind the desk, on which the green blotter put Jack in mind of a stretch of baize for some kind of game, and rocked forwards. “So, Mr. Orchard,” he said.

To Jack it felt as if they were performing a second take of

Monday’s interview, and he resisted saying, “Well, yes.” “Well, Mr. Hardy,” he said.

“Was there another matter?”

For an instant Jack clearly heard him say “Another nice mess.” He saw himself screwing up his face and wailing “Well, I couldn’t help it’ in Stan Laurel’s voice. “A bit of a problem,” he admitted, trying to drown out his thoughts.

“I can hear you, Mr. Orchard.”

‘1 haven’t told you yet. Oh, I see, sorry. Ears still bunged up from the cold. Don’t know my own volume,” Jack said, and on the last word found his gaze drawn inexorably to the bank manager’s paunch.

“Some problem.”

“It must be,” Jack almost agreed, but of course Mr. Hardy was asking him to describe his problem. “We’ve just discovered well, two things.”

“I see.”

“I’ll tell you anyway.” Yes, he really had said that, earning himself a blank look from the manager. He would have preferred a blank cheque, he thought, and had to remind himself not to try and outshout his thoughts. “We’ve only just found out that someone took advantage of the Fine Films fire to hoist my wife’s credit card.”

“You mean someone has been using it for the past eleven days without your knowledge?”

“Not eleven days, no. It can’t have been eleven days.” He was so anxious to refute the notion that for several seconds he couldn’t think how. “No, they only used it for a day or two. They must have been afraid we would have notified the company by then.”

“Presumably the company will take the debt upon itself.”

“I’m afraid I’m afraid this one doesn’t, apparently.”

The manager pursed his lips and shook his head while keeping his gaze fixed on Jack. Thieves wouldn’t be so fond of other people’s property if they had their hands chopped off.”

“They might still be fond of it, don’t you think? They mightn’t be fond of the chopping, I grant you,” Jack said as Mr.

Hardy’s face grew blanker. “I won’t be long, dear, I’m just off to do the weekend chopping. I expect when the people who do that job get together they talk chop.”

“We’re all entitled to our views of how the world could be improved, Mr. Orchard,” the manager said frostily. “Go on.”

“I’d try and make sure that everyone at least had oh, you mean my other problem. Well, you see, I’ve just learned that my partner cancelled the insurance on Fine Films.”

“I don’t see, no.”

“He used to look after the insurance, you see. He’d just renewed the cover when I bought him out, but then he lifted it and didn’t let me know. At least, he did, but I didn’t get the message.”

“Am I to infer that the business was uninsured at the time of the fire?”

“Well,” Jack said, ‘yes.”

“And you are proposing?”

Am I?” When a look which pleaded for him to be put out of his misery prompted no reply, Jack said “I mean, I thought you would.”

Mr. Hardy paused for so long that Jack found himself counting his own breaths, which seemed to be growing louder. Eight breaths, nine, and he tried to slow them down; for one thing, that might calm him. Ten, eleven, and he held the twelfth until it felt in danger of exploding. It would sound like a snort of impatience. He pinched his nose with one hand to keep the snort in, not immediately realising that the gesture itself might look like a comment. The manager gazed at him. The best I can offer is a short-term loan to enable you to pay your card debt. At least our rate will be lower than theirs.”

Jack gasped and sucked in the thirteenth breath. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else, any more, I mean.”

“However, I’m afraid ‘

At once all Jack could hear was his own voice declaring “I’M AFRAID, I’M SO AFRAID.” “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he pleaded aloud.

The manager looked ready to indulge himself in another epic pause. “I said that under the circumstances I have no option but to cancel the overdraft we discussed on Monday. In addition I may have to reconsider the amount of any mortgage advance unless you find steady employment.”

“But … I mean, you don’t mean … I’m sorry if I’ve seemed at all facetious. I was just nervous. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Understanding is part of my job, Mr. Orchard, and there’s no need to shout. Contrary to rumour, I’m not deaf.”

“I never said that. At least, I did, but not about you. When I said my bank manager …” Jack clenched his fists as if that might help him grasp his thoughts. “You wouldn’t let that influence your decision, would you?”

“I assure you that personal feelings have no bearing on the way I conduct business.”

“I didn’t mean it in any bad way, but can I ask you to have another think? The auction starts at twelve. Those tapes will save my life. I’ll never find anything more reasonable.”

“I certainly trust you will.”

Jack tried to hear encouragement in that, but there was none in Mr. Hardy’s tone. “You aren’t going to help me?”

“Whenever I can, within reason. You’re aware that we offer a range of financial advice.”

“What good’s that to someone with no money?”

“You’re raising your voice, Mr. Orchard.”

“I know, and this is how it sounds when it gets louder,” Jack informed him while defensively lowering it instead. Mr. Hardy gave him another blank look and stood up. “I hope your family stay well,” he said as he opened the door.

His words inflamed Jack with rage. If Mr. Hardy cared about the Orchards, why was he destroying their chance to rebuild the business? Jack stalked out of the bank and strode towards the auction rooms. By the time Mr. Hardy found out what he was about to do, Jack would have what they needed. Just let the bank try to bounce his cheque when the manager discovered he’d bid for the videotapes.

Jack jogged uphill, knocking on the boards which had crossed out Fine Films, and arrived panting at the auction rooms. He leaned one hand against the frame of the entrance while he caught his breath and then the breath lodged in his throat like smoke. Down the hill, at the traffic lights, Mr. Hardy was shading his eyes and watching him.

For a moment Jack considered dodging into the auction and making his bid, but if the manager saw him go in or even suspected that he meant to do so it was obvious that he would come up the hill. Jack walked almost blindly across the road and into the nearest side street. Could he lurk there until Mr. Hardy went away? He was standing in the shadow of the signboard Qutside the first rest home when the door of the house was yanked open and a voice proclaimed “There he is, the shoe thief. Promised to replace my shoe and never did.”

“Which one was it?” Jack cried, so savagely that Mr. Pether cowered into the porch. The left one, right?” He dragged off his own left shoe and flung it towards the old man, and lurched towards the traffic lights, alternately hopping and limping. Mr. Hardy was making for the bank, but he glanced over his shoulder and saw Jack. “I’m doing it for Lent,” Jack shouted across the road at him and stumbled home. “Got to laugh, got to laugh,” he reminded himself desperately, no longer knowing if he was speaking aloud.

Telling Julia was relatively easy. As soon as she saw his face she said “Never mind, Jack, we’ll work it out somehow.” At least he didn’t need to explain about his shoe. Once he’d reached home he had changed into his other pair and set off to retrieve the missile. He had been planning to tell whoever came to the door of the rest home that he’d been playing football so vigorously that the shoe had flown off, but he’d found it perched on the gate post like a glove someone had found on the pavement. He’d tucked it under his arm and sprinted home, feeling so absurdly guilty that he’d kept muttering “It’s my shoe.” By the time Julia arrived he’d felt capable of facing her, but they hadn’t had a chance to discuss any plans when Laura came home.

She looked exhausted and dishevelled, strands of her pony-tail escaping from her hair band and pleased with herself. She dumped her bulging shoulder-bag next to the television and dropped herself in the nearest armchair, which emitted a faint imitation of her sigh. “You’re home early,” Julia said.

“We beat the other school at net ball even though their teacher kept giving them penalties. They were wimps.”

“Well done.” Jack sneaked a glance at Julia to determine what she felt he should say, and when she didn’t put a finger to her lips he said “Try and stay happy, Laura. We’ve got to talk.”

Was he being too quick? He could have asked about the rest of her day at school, except that he was sure she would have sensed he was procrastinating. “She’s worn out, Jack,” Julia said.

“Aren’t we all, except for you.”

“Is this a good time, do you think?”

“Not one of our best, but at least I don’t see how ‘

“Someone talk to me,” Laura interrupted. “It’s horrible not knowing what’s wrong when nobody will tell you.”

“I know, love,” Julia said, so sympathetically that Jack felt accused of keeping secrets from her, though what secret did he have that was worth keeping? “Let me try and explain,” she said.

“Let me. It’s my mess.” He sat in the middle of the old sofa and felt it sag like the halves of a trapdoor capable of dropping him into the unknown. “Whoops,” he said, and then “Laura, how would you feel if we had to move to somewhere not quite as impressive as we were imagining?”

“I wouldn’t have to change schools, would I?”

“Don’t even think it, and that’s a promise.”

She greeted that with half a smile in case he’d intended it to sound witty rather than simply tripping over his words. “Have you and Mummy found a house you like?”

“Not yet,” Jack said, feeling as if the wistfulness underlying her query was the trap that was lying in wait for him. “It may be a question of the three of us agreeing on one we can afford.”

“I was saving up for Crete.”

“We’re not asking you to subsidise us, Laura, good Lord,” Jack said, wishing someone else would laugh so that he could try to. “But it looks as if the bank manager won’t either, not as generously as we were expecting. That’s my doing, I’m afraid.”

“I thought banks were supposed to lend you money.”

“If they trust you. I’m afraid I’m afraid that all Mr. Hardy trusts me to make financially is a fool of myself.”

“Can’t we go to another bank?”

“I somehow don’t think another bank would welcome us. Maybe we’ll come up with an answer, the three of us.”

“I’m going to listen to Jody’s tape,” Laura said, and was out of the room before he could think of anything further to say. Julia gave him a sad frown as she made for the kitchen, and he felt as if the hardest part was still ahead.

Almost as soon as they sat down to dinner Laura said, “Won’t we be going on holiday either?”

“I don’t think we can, love.”

“Never mind, Laura,” Julia said, taking her hand, and Laura managed to shrug as if she had been preparing herself upstairs for the answer.

In the morning she wasn’t quite able to conceal that her eyes were red, and Jack couldn’t bear it. He’d let the family down, Laura worst of all, and she wasn’t even blaming him. He would expect Mr. Hardy to make allowances for him, but he had no right to expect it of her. Once he was alone in the house, Laura having cycled to the library not long after Julia had gone to work, he felt as if he was being given one more chance as if he must improve their luck somehow before they came back.