Grief Encounters (30 page)

‘Wait a minute,’ Torl said. ‘He has this bad-ass gangsta rap image but he grows pot plants in his conservatory. Is that what they are: pot plants?’

‘No! They’re avocados and lemon trees. And castor oil plants. Things like that. They don’t need much attention. I go in every two or three days when he’s not there, which is most of the time. He’s gone off today, to a gig in Germany. He’s ever so sweet, not at all like you’d imagine.’

Torl looked at his watch and signalled a waiter for the bill. ‘Do you mind if we go?’ he asked Teri. ‘I need to call in the office for my briefcase. I’m going to see someone in the morning and it will save me half an hour.’

Teri looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, does that mean you’re taking me home? I thought we might spend some time together.’

‘No, I’m not taking you home, unless you want to go home. We’ll collect my briefcase and then go for a drink somewhere, or a ride up to the tops and you can show me how much you’ve missed me. How does that sound?’

It sounded fine, and he paid the bill. In the car she said: ‘So are you seeing someone to give them a load of money?’

‘Something like that.’

‘What sort of business are they in?’

‘I’m not sure until I read their application. They’re after what we call angel money.’

‘Angel money? What’s that?’

‘It’s a theatrical term. People who give money to theatres so they can put on plays are called angels. It’s a high-risk investment and there’s a good chance they’ll lose it all. We use it for small businesses who want some start-up capital. Most businesses that fail do so because they’re under-funded. We try to help them in those critical first two years.’

‘So how much will you give them?’

‘It depends on the business and how many jobs they might create. Usually about
£
50,000 is enough to ease them through a crisis.’

‘Wow!’ she said, softly, and then sat silently for a while. Eventually she said: ‘Torl…’

‘Yes, my dear.’

‘Did I tell you that I once owned a string a beauty parlours?’

‘Yes, you did mention it. You said that you had ten, and sold them when you married. I was surprised. I wouldn’t have taken you for a ruthless tycoon.’ 

‘I had to be ruthless. Well, hard-headed. I wouldn’t have said I was ruthless. I left home when I was sixteen and bought a half-share in a hairdressing business. Everybody was out to screw me, in more ways than one. I had to learn fast.’

‘I bet you did. Dare I ask where the money came from?’

‘Nothing illegal or embarrassing. My father left
£
25,000 in trust for me until I was sixteen.’ Torl was about to ask about her father but Teri went on: ‘He was a sea captain, but he died when I was about one year old. Mum told me about him. I made good use of the money. Five years later I sold up for
£
300,000.’

Torl turned off the main road and negotiated a roundabout with pointers labelled with unit numbers and drove slowly past a huge sign listing various companies. The buildings were glass-walled and the road illuminated as brightly as an aircraft carrier’s deck.

‘What about your mother?’ he asked.

Teri took her time answering, then said: ‘I’ve never seen her since I left. All I can remember is that she had a string of fellows. I never knew where home was, she changed so often. Sometimes I went home from school in the wrong direction. And then…’

Torl waited, but it didn’t come. ‘And then…’ he prompted.

‘She was going with this bloke,’ she began. ‘A suave sod, he was. We hadn’t moved in with him completely. It was just for a few days, as a trial, I believe. Mum was out at work – she worked afternoons down at the art college. I don’t know what she did. It was a warm day, like we’ve just had. It was games afternoon at school and we’d been playing rounders, so I came home all hot and bothered. I went upstairs and he…he…’

‘Go on.’

‘He followed me upstairs and raped me. I was twelve years old.’

‘That’s terrible. Did you report it?’

‘No. I told Mum. She said I’d imagined it, persuaded me to forget the whole thing. A week or two later she fell in with another bloke and we went to live with him. He was just the opposite, but it didn’t work out. Not for me. I was a trouble causer, I’m afraid. I ran with the wrong crowd, but I soon realised it. Living on a university campus is a strange way of life, with lots of temptations, especially for a young girl. Mum stayed but I split as soon as I had the money.’

‘You’ve never tried to find her?’

‘No. As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. When he was, you know, doing it to me, he kept saying: “Don’t pretend you don’t like it – like mother, like daughter”. When she persuaded me to keep quiet it was like giving him a licence to rape me. I’ll never forgive her for that. He didn’t, but only because I slept with a kitchen knife under my pillow. I told him I’d stab him if he ever touched me again.’

‘I’m sorry, it must have been dreadful,’ Torl said, then: ‘C’mon, let’s go in.’

He pushed a button below the security keypad and a voice said: ‘Hello.’

‘It’s me.’

‘One moment.’

They waited, and in a few seconds a man appeared. ‘Evening, sir,’ he said. ‘Working late?’

‘No. I just want to collect my briefcase. We won’t be a minute.’ He led Teri up a flight of stairs and along a corridor illuminated only by security lighting, through a door marked
EPP Marketing
into a large, open-plan office. Every desk had a computer and the air bristled with static from them as they chugged away on standby, helping burn a hole in the ozone layer. Lights on printers blinked, others stayed steady, some cast little coloured pools of light on piles of paper. Torl headed directly for another door in a corner and pulled it open to allow Teri in first, but not before she’d read the sign on it. The computer-printed notice, held on with Sellotape, said:
D. Storey, Director
.

‘Here we are,’ Torl said, lifting a briefcase aloft. ‘This is what I want. Let’s go before I find a job that needs doing.’ The caretaker let them out and soon they were driving round the bypass, towards the road that led over the tops. 

‘Drink somewhere?’ Torl asked. ‘We might just make it.’

‘No, I don’t think so. Can we just stop somewhere quiet?’

He drove to the place where they’d seen the gibbous moon, before Teri had the epileptic fit, and parked in the same spot, overlooking the valley. The moon had progressed through its cycle and was now on the wane, high behind them.

Teri said: ‘So who are EPP Marketing?’

‘Ah!’ Torl said. ‘I wondered if you’d ask that. It’s our nom de plume. We don’t advertise our presence because we’d probably be overcome with applications. Also, we have been accused by some we’ve turned away of giving an unfair advantage to their competitors. We have to be discreet.’

‘And who’s D Storey?’ she demanded.

‘Ah ah! You’ve got me there. Guilty as charged, your honour. Torl’s my nickname. At school my elder brother was called Short Storey, because he was six feet tall. When I went along, even taller, they christened me Tall Storey. At the speed dating the madam suggested that I might not want to use my proper name, so I said I was called Torl. I changed the spelling.’

‘And your Norwegian mother?’

‘Um, I lied about her. She’s from Stoke-on-Trent.’

‘So what does the D stand for?’

‘David. David Storey. That’s me.’ 

‘Tristan said you were lying.’

‘Your friend with the boat?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘He said, to get inside my pants.’

‘That’s a very compelling reason. Did you believe him?’

‘A little bit.’

‘Do you still?’

She laughed and smiled at him. ‘Put your arm around me.’ He did as he was told, and pulled her close. ‘But you don’t want to, do you? Your religion won’t let you.’

‘What? Get inside your pants?’

‘Mmm.’

‘It would be a sin.’

‘But would you like to?’

‘That’s a sin, too.’

‘Just wanting to?’

‘Yes.’

‘So are you a sinner?’

‘Up to my armpits.’

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. He instinctively turned towards her, to return the kiss on her lips, but misjudged and kissed her nose. She stayed facing him, waiting for him to try again, but he gazed stoically through the windscreen, slowly counting to ten while imagining he was mowing the pitch at Wembley, in a downpour, with a very small lawnmower.

‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked.

‘I’m thinking,’ she replied. After a long silence she said: ‘Torl? I mean, David…’

‘Torl will be fine.’

‘OK. Torl. When I split from my husband there’ll be a heck of a row over money. He won’t want to give me a penny. I’ll need a job, or a little business. Would I be eligible for one of your angel loans?’

‘Hairdressing and beauty?’

‘Probably.’

‘I would imagine so.’ His arm was across her back, his fingers gently kneading her shoulder. Periodically a vehicle would pass on the road, its headlights briefly sweeping the lay-by and illuminating the interior of the car, but leaving it darker than before. A hatchback with a noisy exhaust came in with a rattle of gravel, saw Torl’s car and drove off again.

‘Promise?’

‘I can’t promise,’ he said, ‘but put it like this: you’re a deserving cause and I’m incredibly
weak-willed
.’ His fingertips traced circles on the back of her neck. ‘I can’t imagine anybody having a better chance of persuading me to hand over someone else’s money. Can you?’

He turned his face towards hers and this time he didn’t misjudge it. ‘No,’ she said when she needed to breathe. ‘I can’t.’ 

On the way back Torl said: ‘This man. The one who raped you. Have you considered making a complaint against him?’

‘No. And he’s probably dead by now.’

‘Can you remember his name?’

‘He was called Julian. That’s all I remember.’

‘Julian. Right.’

They drove the rest of the way in silence, his hand lightly resting on her thigh, her fingers interlaced with his. Torl was wondering how much of what she’d told him was the truth; how much was lies and fantasy; and whether losing his job was too high a price to pay for what he was being drawn into. He remembered her saying that she wanted to be one of his elves and imagined her in a little costume, sitting on a toadstool, looking up at him with those doe’s eyes, and nearly drove off the road.

Teri was thinking about the game and looking forward to going to bed with Freddie, but most of all she was wondering how much to take this latest sucker for.

Gareth Adey was taken off the danger list and put in a ward with that week’s quota of heart attack survivors. We took turns to visit him during the day, and left the evenings to his family. I sat talking to him about the job, how we were managing, but it was a struggle, and asked his advice about my clematis. He’s a keen gardener. I’d a feeling that he’d be doing a lot more gardening in the future.

‘What sort is it?’ he asked.

‘Um, a white one.’

‘When did it flower and how big were they?’

‘It didn’t flower, so I don’t know how big they’d be, but they were white on the little picture.’

‘When did you plant it?’

‘Just after Christmas. It was a present.’

‘Has it any leaves on it?’

‘No. They fell off.’

‘I suspect it’s what we technically term as dead, Charlie.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘As bad as it gets. It’s probably an armandii. They sell lots of them in garden centres but they’re not hardy.’

And so on. Yorkshire had lost again and the football season had started, but I’m not into cricket and Gareth can’t stand footy, so those subjects were soon exhausted. When I asked him about the food for the second time I decided it was time to flee from the place. Hospitals depress me. My parents died in hospital and I’ve spent some time there in my own right, after being shot. I’ve only to look at a cellular blanket to break out in a rash.

‘It’s madness.’

‘No, it’s not.’

The Wentbridges were sitting on the patio at the back of the house, sipping red plonk from Riedel handmade glasses as the afternoon sun dropped behind the fells. He was wearing calf-length pants and a polo shirt; she was in shorts and a skimpy top, with a Hermes scarf over her shoulders.

‘Well I think it is,’ Teri protested. ‘He lives next door, for God’s sake.’

‘What difference does that make?’ her husband retorted. ‘We live in a global society. Burglars travel hundreds of miles to do jobs. If anything, living next door takes the heat off us. People like Zed Boogey are a target for the professionals – everybody knows that. He’s stinking rich, and no doubt he creams off thousands from his concerts that he doesn’t declare. He can afford to give us a million.’

‘To replace the million you threw away to impress
her
,’ she retorted.

‘Yes, darling,’ he replied. ‘To replace the 700,000
pounds
that I lost due to a cruel spin of the wheel, when I just happened to be in the company of your friend Fiona. This is a way for me to get something back; to make amends; to regain your affection.’ He reached across and stroked her arm until she pulled it away.

They sat in silence for a while, until she said: ‘Why can’t you just download the images onto his computer from ours, like Tristan does?’

‘For one simple reason, darling: I don’t know how to. I’m not bad on them, but no expert. I need to be at his computer.’ He picked up the wine bottle and shared the last few drops between their glasses.

‘Have you forgotten that he has the most sophisticated burglar alarm that money can buy?’

‘No, darling. Have you forgotten that we have a key and the code number? You water his plants every day, remember?’

‘I water them twice a week.’

‘Right.’

‘So won’t he know it’s us?’

‘No. There’ll be nothing to see.’

‘And then we blackmail him?’

‘Not necessarily straight away. We could afford to wait a year or more. It’ll be like money in the bank. And even if we don’t take any money from him, we can always bring him down, call it part of the game.’