Soul to Take (14 page)

RIC

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Ric but why d’you want me to come to the wholesaler’s with you? You always go yourself.” Jeanette asks as she opens the rusty passenger door of Ric’s once-white Caddy van.

“I, er, just thought you might want to learn a few more, how you say? Facets of the business,” comes the response. “I can leave you to clean the tables again if you like? Come on, they sell coffee.” I dread the confirmation of Nell’s suspicions as I see these two alone together.

Driving along, discussing the items they will need to purchase for the restaurant, there is little of the insight I need into this man and his relationship with the young waitress.

Finally, Jeanette asks, “So how’s your wife doing?”

“So so,” Ric shrugs as he changes gear. “My Nelly, she always tries to put a brave face on, you know? So she seem fine to everyone but only I know the truth when I look in her eyes. An’ even then, she not always tell me all of how she feels.”

“That must be difficult to cope with then,” Jeanette says while texting on her phone.

“Yeah, but she had a really tough time, you know. She’s a good Mama an’ all she wants is to have lots of bambinos to run aroun’ the house,” Ric explains. “When she lost the baby, she hurt so much, you know. An’ I’m not so good with these things; I never say the right words. It would have been better if she had her own Mama to talk to but she not with us any more. It so sad watching the one you love aching inside, when there’s nothing you can do to take that pain away,” Ric beats his chest emphatically to express his last point.

“Yeah, I know,” Jeanette agrees thoughtfully and pauses typing on her phone.

“So anyway,” Ric lightens his tone, “your Dad still looking for a business to buy for you?”

“Yeah, something like that. I mean I’ve got to finish my degree first but, all going well, he says it’s the sensible solution. There are so few graduate jobs out there and he’s got some cash to invest so we figure I might as well put ‘Business Management’ into practice.”

“You’d be good in the restaurant trade,” Ric hints but is interrupted by a shrill ringing from Jeanette’s phone.

After only a few moments, the conversation ends and Jeanette looks blankly at her handset.

“You lost signal? The reception’s shit out here,” Ric tells her, “Was that Emma?”

“Yep. Probably a good thing we got cut off. She was screaming at me to stop texting her.”

“I though you two would have sorted things out by now. It’s weeks since you had that bust up,” Ric pulls up into the car park but no-one gets out as Jeanette begins to weep.

“It’s just such a mess, Ric. It’s no better than it was last time I talked to you about it. She doesn’t trust me and thinks that every time I go out clubbing without her, I’m snogging someone else.”

“Well, you know what I think?” Ric offers, “I think that she not good for you; she suffocate you. But, if you love her and want to be together, then I think you are too young to be living together. Move out. Find another student house. It would be much healthier. You gonna end up like an’ old married couple before you’re twenty one!”

“Easier said than done though. The rent on our house is pretty much the cheapest around so I’d have to ask Mum and Dad for more money for another place, which would mean explaining why and ...” Jeanette trails off.

“Ah,” Ric guesses, “They don’t know you’re gay?”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe you should tell them, Jeanette. Would it be so awful? Maybe they would surprise you. Lots of gay people say their families were jus’ waiting for them to say something because they already guessed.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! They’d freak out completely. Dad would never be able to look me in the eye again and Mum, well, she’d pretend it was okay but I know it wouldn’t be. It’s not the sort of thing they would be able to boast about when they go down to the Golf Club and compare notes with other couples about whose kid’s doing which degree at which Uni, blah, blah, blah,” she mocks.

“I bet they’d come ’round eventually. Being a parent means loving your kid whatever they tell you. You don’t always have to agree with them, or their choices, but the love bit, well, it overrides everything. I would love my Rosie whether she straight or a poof.”

“You can’t say that!” Jeanette laughs but as usual, Ric is blindly unaware of his inappropriate terminology.

“What?” he mocks injury.

“Nothing. I just wish I could talk to them the way I can talk to you. I’ll always be grateful for the night you let me stay at yours. I was so embarrassed getting upset at work like that; it didn’t help that the restaurant was full of couples in love! I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t insisted on driving me home. And then when I told you I couldn’t face going into the house and you offered to take me to yours, your spare room bed was so nice and cosy. Just having some time away made it all bearable again in the morning.”

“Well, you women are all pretty much similar creatures, eh? So I thought, what does Nelly do when she’s felling shit? Puts those bloody smelly candles on, has a good old English cup o’ tea, a hot bath and goes to bed. Works every time for her.”

“Well, it did work. I just felt awful when you checked your phone to see where your wife and daughter were and realised that your poor wife was in hospital and you were looking after me not her.”

“I know. I’m such an idiot sometimes. I loose track of the time. I can’t believe I didn’t get a speeding ticket on my way to the hospital that night.”

Jeanette smiles. “I will sort it out with Emma. One way or another. I can’t go on like this, that’s for sure. My relationship with her is dominating everything and I can’t let it ruin my chances of a good degree. I’ll have no chance of getting Dad to buy me a business then if I’m gay and degree-less!”

Ric finally opens the door and Jeanette takes his lead. “Ready for Pasta Buying Lesson One?”

RHYS

“An’ ’ow’s college goin’ on a Wednesday son?” Rhys’s boss asks him as he lowers the bonnet of a long, grey estate car.

“Dead good actually,” comes the reply as Rhys wheels himself out from underneath the vehicle. “I mean, I always thought that it would be borin’ but it’s quite interestin’. The tutor wants to sign me up for a business course on a Thursday night ’cos I got some ’alf decent GCSEs, y’know, so ‘e thinks I can manage it as well as the NVQ. Says it would come in ’andy if I ever ’ad me own business, like. But I don’t know about that.”

“You should go for it, lad. You can never ’ave too many qualifications. You’re a bright lad an’ I’m really pleased ’ow quickly you’ve picked things up ’ere. As I keep tellin’ you, it’ll not be long before I’m ’appy to leave you ’ere to ’old the fort while I ’ave a few days off an’ that.”

Rhys fights a smile at this compliment and darts back under the car. The two continue these infrequent interjections but mostly, the garage is filled with the tinny sound of the radio, as they diagnose and treat each of the motor-patients in their care.

Finally the clock reads five and Rhys is up and wiping his hands on an already grease-sodden rag. “Okay to get off now Bill?” he checks.

“Yes son, see you tomorrow.”

Permission granted, Rhys leaves the garage and walks out into the cold Spring afternoon. It’s not long before his phone rings. It is clear from this end of the dialogue that Rhys is being teased by a friend, “I’m not under the thumb. I jus’ don’t wanna come out tonight that’s all,” he explains. “I was out last night an’ loads of times last week, if you weren’t so pissed you’d remember.”

There is a pause while Rhys’s friend must be heightening the persuasion.

“Listen,” Rhys continues, “I’ve got a fit bird to go ’ome to. Why would I want to be goin’ out all the time? Who wants to go out for
MacDonalds
when they got steak at home?” With that the conversation ends.

Rhys puts his phone back in his pocket as he enters the newsagents. At the confectionary counter, he swiftly picks up a
Mars Bar
but then stands and deliberates for at least a minute before adding a
Toffee Crisp
to his purchase. With a five pound note, Rhys pays for the chocolate and asks the vendor for a scratch card.

Outside, Rhys hides one chocolate bar in the security of his pocket; the other is unwrapped and quickly eaten. He uses a shiny two pence piece to rub the silver foil coating from the scratch card and blows away the debris before wiping the smooth card with the sleeve of his overall. Pausing at a public litter bin, in anticipation of the inevitable futility of this gamble, Rhys brings the scratch card towards his face for closer inspection. With a look of complete disbelief, he scratches off the peripheral silver foil which he had previously deemed unnecessary and repeatedly rubs the card with his sleeve.

Realisation sets in that his eyes are not deceiving him, and Rhys’s jaw drops but no sound comes out. Frozen to the spot, Rhys takes out his mobile phone but then reconsiders, replaces it and runs all the way home, his unburied treasure clasped in his hand.

Perspiring and out of breath, Rhys hammers on the door of the caravan. “It’s not locked you daft bugger!” a voice yells but he continues to knock, unable to muster the energy to do any more.

The door opens and Rhys falls into the caravan.

“
Flake.
It’s a
Flake
, ‘cos you just flaked out on the floor, get it? I’m right aren’t I?” Shannon looks smug.

Unable to verbally confirm or deny, Rhys holds up the
Toffee Crisp
as well as the winning ticket.

Finally, he manages, “We’ve only won on the bloody scratch card!”

“’ow much? Will it do our tea?”

“A bit more than that, Shannon. More like it’ll do our tea for the next twenty years!”

She replies with only a shriek and the two squeeze each other in an embrace.

When it ends and Rhys’s heart beat and voice return to normal, he looks Shannon in the eye and continues his previous train of thought, “That’s if you’ll ’ave me for the next twenty years?”

TIM

Like many of the adults on this pretty, suburban cul-de-sac, Tim is pulling onto his driveway at the end of a long day. Mums open car doors for noisy children and Dads quickly swap their suits for sporty gear, keen to squeeze in a pre-dinner run before bath time. But Tim simply carries his lap top bag into the house, and slouches on the sofa; he makes his tie slack around his neck and flicks through his options using the television remote.

No sooner has he settled down to his choice than the door bell rings. He pauses his programme and goes to answer. Standing there is Ellie, shivering.

“Er, hello,” Tim is polite but puzzled, “Can I help?”

“I’m erm, a friend of Sarah’s,” she tests.

“She’s at work love. Can I tell her who called?”

“It’s Ellie. I was just passing and wondered how she’s getting on, y’know, with the IVF. How’s it going?”

Tim is clearly taken aback by this and invites Ellie to come in from the cold. He shuts the door and they stand in the passageway.

“Sorry if I seem a bit dazed, love, we’d just agreed not to talk about it to anyone else and so I wasn’t expecting you to ask. Have we met before?” Tim’s eyes narrow as he struggles with his memory; he is truly thrown by this encounter.

“Look,” Ellie is frank, “I’m Sarah’s daughter. She’ll go mad at me for telling you but you’re going to have to find out sooner or later. And you’re hardly going to believe that she’s got a ‘friend’ my age that you’ve never met before.”

Tim is silent.

Ellie eventually fills the gap, “I really am sorry to spring it on you like this. I should have called her before I arrived but I totally forgot what time she works on a Friday.”

“It’s okay, love, come in and have a seat,” Tim processes and accepts this life changing revelation and leads the way back to the comfort of the sofa.

“We’ve only been in contact for a few weeks. I made enquiries about her at the agency, once I turned eighteen. You knew she had a daughter though right?”

“No, actually,” Tim admits, “No I didn’t.”

This time the silence is unfilled and Ellie is out of her depth as Tim gazes out of the window, blinded by this new information.

Ellie glances around the now familiar lounge and pauses at a silver framed photograph of a thinner looking Tim and his young bride.

“So how long have you two been married?” Ellie attempts to infiltrate.

“Ten years this Summer,” Tim says without looking from the window. “But we’ve been together a lot longer,” his stock response continues.

“Really?” this time Ellie is genuinely interested.

“Yes,” Tim looks to Ellie, “We’ve been together for seventeen years. Nineteen, if you count the bit at school before she dumped me for a year. You didn’t think I was old enough, did you? My youthful good looks give nothing away ...” Tim’s attempt at lightening the situation with humour is swept away by the possibility that is dawning on the pair.

The realisation that these two could be linked by more that than their relationship with Sarah is evident when Tim continues, “Yeah, childhood sweethearts, you might say; she was my first love and I was hers. Never had another girlfriend in the year that we were apart. I didn’t see Sarah much that year - we went to a huge school and kept out of each other’s way and she was off sick a lot that year - but I couldn’t stop thinking about her and eventually pestered her enough to come to the cinema with me. The rest, as they say, is history. We kind of just picked up where we’d left off.”

A knowing look passes between the two but no words are spoken.

“You don’t think ... I mean, I just presumed that Sarah would have mentioned if ... Do you reckon ...”

“I do,” is all that Tim can reply and his stunned expression gives way to a grin which reaches from ear to ear. “I think I must be ...” The grin has not faded at all and although he avoids the actual words, both know what he means.

“Bloody Hell!” he finally concludes, the grin holding fast.