The Wilt Inheritance (3 page)

‘The Lake District,’ said Eva, with some difficulty, ‘we go every year.’ The spirit had gone to her head. And the thought of a £5,000 bonus made it reel even more.

‘Well, you can cancel and come to us instead. There’s a furnished cottage in the grounds you are welcome to use, rent-free. And we’re not far from a delightfully sandy beach. I’m sure you’ll love the Estate too.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I suppose you’ll have to discuss the idea with your husband, and I must meet him too.’

Eva hurriedly stopped any suggestion of that. The notion horrified her. Wilt wouldn’t make the right impression at all.

‘I’m afraid he’s gone down to see his mother this weekend. She’s not been at all well lately.’

‘Oh, I am sorry. Still, I’m coming down again next weekend to get my wretched uncle into the nursing home. He really is a curmudgeonly old man! I do everything for him and nothing seems to please him. Perhaps I’ll be able to meet your husband then?’

Eva gave a small nod which could have been interpreted either way. She would have to rehearse Wilt endlessly if he weren’t to go and spoil everything.

Lady Clarissa stood up. ‘Time for a catnap before I head off. It’s been a great pleasure talking to you, my dear. And I am so glad that you’re a fairly normal size.’

She left a puzzled Eva still sitting at the table wondering what on earth her size had to do with anything. Perhaps the boy was a dwarf or height-impaired or whatever you had to call it nowadays. But then Lady Clarissa would surely have asked about Wilt’s size and not hers? How very strange the whole lunch had been … and, come to think of it, how very strange she herself felt after all that alcohol. She went out and took a taxi, abandoning her car at the day centre. Once back home she took an unplanned catnap of her own, waking up several hours later on the floor of the sitting room with no clear memory of how she’d got there. Thank God Henry hadn’t come back and found her! she thought as she groggily came to.

She needn’t have worried. Several hours later the supper she had hastily prepared for him was still uneaten. Thinking of the difference Lady Clarissa’s money would make, she hummed happily to herself as she took Wilt’s steak and broccoli out of the warming oven and put it in the fridge. After that she sat in front of the TV for a little longer, watching a movie, but finally gave up waiting. She turned out the light and went to bed, hoping Henry had a front-door key. She was sure now he’d been in a
pub all evening and would be drunk when he came home.

Wilt was. He’d switched from double whiskies to pints of strong bitter. Even more ominously, when he and Braintree had left the Hangman’s Arms they’d found themselves unable to see a thing as the street lights in that part of Ipford were out. As a result he’d stumbled down several wrong turnings before retracing his steps and, eventually locating the one that led to the bridge across the river, finally finding his way home. Here at least the street lights were on though the house was in darkness. It took him some time to find his front-door key and, after several attempts, to manage to insert it into what he supposed was the lock. It was the wrong one. Eva had become so terrified of burglars she had installed a second lock, much stronger than the first, the previous month. The useless key dropped to the ground.

‘Shit!’ Wilt slurred, and groped around for it, but before he could find it the pressing need of his bladder had to be answered. He stepped on to the small front lawn and was in the process of peeing when a light came on in a house on the other side of the road, revealing Mrs Fox peering out of her window. Wilt promptly swung round – or would have done if he hadn’t been so drunk. Instead he tripped over his own feet and fell face down on a most unpleasantly wet patch of grass. He lay there
with the consoling thought that at least Mrs Fox couldn’t see him now for the low hedge bordering the front garden.

He might almost have drifted off to sleep were it not for the sound of the phone ringing inside the house, followed by the bedroom light coming on above him and Eva clumping down the stairs. Wilt tried to think. Even in his drunken stupor he realised what had happened: Mrs Fox had phoned Eva to say that someone was trying to break into their house. He struggled to get to his feet and failed, so crawled over to the front door and pleaded through the letter box to be let in.

‘It’s only me,’ he squawked. But Eva wasn’t listening. She was too interested in discussing whether or not to call the police. Wilt tried to hear what she was saying. The only words he caught were, ‘No, not the police. I’ll double bolt the door.’ And: ‘Thanks for calling. Yes, I’ll definitely tell my husband.’

She put down the receiver and waited. Like Eva herself, Mrs Fox had a phobia about burglars. She took her time over going back to bed and turning off the light. Eva wasn’t about to admit it to a neighbour but, having heard the cursing at the front door, she was certain she knew the identity of the ‘intruder’.

Wilt resumed his pleas.

‘It’s only me. For goodness’ sake, let me in. I’m soaking wet and if I’m out here much longer …’ He
was about to say he’d go down with pneumonia but Eva had had a flash of inspiration and interrupted him there. She was going to get her own back for his rudeness the night before.

‘Who is “me” exactly?’ she asked, to prolong Wilt’s agony.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you know who I am! Your bloody husband, Henry.’

‘You don’t sound like him. And whoever you are, you’re obviously drunk.’

‘I don’t give a tuppenny damn what I sound like, I’m soaking wet! And, all right, I’m sloshed.’

‘If you’re who you say you are, you must have a key on you,’ said Eva, determined to prolong his misery. ‘Why don’t you use it?’

‘Because I’ve dropped the bloody thing!’ Wilt shouted through the letter box. ‘Why did you turn off the outside light? I can’t see a bleeding thing out here. It’s pitch dark.’

Eva considered turning the light back on and decided on another tactic.

‘I’ll call the police …’ she began, noisily putting the door chain on.

‘Are you off your rocker? That’s the last thing we need.’

Even Eva had to agree with that. The notion of having police cars arriving, with sirens almost certainly blaring, and giving the whole street something to gossip about, did not appeal. All the same,
she wanted to extend Wilt’s misery just a little longer. She turned the overhead light on and, keeping the chain in place, opened the door a few inches and peered out. Wilt had mud all over his face and looked awful.

‘You’re not my husband,’ she insisted. ‘You look nothing like him.’

‘I’ve had enough of this, Eva. I’ll break the bloody door down!’ shouted Wilt. ‘If you don’t open it this minute, I’m going to go straight across the fucking street and pee through Mrs fucking Fox’s letter box. Then see what the damned neighbours have to say.’

‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to let you in,’ Eva hastily decided, and shut the door slightly before undoing the chain. By the time she’d opened it again Wilt had slid to the ground and was being sick into a flower bed.

‘All right, you can come in,’ she went on when he’d finished vomiting.

Wilt tried to get to his feet and failed. Instead he crawled across the doormat while Eva, with a smile of satisfaction, went outside in her dressing gown and found his key. Back inside, she locked the door and regarded her husband with disgust. She’d never seen him quite so drunk before and was looking forward to his hangover next morning. He’d be in no condition to oppose her plan for him then.

‘You go upstairs straightaway and have a shower.
Then you can sleep in the spare room. You’re definitely not sleeping next to me.’

And she went back to bed, leaving Wilt to drag himself upstairs

Half an hour later, after he’d tried to take a shower only to fall in the bath twice, a bruised and bitter Wilt crawled into the spare room feeling like death warmed over and fell asleep.

Next morning he phoned the ‘University’ to say he was in bed with some bug and wouldn’t be coming in. No one answered the phone.

‘It’s Saturday,’ said Eva. ‘Of course you aren’t going in. No one does at weekends.’

Wilt thanked God and went back to bed. Presently he was woken by Eva who had learned more from her treatment at the hands of her Auntie Joan the previous summer than she had realised. She’d been turned out of the Starfighter Mansion in Wilma, Tennessee by Auntie Joan – kicked out would be the more strictly accurate expression – and as a result her own attitude had hardened. She had endured years of Henry’s drunkenness and obscenity. Auntie Joan’s style of retaliation was an example she intended to follow. It was about time she stood up for herself.

‘Now, you listen to me,’ she snapped when she’d shaken Wilt awake and dragged the bedclothes off him. ‘You’re going to do exactly what I say.’

She looked down at his naked body with disgust.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Wilt moaned. ‘Do you want me to freeze to death?’

‘It’s a hot day. If you’re cold, it’s your own fault. You came home last night drunker than I’ve ever seen you.’

‘All right, so I did. I’d been celebrating with Peter.’

‘Celebrating what?’

‘It’s a long damned story. Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it can’t.’

‘Well, if you really want to know, I haven’t been made redundant. That’s what we were celebrating.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Eva. She was about to leave then but changed her mind. She knew her Henry and he lied whenever it suited him. She wasn’t going to be hoodwinked this time.

‘Who said you were going to be made redundant? And I don’t care if it is a long story, I want the truth.’

Wilt stared up at her with blood-shot eyes and wished to God she’d never been to America to visit her aunt. Previously she always used to leave him alone with his hangovers, and he wasn’t sure he could cope with a newly assertive Eva, particularly not in this state.

‘Give me back the bedclothes and I’ll tell you,’ he whimpered.

Eva threw the sheet and blanket over him.

‘Go on. Tell me.’

‘First, I was supposed to attend the ACC,’ he began.

She hated it when he used those damn’ acron … anachron … abbreviations.

‘What’s that mean?’

‘The Academic Apportionment Committee. It’s where they decide which courses to get rid of and, of course, who the next head of department to get the chop will be. Communications isn’t considered sufficiently academic, though, so I wasn’t required to attend. Peter told me what happened. May-bloody-field wanted to have me replaced.’

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

Wilt sighed.

‘He just happens to be the Chairman of the ACC, if you must know.’

‘And?’

‘Fortunately the Vice-Principal was there too. He pointed out that they couldn’t get rid of me because no one else could deal with the blokes in Communications as well as I can, and no other department has so many blasted students. You’ve got that?’

Eva nodded.

‘Right. Then, to put the boot in, he asked Mayfield if he would like to take over from me himself – and the bastard shut up like a shot. Peter said the ass practically fainted at the thought and there was no more talk of my being replaced.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Eva, who was almost convinced. She could always check with Peter Braintree.

‘May I please go back to sleep now?’

‘No, you may not. I want you up and dressed and
downstairs in fifteen minutes. I’ve got some exciting news to tell you.’

Wilt groaned. He knew from long experience that Eva’s idea of exciting and his own were two very different things.

Wilt stumbled downstairs with two minutes to go, having hastily pulled on his underpants from the previous night – all he could find in his hurry. Eva sat at the kitchen table, a glass of water and some Aspirin in front of her but just out of his reach.

‘Now, Henry,’ she began in a loud voice, ‘I’ve found you a job for the summer. Fifteen hundred pounds a week and all found. Isn’t that wonderful? She wants her son to go to Cambridge.’

Wilt slumped down on to a chair and held his head in his hands. It was still hurting desperately.

‘Who is “she”, and what do you mean, a job? And fifteen hundred pounds a week?’ For that sort of salary
it couldn’t be that wonderful … and what on earth was the meaning of ‘all found’?

‘She is Lady Clarissa Gadsley, and she’s offered you a temporary job.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Tutoring her son Edward Gadsley, up at Sandystones Hall. Lady Clarissa wants you to see that he gets his A-level history, and I said you’d be delighted.’

‘Charming!’ said Wilt. ‘So I’ve got to spend the Summer Vac cramming some horribly snobbish young oaf to get him into Cambridge? I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I haven’t taught history for thirty years, and that when I did it was to Plasterers Two and louts who couldn’t even remember where Austria was.’

‘It can’t be that difficult, and in any case you’ve two months to do it. We’ll be getting enough money to keep the girls at St Barnaby’s and having a free holiday at the same time.’

‘You may be … Hang on, what do you mean, free holiday? I won’t be getting any holiday at all.’

Eva smiled and tried not to look at his stained Y-fronts.

‘Lady Clarissa’s offered us a furnished cottage in the grounds rent-free,’ she said. ‘And there’s a delightful beach not far away.’

‘There would be. And fat chance I’ll ever see it. Instead I’ll be closeted with a moron, trying to make
him understand the causes of the French Revolution or even which century it happened in. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I remember myself.’

‘Then you’d better find out,’ Eva told him. ‘Fast.’

‘All right, let’s drop the subject for now My head hurts too much even to think about it. I’m starving, I had no supper last night, and I suppose I’ve missed breakfast as well.’

‘Well, whose fault is that?’ Eva eyed his pitiful state and finally relented. ‘If you go and have a shower, and put those disgusting pants in the washing machine, I’ll make you some sandwiches.’

Wilt sighed and went upstairs.

‘Some bloody shitty holiday,’ he muttered halfway up.