Authors: Debbie Viggiano
‘Oh my God! Are you all right? Who the hell was that? Si, speak to me!’
Si opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. All he could feel were the hallway’s hard wooden floorboards pressing against his spine. It was as though an invisible hand was trying to push him through the very foundations of the house. He realised he was winded. The cobweb on the light fitting began to recede from sight. The stranger’s fist had connected with his good eye. Swelling was closing it up.
Steph was now running up and down the hallway. She appeared to be dickering between helping Si and giving chase after the man, but incapable of deciding which to do. The front door was still wide open. Si heard the throaty cough of a powerful engine starting up. A screech of tyres and the stranger was gone. Steph continued to flap. She was in shock. Si could understand that. He felt somewhat shocked himself. Well actually that wasn’t quite true. He felt numb. Numb and disbelieving. Who the hell had tried to punch his lights out? It must be something to do with Dawn. Si’s brain reeled in confusion. But the stranger had mentioned a woman called Amanda. Was Dawn also known as Amanda? Some people were like that. Known to family by their first name, but because they hated it opted to use their middle name with employers for example. Maybe Dawn’s old man was back on the scene and had heard about Si staying at her house. Si sucked in some air. That was better. He pushed himself into a sitting position. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. He retched. His head felt as if a herd of elephants had stamped on it.
‘Help me up love,’ he extended a hand toward Steph.
‘Who was that man Si?’ Steph sounded like she was close to tears as she hauled her husband up.
Si stood unsteadily. A wave of nausea washed over him. He leant against the wall for support. ‘I have no idea.’
‘He called you by your name. He knew you!’
‘He didn’t know me. He asked if I was Si Garvey. I said yes. Then he belted me.’
‘Are you all right Dad?’ Tom stood at the top of the landing.
‘Funnily enough son, I’m not all right.’
‘Your father’s just been assaulted – by a stranger,’ Steph gabbled. She frowned. ‘Where did you get to just now?’
‘I was, um, getting some fresh air.’
Steph looked surprised. ‘Where? I didn’t see you go downstairs.’
‘I, er, was outside my window. On the ledge by the drainpipe.’
Si looked at Tom with his one open eye. ‘Are you smoking?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Well if you are, just be honest about it. Standing on window ledges twelve feet up is not good for your health.’
Tom came cautiously down the stairs. ‘Has the man gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Steph. ‘He attacked your father, then waltzed off calm as you like.’
‘I need to sit down,’ said Si. ‘Help me to the kitchen love. I think I better get something on this eye. I can’t see a damn thing.’
‘Let me help you Dad. I’ll get a packet of peas out the freezer.’
‘Shut the front door first Tom,’ said Si. ‘I don’t want that fruitcake coming back.’
‘I think we should call the police,’ said Steph.
‘What good is that going to do?’ asked Si. He could just imagine the endless paperwork. Then trying to explain to the police about Dawn and why he’d spent the night with her. The last thing he wanted was to rake that up again. He now had two black eyes. What if the police asked how he’d acquired his first black eye? He couldn’t tell them Steph had done it. They might want him to press charges. And what if they still had old paperwork from his false arrest over June’s so-called burglary? Even though that had amounted to nothing, the police might put a question mark over Si. Label him as a trouble maker. ‘I’ll sort it out myself,’ he mumbled.
‘How can you sort it out if you don’t know who that man was?’ asked Steph.
‘I have my suspicions,’ said Si. He sat down at the kitchen table. Tom put the frozen peas on the table. Si picked them up. His hands were shaking. He felt as weak as a kitten.
‘I see,’ said Steph. Her voice was wobbling dangerously. ‘And I have my suspicions too.’
Si held the peas over his bad eye. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you’re not being honest with me. You may not know that man. But you know somebody called Amanda. And Amanda is that man’s wife Si.’ Steph’s voice cracked. ‘You don’t have to be Einstein to work it out. You’re having an affair with his wife.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Si snorted. ‘I don’t even know anybody called Amanda!’
‘Well Amanda obviously knows
you
!’ Steph’s eyes filled with water. ‘You’re lying Si’.
‘Mum, you can’t accuse Dad of having an affair,’ cried Tom. ‘You have absolutely no evidence whatsoever.’
‘Oh don’t I?’ Steph rounded on her son. ‘Well it’s a pretty rum state of affairs when a complete stranger turns up warning off somebody called Si Garvey when Si Garvey happens to LIVE RIGHT HERE!’ Steph bellowed. ‘What’s that all about then Tom? The Law of Coincidence? Is that what you’re going to major in at University, hmm?’
‘I’m just saying that you shouldn’t jump to conclusions,’ Tom said quietly. ‘There might be some other perfectly sensible explanation.’
‘Well in the absence of such an explanation smacking me in the face, I’ll stick with the obvious thank you Tom. And right now the obvious conclusion is that your father is having a fling with a woman called Amanda.’ Steph swung back to Si. She looked furious. ‘Well you’re certainly managing to put yourself about these days. I don’t think I know you anymore.’ Steph’s face suddenly crumpled and she burst into tears. Letting out a stifled sob she fled upstairs.
Tom stared after his mother helplessly.
‘Dad. I just want you to know I’m really, really sorry this has happened.’
‘Not as sorry as me son. Anyway, don’t let it concern you. It’ll sort itself out. These things always do.’
Although Si had to confess, he wasn’t quite sure where to start sorting this one out.
Chapter Thirty Six
Tom watched in distress as his mother rushed out the kitchen. Tears were streaming down her face. He wanted to go and comfort her. But he was terrified about leaving his father. Dad looked so – well -
awful
. He was slumped over the kitchen table. Every time he pushed the bag of frozen peas against his eye, the poor man winced with pain. This was all his fault. And he didn’t know how to make things right.
‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’ asked Tom. Everybody made tea in a crisis. In Coronation Street somebody was always putting the kettle on.
‘Yes please son.’
Tom filled the kettle and found a mug. He felt so guilty. He didn’t know what to say to his father, so stood in silence as the kettle boiled. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? Up until now Tom had cruised effortlessly through school and life in general. He was clever, good looking and popular. The girls loved him. Sixth Form was over. Uni awaited. Summer stretched ahead. One hot day blended into another. Sleep late. Hang out with mates. Meet up with a girl. Bring girl home. Sleep with girl. Sleep late. Repeat. Every day had been more or less the same. Until today.
Tom knew roughly where things had started to go wrong. Unlike his mates who dated Sixth Form girls, Tom had set his cap at the Over Twenties. Women rather than girls. Females who weren’t looking for long-term love. An older woman knew Tom wasn’t remotely suitable as a long-term love interest. He was a student and would be penniless for at least another four years. Older women didn’t seek young men like Tom for permanency. They wanted security. Rocks they could lean upon. Rely upon. Whereas Tom was like a boat drifting at sea. Unanchored. However, older women who already had rocks but wanted thrills definitely sought out young men like Tom. There had been so many older women in such a short space of time. Tom had met them all over the place. In the shopping malls. In coffee shops. At concerts. In the library. Even at school! Hell, even Rachel Gardner, his drama teacher, had shown interest in him. Okay, they were co-writing a drama together for Amateur Dramatics, but Tom knew Rachel wasn’t happily married. Now he was no longer her student at school, she’d been bending his ear. Gauging his reaction. Letting him know she was available. He might have followed it up if his parents hadn’t warned Rachel off.
Tom had watched his mates hook up with sixteen year olds. Such girls drove Tom nuts, giggling about engagement rings and being teenage mums. Even the more studious seventeen and eighteen year olds who were university bound didn’t appeal. They still wanted commitment of some sort. Somebody to refer to as
my boyfriend
. Somebody to go shopping with. Tom had listened to his mates moaning about Saturday morning visits to Top Shop. Hanging about bored witless while their girlfriends went in and out of changing rooms.
‘What do you think of this Connor? Do I look fat? Thin? Pear shaped? Are you even listening to me?’
They carried on like married couples. And Tom didn’t want to behave like a married person when he was only eighteen. His mates only tolerated it for a regular leg over. Tom wanted someone. But he wasn’t sure who. And when the germ of an idea had started to take shape in his mind, he’d been so horrified that he’d panicked. Shoving the idea away, Tom had decided upon a compromise. Leg overs with women who fundamentally left you alone. And things had worked out well. The few weeks with Florrie had been the most perfect relationship of all. Pregnant with another man’s child she’d been more interested in using Tom as a shoulder to cry on. She wasn’t looking for a replacement father for her unborn child. After being badly let down, she wanted a relationship with strictly no strings. Rachel would have been good too. Tom could have given her the attention she craved. Made her feel that she wasn’t just a boring mummy, but a yummy mummy. And when Rachel’s confidence had been restored, she would have returned to her unsuspecting husband with more enthusiasm for him and their marriage. Amanda had been Florrie’s replacement. Things would have jogged along quite happily for the next few days or weeks if Amanda’s husband hadn’t found out.
Tom had met her in the High Street. They’d both been texting as they walked, eyes on screens rather than ahead. When they’d crashed into each other, she’d fallen off her towering heels and sprawled painfully across the pavement. Tom had helped her up. He’d led her, hobbling, into McDonalds. While her bruises recovered, they’d had a milkshake and started chatting. Tom had noted the gold wedding band on the woman’s finger. It came to his attention primarily because of a whopping diamond sitting above it. The overhead lighting glinted off it, almost dazzling his eyes.
‘That’s pretty,’ Tom had caught her hand.
‘My husband likes to spoil me,’ she’d smirked.
‘He must be very well off.’ Youth permitted him to be crass.
‘He is. He owns a string of fitness clubs. In fact that’s why I’m here.’
‘What, in McDonalds?’ Tom had joked.
‘No silly. In the High Street. I’ve just been checking out an empty commercial property. My husband is looking for something suitable to do a conversion.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought this mangy High Street was the place for a posh spa,’ Tom had said.
‘Oh not a spa. A gym. Well, wrestling to be precise. My husband used to wrestle professionally. Now he trains budding amateurs.’
‘I see,’ Tom had said. ‘Why did he stop wrestling professionally?’
‘He retired from the ring a long time ago,’ the woman had said. When Tom had looked perplexed, she’d smiled. ‘He’s a lot older than me. Fifty-eight to be precise. I’m twenty-six.’
The moment the woman had mentioned gyms and wrestling, Tom’s brain had pictured muscular six packs, sweat and stamina. So what if her hubby was fifty-eight. He wasn’t a weed. And if the guy was fifty-eight, that also explained why the woman was starting to bat her eyelashes at Tom. She liked her lifestyle and didn’t want change. But she was perfectly up for extra-marital fun.
‘My name’s Amanda by the way. And I think you should give me your mobile number,’ she’d looked up at him under her eyelashes.
Bingo. But Tom’s antenna had been up and he’d been aware of a bad vibe, a warning bell ringing incessantly. He wasn’t usually cautious, but this time he decided to be. Probably something to do with her old man being an ex-wrestler.
‘Well Amanda,’ he’s smiled, ‘I am very pleased to meet you. And my name is Si.’
Chapter Thirty Seven
After June had said goodnight to Steph and Si, she’d been about to return to Harry when the telephone had rung. June was delighted to hear Arnold’s voice.
‘I hope I’m not ringing too late,’ Arnold apologised.
‘Not at all,’ said June. ‘I’ve just said good-bye to my guests and now I have lots of washing up to do.’
‘Ah yes. Your dinner party. How did it go?’
June hesitated. The nice thing about Arnold was that she could be truthful. ‘Appalling.’
‘Oh dear. Did your friend not appreciate your advice about the weekend to Brighton?’
June flushed. Correction. The nice thing about Arnold was that she could
almost
be truthful. ‘Er, I didn’t manage to address the matter with him. I mean her. Harriett. Other events took over.’
‘Well don’t let it trouble you June. I was just phoning to say that I saw Bridget earlier. We had a chat about the rambling weekend. Bridget said there’s plenty of room for you and Ralph. She’d like to know if you’re definitely up for it so she can let the boarding house know.’
June hesitated. How to mention money? ‘Is it expensive?’
Arnold chuckled. ‘This is The Old Cumbrian Boarding House. Not the Ritz. Think youth hostel. Very basic but extremely cosy. Wholesome meals but cheap. Bangers and mash. Fish and chips. That sort of thing. You’re looking at fifty quid all in plus a tenner towards the mini-bus.’
June heaved a sigh of relief. ‘In that case Ralph and I are definitely coming.’
‘Excellent. I’ll let Bridget know right now. I’ll say good-bye so you can have your chat with Harriett.’
‘Er, yes. And thank you Arnold. Thank you very much.’
June hung up the phone. She smiled to herself. A weekend with new friends! And one of them was Arnold. How very nice.