It Had to Be You

A whole fortnight when he’d still have to be secretive about seeing Helen. Stop it.

‘Great. That’s terrific. I’m delighted you can stay so long.’

And he was. He really was.

‘Dad, you mentioned about Charlotte. Be fantastic to see her.’

‘Yes, well. Let’s hope.’

‘Got to rush, Dad. Work.’

‘Course. Can’t …’ James’s voice began to crack again, ‘… wait to see you.’

At last the tears came. He could cry with pride for his son, but not for the death of his wife.

Philip went off to work after lunch, but offered to come back at half past seven to take James out for a meal. James accepted, and Philip looked pleased.

He was surprised to find how much he wanted Philip to stay all afternoon. He went upstairs and watched him walk down the street to his car. Philip must have sensed that he had done this, because he turned, looked up and gave a short but affectionate, almost emotional wave. This surprised James. Philip was the scientist, the reserved one, the cool one, intelligent rather than intuitive. He found himself waving back as if Philip was emigrating to New Zealand, not popping up to Cambridge for a few hours.

He went out into the airless garden, careful to be well in the shade this time, just in front of the jacuzzi, which had been cleverly squeezed into a corner right at the back of the garden. Those lovely moments in the jacuzzi, over the years, each with a G and T if it was before supper, a brandy if it was after, and, just occasionally, without any alcohol at all, it was known.

He carried the chair and table over, settled himself, opened the address book, stiffened his resolve, reached for the telephone, and dialled.

‘Yep?’

‘It’s me, Chuck. The despised dad.’

‘Oh, hi there.’

‘Is Charlotte there?’

‘Yep, she’s here.’

James’s desire to hear her voice was almost irresistible. She was probably only a few feet from the phone. It was awful not to know how she looked now, how she would sound now. But he didn’t ask to speak to her. She had to be the one to make the move.

‘I won’t ask to speak to her, but I have a message. The funeral’s at twelve-thirty next Thursday.’

James shuddered as he said those words for the first of many times. It brought home to him how final death was.

‘A week today.’

‘Yep.’

‘Got it.’

‘Listen to me, Chuck. I love my daughter very very much.’

‘I believe that, Mr Hollinghurst.’

‘Thank you. And please call me James. I feel I know you.’

‘OK. Cool.’

‘Chuck, her brother Max is coming back from Canada. They used to get on so well. The thing is, Max would just love to see Charlotte again. And so would I. And so would everyone in the family. She was a lovely girl.’

‘She still is, James.’

‘Yes, sorry.’

A pigeon, plumped up with pride and passion, was stalking a female very warily.

‘I’m so glad that she … that you think that she’s … anyway, all of us would love her to come to the funeral … We won’t be upset if she doesn’t, but we’d be so pleased if she did. She loved her mother once.’

‘She still does, Mr … James.’

‘Oh, Lord, that past tense again. Sorry.’

The pigeon made his move. The object of his desire flew away at top speed. He looked comically deflated.

‘Oh, and Chuck, you’ll be very welcome too.’

‘Thank you, James. That’s real neat of you.’

‘And at the house afterwards, for the wake.’

‘OK. Thanks. Cool.’

‘Oh, and Chuck?’

‘Yep?’

‘There’ll be no recriminations. What I mean is, she will be accepted for what she is and the past will not be dragged in.’

‘I know what recriminations mean, James.’

‘I’m so sorry, Chuck. Of course you do. And if she can’t face the house, just the crematorium would be fine.’

‘Cool.’

‘And vice versa. If she can’t face—’

‘I know what vice versa means, James.’

‘Sorry. Oh, dear, I seem to be having to say sorry a lot, don’t I?’

‘You sure do, yep.’

‘Sorry.’