Masters And Lovers 3

Simone Leigh

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Chapter 2

Michael

James rolls the razor over the line of jaw to neck, angling in the mirror to see the result.

“You’ve got it all,” I say. “Bloody nuisance for you having to shave as often as you do.”

He harrumphs, then, “Maybe I should grow a beard.” He looks himself left then right in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s not my opinion you should ask.” I cock my head towards the door.

“Mmmm.” He runs a finger from chin to ear, sucking in his cheeks. “How is she?”

“Pretty hyper. I’m beginning to wish I’d not told her about the address; checked it out first myself. I could easily have found a different Christmas gift if I tried… If we get there and don’t find anything. If her mother’s moved or died…”

“Worst scenario…” says James, “No-one’s heard of her at all. No-one knows anything. Anything else is at least a step forward.”

“Yes, but that’s really why I wanted you to come along too. If it’s bad news, I can’t drive and hold her hand too…”

Charlotte bounces into the room. “I’m ready when you are.”

I look her up and down. “Have you just changed your clothes?”

“Er… yes. First, I thought I should go dressed in my best. Then I thought it might look a bit odd, wandering around a strange neighbourhood like that. So I changed into jeans, then I thought, if we find my mother, I should look nice and then…”

I step forward, tug her to me by the waist. “Charlotte, you would look ‘nice’ if you dressed in an old carpet. If we find your mother, how you’re dressed is the least of what will be happening.”

Her eyes fall. “If…”

“Yes, it’s still ‘if’. The address was old. Even the police file made it clear that they didn’t know what had happened or where she might have gone from there.”

“I know.” Her words are tight, constricted. “But I’m just hoping that…”

I tilt up her chin. “I know what you’re hoping, but with the best will in the world, this is almost certainly just a fact-finding mission. I did a lot of searching through old files just to get as far as I did.”

She nods against the pressure of my finger then, “Michael?”

“Mmmm?”

“Whatever happens, whatever we find, thank you.”

I press my lips to hers. “My pleasure.”

*****

“My car?”

“If that’s alright with you.” James pats his thigh. “Given the distance, it would be easier if you were driving.”

“Fine.” I turn to check Charlotte’s not in earshot. “The pair of you sit in the back seat. I don’t need a navigator and I’d rather her be close by you.”

They sit together, he with an arm wrapped around her while she just stares out of the window. Occasionally our eyes meet in the mirror.

*****

“This is it?” Charlotte stands, staring around, looking lost.

To one side; a car park, huge, able to take hundreds, perhaps thousands of cars. To the other; a hypermarket, DIY and white goods stores, acres of sheet glass displaying computers, TVs, household goods, clothes…

The acreage is vast. The retail park perhaps ten years old. No trace remains of what it replaced.

James stands beside her, a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” I say. “But we won’t give up. We’ll keep looking.”

She nods, her face screwing up with suppressed tears, then she gets back in the car.

*****

Muffled in scarves and gloves, Ben and I seat ourselves on a couple of old tree-stumps. Despite James’ stated wish…

Order…?

… and my own agreement, that Ben not be permitted to visit our home any more after charging in and ruining Charlotte’s birthday, since he chose to apologise, I’ve stretched a point by letting him back while James and Charlotte are not here.

And I need the help…

Beside us, another huge pile of brush, scrub, weeds and brambles awaits the bonfire, vibrating in the slight breeze. So early in the year, the light wind bites at ears and nose, gnaws at fingers.

Why do noses go red and fingers go white…?

Ben cups hands around his mug. As ever, the soup is excellent. My chef really knows how to turn out the right meal for the weather. Ben sniffs at steam fragrant with sage, thyme and who-knows-what-else, gulps down a mouthful and smacks his lips. “Good stuff.”

“So it is. Sally knows her job.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll give you that one.” He nods out over the area we just cleared, now hacked down to a few inches clear of the ground. His patchwork of a mongrel terrier, Scruffy, digs with industrial-grade ferocity in one corner. “What’s next? That need digging over? More veg patches?”

“No, that area’s going to be grass, so it just needs mowing. But the old out-buildings on the far side…” I wave across the stubbled earth… “… Some need demolishing. Some I want to fix up. Now I can get at them without needing a machete every time, we can give them the once-over and decide what’s usable.”

“Good idea.” He stands, wandering over, measuring the collection of dilapidated sheds, shacks and ramshackle stables by eye. “Any thoughts on what you’ll be doing with them?”

“Charlotte spent time on a farm when she was younger. I know she was happy there. I thought she might like to keep some animals.”

“Yeah?” He peers through an opening, the rotted remains of the top half of a stable-door hanging by a single hinge, then twists to look up. “Stonework’s sound, but the roof timbers have had it. And the shingles.” He digs a thumbnail into the door-frame. “Woodworm have had most of this.”

He stands back again, casting around at the hotchpotch of buildings. “It reminds me of that old place at McAlister’s. You know, where we use to play when we were kids.”

“Lying in wait to rob apples from his orchard, you mean?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, we did, didn’t we. Hey… you remember that day when he spotted us and he was white-washing his walls…”

“How could I forget it? It was me he threw the bucket over.”

“Yes, but it was me that had to explain to Mom why I’d brought you home covered in white-wash.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Jeez, but the whupping I got that day.”

“Yes… I was never sure why it was you that got the seat of your pants paddled.”

“’Cos I was the older one. I’d taken you out and I was supposed to bring you back in one piece and without dripping paint all over the carpets…”

“We didn’t even get any of the apples,” I chuckle. Cold air gusts over me and I down another mouthful of soup. “Wonder what that place is like now?”

“A lot like this.” Ben jerks a thumb at the sheds. “I went back there one day a few months ago. Even the house is falling apart. The old man died. The kids had moved on and none of them wanted to take it on being the size it is…”

“Sell it for a hotel maybe? Like this place. Convert the outbuilding to holiday chalets or similar?”

“No, he’d left it in the will that it can’t be sold out of the family. So it’s just standing there, falling to pieces a brick at a time.”

Shame…

“Why did you go back?”

He sniffs. “Somewhere new to walk Scruffy.” He sucks down more soup. I do likewise. Then, “And… I just wanted to take a look, y’know. Happier times.”

What’s going on?

Then I dodge as Scruffy’s earth-moving changes direction and a shower of mud, pebbles and old roots splatters over my jeans.

He’s making good progress. His head down, ass up, his stub of a tail wags furiously as earth scatters behind him. “What d’you reckon he’s after?” I ask.

He sucks in his cheeks. “Rats maybe. Could easily be a burrow coming out from the sheds.”

Mmmm….

Maybe we should have a dog or two ourselves…

Scruffy’s head suddenly pops up, nose wiffling at the breeze. He trots over, sits by me and directs lasers at my soup-mug.

*sigh*

Stooping, I pour beef broth onto a flattish rock by my feet. Scruffy laps it up then moves to Ben, pointing snout, and the mole-hill now attached to the top, at Ben’s mug. He turns soft eyes on his junk-heap mutt, squatting down to offer his mug, with its last inch of soup in the bottom. Scruffy, snout pressing deep, laps it out, his tail beating double-time.

It feels good, just sharing time with my bother. Nothing really to be said… Just…

Family…

“Ben, I wanted to say thank you for apologising to Charlotte and James. It means a lot. She’s… she’s going through a tough time right now. I appreciate what you did.”

He stands, his answering smile crooked, turning sour. “How else was I going to hang on to my brother? Since it was clear you were going to side with them...”

“She's my wife, Ben.”

Change the subject…

“How's it going with Erin?”

“She's a nice girl. Everything I ever looked for...” Despite the words, his tone is gloomy. “… at least I thought so.” And there’s an edge to his voice.

Now what…?

“Just don't push it too far, too fast, eh.”

He cradles his empty mug. “I won't, and I'm not sure I want to…”

Here it comes…

“… She's a bit boring. Needy. Always wants to ask me what she should do next.”

Not another failed ‘Ben Relationship’…

“Always had the feeling you wanted the kind of girl who’d put you in charge?” I say.

“That’s what I thought too, but…”

“So… when you find the kind of woman you thought you wanted, suddenly you don't want her anymore? “

He doesn’t reply. The mug revolves between his hands.

Am I being dense?

Missing the sub-text…?

“So, what’s going wrong?”

... this time...

His face tightens, lips pressed flat.

“You’ve already split up haven’t you?”

He looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Ben’s tone grows increasingly bitter. “I thought she was a nice regular, everyday kind of girl, and it turns out she's just another fucking whore.”

‘Nice girls don’t like sex’?

Where did he get that from?

Can’t have been Mom and Dad…

Maybe I should stay well out of it…

…

He’s my brother…

“Having a libido doesn't make a woman a whore, Ben. It makes her normal. We have sex-drives. So do they.”

“Well, I made love to her, didn’t I! What more does it take?”

“Is that a real question? You want to talk about it? Or are you just blowing off?”

He squares up, his face reddening. “Oh, great… I’m supposed to come to my little brother for sex advice?”

Clearly not…

“Calm down, why don’t you. I thought you wanted to talk. If you don’t, then don’t.”

He glowers for long seconds. “Would you believe she said... She said I'm no good in the sack…”

Fuck…

“She said I was ‘too gentle’… I mean, what do I make of that? They always say women like a man being gentle with them… Don’t they?” He looks up, his eyes almost pleading.

“Ye…eess, but there’s a time and a place for ‘gentle’.”

“Come again?”

“Let’s say that if Charlotte came home saying she’d had a rough day at work, I’d put effort into giving her a rough night.”

He looks at me long, then his face twists. “That’s disgusting.”

Narrow-minded bastard you are, Ben…

But I maintain a discreet silence.

Should I have a word with Kirstie? She knows…

Maybe she’d tell me what the problem is…

It’d have to be the right moment…

The silence draws out.

“So… Erin?”

He thrusts the mug at me. “I’d better be going,” he mutters.