Duplicity Page 22

  He bought his Spartan lunch at the little delicatessen a few doors along the street, and strolled into the small island of green grass which passed as a place of recreation for many of the men and women who worked in the area. As he unwrapped the tuna baguette and unscrewed the top of his Coke, he began to plan what he would say to the Head Cashier; how he would explain his request for a transfer. He would have to wait until he was absolutely sure of his ground, sure that there were no black marks against him. He didn’t think there could possibly be anything, but maybe Tony Riley had concocted a revenge of some kind for the imagined rebuff of his sister. He’d been mad enough.

  It took almost a week for Roddy to pluck up enough courage to ‘beard the lion in his den’, and although there had been no accusations or criticisms raised against him, he was so nervous that his stomach was churning as he tapped on the door. At the loud command to enter, he turned the handle and walked in.

  The man sitting in the leather executive chair looked over his horn-rimmed glasses.

  ‘It’s young Lewis, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Can I speak to you for a minute, please?’

  The bushy eyebrows went down. ‘I presume you can speak to me, but the question is - may you speak to me?’

  His face scarlet, Roddy stammered, ‘I-I’m s-sorry, sir -that’s what I meant. Please may I speak to you?’

  With a twinkle in the tired blue eyes, the brows lifted. ‘You may, but remember that I like my staff to talk in perfect English - it is easier for everyone concerned, especially if dealing with clients from foreign climes. Just say whatever it is that you have to say.’

  The planned, well-rehearsed speech vanished from the boy’s mind, but he went on, doggedly, ‘I feel that I have … much to offer the company, but my present position …’

  ‘You think that you deserve promotion?’

  The smile lurking at the corners of the other man’s mouth gave Roddy the boost he needed. ‘Well, yes sir, I do. I’ve been here for well over a year now, I’m nineteen and I’m still only a junior.’

  ‘The problem is, Lewis, that there is no vacancy available here at present, or likely to be in the foreseeable future. I do agree, however that you are worthy of promotion. Perhaps—’ The chief clerk tapped his desk as if hoping for inspiration, and then smiled. ‘Would you be interested if I suggested a transfer to another branch? Or is there a young lady - the real reason for your rebuttal of young Riley’s sister - who makes you want to remain in Liverpool?’

  ‘There is nothing to keep me here.’ Roddy could scarcely believe that it would be so easy. ‘I’ll be happy to go wherever you send me … sir.’

  ‘Distance no object?’

  ‘Distance no object, sir.’ The farther away the better, came the thought.

  ‘I must say I admire your spirit, Lewis, although I am rather inclined to believe that you need to extricate yourself from the situation in which you find yourself. No matter! I will find out if there is a suitable vacancy anywhere in our numerous branches, and let you know as soon as I can.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Turning, Roddy walked out as confidently as his trembling legs would carry him. He had been astonished that the Big Boss knew about Boppy Riley, and guessed that it had got round the whole staff. It was much better that he got away from here. Of course, it could take weeks or even months, but he’d been battling against his only real problem for well over a year now, and he was quite prepared to wait a reasonable amount of time to make the break from it. He would have to be careful to avoid bumping into Tony Riley, of course, and he’d have to spin some story to his mother about why he couldn’t come home. Telling her by letter that pressure of work meant that he was having to work every Saturday and Sunday would probably be the most believable, and though he hated having to lie to her, it had to be done.

  That evening, after dining with two of Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s other boarders, he went back to his second floor room to compose the fatal missive. He tore up several attempts - too long-winded, too abrupt - and over two hours passed before he was satisfied. He longed to tell Dilly the true explanation for his transfer, but she knew how he felt, and would surely understand.

  Chapter Eight

  Frank Milne was becoming rather worried about his wife. She hadn’t been her usual cheery self for weeks, although she flatly denied that anything was wrong with her.

  ‘It’s just old age creeping up,’ she had said, quite sharply, when he asked her.

  ‘Sixty-two isn’t considered old nowadays,’ he had pointed out.

  ‘You’ve always got to get the last word,’ she had snapped.

  He had been sorely tempted to point out that it was usually the other way round, but she would only have been more annoyed with him. It seemed he could do nothing right.

  They were sitting by the fireside one evening a few weeks later when he noticed that the hands holding the knitting needles were shaking, that the stitches were slipping off. His heart in his mouth, he said nothing for a moment, noticing that her lovely hair, silver now, had not been combed, that her mouth was sagging to one side, and remembered reading an article in the newspaper some weeks ago giving the warning signs of a stroke. That had mentioned sagging at the mouth, shaking hands, and extreme tiredness for some days before. It all fitted! And it had also said, it had to be treated as soon as possible.

  ‘I’m off to the loo,’ he told her, hoping that his voice hadn’t betrayed his fear. He did go upstairs, but instead of going to the bathroom, he went into their bedroom, dialled 999 and asked for the ambulance service. The urgent tone in which he described his wife’s condition was enough to convince the telephonist that this was no hoax.

  Only fifteen minutes later - fifteen interminable minutes of holding her hand to reassure her - the two paramedics rang the bell, and it seemed to Frank, only five seconds later, he was sitting in the ambulance praying that his wife would still be alive when they reached the hospital.

  She was whipped away from him then, while he had to give the desk the details of her date of birth, their GP and answering all the other questions that they asked. Then he was shown to a waiting room where he would have to remain until someone came to tell him all was well … or not. But it had to be all was well, Frank told himself. He couldn’t go on if Helen died. He’d have nothing left to live for.

  After what seemed like hours, but only thirty-five minutes by the clock on the wall, a young nurse came in with a cup of tea. ‘Any news?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry, nothing yet. She’s your wife, is she? I’m sure she’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  She scurried out, leaving him annoyed that he hadn’t thanked her for the tea. He was so worried about Helen, everything else went by the board. He couldn’t think straight.

  There had always been just the two of them. They had both wanted several children, but they hadn’t been so blessed - just one son. That was why she liked being around kids, the Lewis twins, for instance. It must be ten years at least since they had lived next door, but she still spoke about them, wondered what they were doing. She had a heart of gold, and although she hadn’t said so, he knew she had been hurt that Roselle and Brian had gone without ever telling them they were going. Especially Roselle.

  If he only knew where to get hold of her he would let her know about this. If she could come, it would mean the world to Helen. It could even mean the difference between life and death. Oh, God, no! He shouldn’t think about death. Helen wasn’t going to die.

  He studied the clock now. The second hand touched every mark on the little dial at the side, the big hand clicked when it passed every mark, the little hand didn’t move, but he would see it moving if he watched long enough. Twenty-four minutes, four seconds, past ten. It had just been about quarter to nine when they left the house.

  Frank fully believed that he hadn’t fallen asleep,
but he was startled when a woman walked in and sat down a few seats along, and the clock showed a quarter to five. He was too confused to notice the seconds.

  Pulling himself together, he said, ‘Hello, did you come in the ambulance with somebody?’

  ‘Aye, it’s my man. Is it your wife that’s in?’

  ‘She’s had a stroke.’

  ‘So’s my Davey. Have you been here long?’

  ‘Since about twenty-five past ten.’ ‘Oh, my God.’

  Thankfully for Frank, the staff nurse came to escort him to the ward, where a white, wild-eyed Helen was lying. ‘Can I go over and touch her?’ he asked.

  ‘You can go over and speak to her, but just a few words. She’s not quite …’

  An icy band gripped his chest. ‘Is she … going to recover?’

  ‘She should, but she’ll never get back to normal, I’m afraid. She could regain her speech to a certain extent, but she is paralysed down her right side at the moment. That should ease with exercises, but she’ll have to persevere with them when she gets home. You’ll have to look after her, and do things for her, and be prepared for her to be angry with you. Do you think you can cope with that?’

  ‘I’ll cope with anything if it means I’ll still have her with me.’

  He approached the bed, ‘Hi, Helen,’ he said, brightly, ‘it’s me.’

  The look in her eyes did not change, and it dawned on him that she didn’t know him.

  ‘It’s Frank’ he said softly. ‘You gave me a right scare.’

  Still no recognition, and his arm was touched by a young nurse. ‘It’ll take a while, but she’ll be a bit better tomorrow. Go home now and get some sleep.’

  ‘Will she have to be in here for a long time?’

  ‘It depends. Younger people can usually get out much quicker than the elderly, but it’s difficult to say.’

  He gave his wife’s hand a light pat, but there was no sign that she felt it, and he left the ward with a heavy heart. Walking towards the exit, he realised that once again he had no means of getting home. It was too early for any buses to be running and too far for him to walk now. As he passed the desk, the girl said, kindly, ‘Would you like me to phone for a taxi?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ A horrific thought struck him. ‘Oh, I didn’t take any money with me.’

  ‘The driver’ll likely wait till you go into your house to get some.’

  ‘OK then.’ He was pleased that she hadn’t insulted him by asking if he could afford a taxi. That would have been the last straw.

  Roselle was rather hurt by the way Roddy seemed to be happy to work overtime when he could be home with his family. ‘I think there’s more to this than he lets on,’ she remarked to her husband when they went to bed. ‘He couldn’t know that he’d be working weekends for months on end. It seems a poor excuse.’

  Brian pulled a face. ‘He’s maybe got a girlfriend. You should be pleased about that.’

  Her face brightened. ‘You think that’s what it is? Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I would say so, but we’d better not say that to Dyllis. Just let things drift on the way they are. She’s been speaking quite a bit about this new manager they’ve got.’

  His wife nodded. ‘Ah, well, fingers crossed. She’s nearly twenty and she’s never had a boyfriend, but maybe this, um, Mr Richardson I think she said, maybe he’ll be the one for her. Love isn’t particular when it strikes - nor where.’

  With a sinking feeling, she realised that she could recall nothing of how she and Brian had met, or when they had fallen in love. These were the memories that every woman held most precious to her, and she had lost track of them altogether. For ever.

  Roselle’s views on love returned to Brian as they were watching television later. The lovebug certainly hadn’t been particular where or when it had bitten him. His first sighting of her had been the catalyst for events over which he had had no control, culminating in the unenviable, ongoing predicament which still more or less overshadowed his life, and from which he could see no way of extricating himself. To be honest, he was quite relieved that Roselle could remember nothing of it, and if Fate were kind, their children need never know, either.

  Dyllis had no idea that her parents were plotting her life for her. She, too, had been hurt that Roddy preferred to work overtime to coming home to see her. Of course, he had once said that he would keep away from her because their love was illegal, but she had never thought he would actually do it. She hadn’t seen him for nearly three months now, and why should he punish her like this when she couldn’t help falling in love with him? Plus, he had always said he loved her, too, and if that were true, he was punishing himself as well as her. She couldn’t understand it.

  It was the following morning that the letter arrived for Roselle, devastating all of his family, although Roddy himself seemed to be excited about being sent to New York at a moment’s notice.

  ‘It’s promotion for me,’ she read aloud, ‘and I have to leave tomorrow or somebody else will get the chance. It’s a step up the ladder, with a raise in salary and the promise of further promotion if I work hard. It’s something I’ve been hoping for, but I never dreamt I’d be as lucky as to get to New York. It breaks my heart that I won’t get time to come home before I leave, but, cross my heart and hope to die, I will write regularly to let you know how I’m doing. Love to all.’

  Love to all? Dyllis thought forlornly, as her father drove her to work. It was a bit offhand, wasn’t it? But later, sitting at her computer, it dawned on her that Roddy couldn’t really have singled her out as the recipient of his love. Although he knew how she felt about him, he was doing the right thing as far as he was concerned, and it probably was the only thing he could do. He’d had no intention of setting the cat among the pigeons by taking her away with him, and he must have asked for this transfer to America to get away from temptation. It just seemed a bit insensitive.

  ‘Cheer up, Dilly, it’ll never happen.’

  She looked up in surprise to find one of the other typists regarding her in some concern. ‘What’ll never happen?’ she frowned.

  ‘You sighed just now like you had the worries of the world on your shoulders. If there’s anything I can do to help …’

  ‘I’m fine, Trace.’ Her conscience reminded her that Tracy Little had grown up with them, had been in the same class at school. ‘Well, Mum had a letter this morning from Roddy. He’s being transferred to New York.’

  ‘But …’ The girl hesitated, then went on, ‘I forgot you were twins, so I suppose you’ll feel it more.’

  ‘It was a bit of a shock, but I should be used to him being away from home. He’s been in Liverpool for over a year now.’

  ‘I suppose he got home now and then from there, though. I can understand why you’re upset about him going so far away. Mind you, I’d be delighted if my pest of a brother was sent as far away as that. At least I’d be able to have a shower without him yelling that he needs a shower as well as me. You know, I sometimes think he’d like to see me in the altogether.’

  Dyllis had to laugh at that, too. ‘Oh, Trace, you’re a real tonic, and you’re right. A brother’s just a pain in the neck.’

  But it wasn’t her neck that was aching. It was her heart, and she would have to learn how to control her feelings, otherwise her parents would realise the truth. Then the shit would hit the fan with a vengeance. She shook her head at her stupid thoughts. By this time, Roddy would be thousands of miles away from her, and they would have to get used to a life without each other.

  Her sigh of resignation was so loud that the man on his way past her stopped. ‘Is something wrong? Miss Lewis, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Richardson. Dyllis, and nothing’s wrong, really; just me being silly about something that’s happened.’ ‘Something in the office?’

/>   ‘No, no! Something in my family, and honestly, it’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s not nothing, I can tell that. Look, I was on my way to have some lunch, and I’d be glad of some company, if you’d care to join me?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t. What would people think?’

  ‘People always think something. Let them think what they like. Go and get your coat, and I’ll meet you downstairs.’

  By the end of the next hour, Dyllis felt much better. Mr Richardson had been good company, not snooty or anything like that. Just ordinary, with a sense of humour that appealed to her, and his eyes - striking blue eyes - crinkled at the corners when he laughed. His light brown hair was brushed back immaculately, but halfway through their meal, a wayward tress flopped down on to his forehead. It made him look younger. He must be in his thirties, she guessed, but he could pass for twenty-five now.

  He broke into her assessment of his age. ‘I suppose it’s time we were getting back to the grindstone, Dyllis. You don’t mind if I call you Dyllis?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mr Richardson.’

  He did not tell her his Christian name, but of course he wouldn’t, she told herself. This was a one-off, very enjoyable, lunch together, only because he’d felt sorry for her. That was it. No more. Finis. And so be it!

  Despite her reasoning, she did feel a little peeved that he didn’t walk back to the office with her. ‘I have an appointment at two at the Exhibition Centre at the Bridge of Don,’ he said by way of an explanation, as he turned into the car park. ‘Thank you for being such an interesting companion.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Richardson. I usually just have a sandwich.’

  ‘We must do it again sometime.’

  Her steps were light as she ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the lift, and the change in her expression made Tracy say, ‘Well, what happened to you that brought the stars to your eyes?’