ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE).. ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG

‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Fourteen

It’s a question of paternity. Or, maybe not …

“Yes, all I know is that my biological mother died and my father was broken hearted. He knew he couldn’t cope with a baby and that’s why I was put up for adoption.” Julie seemed to have developed a lisp in order to tell her story. She gazed deeply into Simon’s eyes. Liz shifted her chair closer in order to hear these revelations. It didn’t sound like Simon at all. The broken-hearted bit anyway. She didn’t know he’d been married in the past, before Stella. They all knew she was very much alive.

Julie carried on: “I was adopted by a rather elderly couple. They had a son, but after him they’d been unable to have any more children. They were wonderful and I loved them dearly. But I always knew my father was there in the background, thinking of me. I always received presents at birthday and Christmas. Expensive presents, usually unsuitable, but nevertheless, the thought was there. It always upset my adoptive parents, but I suppose that was because they didn’t want me reminded all the time that biologically, I wasn’t theirs. Thank you, Dad.” She looked expectantly at Simon. Everyone did.

He stuttered out something that sounded (to Liz, if not to anyone else) remarkably like a mumbled plea for a smoke. That seemed to satisfy everyone and a collective sigh went up. Liz moved closer. Hero-Hugh gave her a small, sad smile. He must have been caught up in the pathos of it all, or maybe he was reflecting on all kinds of past hopes.

“My parents both died last year. There was a break in, an attempt to kidnap me. Father tackled the intruders. He had a heart attack and died. Mother faded away after that and so I lost them both. In the space of a year.

“Shortly after that I received a piece of paper, just slipped under the door. All it said was, ‘Malvern Road, Bristol’. I was so sure it was a clue as to where I could find my real Dad. He must have put it under the door knowing I was alone in the world by then.”

It was no good. Liz couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Why didn’t he knock on the door, then? Why the mystery? Why didn’t he just say hello instead of stuffing bits of paper under the door? And what about your brother?”

The assembled company threw a big, black look Liz’s way. They obviously didn’t want practical matters to get in the way of a good story. There was no disguising the impatience in the “Shhhh,” directed at her. Hugh gripped her arm warningly and it made her cross. She snatched her arm away from him and his hand fell, empty, to his side. She sat there, alone, but independent, the very picture of a twenty-first century Boadicea, her trusty wolf hound by her side. Charity was welcome to him. Liz might still love him more than she’d realised, but he was still a pompous, irritating lunkhead sometimes.

Julie rattled on. “So I came here in disguise and got a room in this house and investigated all the men of about the right age in Malvern Road. I had thought it might be you, Dad, but the kidnap attempt made me certain. I am so happy.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Liz burst out. “Why the disguise? Why should the kidnap make you certain?” She did need things to be clear and straightforward.

But she didn’t always get what she wanted.

Julie was very patient. “Because it was decided at the time that the attempted kidnap of me was to do with someone trying to get at my real father, rather than anything to do with me or my adoptive parents. So the attempted kidnap, using a trunk, of my Dad today seals my conviction that he is my Dad.”

“Do you mean they tried to put you in a trunk, then?”

“Yes,” Julie said.

To which Liz couldn’t think of any argument. Simon simply must be her father. After all, they’d put him in a trunk. Now, if she’d stuck with the idea that they’d been trying to get to her father and they’d kidnapped Simon because they thought he was her father, then it might just have worked. Maybe that’s what she meant. Though why they’d want to get at her father was unclear. It was beginning to sound like a Belvedere McGuigan thriller unfolding in her breakfast room. But with fewer guns. She’d had enough.

“Well, I’m very happy for you both,” she said. “Now, I have work to do.” She ignored Hugh’s meaningful look and, getting wearily to her feet, she stomped off to her attic. She meant to get up her spreadsheets, but instead she climbed, fully dressed, into bed for an unaccustomed daylight snooze. She couldn’t cope with this anymore. She even let Moocher get on the bed. Again. Undoubtedly a mistake she would regret in the days and weeks to come as he tried to convince her that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

She didn’t have long to herself, but simply couldn’t be bothered getting out of bed when a knock sounded on the attic door. Moocher didn’t even lift his head. Poor dog — he must have been as exhausted as she was with all the excitement.

“Hello Liz, do you mind if I come in?”

“You’re already in. Bit late to ask,” she said and then felt mean.

Simon sidled in and sat on the chair in front of her desk. She levered herself up and leant against the headboard. “What is it?”

He fiddled with his watch-strap. He rolled up and unrolled his helpless tie until it resembled a lone, red-splattered ringlet. Then he settled to undoing and doing up his cuff buttons, one of which broke in half as she watched. It must be hard to be childless one second and find you’ve got a grown daughter the next.

“Come on, what is it?”

“She’s not my daughter.”

“Oh.” Why was she not surprised? She didn’t think she’d ever be surprised at anything ever again. Imagine all the surprise ripped out of one’s life. They sighed simultaneously.

“You didn’t put up any arguments that I heard,” she said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She seemed so pleased. There are not many people… in fact, I can’t think of any people, who have wanted to claim a relationship with me.”

What could she possibly say to that? She peered over the edge of the abyss that must be Simon’s sheer, bone-aching loneliness and she drew back. She wouldn’t want to explore it and she knew that if she attempted to say anything she would cry. Moocher, who was telepathic, heaved himself off the bed, padded over to the chair and laid his head on Simon’s lap. Simon stared at him and, doubling himself up to do so, leant over and hugged her dog. She’d never seen him do that before. Come to think of it she had never seen Simon touch anyone before. An unruly tear itched her cheek. She smeared it away and called down silent curses on any others thinking of joining it. Her throat ached horribly.

Finally, she creaked out, “Does it matter if she’s not your daughter if she’s so pleased at the idea that she is? Does it really matter? If it makes you both happy?”

He sat upright, and Moocher, released from the death grip he’d been in, turned around and casually climbed on the bed as though he was allowed to do it everyday. Liz knew it was a mistake. Give that dog a blanket and he’d take the four-poster.

Simon considered her idea. She could hear the cogs whirring inside his finely shaped head.

“It would matter if there really was a father waiting to hear from his daughter.”

Liz hadn’t thought of that. “On the other hand, if there was, why hasn’t he taken steps to find her?”

“He did. He made sure he had that note delivered.”

“It doesn’t make sense though, Simon. Why did he have that note delivered? Why didn’t he just deliver himself?”

“Perhaps he’s a fugitive from justice?”

Ohmigod — not another one! “Why would you think that’s a possibility?”

“Because of the kidnappings.”

Startled, she sat up even further. “You think the kidnapping of you has got something to do with Julie? I thought you thought it was all to do with Stella.”

“I did, but don’t forget the attempt to kidnap Julie, too.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of fish?” She simply couldn’t see the connection.

“It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“Yes, but you’re forgetting the similarity of operation. You’re forgetting the trunk.”

“Right. Okay. But how do we know it was her father who had the note delivered? We don’t know that, do we? How do we really know that there was a kidnap attempt on Julie and she’s not just making it up?”

“Her adoptive father died in that attempt.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Well — do you mean that it was part of a gang war or something, if Julie’s real father was a criminal?”

“It could be.”

“What about the brother? The older brother. The son of the adopting parents. Where does he fit into all this?”

“Apparently he blames Julie for his parents’ death because of the kidnap attempt and the consequent death of his father and then his mother dying shortly afterwards.”

“Hmm. I can see that. However unfair. So that’s why she’s so desperate to find herself some family again I suppose.”

“And I can understand that,” he mumbled.

She was silenced again. Almost. “Simon, why are you so certain you’re not her father? She must have some reason, other than today’s farce, for saying you are.”

He pinkened. Fascinating the way the blood slowly crept up his face. “I wasn’t married to her mother.”

Was he really as naive as he seemed? “You needn’t be married to have offspring, Simon.” God, she felt old all of a sudden.

The colour in his face darkened. He looked awfully hot. “I just know I’m not.”

“You sound so sure.”

He nodded his head vigorously, encouraging his floppy hair to cover most of his face. Where had she seen hair like that recently? It needed a cut, too. “I am sure,” he said.

This was where her natural delicacy made her refrain from pursuing what was so clearly a sensitive issue. Except that her mouth was a separate part of her. Actually, it wasn’t part of her at all. It belonged to another creature that occasionally inhabited her brain.

“Why so sure?” she asked. Yes, it was entirely beyond her control.

Simon was now purple. Quite alarmingly purple. “Because… Well, because…”

Even Moocher lifted his head to watch Simon flounder in the quicksand of his excruciating embarrassment.

“Because what?”

It all came out in a rush. “I took a vow when I was young to remain chaste until I married. And I’ve only ever married Stella.”

Naturally, Liz was gob-smacked. But she recovered quickly. “You mean you never had it off until you married Stella?” She did like things to be clear and straightforward.

“That’s what I mean.”

At least he was recovering his normal complexion.

Liz stared at him. “I thought you only married Stella a couple of years ago.”

“That’s right,” he said, studying his shirt cuff minutely, picking bits of thread from it.

“Right. Well then you can’t be Julie’s father, even if you have forgotten, um, knowing, her mother. Some chaps couldn’t tell you all the people they’d had it off with, could they?”

“Quite so.”

“So, all we need to do is find Julie’s father and make sure he doesn’t really want to be her father and the way’s clear for you to be an instant family. Have I got it right?”

“You have, but of course, he does want to be her father or he wouldn’t have sent that note.”

“I don’t think he did. It doesn’t make sense. If he had sent that note he would have gone himself. I’m sure of it.”

A little gleam of hope appeared on his face and she decided then and there that Simon would be Julie’s father come what may. But his optimism disappeared again as he had another thought, “What if we find her real father and she wants him and not me?”

“She’ll be out of luck then, won’t she, if he doesn’t want to be her father. Beggars can’t be choosers you know.” Oh, dear, that was the wrong expression to use. “Um, what I meant was that I think she’s so attached to you she’ll probably be relieved if her real father doesn’t want to be her father… If you see what she mean.”

Basically, Simon was a nice person. He chose not to remind Liz that her foot was stuck in her mouth. “Okay. How do we go about finding her real father?”

“Leave it all to me, Simon. You go and cement relationships with Julie and I’ll sort it out.”

Simon looked so grateful it made her feel as tall as that radio mast out there. At least someone had some faith in her, apart from her dog and he, originally, was a stray, a beggar with no choice. Even if her ex, all her other lodgers, all her neighbours and the entire police force didn’t have any faith in her, Simon did. And she wouldn’t let him down. She knew exactly where she would find the answers.

After Simon got clear, she ran down the stairs, Moocher so close to her heels that one day she just knew it, he would trip her up. She would go flying down and break her neck and then what would happen to him? As he prepared to do his, you’re-not-leaving-me-behind-again bit, she grabbed his lead and yelled back up the stairs: “Simon, it’s your turn to walk Moocher.” Moocher did his, I’m-going-for-a-wa-alk-nyah-nyah-nyah dance. This involved a few circles on the spot with his tongue stuck out and his ears up and then a leap onto the bottom stair where he jumped up to the next stair and back to the first one a couple of times and, if his lead hadn’t been put on by then, he started again.

Julie appeared on the stairs so Liz put Moocher’s lead in her hand. “And you can go with him. Learn where we go. You can carry the bags.” Liz handed her a bunch of poo bags and Julie recoiled. Good grief. What do they learn in school these days? They were clean ones — Liz would hardly hand her a bunch of used ones, would she? She bought them wholesale in a rather natty turquoise shade. To start with she bought patterned ones, but they were more expensive. She used to recycle supermarket bags but, disconcertingly, many of them had air holes in the bottom.

“Look, it’s quite simple. You put one on your hand like it’s a glove, pick it up with that and put it and the bag into another bag, tie the handles in a knot and then chuck it in the bin. Simple. Or you could pick it up and then sort-of turn the bag inside out and tie the handles.”

Julie looked as though she was going to throw up. “It’ll be… It’ll be warm, won’t it?” She looked at Liz piteously, but that act didn’t go down well with her. If it didn’t work for her then it wasn’t gonna work against her.

“Well, if it isn’t warm that means Moocher’s feeling extremely unwell. I wouldn’t be happy about that. So be pleased that it’s warm. Just do it quickly and you won’t notice.”

Julie looked at her hand as though it had turned into a decomposing pasty.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I expect your Dad will do it for you.” Julie brightened. “You could carry it, though, if he’s got Moocher. And with any luck you’ll have your bag snatched.” She lost her brightness. Liz sighed in exasperation and spelt it out for her: “Just think how the thief will feel when he investigates his haul.” Liz didn’t think she’d got it even then but she could hear Simon coming down the stairs so she left them to it.

Leaping over the wall to see Clive, Liz realised this was becoming a habit and wondered, briefly, what the neighbours would make of it. Not that she was going to lose any sleep over that.

There was a lot of activity in the road. People were taking advantage of the fine day to give their front lawns their first spring haircut. Why was it usually the men who mowed and the women who weeded? Many neighbours were still mourning for the untouched glory of their cars’ exteriors. Their wives busily vacuumed and dusted the interiors as though that would sort it out. She could only assume that Malvern Road featured heavily on this week’s crop of insurance claim forms but wasn’t about to ask.

Her attention was caught by the sight of a large van from a well-known store drawn up in the middle of the road. Men in natty aprons scurried around carrying heavily wrapped items into Lydia’s house. She leapt back over the wall and went to investigate. Lydia had only just had her kitchen re-done for the fifty-fourth time since she’d moved in. What now?

Lydia was out there supervising, but took the time to turn to Liz and give her a filthy look. Liz jumped back in surprise. This was Lydia? Looking at her like that? Oh, what? She advanced on her neighbour. “Blimey, Lydia, why the dirty look?”

“How do you expect me to look when you take the phone off the hook to stop me ringing you up. I’m only trying to help.”

“The phone’s off the hook?”

“It’s been engaged and now number unobtainable since I rang to tell you about the fridge door being open.”

“Has it? I had no idea.” Come to think of it, it had been remarkably peaceful with regard to the phone recently. She’d have thought, though, that in a house full of people, someone would have noticed. Lydia looked slightly mollified but then must have thought of something else because her usually slightly vague and pleasant face hardened again.

“Not only that, but I’m tired of the way you treat Simon.”

Well, strike me down with measles, Liz thought. What on earth was this all about and did she have time to find out and did she want to? Turned out she had no choice.

“You’re obviously not looking after him properly. Fancy letting him be kidnapped like that!”

“I, um…”

A couple of rather nice wooden garden benches were carried past them.

“He’s unhappy and lonely and I’m sure he’s not eating properly.”

A very nice double-seated swing arbour thing went by.

“Lydia, hang on a minute. He’s a grown man. It’s up to him how he eats.”

A couple of smaller unidentifiable parcels were carried carefully up Lydia’s path.

“It’s up to him if he’s kidnapped or not?”

The makings for a king sized bed were manoeuvred into the house and no doubt put together properly once inside. A king sized bed?

Lydia had a point Liz supposed, but that was the whole point about abduction — it wasn’t up to the victim at all. But neither was it up to Liz.

A chest of drawers, a wardrobe — matching set — a desk, a few lamps and easy chairs went by as though with a life of their own.

“I can’t run his life for him, Lydia. He’s my lodger. That’s all. My lodger.”

Lydia’s face tightened even more. “Not for long,” she stated, and turned from Liz in time to see Simon and Julie leaving the house to take Moocher for his walk. Well, more precisely, she saw Moocher leaving the house to take Simon and Julie for their walk. He was doing his I’m-the-leader-of-the-husky-team thing. “And as for that little slut,” Lydia continued. “She’s as bad.” And she stalked into her house.

What was that all about? Liz didn’t want to fall out with Lydia. She was a damned intrusive nuisance, but she was quite fond of her all the same. As Liz stared after her, she reappeared in her doorway and shouted in a most un-Lydia-like fashion: “And your dog smells too.”

That did it. She was happy to fall out with her now. She yelled: “Of course he smells. He’s an uncut male. They all smell!”

An unusual and leaden silence fell over Malvern Road and she turned very, very slowly as she realised that millions of men, furniture men, car-owning men, lawn-mowing men, were looking at her as though she’d let a centuries old, forever unspoken secret out of the bag and they were about to burn her at the stake. Her nerve broke. She pelted up Clive’s path and hammered urgently on his door, praying he would waste no time in letting her in.

Her prayer was answered. What a nice man!

Chapter Thirteen of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!

Chapter Fifteen of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ will be here next week!

All ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ chapters to read are here.

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