Settling

David Stedman

Description

Tony Ballard has been married for forty years. He is haunted by the knowledge that he never loved his wife and settled for a relationship less fulfilling than he truly desired. He was unwilling to walk away from his marriage, not least for the sake of his two daughters. He has run a successful business with which he is now bored. Tony has accepted that this is how his life will remain until the end of his days. Tony's wife dies suddenly. Although grieved, Tony's overriding guilty emotion is suppressed excitement that he is now free to reshape his life. He is puzzled, however, by an apology spoken to him by his wife on her death bed. Tony sets out to change everything about himself. He is determined to find love before it is too late. Tony joins an internet dating agency. His search for new love, and attempts to rejuvenate his appearance, upsets his distant relationship with his two grown up daughters. Tony's self-absorbed behaviour also leads to other family secrets emerging, which further causes Tony to doubt the foundation of his adult life. Then an unexpected discovery leads Tony back to the past and the unsatisfactory nature of his marriage is reinforced by a shocking revelation. Tony attempts to resolve his relationship with his family but is it too late? Is the emotional damage too severe? Was his wife as loyal as Tony always assumed? Will Tony find real love? A surprise confrontation leads to an unexpected resolution.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 avril 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780886114
• Langue: English

Extrait

Settling
David Stedman
Copyright 2012 David Stedman
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador 9 Priory Business Park, Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp, Leicestershire. LE8 0RX Tel: ( 44) 116 279 2299 Fax: ( 44) 116 279 2277 Email: [e-mail] Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
ISBN 9781780886114
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Contents
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1
Having watched the coffined body of his wife of forty years consumed by the fires of Mortlake Crematorium, Tony Ballard walked out into the autumn sunlight with a sense of jubilation and release. His old life had been swept aside, a new life suddenly within his reach. It was a reaction that flooded his being with longing but also with intense guilt.
He stood alone beside the weeping willows, separated from the group of family and friends. The misty air was still, as if the city was holding its breath.
He looked at the order of humanist remembrance, squinting through eyes misted by time but not tears. He could not read past the first two lines:
SUSAN MAY BALLARD BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER
He became aware of soft footsteps moving towards him across the grass. A consoling arm was placed around his shoulders. It ll soon be time to leave, Brian Wickes said.
Tony Ballard did not look up. He could not drag his eyes away from the name of his late wife.
Time to leave her, Brian said. I m sorry, Tony. I know how much you loved Susie.
I didn t, Tony whispered.
Brian s tone of voice betrayed his confusion as he replied: What do you mean?
I didn t love Susie, Brian.
You ve had a rough time these past few days. You re upset. Of course you loved Susie.
No, Brian . . . I settled.
Brian was unsure how to respond.
Beloved wife and mother? Tony said. On the day of her funeral I deny that I loved her and her youngest child doesn t even show up. Susie deserved so much better and yet, just before she died, she apologised to me.
Apologised? What for?
I don t know, Brian. I didn t understand it.
What did she say?
It doesn t matter. I shouldn t have mentioned it.
I ll leave you to your thoughts, Brian said. We ll be over by the flowers. When you re ready.
Brian walked back to the group of mourners and said to his wife: Tony s taking this badly. He said something odd. Go and talk to him.
Why me? Prudence asked.
Because you re his sister, Brian hissed. Isn t that reason enough?
We ve never been close. Tony won t want me for comfort.
Brian turned away in exasperation. Maureen, standing close enough to have overheard, said briskly: I ll go. She walked across the lawn and called out: Dad
Tony started as Maureen s voice smashed through his reverie.
Come on, dad, she called, ever efficient, ever practical, ever in control, even at her mother s funeral. She arrived at his side, sensible grey overcoat fastened to the neck, neat black hair styled for practicality not aesthetics. She asked: Are you alright, dad? Uncle Brian said that you said something odd.
Tony turned to face her. Don t take any notice of Brian. You know what he s like, always worrying, always fearing the worst. It s his job. I m bearing up. Are you okay?
Yes, Maureen replied. Her pale drawn features betrayed otherwise. I suppose it s the job I do. I suppose I m more used to these situations than most.
These situations? Even when it s your own mother?
Maureen did not answer. She took her father by the arm to lead him back towards the other mourners. Maureen s silence was uncomfortable. To soften his implied criticism, Tony said: You ve been an enormous help these past few days. I m very grateful.
Don t be silly. I m your daughter. It s my duty. Come on, both feet forward.
They joined the other mourners grouped around the floral tributes laid out along the cloister walkway. The conversation was subdued and uneasy, more so when they noticed that Tony had rejoined them. No-one was weeping. Brian was red-eyed and pale but his emotions were under control.
Lovely lot of flowers, Tony, Prudence said.
Yes, everyone s been very kind.
What did you think of the ceremony? Brian asked. His eyes were raw and watery, his tall spare frame awkward in a Burberry trench coat one size too large for him.
I was pleased, Tony replied. It was tranquil and respectful. The officiant was excellent. She has an expressive reading voice.
The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended.
The mournful words came floating from the chapel through the cold misty air and prodded Tony with another frisson of guilt. Perhaps I should have given Susie a Christian send-off instead of humanist.
I thought it was a lovely ceremony, Prudence said. I remember Coronation Street a few years ago when someone chose a humanist ceremony for his wife and everyone disapproved. There was quite a to-do about it in the Rovers.
Brian said: Playing that pop song as we were leaving was a bit of surprise. I m not sure it was appropriate, Tony.
Believe me, it was. Susie would have enjoyed it. Grease was her favourite film. She made me sit through that damn film a dozen times. Hence our youngest daughter s name.
A brief uneasy silence as everyone contemplated the unexplained absence. Then Brian said: Why did you go for the humanist? I thought Susie was a believer.
Not so much lately. What happened to her father challenged her faith and what she went through herself at the end. I couldn t abide the thought of all that Christian caterwauling and mumbo-jumbo.
Brian shook his head. Only you could dismiss the Book of Common Prayer, the English Hymnal and the glorious language of the King James Bible as caterwauling and mumbo-jumbo .
Glorious language and beautiful poetry doesn t make it true or worthy of a lifetime of belief, Brian.
Lawrence Minchin said: I agree. I deal with the human body day in and day out. It s a machine that needs to be properly maintained and tinkered with occasionally, sometimes drastically. Prayer is pointless, there are no miracles, no God to intercede for us. For better or worse, our ultimate fate is mostly in our own hands or the hands of the skilled physician.
I m sure Susie would agree with that, Tony said, failing to keep a sarcastic tone out of his voice.
I m sorry, Tony. I didn t mean to imply that . . .
Dad knows you didn t mean anything, Maureen said. She took her father to one side and whispered: The doctor says that if you need anything to help you sleep or settle down, let him know.
Can he prescribe a new wife?
Don t, dad.
A bottle of scotch then?
The doctor, understanding that he was being talked about, looked over and, with a self-satisfied smirk, winked encouragingly.
Maureen said: The doctor s treatment will do you more good than swimming in whisky. Both feet forward now. Her favourite expression, another affected annoyance that buzzed around her conversation like a wasp at a picnic.
I m sorry, Maureen. Please tell Lawrence I appreciate his offer.
Tony longed to be alone.
Someone was crying. A child. Everyone looked around. Maureen s ten-year-old son was being chased around the lawns by his older brother. The doctor walked over, shush-shushing as he went, to find out what was causing the commotion.
Tony said to Maureen: I warned you it wasn t a good idea to bring them to your mother s funeral. They re too young.
They have to learn that life is not all game pods and i-boys. Life is a hard business. They have to face that fact and learn about reality at sometime in their life.
Yes, but it s too soon. They adored their grandmother. This is too much for them.
The experience will do them good in the long run.
Her boys were now urchin wrestling on the wet grass, funeral outfits soaked, combed hair in disarray. Their father was attempting to prise them apart.
Maureen said: I ll go and help the doctor and see what s wrong with those two.
Tony and Brian were alone together.
The doctor , Tony said. The doctor and the Nag, what a great parental team. I fear for those two boys.
Ssh, Tony, Brian said. That s no way to talk about your daughter, especially not at Susie s funeral. It s not seemly.
Susie can t hear me. You re the only one I say these things to. I know you won t repeat what I say. At least, you never have since you were deluded enough to marry my air-headed sister.
Your air-headed beautiful sister, Brian said. She still is.
There s no doubt she s the looker out of the two of us.
They looked at Prudence. Her eyes were closed, face turned up towards the warming sun with an expression of vacuous serenity, trim figure hidden beneath a pink belted pea coat entirely inappropriate for the occasion. If grief had touched her then it had left no outer mark.
Their contemplation was disturbed by Maureen s voice loudly berating her children. The doctor was motioning her to calm down.
I don t understand what Maureen sees in that man, Tony said. She defers to him, hangs on his every word, accepts everything he says as gospel. He looks like a smug Neanderthal and she s even taller than him. And referring to him as the doctor is a bloody silly affectation.
I hope Maureen doesn t realise how much you dislike him.
No, I bite my tongue. I hope they don t start inviting me t