Death Comes As The Beginning

DEATH COMES AS THE BEGINNING

When the phone rings at six thirty am, it is almost always means trouble.  As it did one morning when the persistent ringing forced Simon Cavendish out of a deep sleep.  “Whatever this is, it had better be good,” he grumbled, trying to break through the exhaustion barrier.

“Simon, it’s Phil.  Dad has been taken to hospital and the outlook isn’t good.  He wants to see you urgently, although God knows why.  He’s in the Royal.” And his brother hung up abruptly.

The news had woken Simon very effectively and he managed to suppress his irritation with his brother while he hurried through an abbreviated morning routine.  Shower, shave, coffee, toast, then a rushed trip to the hospital.  Room 34B, Fifth Floor took a while to find, and he presented himself to the nurse’s station, identified himself as Edward Cavendish’s son, and spoke to the attending doctor.  The news shocked him.

“We discussed Mr Cavendish’s condition with his next of kin and it was agreed to discontinue active treatment.  We are keeping him as comfortable as possible but the prognosis isn’t positive.”

“How long does he have, doctor?”

“We’re talking days, and not too many of those.”

Simon felt himself start to shake, but pulled himself together and went into his father’s room to find himself stunned by his father’s appearance.  When they had last met, about a month ago at his parents’ home, he had looked worn, but not the emaciated shell of a man lying on the bed.

“Thank you so much for coming so quickly, Simon; I worried Phil might not pass on the message,” his father’s voice crackled and gasped.

“God, Dad, I had no idea things were this bad, or I’d’ve been in touch much sooner.”

“I guess they kept it from you, son.  You know how it is.”

A deep rooted and long standing argument in the family had split it apart.  Simon had never quite understood its origins.  It had pitted Simon and his father against Phil and their mother in a bitter conflict centred on “that woman.”  Simon knew this was about his father’s sister, Aunt Emma, but his father and mother were both very evasive on the subject.  Clearly, his mother had a deep, abiding hatred for her sister-in-law, and Phil, very much his mother’s son, sided with her.

Simon had always had a positive relationship with his father; they thought alike and shared many of the same interests, but Simon could never draw him on the subject of his aunt.  Simon also knew his parents’ marriage had almost entirely disintegrated, although they stayed together in barely concealed hostility.

Now it scarcely mattered; his father was on the verge of death and the mystery seemed likely to die with him.

However, the dying man gasped out, “Simon, I need you to do me a huge favour; I need you to reconcile with your Aunt Emma for me.  I haven’t been able to do so, but I can’t go without knowing I’ve made some sort of effort, even if it is indirect, through someone else.”

“Dad, I’m sure …”

“No, Simon, I don’t have any illusions about the few days I have left.”  His stick-like arm reached to a bedside table and he handed two envelopes to Simon.  “Your letter sets out in detail the history behind the fracture with your Aunt Emma, and it also covers the main provisions of my will.  I regret to say this will probably drive a wedge even deeper between your mother and Phil, and yourself, but it can’t be helped.  I’m sure you’ll be able to look after yourself.”

“Dad, of course I’ll do everything I can to settle things with Aunt Emma, and if Mum doesn’t like it, too bad.  But how do I find your sister?”

“All in the letter, son.  Now if you will excuse me, I need to sleep.  We may not see each other again, Simon, but … thank you and … I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.  Thank you for everything; I’m going to miss you so much …”  With an immense effort, Simon held in his tears until he was away from his father’s room, but they flowed down his face as he made his way to his car.

Back in his flat, Simon tore open the letter addressed to him and noticed it had been written some three months previously.  The contents amazed him.

Dear Simon’

I’m not going to beat about the bush.  The reason for the breach between your mother and your Aunt Emma is I fathered a child by my sister.  The child, her name was Frances, by the way, had serious genetic complications and only lived for two years.  Somehow your mother found out about this; I’ve never been quite sure how.  But she became hysterical; she blamed me, naturally enough, but she became wholly antagonistic towards Emma.  She had been brought up in a rigidly moralistic household, and this revelation represented the ultimate depths of depravity to her.  I think she believed your aunt to have been some sort of “scarlet woman”.

I don’t want to justify myself too much over this.  You may know Emma and I were twins but we were separated at birth.  Our father was in the army in Vietnam and was killed three months before we were born.  Our mother was unable to care for us, and put us up for adoption.

I didn’t see Emma again until after our eighteenth birthday, and regardless of the fact we were siblings, there was an attraction between us and we consummated the relationship.  Frances was the result, but there was no way this could come into the open, and we agreed to go our own ways.  I supported Emma as much and as often as I could, but shortly after, I met your mother.

We were both lonely and I suspect we married for companionship rather than any deep affection, but you were born nine months after the wedding and Phil two years later.  Your mother discovered the truth about Emma and Frances shortly after this, and my world changed.  She refused any further physical contact and refused to even hear Emma’s name mentioned; Emma became “that woman”.

She threatened to reveal the whole story if I had anything further to do with my sister with the deliberate intention of harming both myself and Emma.  She also threatened to reveal the facts if I left her; I had become a meal ticket to your mother and our marriage became a mere facade.  Maybe I should have stood up to your mother, but I always backed off, partly out of cowardice, partly because I didn’t want to hurt Emma.  Now, maybe I can make some sort of amends from the grave.

I have made a new will, dividing my estate into five parts, one part each to your mother and to Phil, one part to Emma, and two parts to you.  This recognises you agreeing to find Emma and reconcile with her, and to provide her with any support she may need.  It also acknowledges the fury with which your mother is likely to greet this news.  I’m sorry to further deepen the rift between you and your mother, but I can see no other alternative.  I should say the size of my estate may possibly surprise you.  I’ve made a range of very successful investments over time; nothing too showy or speculative, and the result has been particularly gratifying.  You will all be the beneficiaries.

Emma became a skilful artist and has exhibited under the name of Emma Roberts.  Roberts was the name of her husband who she married some two years after Frances’ death.  I know little about him, save they had a son, Alan, and her husband shot through a couple of years later.  The last address I have for Emma is 18 Main Street, Newtown, although it’s possible she may have moved on.

Simon, the fact you are reading this letter tells me you have agreed to take on this responsibility.  Thank you so much for this, son, and please tell Emma I love her and have never stopped doing so.

Your loving father

Edward Cavendish.

Simon sat stunned after reading the letter through twice, not quite having believed his eyes on the first occasion.  So the deep dark secret was … incest.  He tried to feel angry, disgusted, sickened by this revelation, but these emotions wouldn’t surface.  Instead, he felt an upwelling of love and compassion for his father and his aunt, and a determination to build a bridge between himself and Aunt Emma and, hopefully invite his mother across.  However, his rational mind held little hope of success in changing his mother’s attitude.

Edward Cavendish died two days later, and at his wife’s insistence, a private funeral was held with invited guests only.  Simon was hardly surprised when Aunt Emma was not included.  He made an effort, suggesting it would be the decent thing to do for Edward’s sister to be invited to attend his funeral.

His mother remained adamant.  “I shall have nothing to do with that woman, and I won’t be in the same place as her.  This is a private funeral and she will not be invited.  And the death notice you had inserted in the paper identifying that woman as his sister, and without consulting me was an affront to decency.”  She turned away, indignant and resolute.  Simon reflected on the chasm between his mother’s concept of decency, which was so great no mere words could bridge it.  So he abandoned any thought of a response.

If the funeral had been stressful, the reading of the will became a nightmare, although Simon, knowing the main provisions, had been ready for his mother’s outburst.

“That woman won’t get one red cent while I’m alive,” she screamed.  “And how dare he leave Simon twice as much as Philip or me?  We’ll fight this to the full extent of the law, even if it takes all my money and all my time.”  And much more in the same vein.

However, the lawyer was made of sterner stuff.  A woman of great experience and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the law of inheritance, she came to the point clearly and unequivocally.

“Ms Cavendish, your husband was of sound mind at the time he made the will; he went to the unusual extent of having a psychiatrist certify this, knowing the upheaval it was likely to create.  You have not been left destitute, far from it, and there is another provision of the will you may wish to consider.  You have been left a lifetime interest in the matrimonial home.  At your death, the house is to be sold and the proceeds spilt equally between your two sons.

Should you attempt to sell the house prior to your decease, there is a caveat on the land title to trigger any sale proceeds which will then be divided equally between your two sons; you would receive nothing.

And as a final condition, should you choose to contest the will, the house is to be sold and the proceeds go entirely to Simon Cavendish for his own support, and any other undertaking he may wish to follow.”

The veiled reference to supporting his aunt did not go unnoticed by Simon, who smiled to himself.  But the “circus” was not quite over.  Brimming with rage, his mother turned on Simon.

“You have chosen to ally yourself with her against my express wishes.  From now on, you are no longer my son.  I wash my hands of you entirely; Philip is now my only son, and he will be my rod and my staff into my declining years.  I hope you rot in hell.”

“Your choice, mother, and your consequences.  Let me just say this publicly.  I loved my father; he was a good man.  Maybe he made a mistake or two, maybe one big one.  But I’m not in the judging business.  You claim to be a Christian and I’m sure you’ve read your Bible.  Go back and read St Luke’s gospel, at chapter six, I think—‘Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.’  Think about how your behaviour reflects your beliefs, mother.”

“Come, Philip, we will no longer stay in this nest of vipers.”  So saying, she turned and marched out of the room, with Philip trailing behind.

“I’m sorry about her behaviour,” Simon sighed, but the lawyer was unmoved.

“Don’t worry on my part, Simon; I’m not unused to such a response even though this was rather extreme.  If I may say so, she seems like the type of person who believes the world has treated her badly and wants revenge, but has never quite got it.”

Simon laughed.  “You’ve hit the nail squarely on the head; she has nurtured resentment for as long as I can remember.”

“Are you going to be okay, Simon?  This must have come as something of a shock to you?”

“Do you know, Ms Adamson, my main response is a sense almost of relief.  It’s been almost like waiting for the other boot to fall.  Now it has done so; the crash was rather loud, but at least I know the wait for a resolution is over and I can move on.  I’ll be in touch about the distribution of the assets and thank you very much for all your help.”

Simon left and walked into a cool but fine late winter’s day with the idea of spring fighting to make itself felt.  Now for the unknown part of his agreement with his father.

Locating Emma Roberts posed a few problems.  Simon drew a blank at the Newtown address; now a rental property, the occupants had no idea of who Emma Roberts might have been, but they gave him the address of the letting agent.  The agent was only able to pass on the details of the agent who had sold the property to the current owner.  The selling agent, in turn, was unable to help, save to tell him the seller had been a Mr Garton Duplessis, an entrepreneur in the field of the arts, part agent, part gallery owner specialising in minor artistic talent.

‘At last,’ thought Simon, ‘I might be getting somewhere.’

Garton Duplessis, when Simon located him, was a flamboyant, volatile man, barely five feet three inches tall, and almost as wide around.  His clothing was garish and he talked in a loud voice so quickly Simon could hardly follow him.  Eventually, Simon got the message across about needing to locate Emma Roberts and he oiled the wheels of cooperation by making a donations to what Duplessis claimed was his favourite charity, although Simon suspected this was the Garton Duplessis Benevolent Fund.

Duplessis showed Simon two paintings by Emma Roberts which, to Simon’s untutored eye, seemed really outstanding.  “Good, of their type,” Duplessis remarked, “although hardly of the first water, artistically.”  Simon ignored the condescension in his tone, thinking his aunt was blessed with real talent.

Having wheedled an address out of Duplessis Simon thought he would not be distressed if they never met again, and he set out to make a phone call to establish contact.

He rang the number Duplessis had given him which was answered by a much younger voice than Simon expected.  “Yes, could I speak to Emma Roberts, please?”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“My name is Simon Cavendish, I’m Emma’s nephew, and I …”

“You can go to hell,” the voice shouted with an overlay of venom.  “She doesn’t want anything to do with you or yours.”  The phone was slammed down in Simon’s ear.

‘Hmm, tricky,’ Simon reflected.  ‘Maybe a frontal assault will be necessary.  It’s only two thirty, so I’ll strike while the iron is hot, and try to avoid unnecessary clichés.’

Arriving at the address Duplessis had given him, Simon found a neat unit surrounded by flowers and shrubs in a block of four in a quiet suburban neighbourhood.  A knock on the door brought a young woman who must have been about his age.  “Nice,” he thought, ‘a gorgeous figure, long brown hair and warm brown eyes,’ but they turned rock hard as she looked at him.

“You’re the nephew creature, aren’t you?  I told you to stay away and …”

“No, to be strictly accurate, you told me to go to hell.  I don’t have directions for such a destination, and I wondered if you could tell me how to get there?”

“Who is it, Jill?” came a voice from within the unit.

“If you hurt her, scum, I’ll personally make it my business to see you regret it,” the young woman whispered.

“This person claims to be your nephew, Simon Cavendish and he says he wants to see you.  I told him you weren’t interested but he …”

In a rush of feet, a woman who could only have been his father’s sister charged to the door.  Her brown hair showed the first glimpses of grey, but her eyes and the shape of her face clearly demonstrated the relationship to his father.  Her smile almost overflowed her face and she opened her arms in greeting.

“Oh God, Simon, this makes me so happy.  Come and give your old aunt a big hug.”

Simon found himself enveloped in a warm, welcoming embrace, but caught sight of the young woman’s face over his aunt’s shoulder.

“Aunt Emma, I think I need to apologise to your friend.  She was protecting your interests and wasn’t going to let me take advantage of you.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t realise … This is Jill, my protector, my friend and my daughter-in-law.  She always has my best interests at heart, so please don’t be angry with her.”

“Nothing to be angry about, Aunt Emma; like you say, she was preventing some unknown chancer from getting to you.”

Jill gave Simon a thin smile, but she was clearly far from persuaded, and intended to monitor closely what happened between her mother-in-law and this stranger.

“Come in, Simon and let me look at you; it’s been so long.  Yes, no doubt about it, you are Edward’s son.  So what brings you here, now?’’

“Long story, Aunt Emma; you may have seen dad’s death notice in the paper.”

“Mmm, I did.  I hoped against hope I might get an invitation to the funeral, but it was clear, as usual, Emma was not wanted.”

“I guess I’m here to try to make a reconciliation between our two sides of the family, Aunt Emma …”

“Just one second, Simon, will you please do me a big favour?”

“Of course, if I can.”

“Just drop the ‘aunt’ bit—it makes me feel so old.  Just Emma will be fine, although Jill prefers Em.  I’m happy with either.”

Simon grinned.  “I think you are one of those lucky people who is only ever as old as they feel.  And right now I’d be willing to bet you feel about twenty five.”

Emma giggled in reply.  “Ooh watch out for this one, Jill; he has a silver tongue.  Smooth, very smooth.”

“Don’t worry, Emma, I have no intention of falling into one of his oh-so-obvious traps.”

“Emma, There’s so much I want to tell you, but I don’t want to impose myself on you and Jill.  My father asked me to give you this letter.  I swear to you I haven’t read it, although he gave me a letter, which I suspect may contain some similar information.  And he did explain the whole background to the rift in the family.  In specific detail.

Just let me say the only thing I could feel when I read about Frances was love and compassion for you both, and sadness for a little girl who only survived for two years.  I wanted to heal the rift and build a new bridge, with the faint hope my mother might be prepared to cross it.  Subsequent events suggest this will be highly unlikely.”

“Oh God, Simon, it will be so good if we can make it happen.  First and foremost, you are NOT imposing yourself on us; I’m just happier than I can say to see you.  And Jill will get over her suspicions.  Jill,” she continued, “why don’t you give Simon a conducted tour of the house and garden while I read my brother’s letter?”

Rather reluctantly, Simon suspected, Jill lead him through the house, focussing on the small studio established in the rear sunroom.  “This is where Emma works her magic,” she said.  “I’m quite envious of her talent, although she’s really generous and has given me several paintings.”

Looking closely at Simon for any hint of criticism, she continued, “I was married to Emma’s son, Alan for a few years until his persistent womanising got too much and I threw him out.  Unfortunately, he emptied our bank account and left me with nothing; we’d been renting a small house and I couldn’t keep up with the rent.

I was beside myself when Em found out and she insisted I move in with her; she can be quite determined when she wants to be.  I have a part-time job and do a lot of stuff around the house and we get on really well.  I have taken it on myself to protect her from unscrupulous sharks, of whom there are too many in the art world.”

“Including Garton Duplessis?” Simon asked somewhat ingenuously.

“Yes, especially him, although he has nurtured Emma’s talent.  Still, I’m sure she could do better.”

Just then, Emma burst into the sun room with tears streaming down her face. “Simon, thank you so much for this; don’t worry, Jill, these are tears of love and happiness.  I knew he would never forget me, even when his wife made it so very difficult for us.  So now his son is here as, let’s say, Edward’s ambassador.  Do you fancy the role of your father’s ambassador, Simon?”

“Perfect, Emma, but how does it sound to you, Jill?  Are you worried I might try to usurp Em’s affections?”

“No, but …”

Jill got no further before Emma jumped in.  “There’s not a skerrick of a suggestion of any such thing happening, Jill.  I’ve got more than enough love for you both; you’re always welcome to stay with me here and in any case, I can’t do without you.  And you, Simon Cavendish, I expect to see you regularly or I shall want to know the reason why.”

Her attempt at severity failed miserably when she couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice or off her face.

“For now, though, you will stay for tea, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Not an answer I’d ever think of giving,” Simon said, and grabbed his aunt in a bear hug.

She squeaked in pleasure, saying, “Ooh its so long since I was hugged by a handsome young man.  Now I feel like twenty again.”

Simon thoroughly enjoyed the meal, and the ice generated by Jill gradually thawed.  This, in no small measure, resulted from Emma’s warm enthusiasm and obvious desire to establish a positive relationship with her nephew.

“Emma,” Simon started as they relaxed after the meal.  “I don’t know whether you want to talk about money with Jill here.  No offence, Jill, but this is particularly personal.”

“Don’t worry, Simon, Jill can hear anything you have to say to me.  In any case, I’d tell her as soon as you’d gone,”

“Okay, here’s the deal.  Dad split his estate into five parts, each a surprisingly large sum.  My mother and Philip received one part each, as do you.  He left me two parts under strict instructions to look after you.  I think he believed you were a poor little mouse who needed special support but he didn’t realise you are actually a feisty, independent woman who not only looks after herself but also helps Jill.

So let me change the idea of looking after you.  What he really meant, I think, is for me to be a male influence in your life, should you ever need one.  I can be a resource for you if you wish, I can give you a male point of view …”

“For what it’s worth,” murmured Jill.

“Mm, yes, you may well be right, Jill.  Look, I just want you to know I’ll be here for you if you need any support.”

“What a lovely man you are, Simon,” Emma voiced her enthusiasm.  “I’m so glad you found us.  Just out of interest, I don’t want to sound too mercenary, but what do you mean by a large sum—$50,000?”

“Not really, Emma—multiply it by fifteen.”

“Oh my God, you must be joking.”

“Emma, money is one thing I don’t joke about.  You have $750,000 coming to you in the near future.”

Both Emma and Jill stared open mouthed, then fell into each others arms laughing.

Simon left later in the evening, but before he did so, Emma asked, “Are you free tomorrow, Simon; if so, I’d like to show you something?”

“Sure, Emma, consider me at your service.”

“Careful, big boy, I might take you up on your offer,” but immediately the words had left her mouth, she gasped with embarrassment.  “Oh Simon, I’m so sorry, under the circumstances what I said was really inappropriate.”

“Hey, Emma, you’re a gorgeous woman, and if you can’t indulge in a little harmless flirting with your nephew, then the world has become a very grey place.”

Emma’s smile rivalled the sun.  “Thank you so much, Simon, you know just how to make a girl feel good.”

Next day, Simon arrived around two o’clock as arranged.  Emma was dressed smartly but quietly; Jill had elected to stay at home.

“Simon, I want to show you Frances’ grave.  It’s so important to me, and I’d like to share a part of it with you.  I know your father went a few times, but I never saw him there.”

A short drive took them to the cemetery, and a short walk took them to a quiet site where a small headstone simply announced “Frances Cavendish” and the dates of her birth and death.  Then, “Taken too soon but never forgotten.”

Emma placed fresh flowers in an urn, then stood with her head bowed, remembering.  There were tears in her eyes as she turned to Simon, and he held her in his arms while the flood passed.

“Thank you, my dear, you are very kind.”

“Tell you what, Aunt Emma, would you care to visit your brother’s site, or would it be too much for you?”

“Oh God no, Simon, please, I need to say goodbye to him myself.  Oh please take me.”

The drive was a little longer, to a small community cemetery where Simon led the way to what was obviously a newly dug grave.  “I arranged the headstone myself, Emma; my mother wanted nothing to do with it, which I find hard to forgive.  Still, there it is.”

A simple polished black granite stone bore the inscription ”Edward Cavendish”, again with his dates of birth and death, then the simple words, “At Peace.”

“Simon,” Emma’s words were heavy with barely suppressed emotion, “would you mind terribly if I had a few minutes alone with Edward, please?”

“Sure, Emma; I’ll make myself scarce for a while and come back later.”

He returned about fifteen minutes later to find Emma prostrate on the ground with her arms around the headstone and with tears pouring down her face.  Simon bent and laid his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of sympathy and support and shortly after, the storm receded and Simon helped her to her feet.

“Emma, dad wanted me to tell you he loved you and always had, although I guess you already knew how he felt about you.”

Her eyes glowed with further tears, but she whispered, “Thank you, Simon, I am so grateful for this.  I needed to reconcile with my brother too, you know, and this is the best way possible now.  This and bonding with you, which has changed my life.  Really,” she emphasized as Simon looked just a little uncertain.

“Okay, Emma, if you say so, but it’s been good for me, too.  I guess we’re both winners.”

She linked her arm through his as they walked back to the car.

“Emma,” Simon enquired slightly hesitantly, “do you think Jill would be offended if I offered her some money out of my inflated kitty?  I was thinking about $50,000?”

“Damn, Simon, you took the words right out of my mouth.  I think she would be delighted, and it may be better coming from you as she might feel uncomfortable taking it out of my legacy.”

“Done, Auntie,” he laughed and she punched his arm playfully.

Returning to the house, Emma and Simon sat Jill down, her face showing surprise and a slight hesitation.

“Jill,” Emma started, “Simon has something to say to you.”

“Look, Jill, I realise now how important you have been to Emma.  I’m not sure how she would have coped without your support, and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, I’d, no, we’d like to offer you some money out of the generous legacy my father left me.  How do you feel about a few dollars, Jill?”

“I … I … well, … I wasn’t expecting any such thing.  I … it’s just so … so generous.  ”

“I think we can interpret her answer as a ‘yes’, don’t you, Simon?”

“Mm, yes, Emma.  We thought $50,000 might be a suitable figure, Jill—could you find it in your heart to accept it?”

Jill’s eyes almost bugged out of her head and her mouth worked but no sound came out. 

Simon smiled.  “Mmm, sounds like a ‘yes’ to me, Emma.  Done.  I’ll make the arrangement as soon as possible.”

Jill leapt to her feet, grabbing both Emma and Simon in a huge embrace, whispering, “Thank you.  Thank you both so very much.  Thank you; oh God, I can’t stop.”

After another enjoyable meal, Simon prepared to leave.  He gave his aunt another bear hug and a generous kiss that had her laughing with delight.

Simon was almost at the door when he heard Emma giggle. “Hey, just a minute, Simon—doesn’t Jill get one of those?”

“That depends on Jill, I guess.”

Simon’s delight was obvious when Jill blushed and pointed her finger to her right cheek.  He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“I hope I’ve dealt with the idea of me being another unscrupulous shark, Jill.  It’s been really good to meet you.”

“You, too, Simon,” Jill smiled and blushed again.

“Simon, to use an American expression, don’t be a stranger.  You are welcome here any time, and I really do want to keep in touch regularly.”  With tears starting to form, Emma continued, “You’re as good as a son to me; I know it might be a bit over the top, but …”

“I love you too, mummy,” Simon laughed as he left, hearing laughter from both his new friends.

If Simon had been able to hear the conversation after his departure, he would have been intrigued and flattered.  “Isn’t he a lovely young man, Jill?  I’m so glad he came to see us.”

“You mean, to see you, don’t you, Em?”

“Maybe, but at the end, you looked quite taken with him, right, Jill?

“I guess so, and it really isn’t just $50,000 talking.”

Emma kissed her friend’s cheek and they went their separate ways.

Simon found himself overloaded with work projects over the next few days and apart from a couple of phone calls and text messages, he had no contact with Emma.

Things changed for him late on a Friday afternoon when the phone rang and, to his surprise, he heard his brother on the other end.

“Listen, man, you’ve got to help me.”

“I see, Phil, just what sort of help do you think you need.”

“It’s mum, she’s driving me crazy.  She’s treating me like a little kid, keeping tabs on all my comings and goings and warning me not to turn out like you.  You’ve got to help me get away from her.”

“Sorry, Phil; you’ve always made it clear you supported mum against dad.  Now you’ve made your bed, you’d better lie in it.”

“God, Simon, she’s impossible.  I need my own space but she won’t let me go.  I’m tied to her apron strings.  If you’d just let me stay with you for a while, I could get onto my own feet.”

“Just how long do you think it would take for her to work out where you’d gone before she arrived here to drag you back?  No, Phil, you’re a big boy now, you’d better work out your own salvation and not drag me into it.  Thank you very much, but I’ve made my position clear so far as mum is concerned and I don’t want back into it.”

“Get fucked.” And the phone slammed down.

Five minutes later, Simon’s door bell rang, and after his run-in with Phil, any Jehovah’s Witnesses or mobile phone plan salesmen were going to get very short shrift.  With an irritable expression on his face, Simon moved to open the door.

To find Jill looking at him with some concern.  “I’m so sorry, Simon, I’ve obviously come at a bad time.”

She turned to leave before Simon stopped her.

“God no, Jill, you’re a perfect antidote to a very unpleasant phone call from my brother just a few minutes ago.  Seeing you banishes all the nasties running through my head.  Please, come in.”

Simon opened the door and watched appreciatively as she walked, sashayed rather, into his lounge.  Her long dark hair was pulled back into a tight, high pony tail, her makeup was effective but marginally understated and she wore heels and a skirt, which just (but only just) covered her knees.  Simon thought she looked a highly desirable young woman but hesitated to tell her so.

“Simon, I’m sorry to intrude, but I thought I’d better catch up with you without immediately involving Emma.”

“Is everything okay between you and Emma?”

“Oh yes, couldn’t be better, but … but I think she’s trying her hand at matchmaking between you and me.  I wanted to run the idea past you, just in case you were really offended, so I could tell her to back off.”

“Jill, do you want her to back off?”

She blushed.  “No, not really.  I think I’d rather like to, well, spend a little time with you, if you’d like to.”

“Jill, I can think of very few things I’d rather do—except maybe this.”  So saying, Simon moved across the room and wrapping his arms around Jill’s waist, kissed her gently but firmly.

Jill broke the kiss briefly and looked deep into his eyes.

“Mmm, I agree completely,” she said, and returned the kiss with interest.

“Maybe if things go according to her plan, Emma will have a daughter-in-law and a niece-in-law all rolled into one,” she laughed.

“I can certainly live with such an idea,” Simon responded, and their kisses deepened entirely to their mutual satisfaction.

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