Chapter 15
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
A tense silence enveloped the table.
‘But, Dad,’ said Caitlin, unsure if she had heard correctly, ‘you love the business. You’re its heart. Why would you choose to walk away?’
‘This is madness,’ said Gillian. ‘Why not have a holiday and we can discuss shortening your hours—’
‘Caity’s right,’ interrupted Rachel, ‘you are the business, its soul. When you feel better, you’ll realise and will want to return.’
Larry smiled but did not respond to his daughters’ comments, instead he held up his hand to halt them.
Caitlin saw a strange expression enter his eyes, as though a cloud had passed over the sun on a summer’s day.
She nudged Lee who was beside her, wondering if her father was about to collapse again.
Lee glanced over and, as he did, she felt his fingers on her arm tracing the silver lines around her tattoos.
She shook her head, her focus was on her father, she could discuss the anomaly of the unexpected scarring another time.
When he spoke, Larry’s voice was quiet, firm and detached; he caught no one’s eye, instead he gazed out across his manicured garden as though he could see something they could not.
‘From today, Gillian and Alan will be responsible for the day-to-day running of the factory,’ he said.
‘Rachel and Pete will take on full responsibility for the distribution and haulage wing. And you, Caitlin, will continue to administer the foundation I set up in your late mother’s memory.
There are other bequests, too, but these will wait until my demise.
Whereas I once oversaw you all, you are all responsible—’
‘Dad, no…’ began Gillian, who was white-faced with shock, but Larry shook his head.
‘This health scare has woken me from my midnight slumber to express our darker purpose,’ he said, his voice taking on a theatrical edge.
‘Nothing comes from nothing and the realisation there are fewer years ahead of me than behind has given me the courage to change my life. You stare at me, your eyes wide with confusion, and wonder at my deeds, but this is an opportunity for me to do great things, to recreate my mortal toil, to roam and venture through my twilight years with freedom and courage.’
Caitlin wondered whether the others had noticed the Shakespearean quotes dotting her father’s words.
A suspicion was beginning to steal over her.
She glanced at Stan, who was holding his phone, a schoolboy smirk on his face, uninterested in the family conversation, instead he began surreptitiously texting under the table, his cheeks pink.
Rachel and Gillian looked discomfited, Pete was twitching with irritation, but Alan, George and Lee exchanged surprised looks.
‘What do you intend to do, Dad?’ asked Caitlin.
‘Tomorrow, the house will be put on the market; it’s too big for me to live in alone—’
‘Sell the house?’ exclaimed Rachel in horror. ‘But it’s our home.’
‘It hasn’t been your home for many years, Snow Rabbit,’ said Larry, but her words drew him from his reverie.
He looked around at their surprised faces and gave a wry smile.
‘Girls, you all knew this day would come; I couldn’t live here forever.
Your mother and I had been discussing downsizing before she became ill.
This is a family home and I’m an aging man. It’s time to move forward.’
Caitlin knew there was sense in his words but his announcement felt like another betrayal of her mother and her memory.
‘Will you buy a retirement home in the new development on the other side of the village?’ asked Stan who had obviously been half-listening while he texted. He placed his phone face down on the table and helped himself to a slice of lemon drizzle cake, oblivious to the tension around him.
‘No, not immediately.’
‘Where will you go?’ asked Caitlin. ‘Will you rent a property?’
Larry sipped his tea and Caitlin again had the feeling he was giving a performance.
When they had been growing up, if ever there had been difficulties or awkward situations, he had often retreated into this other-worldly version of himself, quoting famous writers and poets, declaiming and posturing, while her mother had tried to bring calm and reason to events.
‘Illness clears your head,’ he said. ‘Lying in my hospital bed with the beeping of the monitors playing their tunes of despair, ideas came to me. Wonderful images, thoughts and dreams.’
‘Are you going to go travelling?’ asked Pete.
‘No, nothing like that,’ said Larry, ‘but being forced to remain motionless, even for a week, made me realise how much I missed charging about at one hundred miles an hour all the time.’
Caitlin looked at Gillian and Rachel, and for once the three shared a united look; this was a complaint their mother had often made about their father.
He would dash from place to place, idea to idea, scheme to scheme, with varying amounts of success, always leaving a trail of good-natured chaos in his wake.
George was usually by his side, egging him on, while their two wives would roll their eyes and indulge their spouses as though they were children.
‘Waiting to be released from the confines of my room, your mother’s words came back to me, “Family is the most important thing”,’ continued Larry, ‘which is why I’ve decided that instead of buying a new home, I shall divide my time between you, my three wonderful daughters.’
‘What?’ snapped Rachel. ‘Move in with us? What about the children? Emelia and Porcelain have a very strict regime, they’d become anxious if it was disrupted.’
‘They’ll be able to spend quality time with their grandfather,’ Larry replied with a serene smile. ‘You’ve often mentioned the importance of “quality family time”.’
Caitlin glanced at Lee and swallowed her giggle. Rachel used the phrase often, usually as a reason to avoid doing things she did not like.
‘But what about if my parents come to stay?’ spluttered Pete.
‘You have three spare bedrooms and a granny annexe,’ said Alan. ‘How many rooms do your parents require?’
Pete glared at him and Rachel folded her arms defensively.
‘You’re welcome at my cottage for as long as you need, Dad,’ offered Caitlin. ‘The bedroom downstairs has an en suite, which will probably be the most suitable.’
‘Thank you, Moonbeam,’ Larry said.
‘And, of course, you’ll be welcome at the vicarage when Caitlin finally packs up her cottage, rents it out and moves in with me,’ added Stan with a touch of acerbity.
‘I thought you said it didn’t set a good impression having Caitlin move in before the wedding,’ commented Alan mildly.
‘Quite right,’ Stan replied, ‘but there isn’t long to go and plans must be made.’
‘You’re very thoughtful, Stan,’ said Larry, ‘but it feels fair to do this in age order.’
Larry beamed at Gillian, who looked startled.
‘You want to move in with me and Alan?’ she said. ‘When?’
‘Not immediately but soon,’ he replied.
‘Larry, we’d be delighted,’ exclaimed Alan. ‘Depending on how long it takes to sell this place, we could convert the old stables into a self-contained apartment for you. It’s a project we’ve been considering for a while—’
‘Alan, stop,’ interrupted Gillian. ‘Dad, this is preposterous. These are big decisions, they’re not things to decide in the aftermath of a frightening medical scare. What if you change your mind and regret selling the house?’
‘No,’ he said with a calm certainty, ‘I won’t. These are possibilities I’ve long been considering. My TIA brought things into bright clarity. “As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods, they kill us for their sport”. It’s time for change.’
Caitlin recognised the quotation and again glanced at Lee, who raised his eyebrows at her in bemusement.
‘But what will you do?’ asked Gillian. ‘You love being busy.’
‘Gillian has a point,’ said George, who had remained silent, watching his old friend with a hint of concern. ‘When your strength returns, you’ll be bored. What will you do?’
‘I shall write the play that has been forever waiting in my heart,’ Larry declaimed.
‘You’re retiring to write a play?’ asked Caitlin, but for some reason this comment caused her heart to flutter with anxiety.
‘This isn’t any play, Moonbeam, it’s my masterpiece, and it’ll be performed this Christmas by the Goldenwych Players.’
Caitlin glanced over at George who shook his head, indicating he had no idea either.
‘The rest of the creative board will have to approve it, Larry,’ he said and Caitlin could tell he was trying to inject sense and calm into the increasingly fraught atmosphere. ‘You might be the founding member of the Players but we’re a democracy.’
‘The creative board will love it, George,’ said Larry, waving off his friend’s concern. ‘This play will go down in the Players’ history as our finest hour.’
Rachel stood up, her handbag looped over her shoulder. ‘Enough of this, Dad,’ she said. ‘When you’re ready to speak sense, I’ll listen, but Bean’s right, you shouldn’t rush decisions like this, you need to calm down.’
‘Sit down, Rachel,’ ordered Larry in a voice of thunder. ‘I have another announcement. It’s why I summoned you all here today.’
‘Dad, we’re adults, you have no authority to dictate our behaviour,’ she said, but her querulous tone faltered under his steely gaze.
‘You claim to be an adult, yet you continue to accept your allowance every month, on top of the “wage” you earn for running the haulage department even though you visit the office just twice a month for a few hours,’ said Larry, glaring at Rachel, who squirmed as though she were a teenager again.
‘Sit down if you wish to continue to fund your lavish lifestyle from King’s Factories. ’
Rachel sank back into her seat, her cheeks flaming.
‘In order to benefit from the changes I’m suggesting, with the increased salaries and bonuses on top of your allowances,’ said Larry, ‘there is a condition to which you must all agree and sign. If you do not, then your allowances will be stopped with immediate effect.’
‘But, Dad—’ interrupted Gillian.
‘What condition?’ Caitlin asked, unable to shake her growing feeling of unease.
‘You will all star in my new play. All of you – Alan, Pete, Stan, you too,’ Larry said. ‘It’ll give us time together to work out our differences, heal the rift—’
‘The rift you created,’ snapped Rachel in fury.
‘And what if we refuse to take part in this ridiculous scheme?’ Stan asked, placing his phone face down on the table again and finally giving his full attention to the discussion.
Larry’s eyes narrowed. ‘You will no longer be welcome as a member of this family and I shall refuse to allow my daughter to marry you.’
‘Dad!’ exclaimed Caitlin, her temper rising. ‘You can’t choose who I marry.’
‘I can disinherit you,’ he snarled.
‘Keep your money,’ Caitlin spat back. ‘I can earn a living from the café.’
‘I’m an optician, a respected member of the community,’ interjected Pete. ‘You can’t order me to take over your haulage department and then make a fool of myself starring in your amateur dramatics group’s Christmas panto.’
‘But I can cut Rachel’s wage as well as her allowance,’ said Larry. ‘Half of which is logged as your contribution to the family business.’
‘You said that was a wedding present to welcome me to the family,’ said Pete.
Larry shrugged dismissively and a long silence grew.
Lee shifted uncomfortably in his position beside Caitlin and his father, as though taking this as a cue, said in a voice of would-be calm, ‘It’s an interesting idea, Larry, but as the girls, Alan, Pete and Stan aren’t members, they’d have to audition like everyone else.
You know the rules; we wrote them together. ’
‘No, they won’t, George,’ said Larry, his voice cold, his eyes once again taking on the shadowed appearance. ‘They have no choice, nor do the Players, because if you and the committee refuses, I’ll withdraw the funding and the Players will have to close.’
George looked as though Larry had hit him.
Larry signalled to Heather, who wheeled the attaché case to his side.
‘While I was in hospital, I rang Muldoon Solicitors and had them draw up these contracts,’ he said as Heather distributed them, looking horrified.
Caitlin stared down at the sheaf of paper. Her name was written on top and she began flicking through the pages but she could not take it in.
‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I can’t do this. You know I can’t—’
‘There will be no exceptions,’ Larry declared, cutting her off, and Caitlin recoiled at the coldness in his voice.
Gillian shook her head, her disbelief turning into anger as she too read the contract. Rachel left hers, unopened, on the table.
‘What’s the play, Larry?’ said Alan. ‘What kind of performance could you possibly write to give everyone a starring role and heal the damage you’ve caused to your daughters?’
Larry’s eyes gleamed.
‘My masterpiece: King Lear – The Musical.’