Page 54 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

The next morning, when Stuart got back from his breakfast visit to William, Florence was loading up the faded orange Panda.

“You can keep Tibby for the time being,” she said. “Just until I get myself somewhere proper to live. But I’ve got Slowcoach. My rent’s paid up until the end of the week, I haven’t given you any notice so I won’t be asking for that money back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere life, in all its forms, is valued and they don’t prise shells off tortoises.” She slammed the car door and then rolled down the window to continue talking. “This won’t just harm Slowcoach. It would tear my grandchildren’s lives to shreds if Jacob was arrested for diamond smuggling. I can’t let them lose two parents in quick succession.” Then she revved the engine too much and scattered tiny pieces of gravel in her wake.

Stuart slumped on the sofa. It didn’t make sense that Florence had left. She must realise that he would never pursue the diamond thing without her permission. He put his head in his hands. He felt inexplicably empty.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

William spotted something was wrong straight away. “You’ve got a face like the little boy Santa forgot.”

“Soup for lunch?” Stuart suggested lightly. “There’s chicken or tomato in the cupboard. I’m no good at croutons but I could do you some toast to dip in?”

“Which woman is it that’s causing you grief?”

“I’ll make the soup decision for you. Chicken with thick buttered toast coming right up.”

“When a man is wearing your expression, it’s always woman trouble.”

In the kitchen Stuart employed the tin opener aggressively and the soup responded in the same manner, spraying itself up the front of his T-shirt.

Less anger, more accomplished!

“Stop making up your own stupid sayings! It should be less haste, more speed.”

Oooh! Somebody’s got a beef on.

“No, I haven’t.” The soup was beginning to spit in the microwave and he’d forgotten to cover it with a plate. Now he’d have to wipe the thing out before he left.

Something has seesawed your equilibrium. Maybe you should try Jayne’s meditation.

“There’s nothing wrong with my equilibrium.” He tried to take the bowl out of the microwave with his bare hands, burned the ends of his fingers and reached for the tea towel to use as an oven glove.

You’ve forgotten to press the toaster down.

Stuart left the soup and did the toast. Focus. Focus. Focus. Finally, Stuart got the tray of food in front of his client.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What?” Shit, now William was going to think he was a madman ready for a straitjacket.

“In the kitchen.”

“Oh — on the mobile. I just had a call on my mobile.”

“As usual, your mobile’s over there on top of your jacket. It was there the whole time that you were in the kitchen.”

“Eat the soup before it gets cold.”

For the first few mouthfuls they sat in silence and then William started up again. “I’ve said it before: part of the service you provide is companionship and conversation. You’re not supposed to stare at me as though you want to pick the bowl up and pour the soup down my throat, so you can go home and spend the rest of the day muttering to yourself behind closed doors.”

Stuart pursed his lips, looked down at his hands and said nothing.

“I want you to answer me two things. Why are you so miserable and who were you talking to in the kitchen?”

Answering either of William’s questions would show Stuart in his true colours: a loser and a madman. He didn’t know why he was miserable. His finances were going to take a hit from Florence’s departure but he could get another lodger. One that agreed to pay the full amount of rent rather than bartering with cleaning services. One that didn’t require him to undergo a personality transplant in order to ‘loosen up’. People lost lodgers all the time. It was a form of rejection, which was why it had made him feel down, but, in the grand scheme of his bright future, it was a minor, financial irritant not a grand finale.

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