Page 84 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

The closer they got to home, the lighter Stuart felt. The last mile felt as though he was flying, even though he kept the pace steady, mindful that people would be tired. At the end, a couple of the men shook hands and thanked him.

Jennifer gave him a grin and a peck on the cheek. “It’ll be less traumatic next time!”

Stuart rode slowly home feeling as though another bridge towards his brighter future had been crossed. He could do this. He could actually interact with the real world without mishap. He could be accepted for who he was.

“You look like a cat who’s got the cream,” Lillian said when he went round later, and Stuart suddenly realised that his facial muscles were aching from a grin that didn’t want to go away.

* * *

A few days’ later, three estate agents came to value the house at hourly intervals. Stuart got it organised for the morning Florence had a job-centre appointment immediately after the hairdresser’s. He didn’t want her upset or reminded about the fact that there were less than three months remaining for her and the children in the house.

It was difficult watching each of the agents, two men and one woman, in their cheap jackets and scuffed shoes, nose through the decades of his life. Excluding his student days, this had been his only home. The large rooms and high ceilings got universal approval, the word tired was bounced around the kitchen and bathroom and ‘has potential’ won the prize for the most uttered phrase. Each agent promised to get back to George and Robert directly with their valuations and marketing plans. Stuart tried to nod and smile as though all of this was of absolutely no consequence to him.

When he shut the front door on the last jacket, which had a loose thread pulled across the shoulders, he leaned against the wood for a few seconds and then slid down and sat on the doormat. It felt as though the whole of his personal history had been examined and found wanting. And he and Florence were going to have to prepare the children for yet another change of home. He only stood up when he heard his phone beep in the kitchen. Andrea had sent him a text with arrangements for William’s funeral in three days’ time.

“Do you want me to come with you? Moral support?” Florence asked later.

It was a tempting offer and Stuart knew William would have approved. Jayne would be working . . . but he couldn’t betray his fiancée in that way.

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll be fine on my own.”

* * *

On the morning of the funeral, the estate agent appointed by Robert and George called to arrange a viewing. The potential purchaser was insisting he had to visit the house that day, preferably ASAP.

“He’s lost three houses due to being pipped at the post,” the agent explained. “Now he’s kicking up a fuss if he doesn’t get first dibs at the new properties on our books.”

Stuart managed to delay the viewing until after the funeral, when Florence would be out, collecting the children from school and taking them to a playdate. He hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to tell her the estate agents had been round, never mind that the house was on the market. After some negotiation, the agent had agreed not to stick a sign outside the house until Stuart had given the go ahead.

All the subterfuge meant Stuart arrived at the crematorium in a bit of a lather and not fully focused on saying goodbye to his old friend. He sat at the back of the chapel, closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and remembered. His relationship with William had left him so much to be grateful for. Visiting the old man three times a day had forced a structure into his life at a time when he’d been directionless. Those visits hadn’t felt like work, they’d been like calling on a friend for a chat and wise counsel. Stuart smiled — maybe the counsel hadn’t always been that wise; they hadn’t always seen eye to eye over the women in his life.

As he took another deep breath, the anodyne background music switched to the opening bars of Elgar’sNimrod. Stuart opened his eyes, expecting the chapel to have filled but, aside from the first two rows, the seats were almost empty. It reminded him of his father’s funeral ten months earlier and the sad fact that the longer you live, the fewer people will attend to say goodbye.

He assumed Andrea would give the eulogy. She was in the front row on the left of the chapel dressed in a black skirt suit. When she’d turned round, her eyes were hidden by a small piece of netting on the front of her hat. But she didn’t stand to speak about her father or to do a reading. She occasionally dabbed beneath the netting as a celebrant spoke warmly, but without real fluency, of William. It was obvious he was regurgitating what he’d been told of the life of a man he’d never known. That made Stuart even sadder.

At the end of the ceremony, the curtains closed to the familiar tune of ‘Amazing Grace’. Then the celebrant announced everyone was welcome to the wake at a local restaurant. Stuart looked at his watch and realised that he needed to leave now in order to get home before the house viewer arrived. If William was watching from above, Stuart felt sure he would forgive him.

Florence had already left for the school when he got home. He scooted around the house plumping cushions and hiding toys. He started a pot of coffee brewing, hoping to create an enticing smell to override any odours so familiar that Stuart no longer noticed them. The appointed viewing time came and went. Stuart paced up and down in front of the lounge window, watching for a car. Nothing. He phoned the agent.

“Ah! Didn’t your wife mention it? There was a confusion over times and the purchaser came at two o’clock rather than four o’clock.”

Stuart groaned and sat down on the bottom chair.

“Mr Savile loved the place. He likes the potential. He phoned me straight after. Said your wife gave him tea and biscuits and he’s put in an offer.” The agent paused. “But, as you know, I’m not allowed to discuss that with you. Your brothers are considering it as we speak.”

“I see.” Poor Florence. It hadn’t been supposed to happen like this. She wouldn’t be happy, having a strange man turn up out of the blue to poke around the place she called home.

“Strange that your wife didn’t tell you.”

“She’s not my wife and she was out when I got back.”

“Oh. In the meantime, I’ll let you know if we get any more requests for viewings. By the way, is it OK if we get the sign up now?”

“What? Yes. It’s OK.” The damage was done. “Thank you.”

An hour later, the house erupted into life as Eunice and Shayne burst into the hallway and Florence’s voice followed, urging them to take off their shoes and hang up their coats. For once Stuart was the one to turn on the television for the children and leave them in the lounge with squash and biscuits. He gestured Florence into the kitchen and closed the door.

“I am so sorry. That Mr Savile should never have come when you were here.”

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