Page 60 of Hit For Six
Sixty-six minutes later,Monty pressed send on his resignation letter and imagined it travelling on the airwaves to the office, zipping back to the countryside in almost the same direction ashe’d just driven. His phone rang immediately. As if Frederick had been waiting at his laptop for the news to fly in all along.
‘I will grant you a month to change your mind.’
‘Dad, it’s not going to happen. I’ve signed an international T20 contract. You and Mum saw the press, you knew what this meant. It’s full-time. All or nothing. I took my time to choose the words in that letter. They couldn’t have been more transparent.’
Monty’s foolish optimism had bitten him on the arse. Despite clearly hearing his father’s words, he felt detached from his body. Maybe this was a survival instinct to keep the pain at bay.
‘I don’t want to play hardball but you know what this means. Ultimately. If you persist in being stubborn, then you’ll leave me with no choice.’
Monty took a deep breath. He wanted this call over with so they could move on, so he could finally embrace the life he’d been destined to live.
‘I know exactly what this means and it’s fine with me. If you need me to go on gardening leave, just give me the nod and I’ll come in to clear my desk. I’ll see you then or I’ll see you at the family party. Whichever comes first. I love you, Dad. I love Mum too. But I am nobody’s project. I need to do what’s best for me. There are other ways that I can make you proud. Beau-re-mi has always been your dream, your empire. Please let me have my own version of that, even if you can’t understand the attraction.’
But his father had put down the phone already. And, just like that, Monty seemed to inhabit his body once again. There was no pain, though. He felt light, reborn, bloody well ecstatic. He should have done this years ago. He should never have allowed himself to be coaxed into joining the family business straight out of uni. It was the craziest thing, and it completely negated his parents’ pressure to study a Fine Arts degree. As if by doing so he’d meet a Princess.
The irony was that Norwich had completely backfired. Little had Frederick twigged that the university’s half-decent cricket club was where Monty would end up spending most of his time; that this was the motivating factor for him agreeing to read such a stuffy subject… until the breaking news of his 2:2 was announced. Not that a Desmond was anything to be ashamed of. Lola had come out of Bath Spa Uni with the same degree. As she always said, it wasn’t what you got but what you did with it that counted. Although his girlfriend had studied the much more relevant subject of business. Given Frederick’s plans for Monty, it would have made a hell of a lot more sense for himself. Again, his parents really did– and would forever continue to– pull out all the stops to present themselves as old money. Thank goodness this was no longer Monty’s concern.
Later that day, a courier delivered a brown cardboard box to his apartment. Monty signed for it, guessing it contained his scant bits and pieces from the hot desk, until he hefted it upstairs and wondered how a few items of stationery could weigh such a ton. When he tore the top open, he was astonished to discover a collection of framed photographs and trophies. Monty stared at them in disbelief. He’d never seen any of this lot before.
His young father stared back at him clad in full cricket whites. Why had he never told Monty about their shared passion? Of course, there had been no social media back in the day so Monty wouldn’t have easily stumbled across any record of these things by himself, but evidently, his father used to play for his own university team. Tucked beneath the photos, Monty noticed an envelope with Frederick’s handwriting on the front. He opened it carefully, pulling a couple of crisp sheets of paper out, the ink on their surface in perfectly straight lines. He wouldn’t expect anything less of his father.
Dearest Monty
I love you too.
A lump formed in Monty’s throat. This did not bode well when he’d only just started reading.
I am woefully inept at showing it. For this I apologise. We’re not an affectionate family. Maybe I’m scared of hearing these words spoken aloud. I don’t know. I wish I could be more like you or Saskia. More like the grandchildren.
But I do know that you are my son. My only son. And you mean the world to me. I want the best of everything for you. I always have. Since the moment you came into our lives when your mother went into early labour in the lavender fields behind the house in Provence, and it was a mad dash to the hospital, where you arrived as she was being trolleyed into the delivery suite. Then, after days of worry and incubation, finally we were allowed to slowly drive back to Calais and over the sea to Bath with this precious little bundle, gazing at him in wonder for all those hours of travel, during all those pitstops for milk and nappy changes, your sisters arguing over who could cuddle you next.
Now look at you: a strapping twenty-eight-year old who is about to play international cricket. Something I could only dream of. I might not show it, but I am proud of you in my strange, pompous way. Secretly envious too. T20 would have been right up my street. This breaking news alert is to be kept strictly between the two of us, of course…
I am sure that the contents of this box will come as a shock.
Monty stopped to wipe his tears with the back of his hand. This was all rather unexpected to say the least. He took a shaky breath and carried on reading.
I was a decent batter. MS Dhoni might think he invented the helicopter shot, well, I’ve got news for him! I played for my university but I’d been passionate about the game since I was a young boy. I did all the right things, Monty. I know that you have a decade on me since the fateful day that I tore my knee ligament in a certain car accident.
Monty’s father didn’t refer to it often but as a lad, he’d been in a serious car collision on the M4, caused by a tyre blow out on his friend’s Jaguar. He rarely drove on the motorway nowadays and stuck to the A and B roads, or used the train.
However, life can change in a heartbeat. No doubt this will come across as the usual scaremongering, but it needs to be repeated. Maybe seeing it in ink, the message will ring louder: don’t make sport your Plan A without a Plan B! I am devastated that said Plan B no longer consists of Beau-re-mi as an employer, but I want to assure you that the company will still be handed down to you one day. Just like the houses. Maybe this seems unfair to the girls, but I am a traditionalist. They have both married well– on paper. They are secure, set for prosperous lives. As are their children.
There is one catch to my gift of a Plan B. And here, I am not referring to a T20 action… Whenever I bring it up in conversation, you resist the wisdom that I am trying to impart, but Monty, it’s imperative that you find the right woman to settle down with. Your inheritance is vast. I trust you with that but I need to be able to trustyour future wife with it, too. This can only happen if you marry within our set.
Your loving father, Frederick.
***
Once his tearsof frustration had abated, Monty knocked on Aunt Sally’s door. He held one bundle of purple material under his right arm and a bundle of gold material under his left.
‘Hmm… to what do I owe the pleasure, young man?’
‘I pilfered these cut offs from HQ before I handed in my notice. A bit naughty of me but they were headed for the recycling bins and suddenly the perfect idea flew into my head. I’ve not been able to shake it all afternoon. I’ll pay you well.’
‘You can get me free tickets to your Dubai game,’ said Sally. ‘I’m having a holiday at my niece’s place on The Palm next month.’
‘Consider it done.’
