Never Too Late To Explore - 15. Lacking Means

The same evening, Adam paced around the living room, clearly too agitated by the conversation thus far to remain seated. Andy watched him closely. Following what he'd shared about Felicity and her probable abuse, Adam's anger was to be expected. His partner was also thinking. He recognised the look of everything being focussed internally. He hoped Adam had some ideas about the possible courses of action. People couldn't be forced to accuse others, he knew, but surely other avenues were open?

Adam came to a halt by the fireplace. He turned to face the sofa. “Ever since I was old enough to understand, I thought there was some element of psychological control between them. … Well, that's how I'd describe it now. I never understood why she had to ask his permission for the oddest things.”

“Like?”

“Oh… going to the hairdresser's, seeing certain friends, getting his OK to use the phone. His word was law in our household. Or rather, I believe Ma and my sister had the worse time of it.”

“He was easier on you?” Andy didn't want to upset Adam further, but equally, he was curious.

“Yeah. Somewhat.” He shrugged, but didn't enlarge on the subject. “Anyway, I hadn't realised he'd moved on to physical abuse. Bastard. From what happened at Christmas, his drinking's way out of control.”

“The two are connected, I guess.” Andy grimaced. “So what's to be done?”

Adam resumed his pacing. “There's little we can do until Ma acknowledges what's going on and asks someone for help.”

“Or decides to press charges.”

“Hnh. I wouldn't hold your breath on that one.”

“What?” Andy sat forward on seat cushion.

“Come on, love. It's more complex than that: residual, contradictory feelings; fear of being outside a relationship, and feelings of shame and failure which come from being 'forced' to leave the marital home.”

“I'm hardly a member of the jury, love, but I get what you mean.”

Adam blew out a breath. “Personally, I'd be glad if she allows herself to be moved somewhere else. Her safety is more important than any pleasure I'd get from seeing him dragged through the courts.”

Andy grimaced. “I suppose they both need help?”

His fiancé growled. “Hah! My professional head tells me that's so; the caveman within me just wants to give my bastard of a father some of the same treatment he's meted out to Ma.”

“Which would only get you charged with assault, and then suspended as a solicitor.” Andy held out an arm. “Come and sit down. I feel like I'm talking to a moving target while you're prowling around.”

Adam sprawled on the other half of the sofa. “Sorry, not much left of the fun from earlier, is there? Instead, I'm full of anger and the sort of tension which makes me want to do something. Anything.”

Andy moved to give him a kiss. “Let's see if I can help you later with that.”

“A rubdown would be great.”

“Just a rubdown?” He smirked. “Nothing else?” Andy got a smile for his trouble before inevitably he circled back to the main topic. “How would your mum be financially if she left him?”

“Fine.” Adam frowned. “I suspect that's always been part of the problem.”

“Oh?” He recalled the odd comment from Adam early on in their relationship which still made him tread warily around the subject of the other man's family.

“Yeah. Once I started to live my own life, I looked for answers outside my immediate family. One question concerned our financial affairs. I was told Ma brought the money into their marriage.”

“But your parents own god knows how many acres of land.”

“Which his father mortgaged up to the hilt in the 1970s to pay for death duties.”

Andy's eyes widened. “Really?” He thought for a moment. “So not the grandfather who offered to pay your school fees.”

“Nope. My own father enjoys the status of a landowner, but won't get off his arse to do the necessary behind-the-scenes work.” Adam stood up and resumed pacing up and down the area in front of the hearth. “Fortunately the current estate manager knows how to run an estate and create a decent income stream. So did the two before him. But I imagine a lot of Ma's money went on putting a big dent in the mortgage repayments.”

Andy took that in. He always knew Adam's family was in a different class from his own, but the talk of estate managers and inheritance taxes made that very clear.

“I wonder if your father feels sidelined? A junior partner in the marriage.”

“You mean Ma's money lessens his masculinity somehow? In his eyes possibly. But it gives him fuck all excuse for domestic abuse.” His nostrils flared. “As far as I can tell, he contributes nothing intellectually to the running of things. He and the manager should be trying ideas out on each other: new farming methods, other sources of income, that sort of thing. If anything, Ma has the ideas. Sometimes she mentions them to me, but I bet she's long since given up telling him. In fact, when he comes out with the occasional tale of what the manager's done, I'm almost sure the catalyst came from Ma.”

Andy resolved to alter his opinion of Felicity. He liked her a lot, but he had no idea she might be the brains in that unequal pairing. “Interesting. … So, what d'you think we might do to help?”

Adam was now standing at the bow window, looking out at the street, as if that held the answer.

He turned. “You're going to be seeing her on a regular basis, aren't you?”

Andy nodded. “Yeah. If we want this wedding to happen as we'd like it and on time, Felicity's key.”

“OK.” Adam strode back to the sofa and sat down again. “Ma won't feel happy confiding in me, I know. She phoned the other week and I thought something was wrong. When I pushed her as to why, she didn't give me anything. She might feel better talking to you.”

“Err… Yeah.” Andy frowned. “But surely she'll know whatever she says to me will find its way back to you? I'm not going to hold out on you.”

“True. What I hope is she'll admit something's wrong one day. That's the point when you could offer some advice, if you felt able to. I know it'll potentially put you in an awkward position.”

“What sort of advice?” He knew little about available resources for victims of domestic abuse. Some self-education would be necessary.

“D'you think we might find some appropriate people or organisations to direct her to? Her GP might be one such if you could persuade her to do that. I'll ask a couple of colleagues at work discreetly.”

He snorted. “You better make it clear it's not about you. I've no wish to get a reputation as a husband beater.”

They both laughed at that, lightening the atmosphere a little.

“Is there anything you can do to restrain your father?”

“Not much. What I'd like to do is go and threaten him with dire consequences if he so much as touches Ma again.”

“But …?”

“I fear all it would do is make Ma's position worse.”

Andy gloomily thought it through. “Hmm… I can see that. So, more things to think over.”

“Yeah. Sorry if you hoped I'd produce a solution.” His partner grimaced. “All we can do is keep in touch with Ma, watch, and wait. I will take advice as to whether there's anything we can do about him in meantime.”

“OK … I'm going to make us some soothing green tea.” He got up. “Then later I'll become your personal masseur for the night.”

Adam stretched. “God, that sounds good.”

“Which?”

“Both.”

Andy grinned. “First part coming up.”

The following morning, Eric put on his outdoor clothes, bothering even less than usual about how he looked. He was only going out into the garden: something that still felt fresh and new. The sun was moving round to the area of his raised beds so it would be warm enough to get started on his planting out. He peered at the young plants huddled at the side of his doorstep and reminded himself of his scheme. He was in two minds though. His current plan would make the plants look sparse spread across all the raised beds. Might it be better to use most of them in the two which were currently available? The other two still had daffs and tulips flowering so he'd have to hold the other new plants back.

He stood thinking. If he used the bedding plants he had now, he would have to find the money to pay for more. He still couldn't believe how much money he spent in Leominster. Even though it'd been planned, it still took his breath away. After the stay with the lads, he was back to living week to week financially, even with his increased pension. He had to get used to new expenses like having the internet. There'd be no return trip for quite some time. His earlier self would've added 'if ever', but Eric recognised he would most likely find himself back there. Only the next time, his wallet would have to remain largely closed.

Leominster brought him back to Rob Whateverhisnamewas. The man's last name still eluded him. Given it was now forty-eight hours since his trip, maybe he'd never bring it to mind. He wouldn't give up: there'd been plenty of times in his life when an answer popped up out of the blue to a question he'd pretty much forgotten. Take that shrub name he promised his last employer. The man wanted a particular rare, decorative shrub; no idea of the name, though he could describe its appearance reasonably well. Eric shook his head. It took him over a week before he produced the name of the species, never mind the variety. Most of that time hadn't been spent thinking: instead his mind had continued to chew it over in the background. Maybe he'd strike lucky with this problem.

Or not. It would be just his luck to lose sight of the mysterious Rob, having rediscovered him. A sadness descended. What if he'd turn out to be straight with three kids; or a homophobic boor? That wasn't as likely as the other, given Rob was pleasant, if distant, the few times they met. Eric breathed deeply. Why did he still expect the worst to happen? The answer was easy: because of the habits of a lifetime. Five months was too short a period to remove something that ingrained, no matter how hard Andy and Adam tried. The image of scrubbing made him smile. It would only be a matter of time. If he lived long enough, that was. Eric picked up the first two plastic plugs and headed off to the furthest raised bed.

Once he got there, he cursed himself for a fool. Where were his gardening tools? So far he hadn't needed any: the students did all the digging, planting, and whatever else was required at the start of the year. In his younger days, he would've just used his fingers to scoop out the soil. That wasn't an option. He regarded one crooked forefinger, then a middle finger on the other hand, similarly afflicted with arthritis. Cold, damp soil would be a killer.

Eric stared at the flower bed with its faded crocuses and miniature irises. Did he actually possess a trowel? The tools he used at work were never his own. When he moved into the cottage, he was content to let the planting stay as it was. A reaction to decades of working on other peoples' land perhaps? Then as his life settled into its narrow, dull routine, gardening appeared beyond his meagre funds. He tried to visualise the contents of any likely drawers. When he drew a blank, he remembered a pair of elderly, battered serving spoons which he'd kept for some reason.

Frustrated with himself, the old man tramped back inside the cottage. What sort of gardener was it who didn't have any tools? He was rifling through one of his kitchen drawers when the phone rang. He swore. Several times recently he'd answered the phone to find some smooth-talking trickster on the other end. It was obvious who they were and he didn't give them the time of day. He might be getting on but he wasn't gaga yet. The phone's ringtone continued. Slamming the drawer closed, he hurried into the living room, if only to shut the noise up.

He grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”

There was a startled silence following his barked question.

Then Andy's voice came on. Hi, Eric. Everything OK?

Eric reined himself in. Not for the first time, he wished he had one of those fancy phones which would allow him to be comfortable in his own armchair while he took the call. Instead he settled for pulling the phone closer so he could sit at his computer desk.

“Sorry, Andy. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

What's the matter?

“Oh … I went outside earlier to do some planting, only I realised I don't possess a trowel, or gardening gloves, or anything else useful. It got me riled.” He recalled allowing Hazel, his homehelp, to throw out his remaining pair of battered, grubby gloves.

I can imagine. Look, I was hoping to come over this afternoon. There's a couple of things I need to talk to you about, and of course, I want to hear the tale of your expedition to Leominster.

“I'll be here.”

Good. 'bout the other thing … I'm sure I'll have some old equipment hanging around in the shed. Why don't I have a look? They'll be better off in your hands rather rusting away in a corner somewhere. I'll bring whatever I find and you can take your pick.

“If you like.” The words escaped before he really thought about them. Eric caught a sigh.

You can always buy your own. There're some good deals online. I thought you'd prefer to spend the money on plants and at the same time get some use out of my perfectly serviceable cast-offs.

Andy sounded surprised and a little hurt.

Eric closed his eyes for a second and chose his words with care. “Andy, you spend so much time and energy on making my life better and sometimes all I do is grouse. It's obviously one of those days. Sorry, again. I'll be pleased to inspect your cast-offs. I imagine a lad like you with more money than sense'll replace his kit every year or so?”

An answering snigger cheered him a little.

I'm not that bad, but I do have to try new things out. And what I buy for work can be offset against tax.

“It's alright for some. Anyway, how can you improve on a trowel?”

More sniggers drew a smile out onto Eric's face.

OK, OK. I'll see you later.

“Bye, Andy.”

Eric stood up. He felt warm, almost uncomfortably so. Then he realised he had all his outdoor gear on. Shaking his head, he returned to the kitchen to find the serving spoons. It was time to get started.

Later on, Eric stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. How much of his life had been spent that way? It also meant he gave his voice a rest: telling Andy about his adventure seemed to take forever, though he missed out the most important bit. It felt right to do that. His head was still in a spin about Rob; his emotions up and down like a yo-yo. Even with Andy, it was something he didn't want to share. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when he finally knew the man's full name.

When he filled the teapot, Eric returned to continue the conversation with the younger man while the tea brewed. They both liked a good, strong-tasting drink during the day. The living room was empty. An assumption his guest had gone to the loo was dented by seeing the front door ajar. He discovered Andy inspecting the remaining plants by the doorstep. Despite his determination to get things done, he ran out of patience with his improvised tools long before he got everything in the ground.

“These bush fuschias look sturdy, Eric, and the flowers should be colourful later on.”

“Yes, they're nice looking ones. I'm not a fan of those huge, fancy flowers that look the wrong size for the plant.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Let's have a look at the rest.”

They strolled over to the raised beds. Andy used the flat of his hand and his knuckles to pack the soil down more securely round the plants which were new.

“There … that's better. Still some gaps, I see.”

His raised eyebrows made Eric shake his head. “The tea's ready. Then I'll have a look at your cast-offs. I'm not one for spending money when I don't have to.”

Their laughter lifted his spirits.

Andy returned the few remaining gardening tools to his bag. With a certain amount of prodding and encouragement, the old man accepted a trowel, a couple of hand-forks, and a pair of secateurs. Even if he had any old gloves, they would hardly fit the other man.

Eric ran his eye over the secateurs. “I'm glad these aren't spring-loaded. My hands aren't strong enough to control a pair like that. They look sharp enough though. No rust.”

Andy smirked to himself as he watched with affection. His client could buy his own gloves at little cost, but more plants would eat into his pension. Another idea for his birthday. Perhaps a packet of mixed flower seeds, or maybe the college horticulture students had stuff for sale? He would offer cuttings from his own garden but they would hardly provide colour this season.

“I'm glad they're going to a good home. Right … Change of subject.”

Eric peered at him over his glasses.

“Your birthday's next week, isn't it?” He got a shrug in reply. “D'you remember I bought you something in the art shop?”

“Yes.”

The surly response almost made Andy change tack, but he reminded himself Eric was having a bad day. They happened. “Adam and I thought you might like to go out for supper? We could give you your present at the same time.” Plus any extras he might add in.

“You youngsters make such a fuss of birthdays.”

He smiled. “Yeah, some of us do; not all. And we'd like to make a fuss of you. Just for one evening.”

The shrug again, with a brief smile this time. “As you please. I'm hardly a party goer.”

“We're not suggesting a party.” Andy gave his best eye roll. “A quiet supper in a well-recommended pub. The three of us can have a good chat.”

“And there's me known for my conversational skills.”

He detected a faint glint in the other man's eyes. “You're being awkward.”

“Yes, I am. It's one of them days. I've not had one in a while. … You're both very kind to an undeserving old man.”

“You are not undeserving. Don't ever think that.” Andy leapt to his feet and held a hand out. “Here.”

After a brief hesitation, Eric allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and drawn into a hug.

Andy gave him a smile. “You're our friend, and don't you ever forget it.”