Until The Last Page

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MORNING HAD BEEN PRETTY INTENSE, BUT IT HAD GONE WELL. Alex had laid out the business model in all its fine detail and after an hour of close scrutiny, the supermarket chain was happy, for now. He’d shook hands with their commercial director and been told that the contracts may well be drawn up for his signature by the end of the week, subject to a few final checks and conditions. He might have to put off doing business with other stores to land this big one, but if he could pull it off...

                   Now he had ten minutes to check his phone for updates from Charlotte and hopefully tell her the promising news.

                   His suit jacket hung on the back of the chair in the meeting room. He rescued his phone from the inside pocket. He only had one text. It was from Charlotte, and it read: Haven’t heard from your mother but I’m sure everything is fine. He checked the time on it. It had been sent twenty minutes ago. He had a few minutes; he decided to ring Charlotte.

                   She picked up on the fourth ring. ‘Hey, you heard from Mum yet?’

                   ‘Hi, Alex. No, I’ve not. They’re probably watching a movie or something.’

                   ‘Is it worth ringing them to check?’

                   ‘They’ve been on their own for two hours, honey. Nothing’s wrong.’

                   ‘Then why text me to say you hadn’t heard? Now I’m worried.’

                   ‘And you’d be more worried if I hadn’t texted. You just keep your mind on your day. How’s it going?’

                   ‘Good so far, I think. Hopefully a big buyer. I’m going to ring home.’

                   ‘Alex, you arranged for your mum to be there. Just let her get on with it.’

                   ‘Then I’ll text Tom.’

                   ‘He said his phone is dead. You’re busy – I’ll ring the house at lunch then let you know.’

                   Alex chewed his lip. ‘Like you said, I know my mother. Do you think I made a mistake?’

                   ‘She was settling into the sofa with a cup of tea when I left her. She’s hardly going to trash the place. You get back to work.’ Charlotte laughed down the line. ‘Earn that holiday, Mr Holliday!’

                   After another minute of Charlotte trying to reassure him they ended the call. He thought about ringing the house anyway, but then what if they were watching a movie with the volume up high? They wouldn’t hear the phone and then Alex would just worry some more. He could do without the extra concern today – he had so much riding on this deal. So, despite what he knew of his mother’s reckless instincts at times, he had to trust her to look after his wheelchair-bound son for one day. Surely she couldn’t invent any mischief with an eleven-year-old in his condition?

                   He stared down at his phone, uncertain.

                   Then it rang in his hand, making him jump.

                   He saw the word tagged to the number across the phone’s screen: Sunnyside.

                   Sunnyside Home For The Elderly was where his grandmammy lived. He only had the number in his phone because he was the second point of contact after his mother. He had never rang the number, and they had never rang him.

                   Until today.

                   He pressed the green phone icon. ‘Hello?’

                   ‘Hello, is that Mr Holliday?’

                   ‘It is.’

                   ‘Hello, Mr Holliday, I’m calling from Sunnyside care home. My name is Felicity Noon and I’m one of the directors here. I’m sorry to tell you, Mr Holliday, that your grandmother Aisling Cleary has sadly passed away.’

                   Alex felt his heart thud and rise to his throat. ‘Oh God. Oh, that’s terrible. Have you managed to get hold of my mother? She won’t be home because she’s-’

                   ‘Actually, Mr Holliday, that’s the other reason why we’re calling. Your mother, Patty Holliday, has visited us this morning, with your son too, I believe.’

                   Alex’s face went hot. ‘She has?’

                   ‘Yes and I’m afraid there’s been some kind of incident. The police are here. They’d like you to come right away so they can speak to you in person.’

                   Alex’s heart fell into his gut.

The journey to Sunnyside from his office would usually take around twenty minutes in the car but Alex was confident he could do it in less. Still, that gave him more than enough time to have a hundred horrible thoughts about what could possibly be meant by the word ‘incident’.

                   What had his stupid mother done?

                   And more importantly, was Tom okay?

                   He had visions of all sorts happening: his mother wrecking the place in her grief, taking some grumpy nurse hostage, involving Tom in some stand-off with the authorities.

                   Or was Tom hurt? Had his mother lashed out at him in some way at the news of her mother’s passing? Or had she abandoned him somewhere to be alone with her sorrow?

                   Or could she have accidently been the cause of his Grandmammy Aisling’s death? Or could Tom have done something wrong?

                   Oh Lord, don’t let it be Tom.

                   In more reasonable moments during the drive he felt sadness for his Grandmammy’s passing. She had been a delightful grandparent, entertaining him when he was a little boy with tales of Ireland and giants and faerie folk. To him his Grandmammy came from a mystical place, the Emerald Isle. Time spent with her as a youngster felt magical.

                   He had hoped for similar for Tom from the boy’s own grandmother. But Grandma Patty only told the young Tom stories of the rock concerts she had been to in the early seventies before she’d had kids. A number of times he had been compelled to stop her mid-flow as what she was saying sounded like it was bordering on the inappropriate.

                   Unfortunately Grandmammy Aisling had been too infirm these last few years to share her tales with Tom. Well into her nineties, she’d been slowly shutting down.

                   And today the lights had finally gone out.

                   He allowed himself a few moments to feel sorry for his own mother. She had, after all, lost her mother today, and she would be feeling that very keenly, no doubt. And yet, until he knew exactly what was meant by the word ‘incident’, and until he’d got to the bottom of why his mother had taken his son halfway across town without telling anyone, he couldn’t really feel anything towards her except for anger.

(Copyright: Stephen and Aidan Barnard)