The Gilded Madonna by Garrick Jones (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

the first time in my life. My inside world was so confused at times I wasn’t sure I recognised who I was half the time. Even though I knew why I’d kicked it off, I hadn’t been able to either explain to him or stop myself launching into a stupid “If you really cared” type discussion.

It came from finding out on Sunday morning, when I’d run into Craig at the newsagent, that not only had Harley already moved in with him but also that Sam had given up his flat in Milford Street and had gone to live with Billy in his fabulous, expansive flat in Darling Point. Of course it had led to me feeling like the bridesmaid, when my other pals had taken a huge leap and had tied the figurative knot of commitment.

Although we’d had a terrific day together on Sunday, I’d had a few too many glasses of wine over dinner and before I could stop myself, I’d heard the words fall out of my mouth. I’d spent half the evening formulating a subtle conversation in my mind that led step by gentle step into suggesting a possible, one day, perhaps type scenario. Instead, I’d blurted out, “Let’s go look for somewhere we can live together”.

Of course it had been totally the wrong thing to do, only made worse by the phone ringing in the middle of a heated discussion, which by that point had almost disintegrated into finger-pointing.

“Yes, Mother,” I’d heard Harry say, after I’d handed him the receiver.

It wasn’t her fault, I really liked her. But he’d just been yelling at me that because my parents were both dead, I seemed to think that everyone else could forget theirs or just ignore them.

The main reason for her call was to tell me she’d be only too happy to babysit Baxter when Harry and I were away over New Year. He must have told her in the morning while I was cooking breakfast and when he’d rung to check with the nurse who’d been looking after them whether everything was all right. Of course, that had brought about enormous feelings of guilt and then anger with myself. I should never drink. How many times had I said to myself that three glasses was my limit. I was a maudlin drunk, tending to vacillate between huge enthusiastic moments and deep, desperate moments of self-loathing and contrition for imagined wrong-doings.

“I can’t bear it when you’re like this, Clyde. You’re impossible to love when you bloody well beat yourself up. There’s simply no room for me to care. I suggest you sleep it off and we’ll talk about it when you’re sober.”

I’d got halfway through telling him I wasn’t drunk when he’d stormed off and slammed the door almost off its hinges. I can’t say I blamed him. The fucking war had done it to me. I wasn’t shifting the blame. Three years of torture, deprivation, and degradation had broken many men in the camp. I was one of the few that had been able to string words together when Billy had finally liberated us, but so much of who I had been was still broken inside.

My mother would have hated the man that had come back in forty-six. My father had wept over the changes. He’d held me in his arms and apologised to God and to the rest of mankind, but he could never forgive the hardness and grief he’d seen flash over my face from time to time.

“Fy machgen hardd …” he’d whisper into my ear as he’d rock me in his arms in the early days after coming home, when I’d wake screaming in the middle of the night. I’d give anything for one more night of my beautiful boy, murmured in Welsh in my da’s gorgeous lilting accent, even if it meant living through the worst of the worst in my dreams again.

*****

Mary Jones arrived at Billy’s chambers at quarter to the hour. I stood and kissed her cheek, enquiring about her morning.

Earlier that year, I’d “inherited” an enormous sum of money, illegal earnings from drug dealing, fixed sporting bets, and extortion. Having worked in the police force, I knew the money would never have been used well, or would have ended up lining the pockets of senior corrupt cops and their minions, so had decided to donate it to Legacy, the charity set up to help war widows and their children. However, they wouldn’t accept such a large sum without knowing where it came from, so it had been Billy’s idea to form a limited trust, with him as the chairman, and Harry’s mother and myself the two board members. Billy had invested the money, and we met every few weeks to discuss how to distribute the interest earned over the previous month, which was not inconsiderable. A hundred pounds divided between four different families every month would seem like a win on the lottery to struggling widows and their children.

We were meeting this morning to discuss the idea of a bursary for deserving kids to help them with their schooling. Maybe a fiver every year to help with textbooks and stationery. It had been Mary’s idea.

Not long after she’d arrived, Billy’s articled clerk informed us that Billy was running a little late, and asked if we’d like a cup of tea in the meeting room.

“You know, Clyde, marriage is an odd thing,” Mary said, quite out of the blue, after pouring our tea.

“Really? In what way, may I ask?”

“After the initial intense bonding, one is left with either a long-lasting love affair, the closest of friendships, or merely the habit of staying together because one is used to it.”

“Are you and Arnold …?”

She laughed and then set her cup and saucer back on the tea tray. “No, Clyde, nothing of the sort. I was just thinking on my way here that the best of friendships are those in which people talk to each other. Any strong relationship, whether it be just