Читать книгу Sex, Lies & Crazy People - John Hickman - Страница 3

Dad was seated at the breakfast table reading the News of the World. I glanced at the

headline; US troops in Vietnam.

“Pleased I’m not there,” I said.

“Talking of Vietnam, have you noticed our grass is long enough to hide the Vietcong?”

“I’ll get onto it.” I drained my cup. “This week’s been a bit hectic.”

He reloaded his pipe. His voice became sensitive like an undertaker helping a grieving relative to select a coffin.

“You and I are about to build an empire together.” He paused to strike a Swan Vestas match to his pipe. “Big things have small beginnings;” he said between puffs, “we’ll be an unstoppable team, you and I.”

I nodded. But the boy king’s immediate problem was getting the cellophane wrapper off a new packet of cigarettes. As I lit up my first tipped stick of the day I cast my mind back:

A lot had happened since Mum was taken by cancer at only thirty-nine years of age. Dad had worked his way through the shock of her death until one evening after dinner he’d dropped a bombshell.

“I’ve decided to give up my job to start a new business—a hotel.”

There was a stunned silence before Gramps asked, “Is it my imagination or is the

cutlery particularly deafening here tonight?”

Dad looked to me. “A hotel business will enable me to work at home. I’ll be

able to help your sister through the loss of her mum.” He paused to relight his pipe.

The bloody thing was always going out. “I want you to find a hotel I can buy—without any money.”

There was another black hole of silence, this time less cordial.

Gran glared at Dad unable to keep protest from her voice. “What kind of crazy

person expects to buy something without money?”

“You tell him, Girl.” Gramps often called Gran, ‘Girl.’

Dad’s directive could not have been clearer if Moses himself had brought it down on a tablet from Mount Sinai. It sounded ridiculous but I knew I had to help him.

Gramps dismissed his hotel idea. “Your idea might work, Son,” he smirked, as he cast a sideways look at Gran, “but only if the stars remain in proper alignment.”

I’d always had a blind faith in Dad’s abilities that any idea of his would rise to the top.

Dad continued, “If you’re interested, Son, you could join me.”

I didn’t hesitate, “I’m in!”

Not only an opportunity to help Dad but this could be a wonderful new career for me.

Dad became conciliatory as Gran cleared our table. “Look I realise I know nothing about running hotels but it can’t be that difficult. I’ve stayed in plenty when Alice was alive.” He paused. “I’ve managed other people’s businesses successfully for years. Now with her gone,” he shrugged, “what better time for a change?”

Gramps had another sideways glance at Gran. He cleared his throat. “True, you’ve managed other people’s businesses, but you’ve been responsible to directors, boards, and owners.”

The left-hand side of Gramp’s face often quivered from his nervous tic. Some called it Tourette Syndrome. Stress and anxiety significantly increased the frequency of his condition. Gramps raised his hands in a helpless gesture while his face trembled.

“If Alice was alive she’d never have approved of you embarking on such a rash

project.”

I thought that unfair. “Had Mum been alive Dad wouldn’t need to work from home.

And I agree with him. I don’t see that running a hotel without previous experience is that big a risk.”

Gran and Gramps exchanged sullen looks.

Dad continued, “I’ll remain at my job paying the mortgage and putting food on the table while John’s assigned to scout out hotels.”

As a young man of nineteen, and without a current girlfriend to consider, my sex life was like a Ferrari. I didn’t have a Ferrari. Suddenly I felt like a kid with keys to the Magic Kingdom.

Dad’s pipe had gone dead. He stared into the bowl, frowned, and tried to relight it. “Freehold’s out unless lenders are prepared to advance the majority of the purchase price, which on commercial propositions they won’t. And banks, always laws unto themselves, will only loan less than half of their own scaled down valuations.”

My task had become more difficult.

“But, Dad, surely on any established business a lease is nearly as valuable as its

freehold.”

“My plan can only work, Son, if the hotel you find is run-down enough for me to

negotiate favourable terms.”

“Very favourable terms,” echoed Gran from the kitchen.

I’d always wanted Dad to be proud of me. Our plan before Mum died was for me to

become a barrister, like Boyd QC a popular television show that starred Michael Denison in the title role. That proved difficult enough. Now I sagged like a bent coat hanger as Dad’s words spiralled up my spine.

“Find a hotel I can buy—without any money!”