Sheer Mischief

‘What do you want?’

‘I need to see you.’ Thea sounded quite unlike her usual self. ‘Please, Janey.’

Suspecting some kind of ulterior motive, Janey kept her own response guarded. ‘Why?’

‘Because Oliver is dead,’ said Thea quietly, and replaced the receiver.

* * *

He had died the previous evening, without warning, in her bed. Thea, having slipped out of the house at eight o’clock, had gone to the studio and worked for three hours on a new sculpture.

Returning finally with arms aching from the strenuous business of moulding the clay over the chicken-wire framework of the figure, and a glowing sense of achievement because it had all gone so well, she had climbed the stairs to her bedroom and found him. His reading glasses were beside him, resting on her empty pillow. The book he had been reading lay neatly closed on the floor next to the bed. It appeared, said the doctor who had come to the house, that Oliver had dozed off and suffered the stroke in his sleep. He wouldn’t have known a thing about it. All in all, the doctor explained in an attempt to comfort Thea, it was a marvellous way to go.

Thea, wrapped up in a cashmere sweater that still bore the scent of Oliver’s cologne, was huddled in the corner of the tatty, cushion-strewn sofa drinking a vast vodka-martini. There were still traces of dried clay in her hair and beneath her fingernails; her eyes, darker than ever with grief, were red-rimmed from crying.

Having left Paula in charge of the shop, and feeling horribly helpless, Janey helped herself to a vodka to keep her mother company. Their differences forgotten, because her own unhappiness paled into insignificance compared with Thea’s, Janey sat down and put her arms around her.

‘Bloody Oliver.’ Thea sniffed, continuing to gaze at the letter in her lap. ‘I keep thinking I could kill him for doing this to me. How could he keep this kind of thing to himself and not even warn me? Typical of the bloody man...’

She had found it in his wallet, neatly slotted in behind the credit cards. The plain white envelope bore her name. The contents of the letter inside had come as almost more of a shock than his death.

‘Are you sure you want me to read it?’ Janey frowned as her mother handed it to her. ‘Isn’t it private?’

‘Selfish bastard,’ Thea murmured, fishing up her sleeve for a crumpled handkerchief as the tears began to drop once more down her long nose. ‘Of course I want you to read it. How can any man be so selfish?’

Janey recognized the careful, elegant writing she’d noted on Oliver’s visit to her shop as she now read his farewell.

My darling Thea,

Well, if you’re reading this you’ve either been snooping shamelessly or I’m dead. But since I have faith in you, I shall assume the latter.

Now I suppose you’re as mad as hell with me for doing it this way because, yes, I knew it was going to happen in the not-too-distant future. My doctor warned me I was a walking time-bomb. And no, there was nothing that could be done either medically or surgically to prevent it happening. This time even money couldn’t help.

But think about it, sweetheart. Would you really have been happier, knowing the truth? I’m afraid I developed an all-consuming fear that you might try and persuade me to take things easy, maybe even not allowing me to make love to you as often as I liked for fear of overexerting myself What a deeply depressing prospect that would have been. Now perhaps you can begin to understand why I didn’t tell you!

Right, now for something you do already know. I love you, Thea. We may not have had a vast amount of time together but these last months have been the very happiest of my life. When I came to Cornwall, it was to see my grandchildren. How could I ever have guessed I would meet and fall so totally in love with a beautiful, bossy, wonderful woman who loved me in return? And for myself rather than for my money.

If, on the other hand, you’re reading this letter because you stole my wallet and were riffling through my credit cards, I trust you’re now ashamed of yourself That was a joke, sweetheart. No need to rip this letter to shreds. If I can keep my sense of humour, so can you.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but even though my motives were selfish I still feel my decision was the right one to make. If you contact my solicitor (details in the black address book) he will organize the reading of my will. Maybe this will go some way towards making amends.

My darling, I love you so very much.

Oliver.

‘Well,’ said Janey, clearing her throat as she folded the pages of the letter and handed them back to her mother. ‘I think he was right.’

‘Of course he was right.’ With an irritable gesture, Thea wiped her wet face on her sleeve.

‘But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive him. Did he think I wouldn’t want anything to do with him if I’d known he was about to keel over and die?’

‘He’s explained why he didn’t want you to know,’ Janey reminded her. ‘He wanted to enjoy himself without being nagged. He didn’t want you endlessly worrying about him. He didn’t want you to be miserable.’

‘Well I am,’Thea shouted. ‘Bloody miserable! After all these years I finally meet the man I’ve waited for all my life, and he has to go and do this to me. It isn’t fair!’

Nothing she could say, Janey realized, was going to help her mother. All she could do was be there.

‘At least you met him,’ she said, giving Thea another hug. ‘If you hadn’t, think what you would have missed. Surely a few months with Oliver was better than nothing at all?’

‘In a couple of years, maybe I’ll think that.’ Thea passed Janey her empty glass. ‘All I know right now is that it hurts like hell. Get me another drink, darling. A big one. On second thoughts, just give me yours. You have to drive.’

‘It’s OK, Mum. I don’t have to go anywhere.’

‘Yes, you do,’ said Thea. ‘Someone has to tell Guy Cassidy his father is dead. He might not care,’ she added