Chapter 23

When the five of us sat down to eat that night, it was unusual. Neither Jean nor Geoff joined us, and Cal and her Mum were absent as well. It was the first time for a long time that only people called Barker sat around our table. Unusually for our dinner table, we all ate relatively quietly, it felt as though there was something in the offing.

After I finished clearing the table and loading the dishwasher, apparently despite my having been away working for most of the summer, my siblings thought it only fair that I caught up on my missed household duties, we all took seats in the living room.

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” Dad asked Mum, softly.

“Tell us what, Dad?” Andy asked.

“I’m ill,” Mum said quietly, a tear starting to trickle down her cheek.

Instinctively we all reached across the table and our hands met on top of one of hers.

“Mum,” Andy said softly, “What is it?”

“I have a tumour,” she said, sadly, “in my brain.”

“What does that mean?” Alison asked, tears starting to brim her eyes, “are you going to die?”

“The doctor’s think that it’s non-malignant,” Mum explained, “that means it’s not cancer, it’s just some random cells growing in my head. They’re going to do an operation to remove most of it, then I’ll have either chemotherapy or radiotherapy, to get rid of the rest. They tell me that in most cases it doesn’t come back.”

“So you’ll be all right once they operate?” Alison asked.

“There’s always a risk with any operation,” Dad replied, “but it’s only a small risk, so yes, Mum should be fine once she’s had treatment. But, she’ll be quite poorly during it.”

“When will all this take place?” Andy asked.

“That depends on the NHS,” Dad replied, “we have to wait until she reaches the top of the waiting list.””Can’t we pay to have it done privately?” I asked.

“We looked at that,” Dad said, “my Insurance doesn’t cover cancer, and well, frankly it’s more than we can afford.”

“How much?” I asked.

“The full treatment would come to about eighty thousand pounds,” he replied, “assuming there were no complications.”

“And my corporate bank balance is what?” I asked.

“Just under four million,” he replied.

“Then what’s the problem?” I asked, “pay for it.”

“David,” Mum protested, “we can’t ask you to do that, that’s your money, for your future.”

“Mum, first off you’re not asking me, I’m offering,” I replied, “no, I’m not offering, as the majority shareholder in the company I am instructing the board to pay the bill for whatever the company secretary needs. The alternative is we have no future.”

“Of course, you do,” Mum snapped.

“No, we don’t,” I replied, “without you, we’d be stuck with Dad’s cooking, and that is not any future I want to contemplate.”

“Well I will have to be in the hospital for a while, so you’re going to have to suffer that temporarily at least,” She answered.

“Hey,” Dad complained, “I’m sat here you know.”

The smile was back on Mum’s lips, but not, I noticed, in her eyes. Alison walked around the table and hugged her.

“Love you, Mum,” she said, “we all do.”

“I know sweetheart,” Mum replied, “and I’m sorry if I’ve been a moody cow for the past while, but it’s been a strain keeping it in, and we didn’t want to tell you until David got back, and we knew for definite how bad it was.”

“So what happens next?” Alison asked after she moved around the table and hugged Mum,” when do you go to the hospital?”

“I have an appointment to see the surgeon on Monday,” she replied, before turning to me, “David, are you serious about paying?”

I just nodded.

“Then, we’ll talk to him then about going private,” she continued, “it should be a couple of days after that. I’ll be in for a couple of weeks to recover, then I’ll have the first round of chemotherapy to kill off anything they couldn’t cut out.”

“Then you’ll be all right again?” Alison asked.

“Then I’ll need a period of convalescence, so I’ll need a lot of help in the house from you three,” she replied, “can we depend on you?”

All three of us agreed.

She seemed to be satisfied with that, and the hugs we gave her, and the conversation turned to more mundane matters.

“Are you two ready for school on Wednesday?” she asked, “Have you got everything you need?.

“Yes,” Alison replied, “I’ve been ready for the last two weeks.

“Yes, well, that’s easy for you,” I replied, “you were here, and you’re just going back to the same school, I have to gear up for a completely new one.”

“Oh, poor little boy,” Alison whined, sticking her tongue out at me, “big film star has to go to school like us mere peasants.”

“Alison Barker, that’s enough of that,” Dad said, “there are no mere peasants in this family.”

“Sorry Dad,” Alison replied, “Sorry David, I didn’t mean anything...”

I stopped her by holding my hand up, palm towards her.

“Alison, hush,” I said, “it’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

Andy sat at the table looking bewildered. He was about to go off to Heriot-Watt in Edinburgh to study architecture, and Jean, his girlfriend was going with him to study Nursing at Edinburgh University.

I caught my Dad’s eye and nodded towards his study. He nodded agreement and went off in that direction.

“Don’t worry Andy,” I said, gently, “she’ll be all right.”

I followed my Dad to the study, and, since he’d left the door open, I walked straight in, closed the door behind me and then sat down across the desk from him.

“Is this about what we talked about while you were away?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “did you manage to find anything?”

“Yes,” he replied, reaching into his desk drawer and bringing out a folder. He passed it to me and I opened it.

Inside were the details of a building for sale, a block of six flats in a leafy suburb of Edinburgh, the guide price was five hundred thousand pounds.

“Did we make an offer?” I asked.

“Yes, at Four hundred and seventy thousand,” he replied, “it was accepted last week, and Andy Skillington has exchanged contracts. You are the proud owner of a block of flats in Edinburgh. Or, to be pedantic about it, of a company which owns that block.”

“What have you told Andy?” I asked.

“That I’ve found him a flat, two bedrooms, not far from the University, and that if he wants to find himself a flatmate, he can.”

“Good,” I said, “thanks, Dad. Just don’t tell him who the landlord is please?”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” he replied.

“Good, how much will we make on it?”

“At present rents, around eleven per cent, but that assumes rent being paid for Andy’s, about nine without. That’s before expenses.”

“That sounds good, maybe we should buy some more,” I said, “perhaps a property in Manchester?”

“Why Manchester?” he asked.

“Ready for when Cal and I go to University,” I said.

“Good point,” he replied, “I’ll get Andy to get his property person on it. How much do you want to spend?”

“You’re in charge of the company, Dad, your decision,” I replied.

“Well, it’s a better return than leaving the money in the bank,” he said.

“How much do we make there?” I asked.

“About one per cent,” he replied, “admittedly, that’s still earning you more than the average weekly wage, but it’s not very good. I think we should seriously consider some of the ideas that Andy’s financial adviser came up with.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“Well he advised putting about a quarter into bonds that pay a guaranteed income, then another quarter into unit trusts, invest about another quarter in start-ups with growth potential, and keep a year’s living expenses in liquid cash,” he said, “I think we should get an independent financial adviser in to give us some help.”

“All right Dad,” I agreed, “but like I’ve said before, I’m a sixteen years old schoolboy, I don’t know anything about that stuff, so I’m leaving it all up to you. I know you’ll do your best for me.”

“I’ll do that son, but I want you to be involved every step of the way,” he replied.

“Why Dad? I know nothing about that sort of thing, and I trust you completely.”

“We don’t want to end up with a situation like so many young notable people,” he replied, “with you and your parents facing off in a courtroom.”

“I’d never do that to you or Mum,” I protested.

“Really?” he said, “can you say, without reservation, that if fifteen years from now, you discovered millions missing, and it was because I’d taken it, you wouldn’t take action?”

“Well no,” I replied, “under those circumstances, I’d have to wouldn’t I?”

“Which is why, son, even if I’m the CEO, the final decisions will always rest with you,” he replied.

I opened my mouth to object, but he stopped me with a raised palm.

“That’s not to say that if you said to me, ‘Dad, buy a block of flats, don’t spend more than a million,’ I’d insist on you making every individual decision. Your decision there is to buy a block of flats. My job is to make that happen,” he said, quite forcefully, “and on another point, at some point, you’ll need to appoint someone to manage your business affairs and replace me.”

“What?” I almost spat, “don’t you want to do it any more?”

“David,” he replied, calmly, “calm down, it’s not that I don’t want to do it, it’s not that I’m unwilling, but there will come a time when you and your ‘organisation’ become too big for me to manage. Then you’ll need to get someone in who understands the industry that you’re in.”