Chapter 9

The flight home was unremarkable, mostly because as soon as the seat belt sign went off, I reclined my seat backwards, closed my eyes and went to sleep, not waking until we were flying over the southern tip of Ireland and almost on our final approach to Manchester.

I pulled my seat back vertical again and accepted a cup of coffee and a couple of croissants from the attendant. Just less than an hour later, I felt the slight bump and the plane’s undercarriage hit the tarmac at Manchester. Half an hour after that I walked out into the arrivals hall to see my Mum waiting for me.

“Good trip?” she asked as we hugged.

“Yes,” I replied, “slept like a log all the way across the Atlantic.”

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Sandy to let her know I’d arrived.

“Have you had breakfast?” she asked me as we approached Birch Services on the M62.

“I had a couple of croissants and a cup of coffee about,” I began, and looked at my watch, “two hours ago.”

“Let’s stop off and get something then,” she suggested.

Birch isn’t the best services in the UK, it’s not even the best on the M62, but it is near enough to halfway home.

I had a full English breakfast and Mum just had a tea and a bacon sandwich.

Fed and watered, we set off for the fifty-minute drive back home, always assuming there wasn’t a traffic jam on the motorway.

There wasn’t, but it was still after eleven when we got home. I went straight upstairs to shower and change, and unpack, returning downstairs an hour later.

“I take it you don’t require lunch,” Mum said.

“Not really, I’m still stuffed from that breakfast at Birch, and my body thinks it’s somewhere around seven in the morning,” I replied.

“Well drink plenty of liquids, and if you feel yourself falling asleep, give in to it,” she answered.

My phone pinged with an incoming text. I took it out and opened the messaging app. ‘Great, looking forward to your next visit. Love’ and a string of six x’s.

Mum looked quizzical.

“Sandy, just conforming she got my text,” I explained.

“Sandy?” she queried.

“Sandra Dunham,” I explained, “she was my chauffeur/guide while I was in New York. I’m going to ask for her to be my PA while I’m in Vancouver.”

“Oh yes,” she said, archly.

“Mum, she’s a film student at the City University of New York and interning as a Production Assistant for the show. I get a personal assistant, under the contract, and since I know her, I’d like her to get the job. Dad knows about it.”

“So you’ll be in close contact with a girl, out in Vancouver all on your own?” she asked.

“Woman, Mum,” I replied, “she’s twenty-one.”

“Ah,” she said, “that should be all right then.”

I decided that nothing would be gained by mentioning Saturday night and Sunday morning.

Mum was pleased with her perfume and asked what I’d got for everybody else.

“A doll for Alison,” I said, “and a fountain pen each for Dad and Andy.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “nothing for Cal?”

“No Mum,” I said, “nothing for Cal.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Mum, Cal is no longer my girlfriend, not after the way she behaved in Manchester.”

“And how long do you intend that bit of nonsense to be allowed to come between you?” she asked.

“Until Cal, in her wisdom decides to start acting like a mature human being Mum,” I replied, “assuming that neither of us meets someone else in the meantime.”

“Of course, neither of you will,” she said, “you just need to stop sulking, the girl made a mistake, she’s sorry.”

“Mum, before I’ll even consider it,” I began, “she has to realise not so much that she’s made a mistake, but what mistake it was she made, and how she needs to change to avoid making the same mistakes again. Then is the time to say she’s sorry. Right now, she just thinks that whatever she does, all she has to do is say sorry, and everything will be fine. Well, it isn’t, and it can’t be. Not until she grows up.”

I’d said my piece, and I wasn’t going to debate it, so I went to my room and got out my homework.

I spent an hour on homework, and another couple on reading until a knock on my bedroom door distracted me.

“Yes,” I called out and the door opened and my sister walked in, “Hi Pip miss me?”

“Of course I did,” she said, “just like you miss toothache when it’s gone.”

“And I love you too, Alison,” I said.

She leapt onto the bed beside me and grabbed me in a bear hug.

“Welcome home big bro,” she said and kissed me on the cheek.

“I’m glad to be back,” I said, “but you realise I’m going away for six months in December, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, “are you going back to LA?” she asked.

“No, Vancouver this time,” I replied, “to make twenty-six episodes of a TV series.”

“You mean I won’t get to see you for six months?” she said, sounding sad.

“Of course you will, you can come over for school holidays, and I’m thinking the whole family can come over for Christmas. And you can come out every holiday if you want.”

“Can Geoff come too?” she asked.

I gave her a look she’d never seen before.

She smiled at me, coyly.

“If Mum and Dad, and his parents agree,” I said, “I don’t see why not. But you won’t be sleeping together.”

“Of course not,” she squealed, “what sort of a girl do you think I am?”

“A very beautiful, and very normal one,” I replied.

She hugged me again, then jumped up off the bed.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said, “one of the most beautiful young women I’ve ever known.”

“That’s why I love you, bro,” she said.

“Because I’m so perspicacious?” I asked.

“No, because you can fake sincerity and bullshit with the best of them,” this was delivered as she left the room.

Once I was alone, I thought about that last comment. Was she serious? Did I actually fake sincerity? I didn’t think so, and I didn’t think I was a bullshitter either, but if my sister thought that, and she probably knew me as well as anyone else, then could it actually be true?

I put the thought away and went back to my book. I was woken a couple of hours later by my phone.

When I looked at the caller ID it was Cal. I really was too tired for her just then, I rejected the call, then sent her a text saying I was tired from Jet lag and would speak to her later, switched the phone off and went back to sleep.

Mum woke me when it was time for tea, I gave my hands and face a quick wash and went downstairs, still bleary-eyed.

“Time difference caught up with you?” Dad said, as I all but staggered into the dining room.

“Looks like it,” I said, “and I’m going to have to go back, though I don’t know whether that will be to New York, LA or Vancouver.

“Talking of which,” Dad said, “I’ve spoken to the real estate woman over in Vancouver, it seems there are two things we can do. If you think that this is something that will be a one-off, then we rent an apartment for you for six months. However, if it’s going to be ongoing, she’s suggesting that what we do is buy a house, somewhere not too far from the studio, and rent it out to some other actor when you’re not there.”

“What will that cost?” I asked.

“To rent a three-bed apartment will be about two thousand five hundred dollars a month, that’s Canadian dollars,” he replied.

“And why would I want three bedrooms?” I asked.

“Two reasons, firstly where would we stay when we come and visit?” he asked, “and secondly, you’d have a washer dryer and dishwasher in that price. You’d have to do your laundry at the local launderette otherwise.”

Okay,” I agreed, “and the other option?”

“You could buy something similar for about eight hundred thousand,” he said, “but that would save you around eighteen thousand each year in paying rent, and make you about twelve thousand in rentals, that an effective return of just over two per cent, look on it as spending eighteen thousand against making thirty. And your asset goes up in value over time.”

“Like the house that Cal and I bought down by the river?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Then I think we should look at that option,” I said.

“Then I’ll get her to send us some information,” he said, “is it OK to pay for courier service?”

“Let’s see where my next trip has to be. If it’s to Vancouver how about you come with me, and we’ll take a look. Otherwise, we’ll do the courier thing.”

By this time Mum, with Alison’s help, had dished the tea out, it was corned beef hash and we all tucked in. Andy was back at University, so I couldn’t give him his pen after tea, but Dad was thrilled with his, and my sister just thought her doll was ace. Her word, not mine.

I was in bed early, the jet lag had really got a hold of me, which also meant that on Tuesday I was up early. To be precise, four-thirty am.

So, when my Dad got up at six-thirty, I already had the coffee made.

“Inner clock still messed up?” he asked.

“Big-time,” I said, “I’ve been up for two hours already. I’ve been thinking Dad, about school.”

“What about it?” he asked, “well given that I can do my A levels online and learn to programme as well, plus the fact that for the next six months I’ll be in Canada, is there really any point in me going to school?”