The Value of Something

By Shirley Gladden

How far would you go for family?
Crystal is about to turn forty and has some major life changes in mind. Her father Harry has always prided himself on knowing the price of everything, but when he contacts the family with a request that has nothing to do with money, a lot of lives are thrown into turmoil. While his daughter struggles with a heart rending decision and his mother rakes up a long buried secret, others are drawn in to the complex web. As the past reaches forward to engulf the present, will the value of something eventually be enough to lead to a better future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triplicity Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jun 2, 2014

Shirley Gladden

Shirley Gladden was born and grew up in England. She has a degree in science and is a teacher. Having taught in England and Germany she recently took up a post in Cyprus and now divides her time between this warm Mediterranean island and her base in England. She enjoys playing the saxophone, though by her own admission has more enthusiasm than raw talent, and now that her four daughters are grown up she has more time to devote to her writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Crystal

The ten minute journey had already taken twenty and Crystal had been reduced to bored driver activities; counting the number of people joining the cinema queue as she shuffled one car length, betting herself that she’d not move before the next radio song ended, and even worse, conjuring up a smile when she lost. She was happy to be going home, but there was no major hurry. There was no one waiting for her, and having recently invested in the latest media technology, she could watch her programme at any time.

Half an hour later still, after finally squeezing the car in to the last available space on the street, letting herself in, and tucking her bag away under the hall table, she bypassed the kitchen, reached for the remote, and settled down to enjoy the next thirty minutes in blissful peace, but that, it seemed, was too much to ask. As she had come to accept in her four decades of life, even such simple hopes were often too high.

I think you’ve just got an eye for that young gentleman, remarked Dora, who was in one of her early evening, dusting everything that didn’t move sessions. She was supposed to do two mornings a week, but led a complicated life which Crystal had long since stopped trying to follow and often just turned up at any hour.

Don’t mind me, I’ll just work round you, was her way of saying she would keep flitting in front of the screen and talking in fits and starts, without a chance of not being noticed.

I hardly think so, remarked Crystal, leaning over to peer round her considerable bulk, but I must say I’m quite impressed with the historical accuracy. She stared stoically at the images of pyramids and vast expanses of sand, reluctant to encourage more than quiet the swish of the duster for a while at least.

Having for once taken the hint, Dora moved off into the hallway, returning only as the final credits began to roll. Give me my soaps any day, she continued, as if without a break, there’s this gorgeous new actor appearing—I’ve seen the previews. Reckon you’d like him as well.

Not being one for no win conversations, Crystal just gave a half smile and turned off the set as she passed, ignoring the advice to leave it on standby to save the effort of pressing an extra button later on.

In every aspect of her life, advice was something she didn’t take easily. She read the handbooks enclosed with new devices and searched the internet for information, but that apart, preferred to rely on her own judgement to get through most situations. Looking back, she’d had lots of good advice as she grew up- most of which had simply flown over her confident, young head. So she hadn’t pushed herself forward for Oxbridge entrance, but had opted for three years at a red brick affair; she hadn’t ridden on the back of her First Class Honours degree to get a research post, but had done a teaching qualification, and most importantly, she hadn’t married James, though he’d been there and he’d asked her and everyone else thought she should.

You mightn’t get another chance, not too many single sane men over 30 out there you know, her very married friends had predictably pointed out. What’s wrong with him anyway?

That had been it. Absolutely nothing and therefore everything. He was punctual, caring, well-established, and clean in his habits, but after seeing each other for over two years, she realized, around the time of his earnest proposal that, although he fitted the bill perfectly in lots of ways, she was simply bored by that very perfection. She had little by way of personal experience to compare it with but in the end his almost sex by numbers approach in the bedroom had tipped the balance of her indecision in to a polite no. A flicker from within told her that there had to be more, and if not, then she could live without the whole thing, and without him. There had followed a series of short-lived relationships, but no more bended knees, and now cruising busily towards forty, she told herself there were many advantages to being a mature single woman of independent means, not least the freedom to lie diagonally across the bed should the fancy so take her.

She closed the patio door quietly behind her as she went out in to the fresh evening air, though the example was lost on Dora who continued to bang and crash around the house in a cheery frenzy. Crystal pulled her chair over to the corner of the paving, to catch the last rays of sunshine. On evenings like this she almost revelled in the time to simply sit with nothing more pressing than the daily paper to absorb, as the world outside rushed by. She scanned the pages quickly and lost herself in a wider world of conflict and complications that were far removed from her own ordered existence.

***

Waking up early next morning and languishing in the sudden recollection that it was Saturday, Crystal was about to drift off again when her phone brought her fully in to the new day.

Fancy a trip in to town? I could do with an excuse to leave the kids with Dan…and of course it would be lovely to catch up. Sarah said it all so quickly and with such enthusiasm, there was no possibility of declining. Warming to the idea, Crystal hauled herself up, showered, sat down for her single piece of wholemeal toast, and headed off. Sarah was predictably late leaving her domestic chaos and arrived at their usual meeting spot breathless but glowing. Crystal enjoyed Sarah’s company. They had been friends forever and though now living disparate lives, they never ran out of things to talk about. They spent a couple of hours browsing in the growing number of designer shops on the high street, and Crystal passed her credit card over to buy extraneous items with only a faint waft of guilt.

This is lovely, Sarah said, hovering over a pale pink cashmere sweater, but the twins need new trainers and the tumble dryer’s playing up. Best wait. You are so lucky having your money all to yourself!

Crystal suppressed the urge to offer to pay for it, and Sarah settled happily for a new belt and a cream tea, despite it not being past noon. Yes, in some ways she was lucky. She knew that, though listening now to her friend’s cheerful ramblings and daily family anecdotes, she found herself struggling to match them with anything even slightly amusing from her own life.

Any uplifting cultural dates I need to know about? asked Sarah between bites of overfilled scone. Despite a heavy commitment to school runs, night shifts at the hospital, and evenings at the local pub, she attempted to retain a semblance of her more intellectual self, and relied on her friend to organise this for her.

These were always pleasant evenings for Crystal too. She loved going to concerts and to the theatre and there was usually no shortage of friends or colleagues willing to accompany her, once she’d done the research and laid the opportunity at their door, though Sarah was the only one who actually badgered her for information about the next event. On the odd occasion when no one was interested or available, she had been known to go along on her own. The interval drinks were a problem but she usually managed to find a quiet corner where she could balance her wine and scrutinise the programme until the bell summoned the audience back in.

There’s a good play on next Thursday if you’re interested.

What time and where? These were the only details Sarah needed.

The new Arts centre. Starts at eight so we could go for an early supper beforehand.

No can do, have parental taxi duty ‘til seven thirty. But you go and eat and we can meet in the foyer for a drink.

One thing Crystal rarely did was go to restaurants alone. She had never been comfortable with the book prop, though others seemed to carry it off, and with nothing else to do, the meal was often over before the next table had barely begun. She appreciated good food, but it went hand in hand with interesting conversation, a good bottle of Chardonnay, and lots of eye contact. Not that they always materialised together. On the male escort front, only a few restaurant experiences had ticked any of the boxes and she had lost count of the attempts to look interested in new golf putters, trends in the Asian stock market, or the tensile strength of fishing line. These days she preferred to dine with known quantities and she felt a twinge of disappointment at Sarah’s alternative plan.

Seven forty-five then. She would eat at home first.

Hey, have to dash—Dan and ten year old girls have a limited life span, and it’s my turn to host Sunday lunch for the tribe, so have an appointment with a supermarket trolley.

Promising to be vaguely on time for the theatre, Sarah planted a glancing kiss and was gone, leaving Crystal with images of tomorrow’s happy bedlam around a mountain of roast potatoes and bought in cheesecake. She ringed Thursday in her diary before she got up from the table and then headed down the street with her collection of carrier bags.

Apart from these organised excursions, Crystal’s social calendar was sometimes conspicuously clear and she appreciated every invitation that did drift in. She had kept in touch with a number of people from university days, and a few still lived close by. With the exception of her friend Anna, they were all long married, but had children well past the stage where staying up late would cause problems the next morning. They all seemed to live busy, chaotic lives and invariably conversations began with, Sorry haven’t been in touch for so long—you know how it is. She knew how it was for them, but they all seemed to thrive on it and she was just glad when they remembered her. So she carefully noted down the dates and always turned up on time with a very decent bottle of wine.

Today had already been ringed for an evening event and she had allocated time before it to make sure her hair and choice of outfit would meet with Anna’s approval. At ten to eight exactly, she took her car keys off the hook, inspected the reflection in the hall mirror, and after toning down the lipstick just a little, shut the door firmly behind her.

***

Anna was prompt as usual. Her work as an events manager meant timings were simply ingrained in her life. She loved the many facets of her job and had a never ending stream of entertaining tales to share.

Next week we’ve got a big marquee do on for a city banker’s wedding reception—his third by all accounts. He wants exactly twenty-one swans on the lake, one for each year of her disgustingly short life, and a hundred helium filled heart shaped balloons to be set free at midnight. Not sure what the hundred signifies, she told Crystal as they sipped their martinis.

Perhaps the number of diamonds in the tiara? Crystal offered.

Or the number of exotic places he’s going to take her.

Crystal took another appreciative sip of wine. Or the age he hopes to live to. That would be a bit of a blow if she’s a gold digger.

So old and still so cynical, my friend. Oh and did I tell I you I’m flying to Nice next week to help out with a celebrity gala? Then home via Paris to look at some new ideas the people there have come up with?

Anna rarely seemed to be in the country these days, but that was never a problem as far as their friendship went. Two years of sharing a house and half a lifetime of sharing pretty much everything else had given each an anchor in the other that would always be within reach, somehow. They had great respect for the other’s chosen career. For Anna, while five hundred impatient guests in a marquee was a breeze, thirty adolescents in one room was scary, and for Crystal who had long since found ways of dealing with youth en masse, averting a crisis with unthawed prawns and a hysterical debutante seemed the greater of the evils.

So tell all. How’s that new teacher in your art department settling in? Anna had been introduced to him last month at a rare school function. He has such cute eyes, don’t you think?

He also has a cute wife—and he’s a bit young for you. In truth, Crystal had little to do with most of the staff. Either they had partners or families that kept them busy out of school or they became part of the young social set that headed for the pub after school on Fridays and continued from there. Roger seemed to blend in to both groups and she envied his easy popularity, but from the side lines.

Anna cut across her thoughts. I wasn’t thinking of me… Actually I do have a bit of news on that front—Greg and I are officially an item! No plans for anything more formal just yet but…

That’s wonderful news. Crystal felt genuinely pleased for her friend, and ashamed of herself for the hollow feeling inside that already missed their exclusive sisterhood.

He’s invited me down for the weekend to meet his family. There are lots of them which is just as well. It won’t be such a shock when he meets my tribe. Even I have trouble sometimes remembering the names of all the new additions to the family tree.

The restaurant was beginning to empty and Anna had an early start next day for a flying visit to her favourite sister’s house so they settled the bill, left an over generous tip, and agreed to meet up again soon—which might mean three weeks or three months from now.

Like Anna, Crystal loved to spend time with her family, such as it was. Her grandmother, Alice, was near the top of her list. It was a two way thing and certainly didn’t feel like a duty. They simply enjoyed each other’s company and saw eye to eye about so many things, and if they didn’t, then at least they could agree to be stubbornly different. They talked about everything from the political state in newly emerging democracies to the nominees for the latest film awards. Though Alice at eighty-one by no means considered herself an intellectual, she watched a lot of television these days and stored up bits for discussion. She didn’t want Crystal to be bored or to feel she always had to be the one to keep the conversation going. The gaps were filled with trivia, Earl Grey tea, and boxed iced fancies, while they half watched anything vaguely interesting on the screen. Sundays were ringed on both their weekly routines.

Chapter 2: Alice

It didn’t seem worth struggling with the cling film just to preserve a bit of fish. The problem was solved as it hit the pink plastic dish and disappeared in a second. Sam looked up at her and purred. Alice harboured no illusions this was a gesture of feline thanks, but stroked his ears anyway, and in the absence of further cascading delicacies, he settled for that and a few rubs up and down her stockinged legs.

Only me. Crystal appeared at the lounge door, bearing two pizza fliers and the local gazette. Glad to see you enjoyed your dinner. That cat’s getting fat. Nice to eat in front of the TV now and then? With the tray removed to the kitchen and the fishy plate rinsed, she settled herself next to Alice, making minimal show of straightening cushions and removing a chocolate wrapper to the bin.

It was very tasty, dear, thank you. They make it in such a tidy shape these days—and not a bone in sight. She appreciated Crystal filling up her freezer, and didn’t mention the waste disposal. The fact was that, like her, her appetite was a bit tired. The time was when she could polish off three courses, seconds of dessert, and still say yes to the After Eights, but these days one simple plateful was a challenge. Crystal’s regular appearances though meant far more than a change from the solitary sandwiches. She had so looked forward to the arrival of grandchildren, and had not been disappointed, just a little short changed in terms of numbers and proximity. From day one she had been delighted with her granddaughter, indeed with all her grandchildren, and her only regret was that there weren’t more of them.

A small accumulated pile of mail sat calmly on the table between them, but unlike the excitable girl she had once been, Alice was happy to leave it there for now. Too many piles of birthday cards and too many candles on the cake had dulled the importance of another passing year and anyway it would give her something to do when she was alone later.

They’re a bit early, aren’t they? Crystal thumbed through the envelopes, processing any obvious information at a glance and Alice could see what she was thinking, but for herself she was happy to have the long distance one here safely, well in time, and as for the ones from her sisters just down the road, well that was to be expected as they just hated being late. You never knew when there might be a postal strike. She guessed that during the week contributions from her surviving friends with faith in the postal system would also be safely delivered—and she also knew that one hoped for card would never appear. It had been that way for over twenty years. Crystal’s own card would, she was sure, drop neatly on to the mat right on time. In her granddaughter’s book, an eighty-second birthday, just like any other one, deserved due precision, and that she was good at.

She scrutinised the Australian stamp and the mental picture of it being licked, drew Alice’s gaze to the end of the room. It was wallpapered with framed photos, geometrically arranged by Crystal when she could no longer bear competing with them for enough space to balance a cup on the small tables. George appeared a number of times—as a sepia baby, a wiry young man, a smiling dad with just a hint of a paunch. His chronicled life was there for her to see each day, and the advent of emails, cheap calls, and almost affordable flights had done much to keep the tight family threads alive, though the ache born out of distance never quite left.

Her beloved second born had forged a good life for himself out there, using his hard earned electrician’s skills to build up a strong business, and his natural charm to entice a pretty girl to share it all with him. Nesta had produced the statutory two children somewhere between submitting the tax returns and overseeing the refurbishment of each new house. Their young faces formed part of the lounge wall’s pattern too. Smiling little strangers at first, then real live children with their arms around their visiting Gran, and now beautiful young women with a look of their cousin Crystal, or so Alice liked to think. There was still a corner of wall that she hoped would be filled with a new lot of tiny faces, but it had been waiting there for quite a while now. This catalogue of continuing life and its hope for the future filled a small part of the hole gauged out when George’s ship had sailed away long ago, long before she was ready to let him go. But he was alive and well. He was successful and he loved her. She had done a good job there.

Well it makes me ashamed. Crystal suddenly changed the mood.How could anyone be so uncaring, so cold as to forget his own mother’s birthday?

It really doesn’t matter. I’m not expecting anything from him—he leads such a busy life these days. All those trips and meetings and business deals—there was a bit in the local paper about him last month. Alice cast her mind back again. And I still have lots he sent before—some beautiful handmade ones.

Her sixtieth card from Harry, her eldest son, had stood out as extra special. A cleverly layered affair with news bits from six decades—card on card, year on year. He’d commissioned it specially, and since it was about the last he’d seen, it was particularly precious. She knew that Crystal felt a constant bubbling resentment towards her father and it showed now in her face. Alice reached over to put a wrinkled hand on the smooth cheek. I just accept that he is what he is, and if you had children of your own, my darling, you would understand, believe me.

***

Crystal wasn’t sure about that, but she acknowledged the imparting of wisdom with the briefest of nods. She had listened over and over to Alice’s tales of years gone by and had gradually put together the decades of jigsaw pieces that made up a family life full of endless struggles. It seemed that as a young woman, her grandmother had met them head on and simply kept on going, making the best of things to give her small brood a good start in life. Now the body was failing to obey the active brain and it was her turn to be cared for. Usually she seemed content enough though. Cosy house, adequate pension, past and future glued together on the wall, confirming her mark on the world. Looking at them sometimes of late, Crystal felt sort of heavy inside. A fleeting glimpse of something she was missing herself. Alice levered herself up and reached in to the bureau for the consoling chocolate stash. Let’s make a start on these—I think they’re still in date.

***

Hours later and now alone, Alice awoke with a jerk just in time to catch the little carriage clock chime ten. During her busy years, she had craved the time to sit in a chair long enough to doze off, but now it was getting harder and harder to find reasons to get out of it. A cup of tea to accompany the news was one of those and she walked slowly through to the kitchen. Crystal had bought her a new teapot last Christmas, a tiny white porcelain affair that held just enough for one. It was so practical not to waste teabags, water or even the electric power, and she knew she should have been pleased with it.

She had been brought up to abhor waste. Born in lean years between the wars and barely having time to just be a child before world mayhem descended again, she’d been well versed from an early age in how to make something from very little. Her wedding day, well after peace was restored but shortages remained, was testimony to this, but the guests had gone away full and her husband was reassured he had made a good choice. A corporal in the army, John was gone again straight after the short honeymoon and reality set in as Alice left her teen years behind to cope alone in the tiny quarter. Eventually his return to civilian life ended the solitude and almost straight away it seemed Harry’s arrival plunged them in to a busy family routine, but John never complained. He grasped a tiny slice of the new decade’s prosperity and they moved to a cosy house in a nice street where they could raise their children for a better world. They waited patiently to complete the family, and waited some more until almost a decade later, George joined his brother in the second bedroom and just a year later they had a reason to paint the box room pink. Money was tight, but they got by and got on. George and his little sister Pauline became a mutual adoration society which she knew Harry both envied and despised.

Come on, son—leave them to it and give me a hand in the shed, his father would say, and the two of them would bury themselves in his latest project—be it a hand crafted stool commissioned by friends to make a few extra shillings, or an ambitious go-cart built just for the fun of it. They both seemed to love these private times, but they didn’t outlast the hormonal years and soon became just treasured memories for one and a boring childish occupation for the other.

No thanks—have to meet up with some mates in town.

Later then?

No—have stuff to do.

More and more the stuff seemed to involve hushed voices behind bedroom walls and lots of comings and goings at odd hours. Any concerned queries met with surly shrugs as the door closed on communication.

It’s just a phase, Alice placated. "He’ll soon want to be out at the pub with you—you’ll see, and maybe he’ll learn a bit more carpentry and follow you in to the trade.