Leftover Hurricanes

By Mark Laming

That’s all it takes, one moment of weakness, for Toby’s long suffering friend, Debbie, to be sucked into the vortex of his sad and complicated life.

Toby’s anxious voice on the phone sends shivers down Debbie’s spine, as he tells her that he won’t be around for too much longer. Once again the showman is calling the shots, and she drops everything to be with him.

Debbie is convinced that, by moving to New York, she will win back his love. Her strength and belief in Toby is unswerving, begging the question: how many more times can she get knocked down and keep coming back for more?

Balancing his illness with heading up an enormous advertising agency, Toby’s crazy ‘win or die’ tactics have far-reaching consequences.

The aftermath of revenge dominates the lives of Toby and Debbie, as the Leftover Hurricane waits patiently to deliver its final sweep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Jul 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781682992449

Book preview

Chapter 1

When I was a young girl, my mother told me to take a deep breath and count backwards from ten when things weren’t going well. On this occasion, I wasn’t sure this would help.

I’d last met up with Toby over eighteen years before, and on taking his call, I just knew my life would never be the same again.

At first I was overjoyed to hear his voice, but I soon grew concerned. Calm down, Toby, speak slowly...

He sounded annoyed. I’ve tried calling you three times today—where have you been?

What do you mean, where have I been? At work; where else would I be on a Monday?

I wanted to tell you I’ve been ill.

I drew breath. Are you okay now?

I could hear him sobbing as he mumbled, No, not really.

What’s wrong with you?

On Tuesday, I’m being admitted to the hospital.

Hospital!

Yeah, my first chemo session. It’s the prostate, and I tell you, Debbie, it’s scared the shit out of me thinking about going in again.

Oh my God. Why didn’t you let me know before?

I steadied myself against the front door. I glanced down at my shopping bags that I’d hurriedly dropped on the hall floor, and at the mail that lay littered around my feet. I’d barely gotten to the phone in time, and the realization that Toby was calling elated me. But there had been no time for pleasantries, as I was now trying to take in his terrible news.

Debbie, I’m really frightened.

I tried to unbutton my coat with one hand. How bad is it?

As bad as it gets. It’s spread to the lymph glands, and I’m waiting for some more tests. I’ve got my career going well out here in New York, and the chances of me coming out of this are slim, even with the sodding treatment.

I was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy, as my emotions were all over the place. He was living on the other side of the world, and it wasn’t as if I could just pop over and comfort him.

I bent down and peeped into one of my shopping bags, at the frozen food that needed to go in the freezer. I could always replace some thawed-out fish fingers and peas, but not my Toby.

My heart went out to him. What can I do to help?

It’s James, my son; he’s only ten, and his nanny has quit—she said she’d had enough.

With this bit of information, I wondered if young James had behavioral problems. Just how many nannies had there been?

I gripped the phone really hard, anxious to know where all this was going. Aren’t there plenty of nannies in New York?

You are missing the point; it’s a tricky time for James at the moment.

Ah yes, with your illness—sorry, I wasn’t thinking.

No, I haven’t told him about me; no point worrying him just yet. He needs someone to look after him—with my ex out of the scene and her parents getting older, I’m going to struggle with the child care.

Sounds like you’re going to need some help.

You could say that. I’ve missed you, and want you out here. Also, James will need a new nanny; you’ll be great at helping out.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. It was a big ask, expecting me to jump on an airplane and relocate to America. Also, I wasn’t sure taking up where we’d left off all those years before was such a good idea. I had a mortgage on the house, and my job was going well. Then there was the new man I’d been dating; I was enjoying his company, or should I say, the sex. Another crazy thought raced through my mind: the previous week, I’d grudgingly agreed to go with a colleague at work to see a new girl band called the Spice Girls. On a positive note, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing to miss if I flew out to be with Toby.

Look, Toby, I’m not a nanny; I just work with kids. I’m not sure I could up sticks and live in America. Anyway, wouldn’t I need a visa? I’m not even sure if my passport is still in date.

We can get all that sorted—you’ve got to come.

My head spun with the possibility that after all this time, he really did need me. However, a little voice nagged away in my head. Make sure he wants you, Debbie. Check he didn’t just call because he knew you’d come running. Are you sure you still love him?

I whispered down the phone, You do still care about me, don’t you?

What sort of a question is that? Of course, I care about you. Do say you’ll come.

Hearing him say this, I felt no hesitation; I wanted to be there for him. In a moment of madness, I lied, I’m between jobs, no partner to worry about, so I’m free. How about I come for a while and we’ll take it from there?

Over the telephone line of more than three thousand miles, I heard his sigh of relief.

* * * *

I put down the phone, and leaned against the wall in my narrow hallway. My legs felt like jelly as I slithered down to sit on the cold wooden floor. It all seemed so unreal: I’d actually agreed to go and live in America. Leave my home and everything I was accustomed to, just to be with him. I’d not even given one second’s consideration to my work, which I was actually enjoying. My new man friend would soon be given his marching orders, and I’d probably rent out the house. Seizing the opportunity to see Toby again was all that mattered. Somehow he’d beat the cancer, and we’d be together.

* * * *

My thoughts shot back to our early days together at Manchester University. It was the mid-seventies, and the Student Union echoed with the sound of Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water and Slade’s Mama Weer All Crazee Now. It was an exciting time to be a student, and I was quickly falling into the trap of burning the candle at both ends.

I remember Toby once telling me that life was never linear, and he was right. The bumps and turns took a young woman like me along a path I could neither resist nor leave. At times, he quickened my heartbeat only to let me freefall along life’s curvy trail, but I never stopped loving him.

I certainly wasn’t prepared for the tangled mess that unfolded. Although for a long time we’d gone along different paths, it seems like only yesterday that we first met in the Student Union bar.

He apologized for spilling my drink, before producing a white handkerchief from his smart blue jacket. Feeling embarrassed, I stood still with my arms splayed out as the feeling of dampness crept through my blouse. Ignoring my plea to be left alone, the young man proceeded to dry me off. At first I was a bit annoyed, and then saw the funny side, and before long we were chatting like old friends. A while later, and with two plastic pint glasses of beer downed, I felt I’d known Toby for some time.

Toby was at least six feet tall, and of Indian descent. He spoke in long, drawn-out sentences, and hints of well-to-do living spilled from his sharply defined lips. His warm, handsome face, and the smart long hair sweeping past strong, protruding cheekbones, gave him the appearance of a real heartbreaker. The young man had breeding; clearly a rich mummy and daddy were living in Henley or somewhere similar.

Pausing for breath, he raised his large, bushy eyebrows, and addressed me with an inquisitive frown.

Tell me, old girl, how many of those lemonades can you put away? His gaze traveled from my head down to the short skirt and up again before he gulped his way through a generous swig of the amber nectar.

Amused by the strange question, I shouted above the music, Why do you want to know? Trying to get me drunk, are you?

I like a woman with balls.

I creased up with laughter. This guy was really something, some kind of a nutcase. He was fun to be with, someone I knew I could fancy.

* * * *

We were both in our second year reading law and politics, and my studying often took a back seat as our friendship developed. But that was all it was, a platonic companionship on his terms, with no ties.

Toby’s never-ending list of skills fascinated me. He played the piano wonderfully, mainly jazz, never missing an opportunity to show off his talent. He was also a brilliant artist. Then there was his ability to absorb masses of information: repeating back a previous week’s lecture notes was a simple task. My multi-tasking measured low against his flair and hunger to succeed. So, conversations with him mostly centered on his achievements: he was the showman, and I was the onlooker.

Heads turned when he entered a room, and voices lowered as fellow students deliberated on what this extrovert would do next. He bore no resemblance to the students I normally mixed with: long hair, dressed in jeans and tee shirt. Toby reveled in being noticed and had a collection of elegant suits, each with a matching tie and hanky. Then there were his shoes: highly polished black leather, always laced up with precision. His gold watch sparkled, and was usually accompanied by a fancy ring with a green stone he wore on his little finger. Casual for this young man was a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, with cream trousers, narrow belt, and brown suede shoes.

He enjoyed impersonating an upper-class gentleman in noisy, charismatic ways that kept folk amused. Our tutor commented on how uncannily Toby’s mannerisms and voice likened him to an actor called Leslie Phillips, someone my mother had always liked. This indeed was my Toby, comical behavior delivered with passion.

Rather than stay in student accommodation, he chose to live at home with his parents, in Manchester. It was much more comfortable than where I laid my head. He was amused by my colorless walls, damp patches in my bedroom, and the lack of a telephone in the house. This apparent shortcoming irked me somewhat; there were plenty of phone boxes around, so what was the problem? Understanding more about Toby revealed a man who wanted everything to be perfect—no room for error. My experience of life was that it wasn’t always the smooth road he talked about.

I recollect someone once telling me that in the Middle East, when a carpet maker made a mat, it was completed to the highest standard. However, they deliberately left a corner finished to a lesser standard. Life is never spot on, and in the eyes of their god, people should always remember they are never perfect; there is always a flaw in the fabric.

* * * *

Toby was one in a million, without doubt the most complicated person I’d ever met. The more we got to know each other, the more this overpowering student drew me into his life. I look back to our first date, when he failed to turn up. I was patiently sitting in the Union bar at seven o’clock, the exact time and place he’d reminded me our meeting would be. I was told not to be late, and when he didn’t turn up, I began to wonder why I’d agreed to the date.

The minutes dragged as I sat waiting for Toby. I took in the noise of students queuing for food, banging trays, rattling cutlery, and everyone talking at the same time. Tuesday was curry night, and always popular. The all-too-familiar aroma of spicy chicken with a generous heap of steaming pilau rice made me hungry. I thought about buying some crisps to keep me going, but didn’t want to risk losing the table. Instead, I ignored the hunger pangs and told myself I could wait until dinner with Toby. I kept other students at bay, saying the table was reserved and that my friend would arrive soon.

Enough was enough. Toby had stood me up, and I was far from happy. I had one final check of my watch and got up to leave. I glanced towards the exit, and to my amazement, in walked Toby with his arm around a girl with long blond hair.

I waved at him, and he crossed over to where I was standing. I’m sure his companion must have wondered what was going on. He stood to attention in front of me, smiled, and then introduced his friend, Jackie. My eyes traveled down to the low-cut top that barely covered her chest, and farther down, to the tiny white shorts.

Toby removed his arm from the girl’s waist, walking her over to a seat that had become available, then came back.

What are you doing here, Debbie?

Having our date, I thought.

This is where we’re meeting up tomorrow.

I don’t think so, I protested.

I wanted to demand an explanation for Toby’s hooking up with one of the other students, but his flamboyant appearance distracted me. He was sporting designer sunglasses, even though the light in the hall was far from bright. He was also wearing a waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and canary-colored trousers.

His next statement really annoyed me. You’ve obviously got the wrong day.

But we agreed to meet today.

His gaze fixed on me. Surely you don’t think I’d forget a date with you. You got confused. You need a diary—I’ll buy you one.

I frowned. Don’t mock me.

Toby ran his fingers through his long hair, removed his glasses, and gestured for me to calm down. Let’s rewind; no point in you getting so upset. We can still meet up tomorrow.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, then pulled away. I do find you desirable when you’re rattled.

His long, drawn-out sentences fell awkwardly on my ears, and I wished he’d just say normal things.

Oh, God, Debbie...what am I going to do with you?

With a wave of his hand, he turned and made his way over to his friend, who, by this time, was looking bored. She brushed his arm away from her shoulder, and glanced over in my direction. I watched him adjust his glasses, and off he went with his girl trailing behind.

I remained seated at the table, wringing my hands in annoyance. This man infuriated me, yet I still wanted him in my life. There was now the deafening sound of music with people crammed together, drinking to excess. Girls downed pints of lager, and lads eyed up the girls. When I finally grew tired of watching others enjoying themselves, I bought a bag of crisps and left the bar.

Two girls I can only assume were drunk ran the entire length of the pavement, screaming at the top of their voices. One came thundering in my direction and fell heavily against me. Briefly dazed, I shouted in retaliation, You bloody idiot!

They came to a complete standstill, giggling, and made rude signs at me. Not wanting to get mixed up with boozy girls and arguments, I set off for Oxford Road station to make my way home. The evening had been a non-starter, and I was downhearted. The weather was horrendous, and I was in for a soaking.

Yet all I could think about was seeing Toby again.

* * * *

An icy wind blew the fallen leaves and rubbish around the narrow streets. Looking up, I saw a blanket of dirty, dark clouds. Moonlight licked the outline of the buildings: tall, dark, gothic monsters that didn’t look any better by daylight. Clutching my scarf in an effort to keep warm, I increased my pace. I heard the shutters of a late-night store slam shut with an almighty clattering of metal. Raised voices from shopkeepers locking up came and went as I followed a rectangle of light leading to the station steps. Penetratingly cold winter air carried the bitter rain that soaked my hair as I made my way along the platform.

The train glided in with a screech of brakes before shuddering to a halt. There followed the choral slamming of doors. I reached the end of the platform to find massive puddles, and paddled in my far-from-adequate shoes. My coat was saturated, and I felt dampness creeping through my dress. On the train, I distanced myself from the other travelers, and sought out a batch of empty seats. My breath misted up the dirty window—it was colder inside the carriage than outside. I tightened my scarf, and waited patiently for the driver to get us moving. It was crazy weather, late summer that felt like winter had arrived early. The rain now beat hard against the windows, and it seemed unlikely to lessen.

Last-minute passengers flocked into the carriage. A woman dressed in blue track suit bottoms and a denim jacket slumped into a seat opposite me. She had long, gray hair and pointy-rimmed glasses. Her explosive sneezing and waving of tissues would continue for the entirety of the journey.

I tortured myself thinking about Toby’s companion, and whether he’d had his way with her. Images of the couple unsettled me. I imagined the rushed exchange of togetherness with the suddenness of the end. Worrying about his infidelity was not how I wanted to start my relationship with him—any kind of relationship with him.

Walking back to my digs in drizzling rain, I headed for the phone box on the corner of our street. We didn’t have the luxury of mobile phones back in the seventies. I wanted to ring my friend Katie, and tell her about Toby and the broken date. The windows were all misted up, and it was damp in the confined space. I held my breath as the unmistakable smell of urine hit my nostrils, and pulled my bag closer to my body. The overhead light flickered, making it nearly impossible to dial the number, but at least the phone hadn’t been vandalized. My hands were so cold that I struggled to force coins into the slots, and not drop them on the smelly floor. The phone rang for a long time before she answered the call.

Hiya, Debbie, how you doing?

I must have sounded down as I replied, Oh, okay, I suppose.

You’ve called me to sound miserable and say that you’re okay, what’s up?

I then told Katie I’d met the most fantastic guy in the world.

Her reply was one of laughter. How many incredible men could there possibly be left? He’s single, I assume?

Yeah...he’s single, but he’s got strange ways.

Define ‘strange’.

I thought hard, and told her Toby was an Indian man who spent a fortune on clothes and who was extremely theatrical, very much in touch with his inner comedy artist. I told her about our first date, and his rudeness in turning up with another girl.

My words tumbled out: I get a funny feeling every time I see him.

How many times have I heard you say that? Let me know if he turns up for your next date.

Our chat turned from my apparently bad taste in men to how she was. Then Katie said she had to go, so we said goodbye.

I reached our house, a nineteen-fifties semi with a dodgy boiler. I wrestled with the front door lock and kicked the mail that had piled up inside, which my housemates hadn’t bothered to sort.

Mounting the stairs, I ignored one of the girls, who thought I was her boyfriend letting himself in. Once in my room, still in my damp clothes, I sat at my desk, thinking about Toby and the hoops he’d put me through. Any other man would have had his marching orders by now. I couldn’t get my head around why he was so special, why he was someone I really wanted. I couldn’t pretend the way he treated me didn’t hurt, but I felt I could wait as long as it took to make him love me.

That night, having left the light on and alone in my uncomfortable bed, I traced with my gaze the progress of a spider weaving its glorious net around the overhead lampshade. I decided against sweeping away all its hard work with just one stroke. The bedside light illuminated the dreary cream-painted walls and a poster of Che Guevara that hid a hole in the plaster. It took a while to fall asleep. Once I did, I slept badly, drifting from one nightmare to another, with Toby calling all the shots.

Chapter 2

The following day, right after our lectures finished, I waved at Toby, but I’m sure he didn’t see me. He was too busy talking to some girls on our course. I wondered if he’d even remembered our date that night.

I took the three-thirty train back home. As I came out of the station, I heard my friend Katie calling my name. She crossed the road, a smile on her face.

Big night tonight, out with your mystery man.

Yes, I probably need my head examined after last night.

Katie sighed. I’ve been stood up before.

It wasn’t quite like that, Katie. It was more like a mistake on his part.

Whatever...promise to let me know how you get on. I want to know all the details. What are you going to wear?

Oh, something I’ll feel warm in. Now I’d better be off, as I need to take a shower.

We hugged briefly, and went our separate ways.

* * * *

That night I carried a coat and wore a green blouse over a skirt that ventured little further down my thighs than a belt. I decided not to get there on time, as I didn’t want to stand around waiting for Toby to show. So, I sat on one of the benches in Piccadilly Gardens, and watched people feeding the pigeons.

On my arrival at the Union, he was there waiting, his tall, slender physique elegantly dressed in a bright blue suit with a triangular white handkerchief. I noticed his hair looked different: the long, brown locks were swept back, away from his face, emphasizing his high cheekbones. I was aware of people looking at him. I reached Toby and he saluted me, clicking his heels to attention.

Ready for inspection! he shouted.

I cringed. Everyone is staring.

Toby pulled out a chair for me. I was just about to sit down when I noticed panic in his eyes. I stopped my motion, but almost sat on his hand as he hurriedly swept away the remnants of some crushed crisps. He glared furiously around, as if wondering which idiot had left them there. I felt I wanted the ground to swallow me up. He asked me what I wanted to drink. When I told him, off he went, arms held out as he expected fellow students to make way for him.

Above the noise, I heard him shout, Excuse me, please, if you don’t mind!

Two young men, wearing frayed jeans at half-mast and colorful shirts, plonked