A Letter to a Lucky Man Page 3

  Ricky hit the mud of the goal mouth with a resounding ‘splat’. He should have leapt up and celebrated. He should have, but he didn’t. He didn’t move at all. The home team’s centre forward was also a first aider and immediately realised that Ricky was in trouble. Ignoring his teammates calls to, ‘play advantage,’ he alone worked on the horizontal keeper. He persevered, but in vain.

  One by one other matches taking place across the acres of community pitches fell silent. Players, supporters and the curious huddled and pushed forward for a better view of proceedings. Players from both teams, shoulder to shoulder, had created a barrier to shield ‘keeper Cardinali. It seemed like an eternity before an ambulance came on scene. It tore along the edge of the pitch and parked up behind the goal posts next to the prostrate goalkeeper.

  Nothing could reverse Ricky’s state. The match was abandoned in abject shock. Officials moved quickly to clear away what had become a morbid mob. They awaited the arrival of a doctor and a private ambulance. Ricky would be removed with some dignity to the solitude of a morgue to await a post mortem.

  The two team managers and the Sunday League officials in attendance, went into deep discussion. Who would convey the devastating news to Mrs Cardinali, and her son...?

  Chapter 4 : Life After Death

  In coming to terms with her broken world Phyllis Cardinali knew only too well that the creation of a suitable environment in which to place her son, her fatherless son, in the run-up to probably the biggest academic event of his young life, would not be easy.

  Ricky’s funeral was obviously a hugely emotional affair. The requiem mass followed by a seemingly endless cortege, only the start of it. With dark sunken eyes, and his mop of hair combed into formality, Curtis stood out as a wee bewildered mite walking hand-in-hand between his mother and aunt behind his father’s coffin. A coffin which was decked with Ricky’s goalkeeper’s strip as well as family wreaths.

  Getting through the funeral was hard and raw but unbelievably Phyllis had one further decision to make and only a week and a clatter of days to make it. She had been catapulted into a position of being damned if she pulled Curtis out of the Eleven Plus examination and damned if she allowed him to proceed, and he failed.

  In plain talk, she was concerned at what the emotional overload would do to his young mind if he fell to pieces on the day. She was also aware that this was a ‘once only’ pass or fail academically geared event. It therefore had come down to a mother’s instinct versus hard facts. Phyllis, accepting Curtis’s teachers’ knowledge and experience, had finally given way...

  On the morning of the examination he was up bright and early. He was well organised. In fact it was him who had to tell his mother to ‘chill’. He also declined her company, cycling himself to the exam centre, in the school’s large assembly hall.

  No one could have imagined what was going through young Curtis’s mind during those awful days. He had been just another pupil doing – or avoiding – what had to be done in the lead-in to the infamous examination. In reality Curtis required very little in the way of after-school tutoring. He was, according to his teacher’s assessments, a star pupil and well on track. ‘Sure, he’ll sail through it.’ However, and to ensure that his youthful cockiness would not trip him up on the day his mother, whether he approved or otherwise, kept him reigned in.

  ⁎ ⁎ ⁎

  It was an excited mother who alerted her son even before the postman had deposited the official envelope into the Cardinali letter box. But rather than rushing to collect it Curtis had quietly slipped down the stairs from his nest. He sidled along a seemingly endless hall towards the porch. The bundle of mail was scooped up. Slouching, he diligently, to the point of agonisingly, separated the envelopes. Instead of engaging with his animated mother he calmly folded his envelope, slipped it into his dressing gown pocket and handed Phyllis the remains of the mail. Without a blink he climbed back up to privacy of his room. Phyllis was left abandoned, dumbfounded.

  The young Cardinali already knew what the contents of the envelope would disclose. He needed to prepare...

  When he eventually advised his mother of his failure he was surprised by her reaction. First of all there was of course, the quiet. Some moments later there came a visible outpouring of sympathy – not at all what he had prepared for. He was confused, he’d really expected a tirade along the lines of; ‘letting himself, his father and the family down’. But no, Phyllis’s anger was being saved for another target, on another day.

  Curtis’s expected academic path was now nothing more than a cul-de-sac. Worse still, on entry to the local secondary school he found himself assigned to a class down within the lower forms. It was a wake-up call. In his own quiet way Curtis had determined not to allow this setback to cloud his abilities. He soon knew that he was better than the level this class had trapped him in. He was also conscious of the role his father had unexpectedly handed him. Curtis Cardinali was now the ‘man of the house’. Further, his mother needed his support... whether she knew, or wanted, it.

  During that new school term his mother and others had become somewhat concerned at a few of the circles her son had been moving in. She recalled for example, being summoned to explain why her son had punched another pupil! Punching, as it turned out, the class ‘bully’ had conversely raised his esteem, especially in the eyes of his then class mates.

  Year one completed and Curtis had more than achieved his self-set targets. As well as catching the eye of the teaching staff, the mathematics tutor in particular, the junior Cardinali continued to demonstrate a natural ability to shine in most subjects: mathematics, geography, crafts and in particular, metalwork. On the other hand, in English, and especially R.E., not so much. As far as P.E. went, being the tallest in class and considering his late father’s reputation, he would frequently find himself between the goal posts. He reminded himself that he was doing it for dad. You’ll be proud, just be patient Dad.

  As he neared the completion of his education more and more the focus transferred onto careers and a never-ending series of outings to employment opportunities, local factories, offices, hospitals, retail outlets as well as the police station. Privately though, Curtis had decided that it would be a toss-up between finding an engineering apprenticeship locally, and... the Royal Navy.

  The Navy option had been bubbling under the surface for some time. He’d got himself involved with the Sea Cadet Corps organisation and had taken to it. His mother often said, ‘like the proverbial, duck to water’. Messing about in boats together with the onshore disciplines – the Navy stuff – had been exactly what the withdrawn, at times angry Curtis needed.

  Curtis was now sixteen, soon to be seventeen. He was maturing into a tall, handsome, fit youth with the perfect teeth, a good nose and plump lips. Unbeknown to him he had very much become the focus of many young ladies... He had amassed a considerable circle of diverse friends in or around his age. Only a few school acquaintances though. They would talk or listen to music, but frequently their discussions laid the building blocks for individual ‘next steps’.

  Some within his circle were studying on, in the hope of gaining a university place. Others were, like him, considering apprenticeships. A fair few of the girls were heading towards nursing and secretarial college. The remainder of the crowd were ‘chilling’ or hadn’t even considered what life’s next step would be, other than signing on the dole.

  Over six years had passed since his father had left him. Never a day went by without a conversation with him. His mother was getting her life back on track, just as Curtis was. Equally, he was old enough to understand it was still tough for her. He found it particularly difficult to cope when other men came into the picture. She, as best she could was discreet with her relationships. The self-titled ‘man of the house’ did eventually concede, with some coaching from his aunt, that his mother deserved a life after Ricky. It was her current dating of his ex-teacher that, as he frequently said to his aunt, ‘was kinda weird’.

&
nbsp; Phyllis had supported her son’s quest to set off on the seven seas. She told him that it would be an opportunity of a lifetime. As she had long since reasoned, his father’s dreams of seeing Curtis stepping out at White Hart Lane, or heading up a multinational conglomerate would not come to pass. But for sure an apprenticeship with the ‘Navy or even with a prestigious employer would offer her rapidly maturing son, a plethora of career opportunities.

  * * *

  Like her son, there was never a day when Phyllis Cardinali’s thoughts didn’t drift back to Ricky and their wonderful times together. Her attempts to block out the bad times were never totally successful though. Often she cursed him for leaving her; for leaving her with the debts, for leaving her with the responsibility of motherhood, and fatherhood, for leaving her to cope with the rigours of not only bringing up their son, but keeping him on the ‘straight and narrow’. On her bad days she could be furious with Ricky for his stubbornness and for allowing himself to get into such a state of ill health. Phyllis Cardinali had been dealt a complicated deck of cards.

  Chapter 5 : Cardinali Transport

  It had come as a devastating blow when Margaret spelt out the extent to which Ricky had driven their business into the ground. It had all been so exciting in the start-up period. Back then it seemed that her husband could not put a foot wrong.

  In many ways Phyllis, although choosing to become the homemaker, came to regret not involving herself more fully in their business. After all, as she frequently minded herself after Ricky’s death, she’d had the qualifications; those years in accounts and the payroll office wasted. Phyllis had to accept that her husband had made a complete hash of running Cardinali Transport. He had placed her and their son in a precarious financial position. But against that, she learned to counter those dark recurring thoughts by remembering that it was always easier to be wise, after the event. Equally she was savvy enough to realise that living with yesterday’s thoughts would not pay the bills... or pay the creditors.

  Margaret had arranged a short ‘career break’ from her employer and together the sisters took on the running of operations. It was more a case of administering them. Their initial focus was on ‘orders in hand’. In their naivety they took chances; making face-to-face contact with each of what Ricky had described as ‘turn-over orders’ but which were outrageously skewed in favour of the clients. The sisters were able to renegotiate a few of them, but acrimoniously the terms of quite a few others had to be upheld. Others were cancelled outright. The world of business had become a cold place for Phyllis. Equally, positively, it strengthened her doggedness

  At the same time they had been sifting through the mountain of unopened, unfinished paperwork: incomplete invoices, overdue accounts, payment demands from creditors. Phyllis had even unearthed a drawer of un-cashed cheques! It had become a priority to get to the bottom of Ricky’s business practices…business? Maybe, they both agreed, they were being overly generous in the description of Ricky’s methods which, in the main, were devoid of good business sense.

  They needed to get inside his head to understand his thought processes. Margaret knew that it may well become something of an adventure, but one without a happy ending. For her it would also be a personal crusade, if nothing else but to ring-fence and rescue her own investment. Things were indeed dire, even more so for Phyllis, and Curtis.

  On the up-side and after what had been an intense period of re-calculating Cardinali Transport’s books, Margaret was relieved to confirm that they were finally in order; not pretty, but readable. At that moment, reading down into the detail of her sister’s report, Phyllis had got it. Then she allowed a spasm of guilt to consume her; if only I’d done his book-keeping...

  Although there were outstanding debts still to recover, the sisters, Phyllis in particular, were relieved that there was enough left in the till to quickly pay their key creditors, and staff. The bank and the Government however would be a different matter. Another seemingly endless round of negotiations beckoned.

  The sisters were left in no doubt that the future of the Cardinali’s business was somewhat ‘foggy’ to say the least. As Margaret said, ‘Without a sizeable financial input the company is no longer viable.’ The feelers went out...

  Somehow, as all this delving and deliberating was going on, Phyllis continually found space to devote valuable time to her son while handling telephone calls, letter writing and endless customer queries. Margaret carried on with the task of securing a buyer while at the same time keeping the books balanced, mostly.

  That first summer was particularly testing. Between them they had tidied up the administration side of the business. The process of selling it had become bogged down. Mostly it was trying to decide what offers were genuine and which were, to say the least, scurrilous.

  At the same time Curtis’s needs demanded constant attention. He had begun to change in front of them. That timid and withdrawn wee mite had developed a tendency to throw a tantrum when things were not to his liking, or when he wasn’t the centre of attention. Phyllis continued to take it all in her stride. For Margaret, it had become something of a ground hog day; her sister’s ‘he’ll be grand’ excuses had become worryingly predictive. At the same time Phyllis’s inner thoughts were in concert with her sister; Oh boy, is that boy hard work at times? Aye, thanks a bunch Ricky.

  Nothing came of the enquiries to find a buyer. The troubled Cardinali Transport continued to trade on. Ricky’s bad deals had all but been cleared off the books. A couple of their existing customers had agreed to retain their services. The bank, surprisingly, had agreed an extension of terms too. The sisters were switched on enough to accept that it was no more than a suspended sentence. In their hearts they knew that what they found themselves engaged in was no more than a window dressing exercise. Something had to give.

  Cardinali Transport, they finally agreed, had to be quickly re-marketed. Put back on the market properly. Taking expert opinion, the ‘For Sale’ notices were circulated around the trade, but this time to a wider audience. One enquiry, which eventually came to nothing, had, however, given Margaret some hope, and an idea.

  Buoyed by general industry gossip her idea, she had convinced herself, would quickly take root. She generated a fictitious interest in Cardinali Transport; created a ghost buyer. But stripped back she also knew that it would be speculative in the extreme; a product of pure lies?

  Attending a golf club charity function and bumping into a table of attendees coincidentally from the transport world, she found an opportunity to slip her piece of faux gossip into conversation. She dressed it up in such a way that suggested that a national concern were about to move into the area. They would use the Cardinali name as their foothold.

  Alas bidders, just like before, remained elusive. Disappointed that her ‘grand plan’ had failed to take root, Margaret felt she was heading for honorary membership of the ‘last chance salon’.

  Days passed, her mood sunk lower. Phyllis’s attempts to lift her had little effect. The only light that could be mustered was that at least she had a job to go back to again. Margaret also reasoned that compared to the plight her sister faced – probably losing the house, among other possessions –it was time to take stock, yet again.

  Days remained dark, the business continued to tick over. The office had mostly been transferred to answer phone status, faxes and telexes were carefully read before reply. The bank was closing in. The following morning, irony of all ironies, an invitation to the industry’s annual dinner had fallen through Margaret’s letter box. Wonderful, can’t wait.

  Later that week and as Margaret opened her front door, the phone was ringing. She caught it before it rang off. The caller didn’t introduce himself, just mentioned that some people wanted to talk about Cardinali Transport. He concluded his delivery by suggesting that they could maybe have a chat at the forthcoming industry dinner. ‘You’ll be coming along, yes?’ But before she could answer, he was gone.

  Chapter 6 : A Meeting of M
inds

  A few days later in the early evening, Margaret’s phone rang again. This time she recognised the voice. He spoke rapidly, and although humourless, he was pleasant enough. The conversation was brief. So brief, that she had found herself with the receiver still to her ear listening to the ‘rung off’ tone. Overcoming a tremble in her fingers, Margaret scribbled notes onto the chalk blackboard which hung conveniently beside her wall-mounted telephone.

  Organising herself she darted out into the hallway and grabbed her briefcase. Returning at speed into the living room and balancing on the arm of her pale fabric settee, she pulled out a leather bound portfolio folder from within the case. Unclipping the security clasp she slipped herself onto the main body of the sofa and proceeded to rewrite the salient details of the telephone conversation on the enclosed notepad. Replacing the folder she clunked and locked the briefcase. Grabbing an anorak she hastily opened the front door, breaking a nail in the process which generated a soft rant of profanities as she made her way towards the basement car park.

  Roaring off, she suddenly remembered that her sister had whisked Curtis away for a few days up country. ‘Shit, what now?’ She drove aimlessly around the town’s one way system a couple of times before a ‘Plan B’ could be formulated; she felt a bit daft. She drove on though, foot heavier on the throttle. She headed out of town and onto the dual carriageway. She knew where she was going.

  Hardly ten minutes had passed when she pulled into an expansive lay-by. It overlooked a stretch of river. Often, especially in summer, and when she was working back in the area – her home patch – she would park up at this very spot, readying herself for her next appointment. It would always be the final meeting of her day...