Home > Jonty's Halloween (Unfinished Business)

Jonty's Halloween (Unfinished Business)
Author: Barbara Elsborg

 

1

 

While Jonty waited to see Alan Shaw, CEO of the Shaw Hotel Group, he rehearsed what he was going to say.

I was thinking…

I’ve had this really great idea…

Do you believe in ghosts? No? Well, you should. Yes? Then you’ll love this.

I have a proposal for you…

Picture this… A dark and stormy night. The wild North Sea. A haunted hotel. An invasion of flesh-eating zombies…

But his attention kept snagging on the horrible painting he sat facing. Who’d decided it was a good idea to buy it? So many colours and lines and dots that it was migraine inducing. It had probably cost a fortune. Was he missing something? A deeper meaning in the random pattern? That life is messy, so deal with it?

Maybe it was one of those pictures, for which people paid a fortune, that were done by chimps or elephants. Jonty googled animals painting pictures. He gave a quiet gasp. Bloody hell. It could have been painted by a rabbit, a donkey or even a beluga whale! Which made him wonder what was going through the animal’s mind at the time. The donkey might have been thinking All I want is a carrot. I’ve painted a carrot. Can’t you tell it’s a carrot? Now give me a bloody carrot. Then the art dealer calls the painting Sunshine and pisses the donkey off.

What was this one called? Jonty leaned forward. Mellow. He widened his eyes. Seriously? More like Mellow-drama. Painted by Luna Tic. He amused himself thinking up alternative titles. Artist’s Revenge. Inside the Mind of a Serial Killer. Don’t Paint when you’re High. (You make me want to) Scream. At least his sea glass pictures looked like something. Until he and Devan had gone off on their Big Adventure, he’d been selling them faster than he could make them. Which reminded him, he probably needed to source some more glass.

Jonty kept trying to look away from the painting, but his gaze kept sliding back. Mellow my arse! It wasn’t calming. It was irritating. The pictures in Devan’s flat were far more appealing, even though Jonty wouldn’t have picked them. Thinking about Devan’s flat distracted him. Jonty didn’t like being there on his own. And yes, it had only been one night, but it had been a very long night with a lot of tossing and turning, and fumbling for Devan who wasn’t there and listening to strange noises that Jonty was quick to identify as possible invasion by a burglar, a serial killer or a mouse. Unless Devan was going to come back soon, Jonty wasn’t sure he could cope.

He winced. He knew that sounded pathetic. He couldn’t even manage a few nights on his own? He’d spent most of his life on his own. Devan had ruined him. Though maybe he shouldn’t tell him that. He’d get entirely the wrong idea. It was just that Jonty missed him so much.

Devan wanted Jonty to feel the flat was his place too, but that was easy for him to say, not so easy for Jonty to do. You have a lovely flat, but I don’t feel I belong there. It was a lovely two-bedroomed apartment with a fabulous view over London and the Thames, but everything in it had been bought by Devan, and every time they went there, Jonty was worried about breaking something, or scratching the table, or leaving a mark on the hob, or putting footprints on the carpet… There was a long list of things to worry about.

Sadly, he’d already managed to do too many of the things he was trying to avoid over the space of a few hours yesterday. The carpet was a nightmare. Jonty was sure he’d not walked around on it that much, but it looked like an entire football stadium’s worth of people had stomped through the place. And yes, he knew Devan wouldn’t care, but Jonty did. The only place that was safe from not being ruined was the bed—sort of—but tossing and turning wasn’t much fun on his own. Not now he knew how much fun it could be with Devan.

Even worse, they should have been in Greece, and Jonty felt guilty for resenting that they weren’t. Although a little bit of him was tired of travelling, even though they weren’t even halfway through what they’d planned. They’d only just arrived on the plane from Italy and he’d been looking forward to seeing the Acropolis and eating baklava. Probably one more than the other. Then a phone call telling them Devan’s mother was in hospital after suffering a stroke had brought them scurrying back to the UK. It was a miracle that Jonty had managed not to make an inappropriate joke about how difficult it had to be for someone who didn’t like to be touched to have a stroke. That really would have been bad.

I’m still bad for even thinking it. Devan was worried and Jonty didn’t want him to be worried, but he didn’t know how to help him. Apart from not whining about the flat, damaging the flat or needing Devan with him in the flat. I’m so selfish. He sighed.

Devan had dropped Jonty off there yesterday morning even though he’d had to drive miles out of his way. He’d asked if Jonty wanted to go with him to his parents’, but Jonty had said no. Actually, he’d worried that if he turned up, Georgina might suffer a setback―he still wasn’t her favourite person. He’d accepted he never would be. He liked to think he was growing on her, but he wasn’t sure that he was. She probably thought of him as some horrible disease-carrying parasite. Anyway, not being with Devan had given him the chance to see Alan on his own.

Jonty had arrived early and it was now twenty minutes past the time of the appointment, but since it had been a last-minute request, he sat as patiently as he could. How am I going to convince him?

I had this brilliant idea…

You remember how successful the launch party was? Well…

Did you know The Dunes used to be a convalescent home for ex-servicemen? Some say their spirits still haunt the place…

That painting was really awful. If it wasn’t by a donkey, then it had to have been painted by a con artist and sold by a gallery that specialised in abstract art bullshit. An exploration of the division between sanity and insanity shown by the conflicting long and short brushstrokes, and painted with a brush made from a donkey’s tail.

Mind back on track!

Maybe he should have told Devan about his idea for The Dunes. He’d thought about it, but Devan had enough to deal with. Devan’s sisters had children to look after, so as the oldest son, Devan had to step in to help his father. Today, Devan was driving back to Heathrow to collect Cato, who was flying in from California to see his mother.

All the family had rallied round. Even Griff. That was nice. Well not the Griff bit. Jonty wasn’t fond of him, but having a family all come together, that was lovely, and something Jonty had never had. It was the way families were supposed to behave, caring for each other. He’d met up with his sister, Denny, a few times, but Jonty always felt the spectre of their mother between them. He still didn’t want to see her, but he wished that their mother wanted to see him, just so he could say no. Not that he’d be telling anyone that. Not even Devan.

When he’d spoken to Devan last night, Devan had told him the doctors were hopeful his mother would make a full recovery, but at the moment, she was having trouble speaking and eating. Jonty had an unkind thought about the speaking bit and winced. Bad Jonty! Poor Devan was really worried, and Will, his dad, seemed to have aged years, from what Devan had said. Jonty had a soft spot for Will, the only person who’d really welcomed him at Christmas, apart from Cato. Maybe one of his sea glass pictures would cheer them up. Devan’s mother liked birds. He could make her a picture of a robin. He’d do one when he got home.

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