And, more than anything, he couldn’t get out of his head the image of Issy’s face, sparkling and flushed and joyous in the fairy lights. When he’d thought she was one of them, out for herself and anything she could get, it had upset him so much. Now he knew that she felt the same as him, that she believed in the same things he did … now he had finally realized that mixing business with pleasure was exactly what he wanted to do, he found it was all too late.
Ah, fuck it, thought Austin to himself. There was one thing he could do for her. He leaned over his desk.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Denton,’ he said, trying not to sound too pompous. ‘We have a local community investment guidance programme’ (they did, although no one from the bank ever read it), ‘and I’m afraid your scheme goes against that. I’m afraid we won’t be able to unbundle the mortgages.’
Graeme looked at him as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
‘But we’ve got planning,’ he said sullenly. ‘So it obviously is in the interests of the community.’
‘The bank doesn’t think so,’ said Austin, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping the bank never got to hear of him turning down an absolutely sound investment. ‘I’m sorry. We’re going to continue to hold on to the mortgages as they stand.’
Graeme stared at him for a long time.
‘What the hell is this?’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Are you just trying to screw with me? Got the hots for my girlfriend or something?’
Austin tried to look as if he’d never heard of such a thing.
‘Not at all,’ he said, as if offended. ‘It’s just bank policy, that’s all. I’m sorry, you must understand. In the current financial climate …’
Graeme leaned over. ‘Do. Not,’ he enunciated very slowly, ‘Tell. Me. About. The current financial climate.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Austin. There was a silence. Austin didn’t want to break it. Graeme lifted up his hands.
‘So you’re telling me I’m not going to get this loan here.’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘That I’d have to bring in another bank and pay them commission to take on and untangle all your stupid loans which have probably been packaged in with some bunch of junk and sold up some untraceable river somewhere?’
‘Yup.’
Graeme stood up.
‘This is bullshit. Bullshit.’
‘Also, I’ve heard there’s actually quite a lot of late opposition to the planning. Enough that might even make them go back on their decision.’
‘They can’t do that.’
‘Planning officers can do whatever they like.’
Graeme was turning pink with fury.
‘I’ll get the money, you know. You’ll see. Then you’ll look the fricking idiot in front of your bosses.’
Austin reflected that he did already, and was surprised to find he wasn’t too fussed. Maybe it didn’t always matter what your bosses thought, he figured. He wondered who had taught him that.
Graeme eyed Austin one more time before he left.
‘She’d never go for you, you know,’ he sneered. ‘You’re not her type.’
Well, neither are you, thought Austin mildly, as he filed the paperwork in the bin. But he felt a tugging sadness in his heart.
There was no time for that, however. He grabbed the phone and dialled the number he had in front of him on the desk. He sent his instructions through as soon as he was connected. A chorus of swearing reached him from the other end. Then a pause, and a sigh, and a barked command that he had fifteen minutes to stop arsing around and go back to spending time on serious businesses.
Then he had to make the other call. He used the bank phone to call Issy’s mobile. She’d have to pick up now. Fingers crossed.
His heart racing, he tapped in the numbers … numbers he realized he’d actually memorized. What an idiot he was. Issy picked up straight away.
‘Hello?’ she said, her voice sounding unsure and nervous.
‘Issy!’ said Austin, his voice coming out rather strangulated. ‘Um, don’t hang up, please. Look, I know you’re angry and stuff, and I know, and I think I rather slightly fucked that up, but I think … I think I might be able to do something. For the café, I mean, not you. Obviously. But I think … argh. I don’t have time for this. Listen. You have to go out on to the street right now.’
‘But I can’t,’ said Issy, panic in her voice.
She had hardly recognized the old man on the bed; he was a wraith. Her beloved grandfather; so strong, his huge hands pushing and kneading and moulding great lumps of dough; so delicate when shaping a sugar rose, or intricate when cutting a long line of Battenburg. He had been, truly, mother and father to her; always there when she needed him; a safe haven.
Yet now, at her lowest ebb, when Issy felt her dreams about to slip through her fingers, he was powerless. As he lay on the bed while she told him her story, his eyes had widened, and Issy felt a terrifying clutch of guilt around her heart as he tried to sit up.
‘No, Gramps, don’t,’ she’d insisted, in anguish. ‘Please. Please don’t. It’s going to be fine.’
‘You can do it, sweetheart,’ her gramps was saying, but his breathing was ragged and laboured, his eyes rheumy and bloodshot, his face an awful grey.
‘Please, Gramps.’ Issy rang the bell for the nurse, holding on to her grandfather with all her might, trying to calm him down. Keavie came in, took one look at him and her normally stolid face grew intent and she immediately called for back-up; two men came in with an oxygen cylinder and struggled to get a mask over his face.
‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Issy was saying, as they worked on without her. That was when her mobile rang, and Keavie ushered her outside while they fought to stabilize him.
Issy went back into the room after Austin had hung up, terror clawing at her, but Gramps was there, with the mask on, his breathing much quietened.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Issy in a rush. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Hush,’ said Keavie. ‘It wasn’t you. He’s been having these episodes.’
She held Issy’s arm very tightly, and pulled her round until they were face to face.
‘You have to realize, Issy,’ she said, speaking kindly but firmly. It was a voice Issy had heard Helena using when she had to pass on bad news. ‘This is normal. This is part of the process.’