My wifes mother is loadedwell never need to work! my friend beamed, his voice echoing in the attic of an old Victorian house with carpets that seemed to breathe.
My old mate, Arthur, always had a taste for the easy road, content to drift if someone else footed the bill. Hed gone out of his way to win over Eleanor, a girl from a well-heeled family in Oxford. I could see there wasnt a spark between themit was as if hed fallen in love with the contents of her bank account, not her laughter. Still, Arthur insisted that marrying into money would grant him eternal bliss, and perhaps it might, if Eleanor herself could summon gold from thin air. Yet it was her motherproprietor of a string of bustling tea roomsthat kept the wind in their sails.
I tried to knock a bit of sense into him one misty evening, as rain tapped out Morse code on his cracked windowpane.
You dont really think theyll support a layabout, do you? Theres virtue in having your own job, Arthur.
Oh, dont fuss, he replied, the words floating up like smoke. Weve a baby on the way. Eleanors family trusts me, utterly! He grinned, as if the world itself was a warm pudding.
None of it quite sat right with me. It seemed unfairhe was playing house with someone just for the silver spoons, not for her company. In my mind, a man should at least graft a bit for his family.
Time slipped byor perhaps it galloped backwards, the way it does in dreamsand I asked after Arthur. What did he do now, I wondered? The answer hung in the air like the dust motes in a shaft of sunlight: neither of them worked. They drifted about their house in Oxfordshire, whiling away hours with videogames, telly shows that went in circles, and never-ending afternoon naps. Arthurs mother-in-law brought baskets of food and the odd cake, as if they were rare birds to be fattened. Sometimes, I was almost envious. Arthur had what he wanted: a life of drowsy, unapologetic leisure.
My wifes mum is rich. Honestly, well never need a proper job, Arthur would say, his mouth full of scones.
Perhaps it could have lasted, but fortune always shapes clouds that burst. The mother-in-laws tea rooms stumbled; profits crumbled to crumbs. There was a knock at their doora job offer, not a box of éclairs.
I didnt see Arthur for a month, until my mobile rang on a bleary morning. His voice was different, brittle.
Could you lend me five thousand quidjust a couple of weeks. Im in a tight spot, old friend. Looking for work now, got an interview lined up. Theyll give me a bit up-front, Ill pay you back. Were skint, you see.
That was the end of their drowsy, golden existence. Both Arthur and Eleanor joined the rest of us, waking up early, eyes bleary from dreams left behind. He paid me back, in time. So much for a family fortune. Best to stand on your own two feet. Only then can you find the kind of happiness that isnt swept away by the next strong wind.
