Jay's POV
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Two or three photographs are staying put on the desk, the ones including my mother and my father in love I place in bubble wrap and secure them in a cardboard box. Snaps from holidays; the grand canyon and the beaches of Australia before I was born where mom looked younger and dad looked like a husband rather than a businessman. His hair grown out and his smile charming and carefree. As I stare over the mahogany desk, the curved sides and rich polished wood I sigh. It's very Andrew Gilbert Scott.
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One picture however seizes me. Making me stop in my tracks as I smile slightly holding the small black frame in my hand and sitting down on the sofas in the centre of my office. A photo taken of Henry and I after his birth. My first thoughts are that Henry is so so small in the image, small tufts of hair and a tiny button nose. My face full of happiness as I hold onto my pride and joy. Ironically I hadn't realised my father had this picture. It was an aspect of my life that he was clearly proud of, alongside the other photos he had of me through various years of my life. Even the cringey ones of me moving through the years of high school and playing American football.
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My shorter hair and football jerseys, my mother's arms around me on my tenth birthday. The pictures are all here on his desk, in the bookcases and even as I pace into his private closet where he hung his finest suits and jackets I notice a framed print. Hung on the wall by a vintage wooden coat rack. It strikes me as funny that I've never been in the dressing room, even when this office became my own I didn't venture in here because it's full of his clothes. He spent so much time at work that his office was basically his home. It's full of him, his scent and his belongings and now that I finally have a Saturday off I'm dealing with all of his stuff. Before I felt like a trespasser in his room, like I was rummaging around his belongings. And even as I stare into the closet, the spotlights illuminating the room as I stand like an intruder in somebody else's life, I know that the time has come for me to let go of his belongings. I had this weird irrational hope that he would return from the dead to retrieve his coat and tie and I had been clinging onto it all delusionally.
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The frame holds one photograph, blown up to a large scale but the integrity of it is still intact. There's no blur or wear from handling. It's pristine and it has been kept behind this glass frame to preserve it. My mother holds me in the picture, except I am a newborn. Clearly I only know that it is me because I'm an only child, I just hadn't realised that this moment meant the most to my father. Above all of his others; the fancy holidays and the business deals. It's not something I was aware of, the importance of me. My birth I realise was one of his defining moments, something he held dear and close to his heart. My eyes water, and I push away the pain and misery once more telling myself to pull it all together. Stop the tears and the visions of my father on the patio floor with blood over his face, eyes lifeless.
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Once I collect myself and my aching sobs together I fold his clothes and place them in suitcases in order to move them to his/my mother's Dubai home. Lining the suitcases at the door, and propping it open with one large hold-all I stand and stare at the bare office and decide that this is a great first step to making my office my own. I imagine a snap of Taylor and Henry in the closet and a few suits for business trips. Some journals and books and an ever-growing collection of pictures of Henry as he ages.
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Flicking through my phone and perusing the finest cherry oak desks. Ones with quilted chairs, ones that are large enough to fill the whole window and fit two monitors. I stumble across the perfect desk as I sit on the sofas, suitcases around me and packing boxes. It's grand and it's priced to reflect its grandeur. I decide that it's very Jay Gilbert Scott and so I purchase it, alongside a few new photo frames for my new prints of my wife and baby.
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The vacuum goes off in the background down the hall and it pulls me out of my trance looking down at the coffee table that I will also be replacing. Pushing my blonde hair back and pulling my shirt around me I stand and watch the door waiting for the noise to cease as Rebecca turns to face me with the loud vacuum in her hands. She looks up apologetically before turning the roaring contraption off, I note that it's an older model and it's most likely seen better days. She stands clad in a Nike tracksuit, a far cry from the usual business attire and I wonder how long she has been in the building, no other cars were present when I parked up at six this morning.
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"Sorry Mr Gilbert Scott" she murmurs looking over the suitcases perplexed as I shake my head standing in my Levi's. She pulls her hair down over her shoulders and straightens out her posture.
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"Not at all. Please call me Jay" I say waltzing over to my desk and retrieving my car keys.
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"It's just nobody works on a Saturday and so the cleaning I manage then. So as to avoid all the noise disruption" she explains dramatically and I nod glancing down at my phone placing it in my pocket. I approach the cases and pick two up as she eyes me curiously in my casual attire.
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"You're not moving already ?" She quips following me down to the lift and wheeling the last case behind her. I hadn't asked for her help but I thank her all the same.
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"No, my father's stuff" I manage and she nods slowly realisation dawning on her face as she curses herself for not being more sensitive to the whole situation. It strikes me that almost all of the staff that enter this building have an idea of me, and so she is being extra cautious because she wants to remain in her job. It's not how I intend to be received but being the son of the longest standing member and now the CEO has that affect and so I smile at her reassuringly before I lift the cases into the elevator.
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"Sorry" she says as I smile before the lift doors close and I descend down to my 4x4 in the parking lot. I must be careful, firstly because she is young and impressionable and secondly because I have no interest in other woman. I could tell merely by the change in her posture and the inflection of her tone that her attraction to me is evident and it's not something I wish to encourage or entertain.
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Lifting the cases into the 4x4, I hop into the drivers side and fire her up gazing out at the bright yellow mini that is the only other car in the lot. It all clicks that it's Rebecca's car and I cannot help but to laugh in jest as I leave the building and cruise down the palm lined streets listening to Johnny cash with the windows down. There's an impressive air con but who would want to miss out on the sea air and the wind blowing through your hair.
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On my way to emirates hill it strikes me that I have failed to visit my father's main home for years, the grandest of homes that the Gilbert Scott's own. Once we moved in he showed me the pools and the marble flooring. Set over five floors and hosting a large terrace. Two kitchens, one specifically for the chefs for occasions when my mother and father had been hosting business dinners. It's important to look the part Jay, he had said to me when I scoffed at him as a fourteen year old scowling at his ever growing success. My dad clad in his suit and tie as he stared down at his son amused at my surfer shorts. A wry smile playing on his lips which only annoyed me.
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All of those years before I had glanced over the pristine white mansion, the gated entrance and the infinity pool and felt his presence in every aspect of the home. His wealth and his tenacity earned him his lifestyle. It paid for the chefs, the maids and the security personnel. He was responsible for the salaries of many people not only in the business and the board. He was a force and something I'll always find terribly hard to live up to.
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Now as I enter the gates having been cleared by security, I cruise up the lane to the property and sigh. Not realising the memories that would resurface merely by glancing out at the palm trees and the glistening azure blue pool. The way my father would spend all day at work in the office and then retire home to a secondary office used to bemuse me, and after sometime the lack of relationship I had with him turned into animosity. A reflection of my confusion at his apparent rejection of me as his son who only liked to surf the waves.
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It stings when I enter our home, like a natural convulsion to the past feelings I had as a teenage boy. Walking blind through the marble floors and past the statues up to the fifth floor where the master bedroom is situated, I crane the large double doors open and set down the first case. I begin hanging up my late father's suits in the walk in closet before I retreat back to the foyer and grasp the final two suitcases.
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Five sets of winding staircases later and I am seated on the floor of the closet unfolding clothes and hanging them up in the expansive dressing room. Staring blankly at a marble pot on the large console table holding a house plant that is wilting and dying, the leaves crumbling down onto the fancy glass top. I stare at it and shake my head walking into the master bathroom and turning the faucet on to water it. I glance up from the double vanity sink and straight into the mirror and take in my blonde hair and blue eyes, seeing my dad in my reflection. Our resemblance is uncanny and I straighten up my pale blue shirt and push my blonde unruly hair back. Taking the glass of water over to the plant and watering it before I close up the master bedroom and stride down the many steps to the grande foyer.
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The sense of relief I feel as I cruise back down the tree lined path to the gates in my 4x4 is insurmountable. Mentally I say goodbye to my father just knowing that his ghost will linger for much longer in my life. In every business move I make and in every new property I capitalise on.
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"Mr Gilbert Scott" the gentlemen say's by the gates as I hang out of my window.
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"Have a wonderful day" he says cordially as I nod sure that I recognise his smile. Despite his aging I'm almost positive that it’s the same gentleman from when I was younger.
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“Jay” he says softly knowing that I recognise him.
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“Paul isn’t it?” I smile shaking off my chagrin at almost everybody knowing me from when I was a child. Smiling he steps out of the booth and I climb out of the 4x4 shaking his hand.
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“Pleasure to see you again my word!” He smiles enthusiastically. I gaze down at the shining gravel, the sun heating it up as it’s midday and I wait for the inevitable comments on my resemblance to my father.
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“Just like Andrew” he laughs slightly and I cringe slightly wishing him a good day before I climb into my car and drive just ever so slightly over the limit away from my past.
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