The Cloud Maker

Chapter 9

Driving into Guildford city centre, Luca looked up through the windscreen at the leaden sky. It was the dead colour that only ever seemed to settle across the damp Surrey countryside. The sun lacked the strength to differentiate between the buildings and the sky, so that the drab concrete buildings bled into the skyline like a half-finished painting.

Pulling into the car park in the battered white Toyota Land Cruiser he had inherited when he was seventeen, Luca felt a familiar sense of claustrophobia wash over him. It was always the same whenever he looked up at this particular office block, a feeling that had failed to diminish over the years. He stepped out of the car, slipping on his suit jacket and folding the collar up against the drizzle. Fumbling for a moment with the top button of his white shirt, he adjusted his tie, hating the feeling of constraint. It felt as if there were two hands encircling his neck, waiting to squeeze.

He signed in with reception, taking the lift up to the eighth floor where his father’s company was based. The soft draught of the air conditioning greeted him as he walked through the heavy, glass-panelled doors and into the reception.

It had only been two and a half weeks since he had felt a fresh mountain wind across his face every time he stepped out of the tent, but already it seemed half a century ago. By this time in the morning — 8.30 a.m. — he would have been up for hours, watching the morning sun filter across the snow-clad peaks. But here in England he felt he was sealed away from the outside world — as if nature were something to be feared and carefully excluded.

‘Hi, Luca.’

He looked up to see one of the office juniors standing by the entrance to the kitchen. He was holding a small plastic cup brimming with some viscous brown liquid that could equally have been coffee or tea.

‘Your father sent me to tell you he wants to see you.’

‘Already?’ Luca said, his voice dropping into a mutter. ‘For Christ’s sake.’

Stepping into his own glass-walled office, he began leafing through the pile of papers on his desk, shunting them into two piles. Almost all of them were out of date orders for the four-wheel-drive vehicles the company exported around the world. Cold-calling and making sales came easily to Luca; it was the paperwork he detested so much.

After tapping on his door, Luca stepped inside his father’s office to see him seated behind his large, leather-topped desk, speaking on the phone. He was bending forward, peering down at a document, so that the thinning hair combed carefully across the crown of his head was clearly visible. When he looked up, Luca saw eyes of the same grey as his own, but dark-ringed from age and years of working late. He nodded briefly at his son and raised a finger, gesturing for Luca to keep quiet as he continued his call.

Luca leaned against the door, not wanting to venture further into the room. It hadn’t changed in all the years his father had occupied it: the same cabinets with the same collectibles neatly displayed on top and dusted once a week. Various awards and certificates for exporting still hung on the far wall by the window, and below them, a couple of framed photographs.

Luca didn’t need to see them either, the images were all too familiar. The larger of the two was a formal photograph of the three of them: his mother with her hand on her husband’s shoulder, while he as a teenager — the only son and great white hope — smiled up at them, basking in their approval.

That was before he broke it to them that he was going to dedicate his twenties to climbing; that he would work hard for the company while he was in the country and draw a small wage, but long-term he wasn’t cut out for the family business.

Despite the many conversations they had had to this effect, his father still hadn’t accepted this decision. He tried hard to change his son’s mind and regularly pulled guilt trips on him about the cost of his education and how he was depending on Luca to take over the family business. The word ‘family’ was always stressed, dragged out and emphasised, as if he didn’t know who his parents actually were.

At twenty-seven years old, he knew he should have broken away from it all a long time ago, but the truth was he found it impossible to find project work that was flexible enough to pay him the minute he was back in the country. And so the uncomfortable status quo went on between father and son, bonded by guilt and mutual dependency, both seeing the relationship as a means to different ends.

As his father continued talking, Luca’s gaze moved to the windows where rain was splattering down the long length of the glass. The minutes passed; three, four, five. His father showed no sign of ending his conversation. He had twisted round and was now concealed behind the wide back of his swivel chair. All Luca could hear was the occasional sound as he sucked in the air between his teeth or the odd grunt of agreement.

Then the chair came swinging round again and, without even making eye contact, his father clicked his fingers, pointing to the seat on the other side of his desk. Luca sat down as directed, a joyless smile on his lips. His father had always had a special talent for making him feel humiliated before they had even exchanged a word.

As the phone was finally returned to its cradle, his father leaned back in his chair and eyed Luca above his glasses.

‘So you’re back,’ he said with a brief smile.

‘Yeah. Got in on Thursday.’

‘Good. And, did you reach the top?’

Luca shook his head.

‘No. We missed the summit by a couple of hours. We had a few issues on the ice wall, but the real problem was that Bill got hit from altitude just after we passed seven thousand metres. All the same, it was one hell of a climb. If it hadn’t been for the altitude, we’d definitely have made it.’ Involuntarily, he felt his face break into a wide smile. ‘You know how much I love it up there, Dad.’

His father looked away as if he had said something mildly offensive.

‘Well, don’t tell your mother that. You put her through hell every time you go off on one of your damn’ fool adventures. She worries herself sick.’

Luca’s smile turned brittle.

‘Come on, Dad, you don’t need to get like this every time I mention climbing.’

There was a long pause while his father took off his glasses and inspected one arm thoughtfully.

‘Look, Luca, your mother and I have been speaking about a few things while you were away. I think perhaps I made a mistake putting you in domestic sales. I thought it would suit you because of the way you are, but the reality is it doesn’t challenge you enough. So I’ve come up with something else I think you might like. A promotion, let’s call it.’

Luca’s heart sank in his chest as he looked at the expression on his father’s face. He could toughen himself up to deal with the undercurrents of disappointment and disapproval, but when his father tried to be nice, that was the worst. That was when he really did feel like an ungrateful jerk.

‘Look, I know you don’t like being cooped up in this office, so the idea is to send you to some of the places where the market is starting to open up a bit. Dubai and Manila, for example. You can set up meetings with potential clients… form your own relationships. You’d be good at that. And you’d get all the perks, you know. Five star hotels, a driver for the days when you’re there. We know you love travelling…’

Luca shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Look, Dad, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you trying to help me out. And I know that there are people next door who’d queue up for that kind of posting. But I’ve already tried to tell you, this isn’t what I want to do long-term.’ He spread his hands apologetically. ‘I’m just not a car salesman.’

His father’s face darkened instantly. ‘Don’t be such a bloody snob, Luca,’ he snapped. ‘There’s only so long you can persist with this expensive hobby of yours. Soon enough the sponsorship will dry up, especially if you keep on failing on expeditions like this last one. Your mother and I had thought that after the whole Everest débâcle, you would have seen sense and packed the whole thing in. But, well…’

Luca’s jaw clenched as he stared back at his father.

‘You’ve never even bothered to listen to my side of the story.’

‘I hardly think I need to! It was splashed all over the papers before you even got back. I read quite enough without needing to hear any more of the sordid details. I mean, your mother even had some of her friends…’

He didn’t finish his sentence but instead leaned forward across the desk, his thumbs buckling beneath his weight.

‘I shouldn’t have to spell this out, Luca, but we have the family name to consider.’

Luca remained motionless, desperately resisting the urge to fight back. Family name? Christ, his father could be such a prick.

‘I know finding your path in life is difficult,’ he continued, his voice becoming abstract as if he were dealing with one of the office juniors. ‘But you’re not so young any more, and there’s only so long you can keep living by your wits and not assuming real responsibilities.’

Luca closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and dragging himself up from his chair. Sometimes he could hardly believe they were related.

At the doorway, he managed a faint smile. ‘Maybe you’re right, Dad. Give me a while to think about the job. And I’ll call Mum too, let her know I’m back safe and that we’ve had this chat. Meanwhile, I’ve got a cracking headache. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take all my work back home today, to catch up. I’ll get more done there anyway, without any distractions.’

His father looked at him for a moment, before nodding uncertainly. ‘OK. Well, let me know. Good to have you back, Luca.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

He turned and walked out of the office, the effort of smiling making his face ache. As he entered his own small office, he slammed the door shut and stood in the centre of the room, the anger surging through him. After all these years, how could his own father understand so little about what made Luca tick?

His eyes settled on his desk, the paperwork stacked in two crooked piles. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent them flying against the long bank of windows, papers fluttering down like leaves. They settled across the thick carpet, a mass of densely printed forms and Post-it notes, edges stirring in the steady draught from the air conditioning.

This is not the way it’s going to be, Luca said to himself, his eyes screwed tight as if in prayer.

This is not it.