by Eoghan Egan
Hugh said: ‘You should’ve gone for help, Ruth.’
‘Same applies to you.’
‘I only planned to see if we were in the right place. You’d no idea what you were walking into.’
‘When you didn’t come back, God, I was never more terrified. I thought, if you’re in trouble, I’ll belt him.’
‘If you’d gotten close enough.’
‘Didn’t figure that far ahead.’
While Hugh was in x-ray, Ruth found Sharona, sat with her for a while and added her phone number to Sharona’s contacts. ‘Ring me if you need anything,’ she said, and watched Sharona doze. When she got back to A&E, Hugh confirmed he’d a fractured toe. Marcus, the detective, arrived with a list of follow-up questions. When he’d finished, Ruth asked: ‘Have you arrested Styne?’
‘He’s on the operating table.’
‘Handcuffed, I hope.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ll charge him.’ A statement, not a question.
‘Lots more forensics before we reach a conclusion,’ the detective said and rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll be in touch, Hugh.’
A doctor stitched and wrapped Hugh’s head, bandaged his left ankle and fitted a short leg walking cast on his right foot. It looked like a ski boot.
‘How long will I have to …?’
‘Four to six weeks.’
Hugh hung onto the forearm crutches, collected painkillers and a prescription, and said he was leaving. The doctor reluctantly discharged him. ‘With the bang your head got, I’d prefer to keep you under observation for twenty-four hours.’
‘I’m fine. I’ll rest at home.’
‘Remember, get yourself to a hospital if you suffer any pain, dizziness, or—’
‘Yeah, yeah …’
‘You look identical to that guy in The Mummy,’ Ruth said to Hugh on the drive home.
‘Brendan Fraser?’
‘No, Arnold Vosloo, before he turns into a human—’
‘Thanks. Will Sharona be okay?’
‘She’s asleep. We’ll visit later. Styne used chloroform to knock her out. I got a sweet taste and burning sensation at the back of my throat when I cut Sharona’s ties. Chloroform inhalation also causes tremors and shortness of breath. That’s why she needed water.’
‘Oh.’
‘Shortness of breath reminds me, where’s your car?’
‘Wouldn’t start. It’s overdue a service.’
Ruth turned into Hugh’s drive, inched by his car and parked near the door. ‘Remember what the doctor said. If you get blurred vision or find you’re sensitive to noise, or if you find you’re slurring words or … no matter what, call an ambulance. Straight away.’
‘Sure.’
‘That means at once.’
‘Okay.’ Hugh hobbled to his car and left his car key on the dashboard.
Ruth promised to collect him before teatime, and they’d visit Sharona.
The crutches were clumsy and awkward.
Hugh discarded one, used the other as a cane, and staggered upstairs for a shower. His skin still stank from the smell of stale silage. After, he powered up the mobile. Three bars. He rang his local garage. They promised to collect his car and bring a replacement.
‘Key’s on the dashboard,’ Hugh said.
Next, he dialled Ferdia. ‘I tried phoning you last night. Couldn’t get through. Boy, I needed your brawn—’
‘Weather caused a power outage. Half the Midlands had no reception. What did ya need muscle for?’
Hugh filled him in.
‘God all feckin’ mighty. That’s ten degrees more stupid than anything I’ve ever done. Styne, eh? Goes to show, you never can tell with people. Bit of a drastic reaction over a feckin’ picture, all the same. How’s Sharona?’
‘Bruised. In shock. She’ll be okay.’
‘Man, it’ll take me a week to get my head around you breaking a fella’s jaw.’
‘And knee. You told me. Remember?’
‘Didn’t tell you to use a soggy shoe. Still, better to give than receive. ’Bout time you heed what I say.’
‘A once-off episode. Don’t want a repeat.’
‘You’ll be grand. If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.’
‘Thanks. You in Dublin?’
‘Aye. We’re—’
‘With Niamh?’
‘Huh. The clip on your head didn’t cause memory loss. Yeah. We’re on the way to McDonald’s. Master David wants a Happy Meal. Don’t tell Ciara. Then we’ll head for home. I’ve left messages, but her phone’s turned off.’
‘Maybe she’s stuck in a meeting.’
‘Yeah. Funny, though, she usually calls to say hello to Master … argh, you’re right, I forgot, she’s in the middle of feckin’ appraisals. I’ll try again in a while.’
Mid-Morning
Rumours travel at breakneck speed in rural communities.
The activity on Styne’s farm caused locals to gawk and tongues to wag. A sheep farmer watched strangers move around his neighbouring fields. He observed them use hand tools to dig through snow and assemble a tent in one area, blocking further attempts to mine juicy details. But it didn’t stop the gossip. By midday, the farmer’s tales had got recapped, rehashed, inflated and enlarged, spreading across the hinterland quicker than an internet virus. Conjecture increased a hundredfold when the forensic team mounted the Hitachi on a flatbed lorry and towed it away.
-----
The garage men unloaded the replacement car and were winching Hugh’s Lexus onto a tow truck when a hospital secretary called: They were discharging Kathleen. “Should I call a taxi, or …?”
‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ Hugh hoped for a day’s grace to organise himself. He phoned Sarah. ‘If you’re still free—’
‘Kathleen’s discharged?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I can make it after three.’
‘Great. You’ve taken a load off my mind.’
‘See you then,’ Sarah said.
Hugh stared at the garage man securing his car onto the truck. A searing pain pierced the back of his eyes. Through blurred vision, he stumbled to the bathroom and lay over the toilet bowl, gasping. He heard the replacement car key dropping through the letterbox, but wasn’t able to move. After his stomach settled, he texted Ruth the directions to his mother’s house, then he pulled on a wool knit cap and went to the hospital.
-----
Kathleen was in the nurse’s station, chatting with the staff.
She clapped her hands. ‘I told you. I said, Hugh will be here to bring me home, didn’t I? I knew he’d come.’ Kathleen inspected the bandage and touched Hugh’s face. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s nothing, Ma.’
‘Did you crash? Are—?’
‘I’m okay. Honest.’
‘Tsk. Who put on that dressing? I’ll dress it right. Sorry for making you drive this distance. I should’ve called a taxi. Hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.’
‘It’s no distance, Ma, and you’re not a disappointment. Don’t say that.’
‘I keep forgetting to tell you, Hugh, somebody’s stolen money out of my bank account. Can you …?’
Here we go again, Hugh thought. ‘I’ll check into it, Ma.’
‘You’re the best son. Where are we going?’
‘Home.’
‘Good. Remind me to get you to check my bank statements. Someone’s stolen money from my bank account …’
Evening
Globs of ointment coated Sharona’s neck.
She was half-propped up in bed, eyes inflamed, jaw bruised and swollen. Hugh sank into an armchair and stretched out. He’d forgotten the painkillers.
‘Hope they’ll discharge me in the morning,’ Sharona said. ‘Dorothy rang earlier, she’s on the way.’
‘I’m off duty till tomorrow night,’ Ruth fluffed up the pillows. ‘Call me if you want a lift.’
‘Thanks. Thank you both. Agai
n.’ Sharona shuddered. ‘Those eyes? I’ll never forget Styne’s laser eyes. No emotion. Robotic. As if the human pieces of him had … disappeared. Made my skin crawl. I kept thinking: Why me? Because of a forgery? And that room? Christ.’
‘Push it out of your mind.’
‘Tell that to my brain. It keeps planting images in front of me. Styne would’ve killed us. I thought you were dead, Hugh. All that blood and … you looked like something that escaped from Francis Bacon’s studio. Then you blinked. Crikey. What an experience. And you tearing across the floor—’
‘More a clumsy clomp,’ Hugh said.’
‘Oh, and the sound of you coming up the driveway? If I could, I’d have ploughed through a wall. You know in nightmares where you can’t escape the boogie man? That kinda panic.’
‘Must book into a gym.’
‘Your leg,’ Sharona said. ‘You were dragging it along like Quasimodo.’
‘I’m no James Bond or Jonathan Creek.’
‘Stay the way you are,’ Ruth said.
‘When I came to,’ Sharona said. ‘I remembered the shock of seeing him at my door. Then I thought, had I disconnected? Or, did you catch what I was saying before Styne knocked me out? Reception is crap in parts of the house. Then I wondered if I’d even mentioned his name or not. Reckoned I was dead for sure.’
‘Our minds play tricks to save us when we’re under pressure,’ Ruth said.
‘So, I did say his name, and you managed to catch up with him before we got to the farmhouse?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why didn’t you phone the cops?’
‘We tried. There was no signal. The weather caused a transmitter failure. But you were in our sights all the way,’ Hugh said. Ruth drove like a—’
‘Dear, I came the minute I found out. This is horrendous.’ Dorothy Ridgeway floated in and enveloped Sharona in a hug. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for getting you involved in this scandal. I can’t believe it. Mark my words, whatever about my painting, Hattinger’s will pay for this … atrocity. Now, tell me, have you considered a solicitor yet?’
‘Err—’
‘Silly me. How could you? Now listen, I’m a friend of Victor Attwood. You’ve heard of Victor?’
‘I don’t—’
‘Ach, you must’ve read his cases. Finest barrister in Northern Ireland. Let me assure you, Hattinger’s haven’t a clue what’ll hit them. Victor isn’t nicknamed “The Rottweiler” for nowt. I’m staying in Tullamore tonight. He’ll be here by lunchtime tomorrow. We’ll set up a meeting with Ambrose Hattinger.’
‘God, I don’t—’
‘Leave it to me, dear. I’m taking this as a personal affront. Hi, Hugh. Nice to see you again. I appreciated your presence last Saturday night. Who’s this lady?’
‘Ruth Lamero,’ Hugh said. ‘Ruth? Dorothy Ridgeway.’
They shook hands. ‘You’re a nurse,’ Dorothy said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Hah, knew it. Years as a theatre sister means I can spot good nurses a mile away.’ Dorothy glanced from Ruth to Hugh and back again. ‘Are ye a couple?’
‘No, we’re—’
‘Old friends,’ Ruth added.
‘What does that mean?’ Dorothy asked. ‘You should be a couple. You’ve got the look. Go work on it.’ Dorothy swished to the other side of the bed, plopped onto a chair and patted Sharona’s arm. ‘Now dear, sleep and don’t worry, I’m here. Bye, Ruth. Bye, Hugh,’ Dorothy said and turned her attention back to Sharona.
Hugh and Ruth tiptoed out.
‘Who’s that … tornado?’ Ruth asked.
‘The lady who had her painting stolen.’
‘Wow, stupid people to pick on her,’ Ruth said. ‘That’s the type of nurse we need to cut through red tape and put the skids under consultants.’
‘Yep. Hungry?’
‘I’d love a coffee.’
‘Starbucks in Ganestown?’
‘Great.’ Ruth drove away from the hospital. ‘You know what Dorothy said, us being a couple?’
‘Huh-uh.’
‘I thought that about you and Sharona.’
Hugh glanced across. ‘You serious? Why?’
‘You seem … close.’
‘You’re right. Close as family. One of my best friends is James Waters, Sharona’s brother. A similar taste in music brought us together years ago. We’ve hung around ever since. I’ve known Sharona for nine, ten years now. Whenever she was home from college, she’d tag along to gigs with us. I see her and treat her as the little sister I never had.’
‘Oh.’
In Starbucks, Hugh reached across and squeezed Ruth’s hand. ‘I dread to imagine the consequences if you hadn’t answered your mobile.’
Ruth responded to his grip. ‘I’m glad the Ganestown transmitter still worked when you rang.’
‘Jesus, yeah. Me too.’
‘But you’d have figured out another—’
‘I was out of ideas.’
‘So I was the last option, huh?’
‘You were my only—’
‘You’d no idea what you were getting into.’ Ruth hugged herself. ‘What you did? Rash. Lucky you don’t have an ACL or meniscal tear.’
‘I acted on reflex. You can’t pick all your battles.’
‘Don’t remember you involved in fights at school,’ Ruth said.
‘I’ve never lifted a finger to another person until last night. And it’s scary knowing I’m capable of violence, if provoked.’
‘Any domesticated animal will fight in a life-or-death situation, Hugh. Was that the scariest moment in your life?’
‘God, yeah, but we didn’t have time to consider options. Sharona was in trouble. There’s no way I’d leave her in danger.’
‘One of your strengths, eh?’
‘What?’
‘Not backing away.’
‘I’ll fight my corner in the boardroom, with words and reasonable logic. I’m neither a softy nor a hardass. At different times, standing firm or conceding is the correct decision. The trick is to recognise the right instance.’
‘Like with break-ups,’ Ruth said.
‘Exactly.’
‘How are you dealing with …? I mean, it can be—’
‘It wasn’t a breakup. Call it what it is. I got dumped. Big difference.’
‘But still, it’s tough, especially with everything that’s happening around you.’
‘Yeah, it hurt. I thought I was an important chunk of Eilish’s life. Seemed we were well-suited in most things and it’s bloody painful to realise I’m not. After my initial I-don’t-believe-this blowout, I expected … grief, but all I feel is relief. I know that makes me seem cold. I want it to be more painful. I should have a … an incensed reaction, but—’
‘Everyone’s different,’ Ruth said.
‘—but in hindsight, the relationship ended long before Eilish left,’ Hugh added, ‘and I was too close to notice. When I look back, oh, six months, even longer, there hadn’t been any emotional progression. I dunno, it’s possible I’ve been subconsciously building mental blocks. Sounds harsh, but that’s how I feel. I heard what you said about leaving the pieces where they fall. I agree. If we aren’t compatible, then better it ends now.’
‘At times, break-ups are meant as wake-ups,’ Ruth said.
‘Exactly. Why hold on if it’s not meant to be? Life’s short. My ego got badly dented. Move on. Let go.’
‘Hmm. Sometimes being strong means letting go,’ Ruth said. ‘You’ve great patience too; I’ve noticed you with Kathleen.’
‘I’ll need it.’ Hugh gave a short laugh. ‘At times, my patience wears thin. Ma’s great. Has been, I mean, still is great. She’s my most prized treasure. Dad died eighteen months ago. Heart attack. So we’ve only got each other for support. There’s lots of love between us.’
‘I know.’ Ruth sipped the coffee. ‘If your mother is your prized treasure, what’s your most precious possession?’
‘Material wise?’
Hugh asked.
‘Yeah. Stuff you can’t live without. Objects of sentimental value.’
Hugh thought for a beat. ‘Valued possessions? My house. Crap car. This chain my parents bought for my eighteenth birthday.’ Hugh touched the gold chain he wore around his neck. ‘After Dad died, I put his wedding ring on it. Haven’t taken it off since.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘And sentimental value? A lot of my belongings are valueless, but I cherish the memories and emotional attachments behind them. A concert ticket, for example, that I’ve kept—’
‘What band?’
‘Metallica,’ Hugh said. ‘Reading Festival, August bank holiday weekend, 2003. I was twelve. Dad brought me. We were deaf for a month afterwards. That was my first big rock concert. A weekend to remember. Several birthdays and Christmas presents rolled into one. What’s important to you?’
‘My family,’ Ruth said. ‘Health. Photos of a trip to Disneyland, and my sister’s wedding for memories. Everything else is replaceable.’
‘Go back ten years,’ Hugh said. ‘Did you imagine then how your life would be a decade later?’
‘Hmm, mid-teens, the world was my oyster. I’d planned to cure all ills, save the world, travel, have a zillion friends—’
‘Did you succeed?’
‘I learned to lower my vision. Nowadays, I help to improve and prolong the quality of lives by easing pain. My zillion friends are a handful, stirred among hundreds of acquaintances.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘I’ve a friend who works in maternity; we call her the catcher. She says: “A friend will never lie to you and will always serve as an alibi for you.” Acquaintances are people you meet in passing. Ships in the night.’
‘That line came up before.’
‘When we were talking about college,’ Ruth said. ‘You’d left by the time I—’
‘Oh yeah. Hope we’ll be more than passing ships this time around.’
‘Why didn’t we date in school?’ Ruth used the spoon to gathered coffee foam from the mug.
Hugh scratched his jaw. ‘Too nervous to ask. I was awkward around girls. Naïve. Didn’t know what to say.’
