The taxi man’s brow creases again. He looks totally miffed.
‘It’s kinda complicated,’ Lenny says, his attempt at straightening his driver’s brow lines. He knows how ridiculous that sounds, especially as the taxi man is well aware that he is on hold at a hospital. Lenny turns his face, stares out at the greyness of Dublin again. He takes in the big terraced Victorian houses on the Fairview Road, imagines the faces of the happy families that must live in such comfort within them.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, but Mr Blake said he’s not able to make or take any more phone calls today, he’s preparing himself for surgery,’ the woman’s voice says down the line.
Lenny feels his heart pinch a little. He hangs his mouth open, then folds himself right over – his head hanging well below his knees this time.
‘Fuck sake!’ he yells.
14:05
Gordon
I pick up the pen I’d left resting at the side of my bed, brushing the envelope I have addressed to Lenny aside. I wonder what he’s up to now; how he’s handling Michelle and Jake. It won’t be easy. It always infuriated me that the cops wouldn’t look into Jake for me. It’s hardly just a coincidence that he came into our lives just as Betsy was taken. But it still doesn’t add up that he took her. The only motive I’ve ever been able to come up with is that he would have wanted me and Michelle to split up… but why would he go to such lengths? I don’t know. I’ve fuck all to go on. I’m pretty sure Jake had nothing to do with Betsy’s disappearance, but what was I supposed to do… lie here in my last hours of life and do nothing? I bet Lenny’s been trying to get hold of me. I’d love to turn my phone back on, see what he’s up to. But I guess it’s gonna be a case of him saying he questioned Jake and came to a conclusion that he had nothing to do with Betsy’s disappearance.
I stare over at the envelope again, suck at my own lips. I don’t know who I’m going to leave the house to if I die today. Probably nobody at this stage. The state will take it, do with it whatever the hell they please. Anyway, I’m not planning on dying. I’m going to get through these surgeries. I’m so grateful to Elaine… lying to Douglas for me; knocking a couple of digits off my actual heart rate. I owe it to her to just lie here and relax.
I grab at my book, rip out another blank page and without even thinking of how I’m going to construct this letter, I begin writing.
Dear Michelle,
Then I bring the pen to my mouth and begin to nibble on the top of it. I’ve so much to say to this woman. Half of it in an irate tone, half of it filled with adoration. How the fuck do I even begin to sum up what she’s meant to me? Fuck it!
I know you and I have had our differences, but I don’t want this letter to come across in a negative way.
* * *
If you’re reading this, it’s because I’m dead – that I didn’t make it through my surgeries.
I guess I’m writing to you because I want to apologise for all of my faults. I know I was never the perfect husband. And it’s pretty clear to everyone – you especially – that I was never a perfect father either. But I need you to understand that, while I have lived with the guilt of our dear Betsy going missing on my watch, I genuinely feel as if
As if… as if what? I lay my head back against the rail. What the fuck am I trying to say to her? I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault? I don’t know. I gurn in frustration, then come to the realisation that the process of writing a goodbye letter to Michelle is not going to be as cathartic as I’d hoped it might be. It’s only going to raise my heart rate even more. This wasn’t a good idea. I place the pen back down on the bedside cabinet, then rub at my face with both hands, rubbing them up and down until the frustration I have running through my mind disappears.
The door opening causes me to take my hands down and when I do I immediately feel better. She’s smiling at me. It seems as if we’re friends again.
‘Thank you so much, Elaine,’ I say, as she makes her way towards me. She has both hands held aloft, palms out. I hold both my hands out to her too and we high ten.
‘All sorted, Gordon,’ she says. ‘The team are going to operate. The theatre has been cleared of its last surgery and it’s being prepped for yours now. Mr Douglas was deadly serious about not operating, but when I told him your bloods had just crept below the one-forties and that you were now being as restful as you possibly could be, he agreed to go ahead.’
I stare at her wide eyes. My little heroine.
‘I may literally owe you my whole life by tonight,’ I tell her.
She waves my compliment away, then points a finger at me.
‘You can’t tell anybody I fudged the numbers, you hear me? Even when you do survive, this has to be our little secret. I’d totally lose my job if that ever became known.’
I grab the hand that is pointing at me, turn it over and then bring it to my mouth to lightly kiss it.
‘I promise I will never tell a soul.’
Elaine creases her lips into a friendly smile, then looks at the sheet of paper on my chest.
‘Writing letters?’ she asks.
I rub at my face; the reminder of me trying to justify myself to Michelle making its way to the forefront of my mind again.
‘The ex wife,’ I tell Elaine. ‘Problem is, I don’t know what to say.’
‘You never asked her to come up to see you, no?’
I shake my head. Can’t bring myself to explain an answer. It’s just way too complicated.
Elaine lets out a deep breath, her hand still being held by mine, and then eyeballs me.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ she says. ‘Let’s just keep you relaxed, there isn’t long to go.’ She lets go of my hand, removes her pocket watch and then raises her eyebrows. ‘A little less than an hour. I have to say, Gordon, you are in the best hands and—’
She looks behind at the door opening. Another nurse, dressed in a slightly different shade of purple scrubs, steps inside.
‘Sorry, Elaine,’ she says, ‘but Mr Blake, I have a Lenny Moon on the line. He said he has something to tell you and wondered if you could call him back.’
I feel my heart rate instantly rise. What the fuck has he found out about Jake Dewey? I need to know.
‘That’s okay,’ Elaine says, staring over her shoulder at the nurse. ‘Mr Blake won’t be taking or making any phone calls until he’s come out of his surgeries, isn’t that right, Gordon?’
She squeezes my hand. I look up to her, offer a thin smile.
‘Eh… yes, I eh… I’m prepping for the surgeries now. I won’t be talking to anybody.’
The nurse steps backwards towards the door.
‘Of course, Mr Blake, sorry to have disturbed you.’
Elaine continues to squeeze my hand, then offers me a little wink.
‘We’re a good team me and you, huh?’ she says.
I gulp as I offer her a fake laugh.
‘You’re the best,’ I say.
‘That’s Saoirse; Saoirse Guinness – a new nurse. She’ll put Lenny straight. You can speak to him after you wake up from the surgeries… okay? So, will we turn the TV back on?’ she suggests casually, as if news from Lenny is insignificant.
I nod my head slowly, reach for the remote control under my sheets and hand it to her. She sits in the blue plastic chair, presses at the standby button and proceeds to click through the channels, asking me at every turn whether or not what’s showing on the TV is something that interests me. I continue to just shake my head, even though I don’t know what’s on. I’m staring through the TV, not at it; my mind racing.
‘Oh… that’s all the channels,’ she says eventually. ‘Will I just leave something on? Pick a number.’
I smile with my eyes, wave my hand.
‘I don’t know… number three,’ I say.
We both stare at the screen, a cheesy toothpaste advert showing images of an annoying-looking boy grinning from ear to ear comes on.
‘Is Colgate going to help you relax?’ Elaine says,
looking to me.
I sniff a small laugh out of my nostrils, then tilt my head back as a thought comes to me.
‘You know what would help me relax?’ I ask.
‘Go on.’
‘Fruit Pastilles.’
‘Fruit Past— sure you’re supposed to be fasting.’
‘I won’t swallow them, just the taste… they’d, I don’t know. I just really fancy some. I have some change here,’ I say, reaching for my bedside cabinet. I open the drawer, shovel some loose change into the palm of my hand then hold it towards Elaine. ‘Please,’ I say, sounding a little bit like a pleading Oliver Twist.
Elaine twitches an eyebrow.
‘If it’ll help you relax.’ She scoops the coins from my hand, then hands me the remote control. ‘You find us something to watch. I’ll be five minutes.’
I click at the buttons of the remote, not looking at the screen but at her as she leaves the ward. When she closes the door, I reach for the drawer of the cabinet again and grab at my phone. I hold down the standby button and wait for the screen to blink on.
‘C’mon, for fuck sake,’ I hiss at it. It seems to take an age for the phone to load up. When it does, I immediately click into my call history, then hold my finger against Lenny’s number.
‘Jesus, Gordon, what took you so long ringing me back?’ he says.
‘Never mind that; what’s the news you have for me?’
Seven years ago
Betsy
My wrist can get sore from writing. I twist it round and round in circles until the pain goes away. Then I lift up my pen again and keep going.
I think my spelling is getting better. I am writing words a little bit quicker. I’ve been nearly a whole year writing Betsy’s Basement and I am on chapter five. This morning I’ve been writing about the time I screamed when I was in the toilet upstairs. That was silly of me.
I wanted to die that day because I thought I would go to see Mummy and Daddy in heaven. Whatever heaven is. A lot of the books I read don’t mention heaven. Maybe it’s not even real. It makes me sad to think that I will never see Mummy and Daddy again. But I can’t talk about it with Dod. Talking about Mummy or Daddy is one way to make sure Dod definitely turns into angry Dod. So instead of talking about it, I write about it in my story. Chapter one was all about me being taken by Dod. Chapter two is about how I used to keep really quiet in the basement when all of the people used to come visit Dod’s house. Not so many people visit anymore. Chapter three is about me and Bozy and how we became best friends. Chapter four is about Dod letting me go upstairs for the first time. And now chapter five is about how I got beaten up by Dod for screaming when I was upstairs. I think my back is still not the same since that beating. It’s sore when I wake up every morning. But even though all of my chapters are about me being here, in the basement, they always have a bit of Mummy and Daddy in them. Not that I can remember much about that time. But writing helps me remember. Or what it does is make sure I don’t forget.
I can’t wait to write the chapters about how me and Dod became really good friends again though. About him buying me lots and lots of books. About him letting me go upstairs to watch TV. And about him letting me look out the window from his bedroom. When I get to those chapters, I’m going to have lots of stories. Lots of stories about all of the different characters I see when I look out the window. There is a woman who lives across the street, in the house with the red door. I call her Mrs Witchety and she is a secret witch. She has fifteen cats and twelve brooms in her house. She is really funny. But scary too. I have so much fun when I am looking out the window and making characters up.
When Dod opens the door, I rest my pen down inside my book, then fold it over. I walk up the steps and hope Dod will let me look out the window today and not watch TV.
‘Whatcha wanna do?’ he asks when I get to the top of the steps.
I just look up at him.
‘You wanna go upstairs, huh?’ He makes a funny shape with his mouth and then nods his head towards the stairs. ‘Okay, c’mon.’
We both walk up and as soon as I am outside his bedroom, I get down on my hands and knees and crawl around his bed until I am at the window ledge, Then I place my hands on the ledge and bring myself up so I can see out the window. I look straight away to Mrs Witchety’s house but she’s not outside, not today. Then I look up and down the street. Nobody’s walking. This happens sometimes. Sometimes I can spend a long time looking out the window and not see anybody. Maybe today is going to be one of those days.
I look around Dod’s bedroom again. There isn’t much in it. A big bed and two really big wardrobes. I often wonder what’s in the wardrobes. But I have never asked.
‘Dod.’ I say his name really slowly.
‘Yes, Betsy?’
‘Do you not have lots of books in your room like I do in my basement? Are they in these wardrobes?’
He laughs a little. That makes me feel good. I was worried he might turn into angry Dod for asking him about his wardrobes. He walks over to the far side of his bed and then opens a drawer.
‘Here are all my books,’ he says.
I’m not sure what he is showing me. It looks like just one book, but it’s grey and skinny. When he brings it closer I notice that it isn’t a book at all. There are no pages. I make a funny face at him and he laughs again.
‘It’s called a Kindle,’ he says.
I keep the funny look on my face.
‘I have over a hundred books on here. He presses at a button. A light comes on and makes it look like a really small TV. He turns it around so I can watch. ‘See all these,’ he says, ‘they are all the books I have on here and I can choose to read one anytime I want.’
I’m a bit confused. But when I point my finger at one of the books, it opens. Chapter one appears on the screen.
‘That’s magic,’ I say.
But I’m still confused.
‘I buy books and they just download on to here.’
I give him my funny face again.
‘Tell you what, you take a look at this. The books I read are a little old for you, but take a look through the Kindle. I’ve a tiny bit of work to do. So I’m going to go downstairs. I’ll give you twenty minutes up here, okay? Keep your head down, Betsy.’
I look up at him and then nod my head slowly.
‘Okay, Dod.’
He’s never left me up here on my own. I think he thinks that I’m becoming a big girl now. A bit like a grown up. I’ll be fourteen next month. I smile to myself when he leaves the room. I feel really happy that he thinks I can be left alone up here.
I take the Kindle from him and begin to press at the screen. Into one book called War and Peace and then another one called Anna Karenina. There are lots of big words in these books. Dod is right. I don’t think I’d be able to read these. But this is so much fun. I can’t believe all of his books are in here. Mine take up so much room in my basement.
I crawl back towards Dod’s wardrobe so I can sit with my back leaned up against it and continue to play with his Kindle. I would love one of these. Except I think I would miss the smell of the paper from books. One of the first things I do when I get a new book is to flick the pages under my nose and breathe in the smell. I bring the Kindle to my nose, try to smell it. Nothing. It smells like nothing.
I stare over at the drawer Dod took the Kindle from. Wonder what other magical things he has in there. But I shouldn’t look. I’d get myself into so much trouble. If I don’t keep my head down, Dod will definitely turn into angry Dod. And that’s the last thing I want. I look towards the window, then towards the drawer again. Then the window. Then the drawer.
I place the Kindle on top of Dod’s bed and then crawl. I do it really, really slowly. When I reach his drawer I pull it open and then place my hand on his bed so I can pull myself up a little bit. I look inside. There are some pills that look like sweets and an old watch. I hold up the watch and stare at it. The hands aren’t moving. It must be broken. I pu
t it back inside, then close the drawer really slowly, making sure there is no noise. Then I crawl back over to the wardrobe I’d been sitting against. My heart thumps a little bit. That was naughty. I probably shouldn’t have done that. But I can’t help myself. I pull open his wardrobe. See lots and lots of clothes. There are lots of shoes in the bottom of it, lots of shirts hanging at the top. Then I pull open the drawer at the bottom of his wardrobe. Lots of papers. I flick through them to see what they are all about. But there’s too many of them. I lift the top one off and then sit with my back to the wardrobe and begin to read it.
In big black writing at the top, it says “DNA confirms Betsy Blake is Dead”.
14:15
Lenny
A slither of orange is threatening to rid the sky of its greyness by the time Lenny steps out of the taxi, but the sun has a lot of work to do if it wants to make itself known over Dublin today. The rain is still falling, but only lightly now. Lenny stands outside the uneven wooden railing of Guus’s house and just stares at it. It’s a big detached house, yet it’s unkempt; the grass in the garden overly long and peppered with litter, the windows dusty and smeared. Lenny stiffens his nose at the contrast of what he’s seeing. In order to live in this house – especially around here – you’d have to be worth a good few quid. Why couldn’t a rich man afford somebody to at least make their home look good?
When he finally takes his eyes from the garden, Lenny feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He flips it over to see who’s trying to reach him.
‘Ah for fuck sake!’ he rages, stamping on the pavement. He sighs deeply, then presses the answer button.
‘Hey, sweetie,’ he says.
Whatever Happened to Betsy Blake? Page 18
