Something to Tell You

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘It’s okay,’ Bunny said because, despite the dull throbbing of her temples, that was really the least of her worries. ‘Has anybody phoned for me?’ she asked.

  ‘Phoned for you? Not that I know of, but I’ve only just started my shift. I can find out for you once I’ve finished here.’ She pumped up the cuff until Bunny’s arm was squeezed tight, then examined the reading. ‘That’s looking better,’ she said, giving Bunny a quizzical once-over. ‘And your colour’s coming back too, that’s another good sign.’ She jotted a few things down on her file and smiled. ‘You’ll be out of here in no time, don’t you fret.’

  Bunny tried to smile back, but didn’t have the heart to say that actually getting out of here, and having to figure out what the hell she was going to do with herself, was exactly what she was fretting about. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it for—Oh!’ The nurse stepped back as another person came through the curtain. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, edging around him and out again.

  ‘Dave!’ cried Bunny, weak with relief at the sight of him walking towards the bed, still with one cycle clip around his trouser leg, his hair tufting up slightly, as it did every night when he got in and removed his bike helmet. She felt a wash of trepidation to see him, tempered with relief and maybe even hope. ‘You came back.’

  ‘Of course I came back,’ he said, sounding bemused. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ He sat down beside her and took her hands. ‘How are you today? You don’t look as peaky as you did last night.’

  Bunny blinked at him, confused. He had actually read the stuff about her, hadn’t he? Because he was acting as if nothing had happened. ‘I’m okay,’ she replied cautiously. Was this some kind of trick? ‘So . . . do you know?’ she blurted out, unable to help herself. ‘What I did, I mean. Did you look me up, like I said to?’

  He nodded, his face impassive for a moment. Then he turned to her, his eyes sad. ‘I wish you’d told me before, about all of that. And about your name, and everything. I’ve been telling everyone your name’s Bernadette. I felt a right idiot when the police rang yesterday, saying you were called Rachel. Why didn’t you set me straight?’

  Bunny thought dejectedly of the way the local press had sensationalized the story, of her own family reacting with such horror, of how Margaret hadn’t been able to get rid of her quickly enough. It had just been easier, at the start, to pretend and conceal, to bury Rachel somewhere deep down inside her. ‘I just . . . I didn’t want what happened then to be the biggest thing about me,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t want to put you off. I didn’t want you to flinch every time I picked up a knife to chop vegetables, or for you to doubt me, or look at me in a different way.’ She could feel those tears again, gathering at the corners of her eyes. ‘I was just trying to put the past behind me and start again. And when you misunderstood my name that first time . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘Look, we’d only just met, I didn’t know that I was going to fall in love with you and move in. And after a while it was too hard to go back and correct you. That’s all. I’m sorry. I was scared I would ruin everything.’ A small, miserable laugh escaped her throat. ‘Turns out I managed that, anyway.’

  There was silence for a moment, interrupted by Elsie’s loud voice from the left. ‘Well, you know what my bowels are like,’ she was saying dourly.

  ‘Yes, love,’ her visitor replied with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I do.’

  Dave was still so het up he hadn’t noticed the conversation on the other side of the curtain. ‘But it’s not like you did anything to be ashamed of,’ he said in confusion. ‘He attacked you – and you defended yourself. As would anybody, in that situation. What you did, it was just self-preservation, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bunny replied. ‘Although . . .’ She sighed, feeling the pounding in her head increase. ‘Dave, I’ve got to be honest with you, I did really hate him by then,’ she added in a low voice.

  ‘I’m not surprised you did. I bloody hate him as well,’ Dave said passionately. ‘In fact, I’ve a good mind to find out which prison he’s currently languishing in and—’

  It had suddenly gone very quiet in the beds on either side, Bunny realized, and she took his hand to silence him, wary of the furious eavesdropping that was almost certainly taking place. ‘Sshh,’ she said. ‘Maybe this isn’t the most private place to discuss it.’

  He clasped her hand between both of his. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that, anyway,’ he said quietly. ‘It sounds absolutely horrendous. And I understand why you wanted a new start. But you can talk to me, you know, love. About anything at all. I’m on your side – always will be.’

  She had been so certain that Dave would reject her, like everybody else, that his calm, kind acceptance was hard to get her head around. ‘You’re on my side,’ she repeated dumbly, wondering if she had somehow misunderstood.

  ‘Yes! One hundred per cent.’ He shook his head, as if baffled that this needed confirmation. ‘Bun, when I got home and saw the note you’d left, and realized that you’d actually planned to go, just like that, without any forwarding address . . . I was gutted that you could have done such a thing. Because the thought of losing you like that – of you just vanishing and me not being able to find you . . .’ His mouth pressed together momentarily, his expression stricken. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done. I’d have been broken without you. I mean it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she croaked, feeling a lump in her throat. Her departure had, at the time, seemed like the kindest move, long-term, but now she just felt cruel for the way she’d gone about it.

  ‘I was almost glad that you’d been prevented from getting very far – no, not glad,’ he said, correcting himself. ‘Relieved, at least, that you hadn’t completely gone.’ He gazed beseechingly at her. ‘Please, don’t ever do that to me again. I couldn’t bear it if you just went like that. I’m not saying you have to stay with me forever – although I really hope you’ll want to – but at least tell me, next time you’re dumping me and moving out.’

  This last was said in a jokey sort of way, but all the same, Bunny knew he was serious. ‘I promise,’ she replied, just as the nurse popped her head around the curtain.

  ‘Phone calls!’ she cried. ‘You were asking me if anyone had phoned – and I’ve just found a whole list of messages scribbled down on our desk, which clearly nobody has passed on to you. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You haven’t been getting my messages?’ Dave asked, and Bunny shook her head.

  ‘So there are – let me see – six messages here from Dave Mortimer.’

  Bunny made a choking sound as Dave told the nurse, ‘That’s me. There should be another five or six on your phone,’ he added to Bunny.

  ‘Which is unhelpfully dead,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh dear!’ said the nurse. ‘Well, I’m sorry to both of you then. Someone on the morning shift must have jotted them down – and then a folder was left on top of the pad and . . . Anyway, you’re all caught up now at least. I’ll leave you in peace.’

  Dave looked over at Bunny as the curtain swished shut once more. ‘You must have been thinking all sorts,’ he said.

  ‘I was,’ replied Bunny, which was pretty much the understatement of the year. ‘I was kind of assuming you didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ he said firmly. ‘I absolutely do want to know. And I love you every bit as much as I did before this all happened. So there.’

  Maybe it was the extra-strength painkillers making her feel strange, but it was as if a hard, granite lump inside Bunny was loosening its bonds, turning soft and liquid, draining away. Hope burst within her. ‘Do you really—’ she began, but all of a sudden Dave was getting off his seat and kneeling down on the hospital floor.

  ‘Bunny, also known as Rachel,’ he began.

  ‘Dave!’ she squeaked, hardly able to believe what was happening.

  ‘Would you make me the happiest man in Yorkshire and do m
e the honour of becoming my wife?’

  ‘Dave!’ she yelped again. ‘Are you . . . are you actually serious?’

  ‘Oh my God, listen, Derek,’ she heard Elsie saying in hushed tones on the other side of the curtain.

  ‘I have never been more serious,’ Dave pronounced. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Once again, tears were glistening in Bunny’s eyes, but these were good tears. Happy tears. ‘Yes,’ she managed to say. ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘Did you hear that? She said yes!’ Elsie cried, in a shamelessly unsubtle way, but Bunny didn’t care. In fact, she didn’t care about anything other than Dave leaning over and kissing her so tenderly, so lovingly, that she never wanted him to stop.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Paula was having a good day. She’d just shown a very keen couple around an extremely nice townhouse a stone’s throw from the Minster and was confident they’d be after a second viewing, if not making an offer, within forty-eight hours. The property was one of those rare unicorn-like beasts in York – a Georgian property that had been beautifully restored, with no ongoing chain – the sort that you could move into immediately and feel completely at home in. The keys still jangling in her pocket (she’d take them back to the office tomorrow), she was now following a white-uniformed waitress and her mother downstairs to the lower lounge at Betty’s, where they had arranged to meet for tea and a catch-up. Yes, she was sloping of work an hour early, again. No, she didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt about this transgression.

  ‘Well, I cannot believe what your brother’s been up to,’ Jeanie said, the moment they’d ordered, cosily ensconced at a table for two, amidst the wood panelling and softly glowing wall-lamps. They were seated next to a boisterous family with three young children, who had just been to the Viking museum and were insistent on wearing their helmets at the table. ‘John, I mean – obviously. The shame of it! The brass neck of him! Phoning me from Edinburgh last night, telling me he’s in love with this . . . this girl! “For goodness’ sake,” I told him, “will you get over yourself and stop being such a complete and utter nitwit?” ’

  ‘Is that what you said?’ Paula asked, trying not to snigger at the thought of John having to contend with one of Jeanie’s legendary dressing-downs over the phone. Even when you were in your forties, there was something kind of satisfying about your parents slagging off one of your siblings so reproachfully, especially when this particular brother had always been the self-professed Golden Boy. She was reminded of her own sons, who always loved it when the other one got in trouble. ‘Am I being good, Mum?’ the smug cry would go up. It was on the tip of her tongue to say the same words now, but she managed to restrain herself.

  ‘Yes, I jolly well did say that to him. Worse, actually, because I’d had a sherry and I was a bit emotional. What does he think he’s playing at, though? A dirty old man, that’s what he is, going off with a young girl like that. It’s disgusting!’ Her lips trembled suddenly. ‘And how dare he jeopardize things with my grandchildren? I mean, he’s my son, my eldest child, and of course I love the absolute bones of him, but for him to do this . . . to behave in such a way . . . This is not how your father and I brought him up. “I’m ashamed of you,” I told him. “You’re not the son I thought you were.” ’

  Jeanie was looking quite distressed and Paula felt bad for having smirked moments earlier. ‘It’s grim,’ she agreed. ‘It’s not just the fact of her being so young, it’s that John could treat Robyn and the kids so shabbily. What’s he playing at?’

  ‘I know. Poor Robyn!’ cried Jeanie. ‘I don’t know what to do, whether to go round there or not. Robyn might not want anything more to do with our family.’

  ‘I think she does,’ Paula replied. ‘I think she’d appreciate it, if you popped round. In fact she was worried that we would all cut her off, or something – you know, drop her, just like John did.’

  ‘She said that? No!’ Jeanie said, looking aghast. ‘Where did she get that idea from? Oh – thank you,’ she said, as the waitress appeared just then with their tea tray. ‘Lovely. Gosh, I did miss my tea while I was away. It’s not the same, is it, tea on holiday? Not as good as the real thing.’

  They busied themselves pouring drinks and adding milk, then Paula braced herself to wheel out the big question. ‘How’s it going with you and Dad, then?’ she asked, picking an almond off the top of her warm Fat Rascal scone and posting it into her mouth. ‘How are you finding the return back to normal life? Tell me he’s done the dishes a few times. Made you another cheese omelette, even?’

  Jeanie gave a small smile as she buttered her teacake. ‘Breakfast in bed, the other morning,’ she replied. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s become very helpful around the place. As for the two of us . . . well, we’re getting there. We’ve talked about –’ she hesitated, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words – ‘his affair, and this woman who claims to be his daughter . . .’

  ‘I’m pretty sure she is, Mum,’ Paula said gently.

  ‘And we’re just trying to get on with things now. There are only so many times you can hear your husband yapping plaintively on about how sorry he is, before it gets right on your wick. So I’ve said okay and never mind, and all the rest of it. But the thing is, Paula . . .’

  The children at the next table were now whacking each other on their helmets with plastic Viking swords, and Paula had to lean in closer to hear. ‘Yes?’ she asked apprehensively, cutting her scone in half.

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Jeanie repeated, putting a hand up to her face suddenly, as if in shame. ‘You’re going to think me a terrible person now. But the truth is, I didn’t behave very well on holiday myself.’

  ‘STOP THAT THIS MINUTE,’ the woman on the next table hissed just then, snatching swords off her children and shoving them out of reach. (Paula always rather loved seeing unruly children and harassed parents out in public; it never failed to make her feel better about her own mothering skills, or lack of.) Then Jeanie’s words percolated through the clamour.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Paula asked. ‘What did you do?’ she went on, when no reply came. ‘Mum?’

  Jeanie sighed. ‘I had a lot of fun, put it like that,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘Perhaps . . .’ Her hand trembled as she set the cup down. ‘Perhaps rather too much fun.’

  Uh-oh. Paula wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. Please say that her mum wasn’t about to confess to having indulged in rampant sex all around Madeira. ‘When you say “too much fun”,’ she began delicately, her mind now thoroughly boggled, ‘you’re not saying . . . Mum, you didn’t have a fling yourself, did you?’

  There was an awful moment of silence before Jeanie slowly shook her head. ‘No. Not exactly. But I wanted to,’ she admitted, her voice low. ‘And I might have done, if . . .’ She looked agonized. ‘If the man in question hadn’t been too much of a gentleman.’

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ said Paula, half-appalled, half-enthralled. ‘But you didn’t, so—’

  ‘I drank too much, I acted like a silly schoolgirl, I had this ridiculous makeover, which doesn’t even suit me,’ Jeanie said despondently, flicking her fingers at the ends of her hair.

  ‘So what? You were on holiday! Give yourself a break,’ Paula cried. ‘And your hair will grow back anyway, if you’re not keen.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to lean forward conspiratorially, as she would have done with a friend, and ask if the gentleman in question had been hot, until she remembered her dad’s mournful face of recent weeks. ‘I take it Dad doesn’t know about this,’ she said instead.

  Jeanie turned pale beneath her tan. ‘Goodness, no, and I’m not planning to tell him either. This is strictly between you and me. I just wanted to get it off my chest – to confess my wickedness. I hope you don’t mind. Honestly, nothing happened, except for me making a fool of myself. Being a silly old woman.’

  ‘You’re not a silly old woman,’ Paula said. ‘Look, we’ve all done daft things we regret. It’s
just part of being human.’ Now she felt sorry for her mum, whose lip was wobbling. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting her hand. ‘Honestly, Mum. And you know I can keep a secret.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. Anyway, this is why I can’t be too angry with your dad any more,’ Jeanie said with a sigh. ‘Because I know what it is to be tempted. And it’s easier than you think.’ She pulled a guilty face and nibbled a small piece of teacake, the very image of the contrite wife. It didn’t last long, though. Because then her eyes glittered and the contrition was gone again. ‘It was really fun, though, flirting with a handsome man who wasn’t your father,’ she confided, leaning forward. ‘Just a little bit anyway.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I did feel naughty. Because I’d never done it before! And it made me feel very womanly. Very minxy. My goodness, I was a different person, I can tell you.’

  ‘Mum!’ Paula cried again, almost choking on her scone. ‘Please! I’m not sure I want to hear this.’ Minxy indeed. What had got into her?

  ‘Sorry,’ Jeanie said, although she didn’t look that sorry, to be fair. ‘I’ll be doing all my flirting with your dad from now on, don’t worry. But . . . do you think I’m awful? And if so, do you think you can forgive me for it?’

  Paula looked at her mahogany-tanned, choppy-haired mother and smiled. ‘You’re not awful,’ she assured her. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.’ Then she tapped her nose. ‘Mum’s the word.’

  The conversation turned, thankfully, to more cheering subjects: first, to the fact that Bunny was coming out of hospital later that day and, even better, that she and Dave were going to get married in the spring. ‘A wedding to look forward to, isn’t it lovely?’ Jeanie cried, clapping her hands together happily. Then they discussed the details of Luke’s birthday tea, due to be held in two days’ time, and whether Paula was sure she didn’t mind having it at her house this time. (Yes, Paula was sure. Her mum had been an admirable captain of the Good Ship Mortimer for decades, but now it was Paula’s turn to step up to the wheel.)