The Bridge

by Stuart Prebble

  Michael had a sudden impulse to turn on his heels and head out of the building, return to his car, and drive away as fast as he could. A moment later he felt ashamed of his reaction and forced one foot to step in front of the other. He was just a few yards away from the doorway to number 23 when a woman he had not seen before strode out of Rose’s room and was past him before he was able to see who it was or get an impression of her appearance. He turned around to watch her walking quickly away and saw that she broke into a run as she reached the double doors which led outside. His first thought was that she was a doctor or member of the care-home staff, perhaps hurrying to get some emergency equipment for Rose, but then he saw the main doors swing open and realized that she had left the building.

  He paused outside the door to Rose’s room and waited for his grandmother’s distress to subside. It was as if he had been traumatized by the earlier incident, and this echo of it brought back the shock. He waited for perhaps thirty seconds more before taking a deep breath and turning the corner through her doorway, only to find that his grandmother was lying on her bed but was concealed by the two nurses and the doctor who had rushed to her. He was surprised and pleased to see Esme standing in the corner. Straightaway he caught her eye across the room, and they exchanged a watery smile of greeting.

  He sat by his grandmother’s bed and watched as she dozed, halfway between consciousness and sleep. Even now she seemed to be troubled and was mumbling under her breath as though arguing with someone in a dream. Michael tried to make out what she was saying but could not decipher anything clearly. Then he noticed that Esme was still on the other side of the room and was putting extra energy into her dusting and polishing.

  “Esme.” He spoke just loud enough to attract her attention. “Were you in here when all this kicked off?”

  “Yes, Michael.” Esme tiptoed back towards the opposite side of Rose’s bed. “But I was over by the sink washing up a few cups and plates. I have no idea what brought it on.”

  “But I saw a woman coming out of her room just after she started screaming,” said Michael. “She hurried past me and I didn’t get a chance to speak to her. I assumed she was a doctor, but then I thought she might not be. Do you know who it was?”

  Esme nodded. “I don’t know her name, but that’s the woman we talked about a few weeks ago. Remember? She brought those daffodils? I guess she’s a friend or neighbor of your grandma’s. She pops in to see her from time to time.”

  “OK, but that feels so weird,” said Michael. “It’s great that Grandma has friends and visitors, but I don’t feel happy that I don’t know who this woman is. Could you hear what they were talking about? I’m just wondering if it was something she said that set Rose off?”

  Esme replied that she had been washing dishes and not listening to the conversation. She doubted, though, that the outburst was caused by it. “I really don’t think there was anything unusual. Just like last time when you brought Alison to visit, it seemed to come out of the blue.”

  “I guess so, and I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, but it does seem odd that the reaction should come on just as this mystery visitor was in the room. I think I’d better ask at reception. Presumably she would have had to sign in when she first came to Greenacres?”

  “She would, I’m sure she would,” said Esme. “But I’m as certain as I can be that you’ll be wasting your time. If there had been anything out of line, I would have noticed it. Best thing is just to put this down to your grandma’s condition. Chances are that she’ll be as right as rain and have forgotten all about it by teatime.”

  Michael was about to ask more questions but caught sight of the clock on the wall of the reception area and realized that the unexpected turn of events meant he was likely to be late to meet Alison from the train. He thanked Esme again for taking such good care of his grandma. Suddenly he felt a powerful wave of gratitude towards her and gave her a kiss on the cheek as he said goodbye.

  On the way back to the car Michael tried to telephone Alison’s mobile, but his call went to voice mail. He described briefly what had happened and that he would probably be another half an hour or so. He suggested that they could meet at the sushi restaurant near to the Festival Hall where they had eaten when she first came to London to see him. He was aware that sometimes messages left on her phone did not get through immediately, so he finished by asking her to send a text to confirm that she had heard and understood.

  The traffic going into town was heavier than usual, and it was closer to forty-five minutes before Michael arrived on the South Bank. He parked the car on a patch of waste ground near to the London Eye and hurried towards the restaurant. As he weaved his way through the tourist crowds he could feel his stress levels rising and hear his own heart beating hard and fast. He had not heard from Alison since leaving the message and feared that she might still be waiting at the station. Michael had the unwelcome thought that his grandfather, Rose’s husband, had died of a heart attack and that coronary disease is usually hereditary. He had no idea whether his own father was alive or dead, but none of this felt very encouraging, and he wondered if Rose would ever again be well enough for him to be able to ask some of his many unanswered questions.

  A few minutes later Michael was jogging alongside the Festival Hall next to the giant sculpture of the head of Nelson Mandela. The Japanese restaurant was on his left, and he peered through the glass to see if he could make out Alison at one of the tables. There was no obvious sign of her, and so he stood in the doorway and looked around. A waiter asked if he wanted a table, and he said that he was just looking for someone. Still he could not locate her. He had been carrying his cell phone in his hand, and he looked again for any messages. There were none.

  Michael was about to call her again when he decided to head towards the river just to check if by any chance she was waiting there. He half walked, half ran, the hundred yards to the promenade area alongside the river and looked left towards the railway bridge heading into Charing Cross and then right towards Waterloo. There was the usual crowd of tourists, and he turned east with the river on his left and walked a hundred yards or so but could see no sign of Alison. He was about to retrace his steps back towards the restaurant when he saw the silhouette of a person he thought could be her. The young woman had her back to him, and it was hard to be sure because she was obscured by a crowd of tourists, most of whom were following a large and noisy tour guide. Michael caught a further glimpse of the woman he thought looked familiar, but now he saw that she was talking to someone else and that it wasn’t Alison after all. He decided to walk just a bit farther, continuing to look around among the crowds, and realized that he was heading towards the carpet of flowers and tributes which were still being renewed each day in the shadow of Waterloo Bridge. It dawned on him that he must have come too far and turned back on himself. After retracing his steps for fifty yards, he glanced again at the woman he had spotted a few minutes earlier and was surprised to see that in fact it was Alison. He was about to call to her when he saw that she was still speaking with someone else and that their conversation seemed animated and even possibly hostile. Michael was astonished to realize that the other person was the blonde-haired woman he had met in the pub in Soho.

  For a moment Michael felt slightly winded, as though someone had punched him in the stomach. The women were entirely absorbed in their conversation, and neither had noticed him. He was undecided about what to do and was about to make himself known, but then he had a feeling that he should back off. He remained where he was for a few seconds, regaining his breath and his equilibrium, and then turned again and walked briskly away until he reached the flowers and messages which had been laid on the ground and propped next to a parapet beneath the bridge. Many were scrawled in crayon in the writing of young children, and Michael felt a weight inside as he read the tributes. “Always in our hearts.” “The sunshine of our lives.” And “Forever young.” The ink from some of the writing had run in the raindrops and spread
like multicolored tears over the paper. Tiny dolls and teddy bears had been propped up but had fallen over in the wind and weather. He decided that he should take a detour round the Festival Hall back towards the restaurant.

  Michael asked for a table for two and sat alone for a few minutes. He ordered green tea and tried to sort out the tangle of thoughts fighting for ascendancy in his head. The first was an immediate feeling of indignation that Alison had lied to him so blatantly, but then quickly he remembered the important lesson his grandmother had taught him: always to try to see any situation from the other person’s point of view. So he considered the various possible reasons that Alison might have misled him. Just then he heard a plink on his phone, a text. JUST GOT YOUR MESSAGE. BAD SIGNAL. DON’T WORRY—TRAIN WAS LATE ANYWAY. WILL BE THERE IN 10. A. X

  Michael was glad that he would have a few more minutes to sort things out in his mind before Alison arrived. Clearly she had deceived him more than once about knowing the blonde girl. The most likely explanation was that they knew each other in the children’s home where Alison grew up, and perhaps it was understandable that she wanted to put all that behind her. On the other hand, there seemed to be no obvious reason that she should not have been able to admit that she knew her, even if she insisted on saying nothing more than that. When he put this together with his suspicions about what Alison had told him about her parents’ car accident, Michael felt increasingly uncomfortable about what else she may not be telling him, and whatever might be the reasons for her evasions.

  He still had not decided how to handle the situation, but now he saw her through the window approaching the restaurant. When she arrived at the door he stood up and waved his hand to catch her attention. She looked flushed and troubled, but even as she came towards the table he could see that she was regaining her composure. He hoped for a moment that she was about to volunteer an explanation which would clear things up without his having to ask.

  “So sorry,” she said, and leaned across and kissed him on the mouth. He liked the kiss but tasted the salty perspiration from her top lip. She tasted it, too, and reached for a napkin. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m all hot and bothered,” and she smiled warmly. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to mind a hot kiss off my girlfriend.” She sat and already a waiter was hovering, so she also ordered green tea.

  “The train was delayed and the mobile signal wasn’t working, so I was going nuts not being able to tell you I would be late. I didn’t get your message until we were just coming into the station.”

  “Oh, that’s OK,” said Michael, “and so did you come straight here from the train?”

  “Yes”—she did not hesitate—“straight here,” and she turned her attention to studying the menu.

  They ordered sushi, and while they were waiting, Michael was still struggling to arrange his thoughts into some sort of order. He knew that he could not ignore what he had seen, but equally he feared the consequences of a confrontation. He decided to give himself more thinking time, and so he related what had happened earlier at Greenacres.

  “I know these outbursts are just part of Rose’s condition, but still it was terribly traumatic to see,” he said. Alison leaned across the table to squeeze his arm.

  “I know it’s not very endearing to look at it this way,” she said, “like ‘It’s all about me,’ but in a way I’m relieved that it happened without me being there. I know they said it wasn’t so, but there was a little part of me which feared that it was something about me which had caused her reaction the first time we saw it.”

  Michael smiled and tried to reassure her. “They say these things often happen to people who suffer from Alzheimer’s, and they have no idea why. It could be something or nothing. There was something a bit weird, though. Just after the screaming started I saw someone I don’t think I’ve seen before leaving her room. I thought that was a bit odd.” Michael told Alison what he could recall about the woman and what Esme had said about her. “It would be nice to know who she is sometime. Esme thought she might have been a former neighbor, but if so I’ve no idea who it could be. It certainly wasn’t Elsie from next door.”

  They ate without speaking for a few minutes, and Michael was beginning to regain some perspective on the events of the morning. He took the opportunity to look carefully at Alison, wondering again what might be about to unfold, but all he could think about was how lovely she was. Alison glanced up and caught him smiling.

  “Is something funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing’s funny,” he said. “Just you. I’m just enjoying the look of you. But Alison,” he paused to check himself that he really wanted to go ahead with the course of action he had decided upon.

  “Yes?” she prompted. She seemed to have no clue about what was coming next.

  “You’ve been telling me all this time that you don’t know this girl Joanna who says she knows you. The thing is…” Once again he hesitated but managed to renew his determination to plow on. “I know that you do know her, because I just saw you speaking to her by the river. Just now.” He waited a few seconds to allow his words to sink in, then he had to continue. “And while we’re on the subject, I can easily understand why you wouldn’t want to talk much about the children’s home and your early life there—and you’re going to have to forgive me if I’m wrong about this—but I’m afraid that I also don’t think that what you’ve told me about what happened to your mum and dad is the total truth either.” Michael looked steadily at her, waiting for a reaction, but her demeanor revealed nothing of what was going through her mind. He reached across the table and covered her hands with his own. “You know I care about you, and that I want to know all there is to know about you. And I hope you also know that nothing that has happened in the past will matter to me, but I do need you to tell me the truth.”

  Alison remained silent, still giving no indication of whether she was about to explode or explain. At one moment she opened her mouth as if to speak, and then seemed to change her mind. “Let’s take a walk,” she said finally.

  Michael paid the bill, and five minutes later they were back among the crowds on the embankment, meandering to avoid the parties of schoolchildren and tourists. At first Alison walked apart from him, and then she moved alongside him and took his arm.

  “I’m sorry that I lied to you about my parents.” She seemed to find it easier to speak as they walked, rather than looking directly at him. “I’ve told that version of events for so long that I almost believe that it’s true myself. And I’ve told it because it’s easier for me to face up to than the actual truth.”

  Michael stopped and turned to her, easing around so they were face to face. “Look, Alison, you need to understand that it doesn’t matter what the truth is. Whatever it is, do you get that? I just need you to feel able to be honest with me.”

  She paused and searched his eyes with hers, and then nodded, turning again to continue walking. “Well, since you insist on knowing it, the horrible fact is that my parents put me into care because they couldn’t cope with me. Not because of anything I did, or so I was assured by about a hundred social workers over the following ten years. They couldn’t cope because they were alcoholics and junkies, both of them, and they preferred to give me up rather than to go on the wagon.” She paused again. “So that’s the top and bottom of it. They didn’t want me, and neither, as it turned out, did anyone else. I think you can probably see why it’s easier to tell people that they died in a car crash, rather than that I was such an appalling kid that they just didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  They continued walking, and Michael made sure that she had no more to say before he spoke again. “So I think I can see why you aren’t keen to talk about all that, but obviously none of that was your fault. Where are your parents now? Are they still alive?”

  “I neither know nor care,” she said. “They never came to visit me and never asked after me, so far as I know, and I never asked about th
em. They may be alive or they may be dead, and I hope you might understand when I say that I don’t really care either way. Just as they obviously didn’t care about me.”

  Michael thought for a further moment about what Alison was saying, and then continued, “And Joanna? What’s the story about her?”

  “I knew Joanna in the children’s home. She was a dreadful bitch then, and she’s an even more dreadful bitch now. I’m sorry that I lied to you, but you and I hadn’t been together for very long at that time, and the last thing I wanted was her coming along and complicating things. She knows what really happened with my mum and dad, and if she’d blabbed something about was I back in touch with them or something like that, you’d have known that what I’d told you was untrue, and that would probably have been the end of us.”

  “It wouldn’t have,” said Michael, “but I can easily see why you might think it would.”

  The couple continued to walk until they were alongside the piles of wreaths and bouquets and children’s toys marking the Madman murders. “When I see anything like this,” said Alison, “it just reminds me of families and all the bloody tragedies that come with them. No family has ever done anything for me, so I find it hard to deal with stuff like this. I know everybody does, but I have a lot of my own particular demons.”

  “And that’s the sum of it?” said Michael. “The whole story? Nothing else you need to tell me? I won’t mind, whatever it is.”

  Alison turned and held the cloth of his jacket, pushing him gently a few steps so that his back was against the wall. She put her arms around his waist and looked upwards to bring her face close to his.