by Jane Tara
“It’s funny how a reserved nature can be perceived as a weakness, when in my experience, the opposite is true.”
“I’ve even been guilty of seeing myself that way, Julian. They’re all loud and colorful and therefore stronger than me, right? And yet, when I really expected them all to pull together for my father, they fell apart.” Nell finished her beer. “I’d like another one, please.”
Julian motioned for more drinks. “Perhaps they’re not as tough as you think.”
“They’re tough. Calypso’s boyfriend was killed a few years ago.” Nell paused for a moment. “Obviously she was devastated, but she bounced back … quite quickly in my opinion.”
“Anyone serious?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any serious relationships since her boyfriend was killed?”
“No.” Nell thought for a moment. “There was someone recently but she ended that.”
“She’s not over her boyfriend’s death. She’s running around using brief relationships as a band-aid over a very large wound.”
“I suppose you’re right. I love Callie, but I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with how she grieved for a few months and then started dating again.”
“Were you close to her boyfriend?”
Tears stung Nell’s eyes. “Yes, I was. Very. It made me angry that she moved on while I continued to grieve. I guess everyone grieves differently. I just thought I wasn’t as strong as her.”
Julian watched Nell toss back another beer. “Have you ever considered that the lesson in all of this is that you’re just as tough as these women? Tougher? It sounds like you’ve been living in their shadows, and never realized you are just as impressive.”
Nell thought about this for a moment. “You could be right, Julian. The quiet one could be stronger than expected. The tough women might need some extra support.” She finished her second beer. “And perhaps the conservative one who never drinks actually doesn’t mind a few beers.”
Julian laughed. “People change.”
“What if I’m only getting drunk now because I’m bloody petrified of everything?”
“That’s fine too, Nell. You have every right to feel overwhelmed at the moment. You’ve been a tower of support for those around you – but received no support yourself.”
Nell leaned toward him, amazed. “How on earth can you know me so well, Julian?”
“Honestly, Nell – I have no idea. Usually I’m quite oblivious to people. I’m more caught up in things and events. People baffle me. But you … I see you so clearly.”
Nell sat back in her chair, more relaxed than she could ever remember being. “I wish I could say I see you clearly, but I do think those two beers have made me quite tipsy.”
“Good. You need it. Shall we have a third and then go dancing?”
“I don’t dance.”
“You didn’t drink until two hours ago, but already you’ve got the hang of that.”
Nell watched as he ordered another round of beer and smiled. Julian DeHart might not be Brad Pitt, but he was a truly lovely man.
Chapter Thirty-two
Red Clover helps reduce the symptoms of menopause
Batty flicked through the channels on the small hospital television. “Want to watch The Bill, Alf?”
Alf closed his eyes. “I don’t want to watch anything, Batty.”
“How about a magazine, Dad,” Calypso said, offering him a choice between Natural Health Weekly and Publican’s Monthly.
“No thanks, Callie.”
“I have some more cards here to read, Dad.” Nell waved a pile in front of him. “This one’s from the Sweeney family. ‘Sorry to hear about the accident’.” Nell quickly grabbed the next card. “Okay, that was weird … here’s one from Harry. ‘Miss you carrying me out to a cab when I’ve had one too many’.”
“That’s kind of him,” Batty said.
Alf gave her a half-smile, but secretly wished all three of them would bugger off and leave him to heal in peace. He didn’t want to be fussed over. And the tension! What he’d give for something, anything, to not only break the tension in the room, but to smash it to pieces.
The door swung open and in marched Megan. She stalled for a moment – Alf could tell it threw her to see him outside his normal terrain. He belonged behind a bar or in his kitchen, not attached to a drip. Then Megan placed her hands on her hips and opened her mouth.
“Bloody hell, Alf. If you wanted time off you could’ve just asked. This is a bit extreme, just so you can lie around in bed all day, don’t you think?”
Calypso and Batty stared at her with open-mouthed horror while Nell and Alf simply looked confused.
“When I first heard you were sick, I thought, oh no, his hypochondria is playing up again. And then Calypso told me you had cancer and I thought … that’s not right. Alf’s Taurean.”
“That’s enough, Megan—”
A slight glimmer of amusement lit Alf’s eyes as he cut his wife off. “Let Little Miss Big Mouth continue, Batty.”
Megan took a deep breath. “Melanoma! I had no idea what it was … sounds like a new dessert for the restaurant. ‘Ah yes, I’ll have the pumpkin soup … the lamb … and for dessert I’ll have … oh yum, the melanoma please … with cream.’ I googled melanoma, did a bit of research. Apparently redheads have the highest risk of getting it, and I thought, ‘Fuck, Alf must feel ripped off, being bald.’”
Alf snorted – a slight laugh, but noticeable. Calypso, Batty and Nell all turned to him in surprise.
Megan noticed his untouched meal tray and lifted some of the stainless steel lids. “Oh wow, hospital food. Custard … nice, especially if they removed your teeth with your liver … Oh and speaking of liver …” Megan stared warily at the main course. “There it is! I didn’t realize hospitals were into recycling. They go through it all in the new nurse training sessions. ‘The empty bottles, old bedpans, and any plastics go here … The old magazines and newspapers are put into this box … And all the organs and tumors are sent to the hospital chef.’”
Alf let out a gruff chuckle. Batty grabbed his hand and turned her attention back to Megan.
Megan shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her ratty denim shorts. “Did you hear about the bee and the ant who had moles removed? The bee’s was beenign. The ant wasn’t so lucky. His tests came back and his mole was malignant.”
With that, Calypso caved. She groaned and rated the joke. It was something she’d done since they were ten years old. “Oh gawd, Meg, that’s a four.”
“What about the beaver and the mole who got married? Soon after, the beaver walked into the skin clinic and said to the doctor, “I’m a bit concerned … I’ve got this rather strange mole.”
Alf and his girls all burst out laughing.
“I like that one. Excellent,” he roared.
“Very funny,” Batty agreed.
Nell perched herself on the other side of her father’s bed and giggled. Calypso sank back into her chair and took a deep breath.
Alf could feel the bars of the cage crumbling, the oppressive energy of the past three weeks already lifting. All it took were a few jokes and shared laughter, yet they’d been unable to manage it until now. He understood that his girls were focusing on the fear, and ignoring the hope and humor of the situation. Not for the first time, Alf admired the feisty little moppet now in front of him. She’d known some tough times yet had always been able to make the people around her laugh. It was vital to laugh in the face of adversity. It was the only way adversity would eventually back off.
Megan was on a roll now, enjoying every second of the routine. “My advice, Alf, is always get the news from the doctor yourself. Don’t trust Batty to do it. I know a couple – the husband had been admitted to hospital and after a series of tests, the doctor went to speak to the wife who was in the waiting room. The doctor told the wife that her husband had cancer. ‘Can he be cured?’ she asked. The doctor said, ‘There’s a chance we can cure
him with chemotherapy, but you will need to take care of him every day for the next year. You’ll need to cook all the meals, clean up the vomit, change the bed pan, drive him to the hospital for daily treatments, and so on.’ The wife thanked the doctor and went to her husband’s bedside. He looked at her and weakly asked, ‘What did the doctor say?’ The wife sighed sadly and answered, ‘He said you’re going to die.’”
The room filled with howling laughter. It was slightly rusty, but genuine and welcome.
“Look, Alf, I know cancer is no laughing matter. Just ask anyone who died from it.”
More laughter.
“And I know it’s been tough on the girls. Nell has been upset because you’re the nicest medieval artifact she knows. Calypso hasn’t coped well. Being vegetarian, she’d prefer your liver was kept in your body, not in a jar. And Batty is obviously devastated … probably because she knows that if you die she’ll have to learn to cook. On the bright side, all the regulars at the pub have been so depressed about you that they’ve been drinking like fish. Profits are soaring.” Megan grinned. “I’ll just wait for the laughter to die down. It’s the only thing in this room that will die! You’re going to liver!”
“I’ll drink to that!” Alf’s voice was still weak but his spirit had just gained strength.
“Of course you will. You’ll drink to anything.” Megan pulled two bottles of Alf’s favorite beer out of her bag and passed him one. Then she held hers high in the air. “To Alf, who will die like my grandfather did: peacefully, in his sleep, a very old man.” And then with a cheeky wink: “Not screaming in fear like the passengers in his car.” She gave Alf a gentle kiss. “Now get off your big, beer-loving arse and get back to work. I’m getting married and need a week off.”
And then, before they could stop her, Megan grabbed her bag and bolted from the room.
*
A few minutes later she slid into the passenger seat of Simon’s car.
“How did it go?”
Her heart still hammered against her chest, but she was elated. “It worked. They laughed and laughed. It really worked.”
Simon kissed her. “I love you, Megan.”
Megan turned a bright shade of red and smiled. “I love you too, Simon. So much so that I was wondering … will you marry me?”
*
Back in room 124, Alf and his three redheads were still in shock. Finally Alf spoke.
“Married?”
“Good for her.” Batty chuckled. “Lovely boy.”
Alf glared at Calypso. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” Although she wasn’t at all surprised.
“Have I met him?”
“Simon Apsley,” Batty explained.
“Of Apsley Beer? But they’re a bunch of nutters. And the beer is shit!”
“He’s been disowned by them.” Calypso filled in the gaps. “Plus, he’s Taran’s best friend.”
Alf’s face lit up. “Then I like him already.” Alf stared at his daughter. “How is Taran?”
“No idea.” Calypso casually flicked her hair. “But perhaps I should find out – one of these days.”
Batty and Alf glanced at each other. Alf linked his fingers through Batty’s. “We should throw her a wedding party.”
“Absolutely.” Batty removed the beer from Alf’s free hand. “You don’t need that.” She handed it to Nell. “And you do.”
Nell looked surprised. “What’s that for?”
Batty gave her daughter a wicked grin. “Hair of the dog, my little teetotaller.”
Nell gave her mother a wink and took a sip.
Calypso stood and yanked the curtains back, and the afternoon sun poured in. “Beautiful day,” she whispered, and for the first time in weeks, they all agreed.
Chapter Thirty-three
Mix brandy, milk and sugar to fix a fever
“Gisella is what?” Calypso pushed her way through the crowd of shoppers at Topshop as she yelled into the phone. “Franz, I can barely hear you. The music is too loud. Hold on a second.” She made her way out of the store and onto Oxford Street. “Did you say what I think you said?”
“Yes, Callie, she’s pregnant. We found out a couple of weeks ago.”
“A couple of weeks ago and you’ve only just called?”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “You’ve had enough going on, with your father’s operation. I figured our news could wait.”
Calypso was unconvinced. “Your news would have been a bright spot in a really crappy few weeks and you know it. What’s up?”
“Gisella has been inconsolable ever since we found out. She spends all day everyday in bed, crying.”
Calypso felt uneasy. “With … joy?”
A slight pause. “Ah … nein.”
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“Of course. He said the baby is fine, but that Gisella is depressed.” Franz took a deep breath. “She believes this child was created because of your magic, and therefore it can’t really be hers. I’ve tried to get her to see reason, but she feels it’s … unnatural.”
Calypso stepped over to the curb and flagged a cab. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“No, Callie, don’t come over. Just talk to her.”
“I will, face to face. I’ll let you know what flight I’m on.”
She slid into the taxi and turned her attention to the driver. “Highgate please … and then if you could wait ten minutes, I’ll need a lift to the airport.”
The next call she made was to the airline.
*
“You’re a very naughty boy. In London, but you haven’t called me!”
Taran paused just long enough for the owner of the sexy voice to realize he had no idea who she was.
“It’s Laura, you utter bastard.” The voice wasn’t so sexy any more.
“Laura! Of course I recognized your voice.” And the unnerving bipolar mood swing, he thought.
“Did not,” she sulked. “I only left New York two months ago and you’ve already forgotten me.”
“How could I forget you? Laura … Laura …” Dance at your grandfather’s graveside Laura. “How did you know I was in town?”
“Everyone knows you’re here, Taran. You can’t have a show opening at the Gate and go by unnoticed. Congratulations by the way.”
“Thanks. And I was going to call,” he lied. “I’ve been busy getting everything ready.”
“I forgive you.”
“Sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
“Who? Oh, Grandpapa.” She didn’t sound particularly upset, but then sighed in faux grief. “He’ll be missed.”
They chatted about some mutual friends, followed by an embarrassing lull in conversation, a riveting discussion about English weather, and an enlightening chat about why Laura never gave money to homeless people. Apparently it encourages them to remain unemployed and on the streets. And then finally …
“The reason I called, Taran, was to see if you’re free tonight.”
“Tonight?” Taran tried to think of a good excuse to get out of meeting her. He stalled and stuttered slightly … but was stumped. “I’m not sure.”
“You have plans?”
“I’m painting. It’s impossible to commit to anything at the moment.” Now he sounded like Calypso.
“I’m going to the Crow Bar with some friends. Come down if you need a break.”
“Thanks, Laura. I’ll see how I go.”
Laura donned her sexy voice again. “I look forward to catching up again, Taran. If not tonight, then soon.”
“So do I.” Right up there with my next prostate examination.
Taran switched off his phone and poured himself a large scotch. “Shit … shit, shittedy, shit!”
“Hey mate, are you going to be here later today?” Simon stuck his head in the room and saw the glass in Taran’s hand. “What the hell are you doing? It’s not even lunch.”
Taran glanced at his watch
. “It’s eleven o’clock. Early lunch.”
“Oh, well that’s fine then. Drink yourself into oblivion.”
“I will.” Taran placed the empty glass on the table. “Laura just called and asked me out.”
“Laura, Laura? Dance at My Grandfather’s Graveside Laura?”
“That’s the one.”
“If I were you I’d change my number.”
“I can’t really think of a good reason not to go,” Taran admitted.
“I can give you twenty.”
“One would do.”
“You’re in love,” Simon said.
“Am I?”
“Oh come on, Taran, why else would you even consider a date with Laura when there are so many other women out there?”
Taran folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t freaking know, but you obviously do.”
“Because you don’t want to move on. You can’t forget Calypso, so you’ve decided to choose a woman who will definitely magnify that fact and feed your misery. Go out, get laid by all means, but don’t punish yourself.”
“Excellent, you finally get a bit and now you’re Dr Phil?”
“I do feel like I have smug-man syndrome.”
“I’m happy for you. You deserve it. Sounds like Megan could be the one for you.”
Simon chuckled. “She’d better be because we’re getting married and I’ve bought her the C Spot as a wedding gift.”
The room crackled with shock, which made Simon laugh more.
“Close your mouth, Taran. You’ll catch flies.”
Taran snapped back to life. “Wow, Sime, sorry … congratulations … that’s just a helluva lot to absorb in one hit.” He stared at his friend for a moment. “This is good. Real good.”
Simon nodded. “It is, isn’t it? Feels right. No point mucking around. We want a life together, so why not start it now? There’s nothing I’d rather do than marry Megan. And I really like the idea of turning that club into a profitable venture. It excites me. Way more than pushing crap beer at people.”
