Outside the front door there’s a tranquil Japanese garden. Rich burgundy acers flutter in the breeze. A fountain splashes lazily over a beach of smooth, grey cobbles. I find a small bench and sit on it, flipping out my mobile phone now that I’m out of the confines of the clinic. Slowly, I push the digits of Leo’s number. I feel so alone without him. Like my father, I think I should have told Leo more often that I love him. I should have shown him more. It’s only now that I’ve become aware that all the stupid, insane, irritating things he did filled the space that’s inside me. Leo is the sun in my sky, the rain in my desert and, sometimes, the fly in my ointment too. But I should have loved him for it. All of him. Leo sees the magic in the world – in the small things – whereas I’m far too uptight to even imagine it. I love looking at Leo when he doesn’t know I’m watching him. When he’s relaxing, he has the face of a child – without guile and accepting. I’d lost my appreciation of his qualities and had become so concerned with what other people thought of my relationship with him that I’d forgotten what it meant to me.
His mobile phone rings and rings. Then there’s a strange humming noise on the line and I can’t tell whether Leo has picked up or not. ‘Leo,’ I say, choking back the emotion in my voice. ‘Is that you? Where are you? I need to talk to you.’ I speak quietly. No jumping out of a box in my underwear, no gimmicks, no coercion, no shouting, no emotional blackmail. ‘Please call me. I need you, Leo. I really need you.’
There’s no reply. So I hang up. All I can do now is wait.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Lard lit their sparklers which burst into life, showering silver sparks into the sky and illuminating their pale, tired faces. Finally, Leo thought, they were ready.
They stood in a circle round the inert form of Isobel and Leo prayed silently to a God that he didn’t really believe in, but he hoped existed and took pity on this poor sinner below. Because he was desperate, truly desperate. If this place did mean anything, he hoped fervently that it meant something good.
The last trace of the sun had now gone and the moon was full and high in the sky. The stones cast grotesquely eerie shadows on the ground. Lard clicked on the ghetto-blaster again. Liberace had been replaced by the rather more contemporary B52s, and the funky notes of ‘Love Shack’ kicked out into the night.
They danced vigorously in a way that Leo hadn’t done since the night of the Thornton Jones annual ball and his John Travolta impersonation. Leo’s heart squeezed at the thought of it. That was also the last night that Isobel was well and he hoped that this ridiculous ritual they were performing would have some effect. He couldn’t bear to see her like this – so weak and so fragile, so lifeless. She was completely still, prostrate in the middle of their ragged, disco-dancing circle.
Leo looked across at his friends strutting their stuff, sparklers in hand, whooping and hollering against the ancient powers of Stonehenge, and it all just seemed too far-fetched, too silly, too hopeful to work. Tears filled his eyes. ‘Love Shack’ was a great song, a classic, but he couldn’t believe that it would open for them the gateway to the Land of Light. What they needed was a miracle. A bloody, bastardy 24-carat miracle. Leo sank to his knees. He’d failed. They’d all failed. They’d failed Isobel. And he had never felt so wretched in his life.
Lard and Grant stopped dancing too and stood in the great circle of stones, breathing heavily. They had been true and valiant friends and they had tried their best. Really they had.
Grant looked off into the distance and the inky black sky. ‘Oh. My. God,’ he breathed.
Leo followed his gaze. Mysterious pinpricks of light appeared in the sky, brighter than stars, multi-coloured, and they were swooping about, almost playfully. He stood up and joined his friends and they all stared in slack-jawed amazement.
‘It’s working,’ he said, hardly daring to voice his thoughts. ‘I don’t believe it, but it’s working!’
The lights came closer. They rushed about the sky like the Northern Lights on speed – bright kernels of illumination trailing shimmering gossamer strands – threading themselves in and out of the giant standing stones. The lights circled closer to the three friends, brushing against their arms and their hair, teasing them. They felt like warm breath.
The lads all started to cheer, indulging in some very unseemly American-style whooping and hollering. ‘Woo! Hoo!’ they all shouted. ‘Woo bloody hoo!’
Isobel was still inert on the ground. A myriad of colours played over her body. The light intensified until it was almost blinding them. Leo turned away, covering his eyes. All at once, a million pinpricks of light rushed into the centre of Stonehenge with the ferocity of a raging waterfall. He did hope that this was what was supposed to happen. Leo felt a mixture of elation and downright fear as sparks showered over him. Those fairies, he thought, certainly knew their pyrotechnics.
‘It’s beautiful!’ Grant cried out and started spinning, arms held out to the sky, letting the lights twine round him.
Leo laughed out loud and he felt lighter than he’d done in years. Lard was dancing again, kicking his legs in the air like a man possessed. The lights started moving faster and faster, blurring together in front of them, as if they were on a high-speed fairground ride. Faster. Faster. Faster in an insane frenzy. Leo couldn’t make out Grant or Lard now. They were lost to him, gone in a kaleidoscope of colours.
And then the ground started to shake. Gently at first, then with more intensity. Leo couldn’t keep his balance and he fell to the grass, landing near to Isobel. Crawling towards her, he pulled her close and lay over her, trying to protect her with his body. Leo hoped that they hadn’t mistakenly called on some malevolent spirits in their attempts to get Isobel home, that they hadn’t enticed forth some eight-headed beast with bad breath and a bad attitude. Perhaps it was more important than they thought for them all to be virgins. Flip.
The ground shuddered and shook again. Leo had never previously been involved in an earthquake, but he was pretty sure that this was one. Great cracks appeared in the ground and even the huge immovable stones seemed to shake to their core. Maybe it was too hard for them to cross time zones or astral planes or whatever the hell it was that they were trying to do. It seemed as if the whole place might split apart or implode. Leo cast his mind back to all the episodes of Star Trek he’d ever watched – their transporter equipment always used to get them into trouble. And, unlike Captain Kirk, Leo was there without the aid of a bad toupee and a corset.
He heard Grant and Lard shout out. ‘Whoa! Whoa!’
Out of the whirling lights, they crawled across to Leo and Isobel on their hands and knees. They all huddled together.
‘I have no idea what we’ve started,’ Grant panted. ‘Forgive me, my friend, if this all goes horribly, horribly wrong.’
‘I’m really beginning to wish we’d gone to the pub instead,’ Lard cried.
Leo would second that. Then his mobile phone rang.
‘Bloody hell, Leo. Talk about inappropriate timing,’ Grant shouted above the growing noise of the wind.
‘It’s Emma,’ Leo said, checking his caller display. ‘Emma, can you hear me? Emma!’
‘I need you, Leo. I really need you.’ Emma’s voice was faint, barely audible, and there was a load of extraneous noise on the line as if she were phoning from inside a washing machine.
They were the only words he heard before the line went dead. As if he didn’t have enough cold shards in his heart, another one pierced him to the core. Emma needed him. And Emma never needed him. Something must be very wrong. He shouted back into the phone, ‘Emma. Emma!’
The ground shuddered beneath them, the wind reached screaming pitch. As he tried to cling to the ground, Leo’s mobile phone fell from his grasp, bouncing out of his reach.
And then, as suddenly as it had all started, everything simply stopped.
Chapter Seventy
It’s way past midnight when I tear myself away from the hospital, leaving my father sleeping in the chai
r next to my mother.
When I finally get home, I’m crushed to find that there’s no message on my phone from Leo and he hasn’t tried my mobile either. Wherever he is, it seems that he hasn’t picked up my call. More than at any other time, I need to hear a friendly voice. I need Leo to tell me that everything will be all right, that I can manage and, preferably, for him to rush round and take me in his arms. This time I need him to come through for me in a crisis, but it looks as if I’m going to be disappointed. Perhaps he simply doesn’t care enough any more.
I look at Dominic’s number on the telephone pad and briefly consider calling him as a substitute, but decide that he’s really done enough for me for one day and, even though he told me that he rarely slept well at the moment, it really is very late.
With nothing much else to do, I fall into my bed, unwashed, unloved and still fully clothed to endure a night of fitful sleep filled with fragmented nightmares – Leo floating across the sky on a rapidly deflating balloon, my mother in a wheelchair bouncing out of control down endless flights of steps, my father as small as a child holding tightly to my hand, Dominic Superglueing me back into a cardboard box. Dawn didn’t come soon enough.
Now I’m pretending to eat a bowl of low fat, low sugar, low taste cereal while I decide how to approach the day.
First of all, I call my father at the hospital to check on my mother. There’s no change, apparently, but she’s still sleeping which is deemed to be a good sign. The more my mother can rest, the quicker her recuperation will be, seems to be the general opinion. I’ve discovered that you can easily spend your life worrying about nothing of any great importance, when family is all that really matters. I’ll go to the hospital later, but as my next port of call I go into work.
When I enter the gallery, Caron looks at me aghast. I must look as bad as I feel.
‘I saw the news,’ Caron says.
‘Oh.’
‘They were loading you into an ambulance in nothing but red knickers and a bow.’ Caron looks as if she can’t believe what she’s recounting. ‘What on earth has happened? What were you thinking of? Have you gone mad?’ my friend wants to know. ‘You look terrible.’
Starting with my initial bright idea for the cardboard-box fiasco, I regale her with the whole story – the Superglue, the cat wee, the Fire Brigade, the television crew – paying particular attention to the part that Dominic had played in my rescue and rendering my friend suitably impressed by his prowess with scissors. Then I end by tearfully telling Caron about my mother’s stroke.
‘I called Leo,’ I admit, nibbling at a fingernail. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Was that wise?’
‘I don’t care, Caron. I miss him. I want him back.’ I must look suitably distraught as she doesn’t even try to convince me otherwise. ‘I don’t know what he was up to all day yesterday but he should be in the office now.’ My glance strays to the clock. ‘I’ll give him another ring.’
‘I’ll put some coffee on. You look like you need some.’ Caron disappears into the back room.
I sigh as I slowly dial Leo’s number, clasping the telephone receiver to my shoulder. What do I really want to say to him? Do I simply want to tell him about my mother’s illness, or do I want to go for it and tell him that because of this, I’ve really and truly had a wake-up call? Having realised how easy it is for loved ones to slip away from you when you aren’t looking, I’ve come to appreciate how much he means to me. Life without Leo would be inconceivable. I have an irrational fear that unless I tell him so right now, I may not get another chance.
Leo’s office telephone rings and after a few moments is answered by a female voice that I don’t recognise.
‘Can I speak to Leo Harper, please?’
‘I’m afraid that Leo isn’t in work today.’
‘Oh.’ A pin bursts my bubble. ‘Could you transfer me to Grant Fielding, please.’
‘Unfortunately, he’s not here either,’ the woman says. ‘Anything I can help with?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘It’s a personal matter. It’s his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Is their other friend, Lard, around?’ I have no idea what Lard’s proper name is.
‘He hasn’t turned up today either.’
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Call it feminine intuition, but I don’t like the sound of this. ‘Isn’t that a little unusual?’
‘We’ve got used to those guys acting off the wall,’ the woman answers me with a brief accompanying laugh. ‘But, yes, it is strange that we haven’t heard from any of them.’
‘Not at all?’
‘No. Not a thing.’
‘Thanks.’
‘If you do hear from them,’ the woman says in a quieter voice, ‘tell them that Old Baldy is gunning for them.’
I hang up. He isn’t the only one. I rub my hands over my red-rimmed, gritty eyes. Here I am in my hour of need, ready to forgive and forget, and now I’ve learned that Leo and his chums have bunked off somewhere without telling anyone – no doubt on a jaunt, or pulling some sort of stupid stunt. They are, probably at this very moment, teeing off somewhere in Ireland or Spain, clad in bad-taste shorts, golf club in one hand, beer in the other. Why did I ever think that Leo and I could get back together again? We’re different kinds of people and always will be. I am sensible and responsible. Leo is not. I push away any thoughts of my recent cardboard-box escapade.
Caron comes back with my coffee and I sip it gratefully.
‘Well?’ my friend says.
‘Leo and Grant have gone AWOL, it seems,’ I tell her. ‘They’re all missing in action. Lard too.’
Caron frowns. ‘I’m supposed to be having dinner with Grant . . .’ Then she stops.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Oh really?’
‘He called in to see you and you’d gone out with whatsisname, the boring one.’
‘Atrocious Alec.’ I shudder at the memory of my dire dating experience. ‘Did you tell him that?’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Caron says. ‘We decided not to waste the evening and went out for a drink together. And something to eat. Then he came back to my place. For coffee. That’s all. We got on very well,’ she adds sheepishly.
‘I see.’
‘Is it okay with you?’ Caron asks. ‘I know he liked you, but you said you wouldn’t touch him with a barge-pole.’
‘Grant’s lovely.’ I shake my head. ‘But he’s too close to Leo. It would be like dating his brother. At least you know exactly what you can expect with Grant.’
‘Maybe he’ll be different with me.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘And maybe he’ll turn up in time for your date from wherever he is.’
Caron pulls out her mobile phone. ‘I’ll ring him.’
But, sure enough, there’s no answer from Grant’s phone either. ‘It sounds like it’s been disconnected.’ Caron’s forehead creases with concern. ‘There’s just a weird static on the line.’
‘If he is anything like Leo,’ I warn, ‘he’ll have forgotten to pay his bill and he’ll have been cut off. When are you supposed to be seeing him?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Caron says.
I give her a rueful glance. ‘Then let’s see if they’ve all turned up by then.’
Chapter Seventy-One
They were no longer in the middle of Stonehenge with a war of lights waging around them. The ground was still, as ground should be. But it was a lot softer than the ground they’d left behind.
Grant was the first to speak. ‘Oh my word,’ was all he said.
Leo was still lying over Isobel, protecting her body, and she still wasn’t moving. They had, however – by some strange and perplexing miracle – arrived in the middle of a small wooded glade. Leo wasn’t big on fairy folklore, but if he had to guess, he’d say that they’d somehow managed to turn up in the right place. He was prepared, however, to have that illusion dashed.
They all appeared to have landed unscathed – helped, no doubt, by the lush cushion of
moss beneath them.
‘Are you okay?’ Leo asked the guys.
They both nodded at him.
The colours were so clear that they hurt the eyes. The sky was the hue of sapphires, the leaves like emeralds. Clear water rushed by in a small, tumbling stream which sparkled like diamonds. Leo wished that he had his sunglasses with him. Butter-coloured sunlight streamed through the trees, bringing the most perfect dappled shade. Even the air tasted like champagne and it was heavy, soporific and scented with jasmine. Leo’s body was warm and he felt a buzz of euphoria inside. He’d once had a rush like this after smoking a joint and listening to Jimi Hendrix music. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience then either.
The clearing was covered with tiny red toadstools – yes, exactly like the ones you saw in fairy stories. Sweet music that sounded like a flute was dancing gently on the breeze and mysterious flashes of light swooped around them. And Leo knew, instinctively, that this indeed was a magical place. He wondered what Isobel must have thought of dreary old, polluted South London in comparison with this. It made him realise how much she’d given up to come and spend time with the poor, bedraggled specimens of the human race.
She lay next to him now and he turned anxiously to her. ‘Isobel,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘We’re here. I think we’re here. Wake up.’
As Leo kissed her forehead, Isobel opened her eyes. ‘The Land of Light,’ she breathed. Tears rolled silently down her face. Colour flooded into her face, tingeing her once pale cheeks with a soft pink glow. She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You brought me home.’
‘We did,’ Grant said, brushing his arm across his eyes. Leo saw a tear escape. ‘We bloody well did.’
Leo could hear the emotion choking his voice and he tore himself away from Isobel for a moment to go over and put his arms round his friend – in the most manly way he could manage. Grant had saved her. His friend had saved his love. Leo hugged him to his chest. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and they cried in each other’s arms.
It’s a Kind of Magic Page 28
