Healer of My Heart

by Sheila Turner Johnston

  “Sir Thomas Browne,” she said loudly.

  He cupped an ear towards her. “Sorry?”

  “Religio Medici. It was written by Sir Thomas Browne. I looked it up.”

  “Ah! Rings a bell all right.”

  He threw the can into a waste bin. For something to do, she gestured at the machine and mimed empty pockets. He searched his jeans and found some change. He held it out to her. She hadn’t meant him to do that. She hesitated. He pointed to the buttons on the machine and raised his brows in question.

  She shrugged. “Orange.”

  The can rolled into the drawer and he handed it to her.

  “Enjoy.” He nodded, crooked a corner of his mouth, and walked away.

  Robyn pulled the ring. Money’s no object to you, I suppose.

  She checked in with Edith who seemed to be at a crucial point in her book. She merely grunted when Robyn spoke. Robyn read the posters on the wall. “Don’t start any fires you can’t put out.” This was superimposed over a picture of a flaming orange bonfire against a black sky. Underneath written very small, was a reference: James 3.

  The next poster had a large picture of the top of a slim leg wearing a pink frilly garter. “No lap dancing clubs – Belfast has suffered enough.”

  At Robyn’s snort of laughter Edith looked up. “Good, isn’t it? I don’t know who put that one there,” she said.

  “Probably the same person who put the other one there. They’re an original bunch.”

  Edith kept her place with a finger and closed her book. “Indeed. It’s a bit like Tim Thompson’s style. Quirky sense of humour.” She stretched her free arm and yawned. “Some of them look great, even to a rusty old maid like me.”

  “Nothing rusty about you, Edith.” Robyn sat down beside her. “David Shaw’s groupies are out in force.”

  “Yes, well, his designer stubble has a start on everyone else’s.”

  Robyn frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s eighteen already. In fact I think he’s nearly nineteen.”

  “Is he? So why hasn’t he done his A levels already?”

  Edith opened her book again. “Oh, I think he missed a year of school along the way or something. I don’t really remember.” She turned a page.

  Robyn nodded at the novel. “Sure you don’t want to go in for a bit?”

  “I’m fine, honestly. I’m just at the ‘boy loses girl’ bit.”

  Clearing up was going to take a while. About ten o’clock Robyn decided to see if the caretaker’s room was open. There was an endless supply of black bin bags in there. A headache was stalking her. She went out into the dusk. It was calm, quiet, only the distant base thrum of percussion finding its way out through the corridors and walls. She inhaled the fresh air deeply. The lights of the city paled the stars which were just beginning to glimmer in the summer evening sky. Thin clouds, like teased wool, drifted lazily. Across the quadrangle there was an area of grass and trees. Not so long ago, this grass had been strewn with pupils revising for their exams in the sunshine. This evening it was deserted, leaves trembling in the hint of a breeze.

  Stopping in front of a copper beech, Robyn leaned her forehead against the rough bark and closed her eyes. Unconsciously, she rubbed the inside of her right wrist. Now, alone, the blackness was rolling close. She was getting so tired of fighting it. Tired of being odd. Tired of being lonely in a city of people. Tired of being an actor on a stage. Tired of looking beautiful and feeling ugly, dirty. Neil’s shout was a rebounding echo still. “I lied to make you look normal! Who else would have you?”

  She turned her back to the tree trunk and looked up through the branches. So are you rotting in hell, Dad, or are you waiting for me? She shivered.

  A twig cracked. David Shaw was standing less than three metres from her, his cream shirt in low relief against the dusk.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was sharp; no courtesy title given.

  She straightened. “Of course. You startled me.” He continued to look at her, eyes slightly narrowed. She said: “Shouldn’t you be inside, bossing or something?”

  He relaxed and grinned. “Or something. In a minute.” He gestured to the sky. “I just wanted to say thanks for a great night.”

  “I forgot. God’s a pal.”

  He ignored that. “Thanks for helping.”

  “I said I would.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” He had come closer and seemed really to want to know. She struggled. It was unfamiliar, being asked for her opinion as if it mattered.

  “You made a lot of people happy for an evening.” She thought of Penny. “Bit of a temporary fix for some, I’d say.”

  He reached up and a branch rustled as he pulled a leaf. “Nothing wrong with temporary fixes. It’s the principle behind Elastoplast.” He ripped the leaf and dropped it on the ground, glancing down to scuff at it with his foot. “There are some unhappy people in there. If they’ve been happy for an evening then – great.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so. Anyway, I should go. That hall has to be spotless in the morning.”

  She began to walk away across the grass. Without meaning to, she found herself slowing. Slowing. Coming to a stop. She turned. He hadn’t moved. Sometimes she was also tired of the very new stresses of being a teacher, so different from familiar student life. This was time out. Off the record. Step off the stage.

  She spoke quickly, harshly, with an anguish in her voice that she had not intended but could not disguise. “But what about all the unhappy evenings to come and to come and to come and never to end?”

  There was a moment of total stillness. Then he walked slowly out of the shadows towards her.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Did you enjoy this evening?”

  She sensed that there had been a subtle shift and that, briefly, it was time out for him too. “Yes,” she said.

  “Then you can feel happy sometimes. You know you can. And it’s better to be happy sometimes than never to be happy at all.”

  Her mouth twisted. “So it’s down to practice.”

  “Works for me. Keep smiling till your brain believes your face.” She smiled. He lifted a hand triumphantly. “See?” He thought for a moment, becoming serious again. “We’re not puppets; we can make our own choices.”

  “Like Catherine Earnshaw.”

  “Yes.”

  She was ahead of him, travelling along his thought. “And you chose colour?”

  His reply came after a heartbeat. “Eventually.”

  A light blazed briefly and went out. Across the quadrangle someone had come outside. Chloe’s voice called anxiously. “David?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and then back to Robyn. He gave a little mock bow. “Shalom,” he said softly.

  “Shalom, David.”

  Chloe appeared by his side and took his arm possessively. She saw Robyn and without addressing a word to her, pulled David’s elbow.

  “Come on,” she said. “Everyone’s in a panic about where you are. You’ve to do the epilogue, and then the Head wants to do his ‘behave yourself on the way home’ speech.” With another silent look at Robyn she steered David back to the building.

  Robyn walked away. I just hope you appreciate him, Chloe, although I doubt it. A cool night gust lifted her hair. As she crossed to a door into the corridor, a shadow hunched itself off the wall.

  “Hello,” said Neil.

  7

  SHE HANDED HIM a bin bag. He held it between his finger and thumb, dangled it like a malodorous dead rat. She strode back up the corridor, fizzing with anger. How dare he come here, specially after their last encounter? He was like a piece of sticky tape that she couldn’t flick off her finger.

  He caught up with her, bag trailing. “I drove all the way up here after work this evening to talk to you. You weren’t at your place so I came here.”

  She kept walking. “Well, where else would I be?”

  “So tell whoever needs to know that you have to leave now and we�
�ll go somewhere.”

  She stopped and faced him. “Thank you for your interest in what I do, Neil. Perhaps I should explain. This is an end of term gig. It’s been really good and they’re a courageous, energetic bunch of young people. I’ve enjoyed helping them this evening, and I’m going to finish what I promised to do, and that means helping with the clearing up.”

  He looked a bit smaller than he usually did. And why did he keep his hair in that floppy style? Tonight it was more irritating than usual.

  After a moment Neil straightened, rustled the bag into a ball and dropped it on the floor. “OK. I’ll wait.”

  Around them, young people were fooling about in bunches of laughter. Exhaust fumes filtered in as the cars of parents nosed round the quadrangle. Robyn passed some more serious clusters, deep in discussion of some of the challenges and issues which had surfaced during the evening.

  The hall was quickly returning to normal. Chloe pushed a brush with a wide head in methodical sweeps. One sweep came very close to Robyn, causing her to hop sideways. Chloe moved on, not looking up. Neil’s arrival had caused a little stir and Robyn could feel the speculation humming round the hall. He stood by the door, hands in pockets looking awkward, cross, and out of place.

  Tim Thompson was packing up the drum kit, but she couldn’t see David Shaw. Edith waited until they had got the table through the fire door into the deserted back corridor.

  “So who’s that?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “That guy.”

  “Just someone from home. He gives me a lift sometimes.”

  Edith’s eyebrows waggled. “That all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Looks like a businessman?”

  Shut up, Edith. “He has a graphic design business,” Robyn said, just to say something.

  She was feeling a great need for this evening to be over, to retreat into herself and be alone, safe in her hideaway. Reaching the hall again, she had a hand out to push the door when a slight movement caught her eye. Further down the corridor, David Shaw was standing with his back to them, legs planted apart, fingers thrust into his hip pockets. Facing him, perched on a radiator, was Penny Woodford. She was smiling up at him, lashes fluttering and legs emerging thinly from a pink hem.

  Robyn pushed through the door without comment. Edith looked for a moment longer before following. She sounded anxious.

  “I’ve seen them talking before. Funny. She’s not his type, to put it mildly.”

  Robyn sidestepped some stray balloons. “Every girl in this school wants to be his type. Can’t blame her for trying.”

  “She’ll not get anywhere though. Not with him.” Edith picked up a couple of spent party poppers. “Not a girl like her surely?” She sniffed. “That young man has standards.”

  “He’s male, isn’t he? If she’s got it and he wants it…” Robyn tailed off. Neil was coming towards them, jaw fixed.

  “Right Rob, let’s go. It’s late enough.”

  “Neil, this is Edith Braden, the head of Home Economics. Edith, Neil Collins.”

  Robyn watched Neil dredging for politeness. A voice at her shoulder made her turn.

  “And I’m Angus Fraser, not head of Geography. Pleased to meet you.” Neil took a longer look before silently taking the hand Angus held out. Angus turned to Robyn. “Good night, wasn’t it, Rob?”

  Neil’s fingers dug into Robyn’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Oh, do you have to go?” Angus sounded desolate. “I was going to treat you both to a drink.” He leaned confidentially towards Neil. “She’s not long here but already she’s a favourite.”

  A left-over junior pupil had climbed too high on the climbing bars. Edith went to stop him from hanging himself. Robyn’s mood pivoted on a sudden cusp of mischief and retribution. She smiled warmly at Angus.

  “Another time maybe. Neil has a long drive home tonight so he’s anxious to get on the road. Aren’t you, Neil?” Neil’s eyes bored into her. “Goodbye. Safe home,” she said.

  Neil flicked his hair with one hand. Looked from one of them to the other. She could see him assessing whether to make a scene.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said finally, and strode away.

  Angus looked disappointed. “Pity. But perhaps I can give you a lift home?”

  Neil might still be in earshot. “That’d be great. Thanks,” she replied loudly.

  She turned. And met the steady brown gaze of David Shaw. He was in the doorway behind her, shoulder against the wall, his eyes resting on her thoughtfully.

  Angus was well pleased. He had been careful to ask for directions as if he had no idea where she lived. He congratulated himself on his vigilance. That poor bastard Neil. She was making a fool of him.

  He eased his Alfa onto the main road, pleased at how steady his hand was on the gear stick. She told him where she lived and not by one turning did he betray that he already knew. When she flicked the black cascade of her hair over her shoulder as she turned to thank him and left the car, his self-control was absolute.

  One wrong move and it would all be to do again.

  “See ya!”

  The door of the small green hatchback slammed shut and David Shaw did a three point turn in the cul-de-sac where Tim lived. Just Chloe to drop off and then home. Chloe’s folk lived in a sixties house not far from the teacher training college.

  He hoped she wasn’t going to want a big goodnight scene. He was tired, feeling the aftermath of weeks of planning and anticipating problems, of persuading people to see the same visions he saw. God knew he wasn’t good with people. God knew he had trouble with his tongue and his temper. Why didn’t God give him something to do on his own, where the only person he had to be angry with was himself? He was good at that.

  He stopped the car and Chloe turned expectantly. He couldn’t kiss her; he really couldn’t. He brushed her cheek with a finger.

  “Thanks Chloe. You were great tonight. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” She waited. “Last day of term. Half day then.”

  “Yeah.”

  She gathered her dignity and got out. “See you then.”

  “See you.”

  David drove back. He passed the College and wondered if that was where Robyn Daniels had done her teacher training. Or had she gone to England like so many students did, shaking the dust of this country off their feet. If she had, at least she had come back, hadn’t stayed to become pseudo-English. He turned into the tree-lined avenue where he lived. Quitters thought they were leaving problems behind. From what he knew of England, he suspected they were migrating to a lot worse.

  Was the man who had appeared briefly this evening the reason she was miserable? David frowned as the memory came back to him; a figure in the dusk, something perilously close to hopelessness clinging to her until he had spoken. He recognised it because he had seen it before.

  He crunched the car between pillars tucked into branching lilac bushes and parked some way down the side of the house. His parents’ cars were parked side by side at the front. The light was still on in the den. He locked his car and paused momentarily to inhale the mingled scents from the large secluded garden. His parents looked after some of it themselves, but they also had a gardener. Walking round to the back of the house, he passed a weeping cherry tree and paused to put a hand gently on its slim trunk.

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  An outside light blazed suddenly, and the back door opened. He loved his parents very much, but it was time to move out. But hey! how ungrateful can you be? He fixed a smile and went in.

  Excitement and fear duetted within Robyn as she wedged the duvet under her chin. She had accepted a lift from another man; she had made a choice. She trembled slightly with the thought of her own audacity. As Neil and Angus had regarded each other, something in her had changed, timorous but real, and there was exhilaration in the change.

  She turned restlessly, pummelling her pillow. As soon as she closed her eyes, Neil’s fu
rious face bloomed across her eyelids. She tightened her lids, splintering his image into fragments.

  Screaming. Three o’clock in the morning and someone was screaming. Robyn had thrown the duvet to the floor and leapt out of bed before she realised the nightmares had returned and the screams were from her own throat. Crouching on the floor, she hunched backwards against the bed. Her hands wove together, each gripping the other wrist. She tucked them up and hugged herself tightly. It was always about three in the morning, when everyone else was asleep. Three o’clock in the morning was the bad time.

  All the earlier exhilaration had vapourised into the night. It would always be like this. No change of mood, no exercise of choice, would take the devils away. Why did she keep hoping? What was she holding out for? Normality? She could stop or go on. She gripped her wrists tightly. The demons took over her brain. In the blackness of night, stopping seemed the easiest option. She was right out of courage.

  The full packet of pain killers was easy to find and there was a glass of water beside the bed.

  She sat in her chair and set the packet of tablets on the arm and moved the glass of water to the floor at her feet. After a few minutes she reached down for the glass. Stopped, startled. A man’s voice had sounded as clearly as if he had spoken across the silence of fresh snow. She stood up and spun round, knocking over the water. Her room was as empty as it always was.

  He had said just one word: “Shalom.”

  She stood still for a moment, then picked up the packet of tablets, turned it over in her hand as if she couldn’t understand why it was there. She dropped it to the wet carpet. Wrapping the duvet tightly round herself, she lay down again. The demons had fled for tonight.

  Shalom. Somebody had said that to her recently, but she was asleep before she remembered who it was.

  It was Gemma who made the first move. She suggested this full blown dinner for two in a warehouse bar in the Cathedral Quarter, not far from where she worked.

  They had eaten their starters almost in silence, discomfort stubbornly lounging between them. Restraint did not suit Gemma. Her opening gambit was softened with an awkward laugh as she toyed with her fork.