Healer of My Heart

by Sheila Turner Johnston

  “Well, no.”

  “I want to fit a chain on your door.”

  There was a stubbornness in his voice.

  “A chain,” she said, collecting her scattering thoughts. “A chain on my door. But I’ve no tools, no screwdriver, or whatever you’d need.”

  “My car is parked in your street and I’ve a toolbox in the boot.”

  “You think of everything, don’t you?”

  It was almost like before. She held the screws, rummaged in the toolbox when he wanted a cross-head screwdriver, put her fingers in her ears when he used the drill. Scolded mildly when he swore as the head of a screw began to shear as he turned it. Got out the dustpan and brush to sweep up the sawdust.

  Finally it was done. He went onto the landing and Robyn closed the door. She put the chain in place and opened it again. David rammed his shoulder into the door and looked satisfied as the chain held easily. She let him in again. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small object.

  “That’s for you too.”

  She examined it. It said ‘Triple action personal alarm’ on the side.

  “Put that in your bag now, and promise me you’ll not go out without it.”

  “David, what’s all this…”

  “Just promise me.”

  “OK. How does it work?” She fiddled with it.

  “Don’t!” he said quickly. “If it goes off, we’ll both be deafened and I’ll be arrested! Here, there are instructions with it.” He fished them out and gave them to her.

  He filled her little hallway. She dropped the alarm into her bag, then folded her arms tightly round herself as he walked into her tiny sitting room. He stood beside the chair, the chair where she had been sitting in the deep night when she had heard his voice say “Shalom” so loud and clear. The night of the Hooley. The night he had saved her life.

  “I think,” she said, “you’re the only other person to come in here in almost five years.”

  He nodded slowly. “This is your hiding place, isn’t it? This is your burrow.” He sat in the chair. “This reminds me of a song about hiding in your room where no-one can touch you. You’re like a cold rock.’”

  “Stone doesn’t feel pain.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

  She sat on the couch and he leaned forward, took her right arm. Turning it over, he pushed back her sleeve and traced the faint scar. “It’s to do with this, isn’t it?” She watched his fingers move slowly over her skin. “Something happened to you.” He watched her carefully. “Something that was so bad, it’s still with you. Still crippling you.” He waited but she said nothing. “Tell me,” he urged softly. “Robyn. Tell me.”

  She pulled her arm away. “I can’t! I’ve told you I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you? Why is there something you can’t tell me?”

  She raised her voice in desperation. “Because you would hate me!” Her voice tailed off. “And I couldn’t bear that.”

  Momentarily, he looked stunned. “Hate you? Robyn, there’s nothing you could have done that would make me hate you.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Could you hate me?”

  “No.”

  “I might remind you of that some day.”

  Unusually, she found herself searching for words to express herself. “I let people down. I mustn’t hurt you too.” She sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. She tried being defiant. “I don’t need anyone. I mustn’t need anyone. Specially not you.”

  He flung his hands wide in anger. “To hell with that! Don’t be so ordinary.”

  “David, you can’t just dismiss who we are.” She put her hands out, pleading. “It just isn’t on. The summer holidays are not the real world.”

  “In all my life,” he said slowly, deliberately, “I have never felt anything so real.”

  Panic began to nibble at her heels. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and wrapped her arms round herself again. She couldn’t cope with this; didn’t know how to cope with it.

  “I think you should go now,” she said, her voice tight, strained. “You must have a lot to do for tomorrow.”

  He slid from the chair and sat on his heels in front of her, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

  “Most things are done. I’ve just to stuff a few things in a rucksack.” He looked down. Thinking mode, she thought automatically, despite herself. After a minute he looked up. “You could survive without me. I could even survive without you.” His mouth crooked at the corner. “We’re survivors after all. But I want to do more than survive. This is a good world, Robyn. Whatever happened to you, whatever happened to me, those were aberrations, things we have to deal with, maybe for a long time. But they certainly don’t make us who we are, or who we can be. Or who we’re meant to be.” His hand came up and she felt his fingers brush her cheek. “No comment?”

  “No comment,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “One more thing before you throw me out.” His voice became soft, almost a caress. “You are a lovely, lovely person. What you were told and what you feel about the day you were born is so wrong. No matter what awful thing happened that day years before, someone very beautiful was born on that date.” He moved her chin gently so that she was looking at him. “You were the good news; you were not part of the bad news.” He stood up and went towards the door, opened it. He looked back. “Take care.”

  Then he was gone, his steps echoing on the stairs.

  She knew. Suddenly she knew. She moved her arms lower, to circle her abdomen. This is what it feels like. Longing, yearning, wanting. And this is what it feels like to hear him walk away. Cold, lonely, bereft; and yet still longing, yearning, wanting.

  His complete, absolute, unwavering faith in her; his obdurate refusal to become like any other person she had ever known; his instinctive understanding that the past cannot be neutered just because we want it to be; it made her breathless, dizzy.

  She closed her eyes and pictured him again, every line and muscle of him.

  21

  THE DAYS OF August spun past and the summer holidays accelerated. Robyn’s thoughts were never at rest. Yet it was not the restlessness of dissatisfaction. Far from it. She felt like a new butterfly trembling on its discarded chrysalis: wings still damp, sun still strange, danger lurking, but ready to try now, ready to fight. Both her body and her mind had been touched, and there was a healing of the heart in it. She could feel it.

  She realised that Angus had done her a favour. Because she knew what she definitely, emphatically, did not want, it freed her to contemplate what she did want.

  Looking back, she could see that in fact she had managed to slip away as she lay on the floor of her parents’ bathroom, her blood soaking the floor while desperately she tried to die. Although she had not died, she had not really lived again either. She had become an observer of her own life, the audience of her own play.

  She recalled the day she had confronted her mother and said what she had never before given shape and form. Now she could control her own life and say that no-one would ever again have power over her, make her hurt, make her despise herself.

  One night as she got ready for bed, she stretched her arms high over her head, watching her waist lengthen, her breasts swell, her stomach flatten across her pelvis.

  “I am a lovely person,” she said deliberately, defiantly. “I am. Someone has told me so.”

  Even so, she wedged the chair under the door handle before she went to bed.

  Robyn booked two driving lessons a week. She had a good instructor, a man in his thirties who encouraged her and told her she was a quick learner. They moved into the easy and humorous relationship of instructor and learner. She checked her savings. Enough for a car. A small one, a second-hand one.

  Her fourth lesson passed without her stalling the car once. She made herself a toasted sandwich and grinned at a memory. Travel sick pills indeed!

  She was walking home past the University one afternoon when she became aware of a dog panting insistently
at her side, the panting punctuated by a whine. It was Manna.

  “Hello you!” she said, delighted to see him. Manna was ecstatic, leaping around her, wagging his tail, his ears bouncing as he tugged on his lead. Robyn looked up quickly. A distinguished man with a thatch of thick grey hair was holding the lead, a look of puzzlement on his face. Instantly, Robyn knew who he was. He had given his son his fine features, his strong jaw and his deep set eyes. When he spoke, Robyn recognised even the tone and timbre of his voice. But his son had grown past him by six inches at least and had nothing of his frailty. This man was pale, his cheeks slightly hollow, and the slight stoop of his shoulders was all his own.

  “My dog seems to know you?” he remarked, a slight smile underlining the gentle question.

  “Mr Shaw?” she asked, her hand on Manna’s head.

  “Yes. But I’m afraid, unlike my dog, I don’t know you, young lady.”

  “Robyn Daniels. I’ve been subbing at David’s school.”

  “Ah! I believe I have heard your name mentioned. I’m pleased to meet you. But you look like a student yourself.” He transferred the lead to his left hand and held out his right to shake hers. He looked down at Manna who was now sitting on Robyn’s foot, tongue lolling happily. “But how does Manna know you?”

  “David walks him in the park often. I have my lunch there sometimes. I suppose Manna might remember me from there.”

  Vincent nodded. “Ah, yes. Manna might have only one eye, but he has the memory of an elephant. The poor dog is missing David. He’s in America, you know.”

  “I think David did mention that.” She fondled the silky ears. “Have you heard from him?”

  “Once.” Vincent sighed. “He’s a very independent young man.”

  “You must be proud of him, Mr Shaw.”

  “Yes, well. This year will be the test. The big one. He wants to go here.” He nodded across the road to the red brick Victorian façade of Queen’s University. “Personally, I’d rather he got out of this country. No future here.”

  His voice caught and he bent to a paroxysm of coughing.

  “Mr Shaw? Are you all right?”

  Vincent blew his nose. “Yes, yes, yes. Of course I am.”

  Robyn noted the impatient tone. She recognised that too. “How are you getting home?”

  “Manna and I travel by bus or taxi these days,” he said with dignity. “I had a bit of bad health and my wife won’t let me walk far just yet. She’s a doctor, so I suppose I have to do what I’m told.” He held out his hand again and said with old fashioned courtesy: “It has been a pleasure to meet you. May I wish you well in the new term.”

  She shook his hand. “If you’re in touch with David, give him my regards.”

  “I will, my dear, I will.” He turned away, tugging the lead. Manna whined and looked back, his head turning to find her with his good eye.

  When she reached her flat, Robyn checked her letterbox. Empty.

  The state exam results were issued and many of the teaching staff appeared in school along with the anxious pupils. Robyn sat at her desk in her classroom pouring over a print-out, highlighting her own pupils. Most of them had done well, some very well. One or two were going to be disappointed. Robyn hoped to have good results to show for her short time here.

  There was a knock on her door. Absently, she called, “Come in.” She heard a rustle of paper. It was Angus, holding an enormous bunch of flowers. She stiffened.

  “Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I’m going to stop just inside the door. Honestly.”

  “What do you want?”

  “This is a peace offering.” He nursed the flowers over one arm, looking at her pleadingly. “I just want to say I’ve been a complete prat. I want to apologise again. I should have known I was way out of line.” He reached in and set the flowers on a desk. “I don’t want us to start the new term with aggro between us. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have to work together.”

  Robyn looked at him sideways, her pen still poised over her notes. “Unlikely, I hope.”

  Angus held up both hands and backed out the door. “I won’t bother you again. No need to say anything to the Head. You can trust me. Promise.” He smiled and left.

  Robyn retrieved the flowers. She stood poised over the wastebin for a moment. It was an expensive bunch, complete with bow and sachet of cut flower food. She turned and walked quickly down the corridor, down the main staircase and into the school office. It was bustling with life, dealing with the exam results, clamouring phone calls, parents and pupils. The Headmaster’s secretary was loading paper into the printer.

  “Here, Helen,” said Robyn, “This is your lucky day.”

  She dropped the flowers on a table and walked out again.

  When she got back to her classroom a cluster of pupils was forming at her door. The phone was ringing in her storeroom.

  She answered it impatiently.

  “Hallo, Rob,” said Neil.

  “Neil, I’m busy.”

  “When are you coming down to see your mother?”

  “When hell freezes,” she said and hung up.

  Suddenly, life was very busy again. She gave up the charity shop with regret, promising to help again when she could. A few days later the teachers were all in school for a staff meeting, departmental meetings and planning. The Headmaster, after years of practice, made his speech without flinching at the regular pop of Billy Dobbin’s bubble gum.

  On Friday afternoon, Robyn was making her final preparations for the first week. She was returning from the office with a bundle of papers. At the top of the stairs she turned. And stopped, her breath catching at the sight of him.

  He was leaning one shoulder against the door frame. His arms were folded and one leg was crooked over the other at the ankle. He couldn’t really be taller? Browner? Broader at the shoulder? Not after only four weeks. And one hour. But the dusting of beard was definitely new. Slowly she walked towards him. He didn’t move, just watched her from under his brows in that unsettling way he had.

  When she reached him, she looked up into the hollow of his throat, brown against the open collar of his shirt. His lightly bearded face was a mixture of the familiar and the strange. Finally she met his eyes and anger ignited like a fire cracker, an anger that she hadn’t known was there.

  “Why didn’t you even send me a postcard?”

  He straightened and set a forearm on each of her shoulders, clasping his hands behind her neck.

  “Hi,” he said, low and soft. “I’ve missed you too.”

  22

  SHE BROUGHT up her free hand and pushed his arms away, turned and walked quickly into the room.

  He followed her and strolled to the back of the classroom. He turned a chair round and sat astride it, arms across the back. Robyn set her papers down and sat at the desk. There was silence for a moment and then he said:

  “I didn’t send you a postcard because I would have had to write your name on it. I wanted to forget about you for a while.”

  “Really? And did you succeed?”

  “No.”

  Robyn lifted a pen and began making notes, notes which made no sense but helped her feel occupied, made her feel as if she was busy despite this interruption. When she said nothing, he spoke again.

  “And I wanted you to forget about me.” He waited. “Did you?”

  “I’ve been very busy, David. Really.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Can I take that as a ‘no’?”

  “Didn’t you find some nice, suitable American girl?”

  “Loads of them. Security had to fight them off at the airport.”

  She caught his eye and had to smile. As his grin spread slowly, white teeth accentuated by his short dark beard, she could almost believe him.

  “You’ll have to shave that off before Monday,” she said. “It’s quite impressive.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Not bad, is it? I’m quite impressed myself.”

  “I met your father one day.”r />
  “He told me.”

  She pulled some papers out of a drawer and selected one. “I got the class lists for this year today. I am to take your year group for one period a week till my subbing finishes. But your name isn’t on the list. Why not?”

  The length of the classroom was still between them, desks and chairs neatly arranged. She saw his brows draw down, his expression darken. He stood suddenly, sending the chair crashing into the desk in front.

  “What a stupid question! Did you really think I was going to sit at one of these desks for midgets, have you talk at me, walk past me?” He walked up the room towards her. “Did you really think you were going to do all that?”

  She flung her pen down and stood up herself, angrily facing him. “And why wouldn’t I? It’s who I am and that’s who you are. Don’t forget it!”

  “Just because you’re an emotional cripple, Robyn, it doesn’t make me one!” She gasped, his tone rougher than she imagined he could ever be. Suddenly his voice lowered, and his eyes locked onto hers. “And,” he said, “if I forgot who I was, and who you were” – he raised a finger for emphasis – “I wasn’t the only one.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, maybe it’s time we remembered.” She gave a brittle laugh. “I’m used to dealing with young men with crushes after all.”

  His arm shot out and gripped her shoulder. He brought his face to within an inch of hers so that she could see the golden flecks in his eyes. “Don’t,” he breathed, giving her shoulder a little shake, “don’t insult both of us.”

  For a moment they stood inches apart, Robyn feeling her own anger tempered by something she could not name. Then he spun away from her. In the doorway he stopped and turned, his face hostile.

  “Thanks for the welcome home party.”

  Then he walked out.

  Robyn went to the back of the classroom and carefully straightened the chair he had disturbed. She edged the desks back into perfect alignment. She smoothed a poster on the wall and repositioned a drawing pin in its corner. On her way back to her desk, she picked up a tissue she must have dropped earlier. She reached the front and carefully dropped the tissue in the bin. She noticed a window still open. She reached for the window pole. She lifted it. Her grip on it tightened. Her fingers became white. She jabbed it forwards so hard the glass shattered, a starburst of spidering lines shooting from one edge to the other.