by Vivien Brown
‘But …’ she mumbled, balancing the plate on her knees. ‘You’re a vicar.’
Now it was Paul’s turn to laugh. ‘It’s allowed, you know. As I think you may have mentioned just a moment ago, I’m not a Catholic. Same God, different rules.’
‘Oh,’ was all she could say, seeing a red flush rise up in his face and knowing she probably had one to match.
‘Oh? Just Oh? Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or to be too forward. If you’re not interested, just say. I’m not usually in the habit …’
‘No, no. It’s not that. You just took me by surprise, that’s all, but it was a nice Oh. Honestly. A very nice Oh.’
‘A nice enough Oh for you to say yes? To a date? Friday night. Rock concert. Heavy metal. Just a little local gig. I’ve got two tickets.’
‘And you want someone to come along and fill the second seat?’
‘No, I want you to come along and fill the second seat. Subtle difference. Not that there will be a lot of seats. Standing up mainly, I’m afraid. We need room for all the head banging, you see!’ He laughed. ‘The band are mates of mine, actually. They’re quite good. Loud … but good!’
‘Heavy metal? You really are full of surprises, aren’t you? And I suppose you’ll be telling me next that the band are all vicars too!’
He smiled. ‘How did you guess? Yes, they are. Well, two of them, anyway. So, you’ll come? You’re not on duty or anything?’
‘Not on duty, no. And, yes. Yes, I will come. Heavy metal vicars is something I really do have to see!’
‘Oh, and did I mention the motorbike? Are you all right with travelling on that? I’ve got a spare crash helmet but you’d have to bring your own leathers.’
‘Leathers? But I haven’t …’
‘I’m joking!’ He laughed so hard his half of the sandwich nearly fell off its plate. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but you are such an easy target! I do have a car as well. Can’t roll up to visit the sick and dying looking like a Hell’s Angel, can I? I can see I’m going to have to show you just what we vicars are really like, when we get our dog collars off.’
‘You take it off? Wear normal clothes?’
‘Of course I do. I don’t want everyone to know what job I do when I’m out having a good time. I bet you don’t go out clubbing in your nurse’s uniform, do you? Now, come on, eat up, or your patient will have given up on you and done a runner.’
‘I don’t think so. In fact, I’m probably going to have trouble dragging her away. She’s … Well, asking for forgiveness, apparently. For something. I don’t know what. Maybe you …’
‘Well, I don’t do confession as such but, as I said, I can be a good listener. Let me go in first. If I’m not out in five, come in and get me. Or her! My lunch can wait.’
He stood up, hesitated for a few seconds, then bent down and kissed her. It was only a tiny peck on the cheek, just to the left of her nose, the kind of friendly gentle kiss that passes between friends, but when she lifted her fingers to her skin she was sure she could still feel it there, all warm and comforting, long after he’d gone.
*
‘Mum!’ He was coming towards her across the café, little Lily tugging at his hand.
Geraldine stood up, her heart pounding. Were those tears in his eyes? In Lily’s? She couldn’t be sure, not from this distance. But something had happened. There was no doubt about that. She could feel William get up too, his hip knocking the edge of the table, the crockery rattling as he moved. But she couldn’t look at William now, didn’t want to see that look of pity that would sweep across his face if …
‘She’s awake, Mum. Ruby’s awake.’
She felt her knees buckle, her shoulders fall. ‘Oh, thank God. Thank God.’
His arms were around her now, holding her up. ‘It’s early days, and there are lots of tests and things to be done, but it’s looking promising. And she knows who we are, Mum. I’m sure she does. She hasn’t said anything yet, she’s still very drowsy, but her eyes … When she saw Lily …’
Geraldine breathed in the warm male smell of him. It had been a long while since he’d hugged her so tightly or for so long. Since anyone had hugged her. ‘Oh, Michael, that’s wonderful. I was scared. So scared, that Lily was going to …’ She lowered her voice, suddenly aware that Lily was standing there, hearing every word. ‘That she might lose her mummy, or that I was going to lose …’
‘No, that’s not going to happen, Mum.’ He patted her awkwardly on the back, then pulled away a little. ‘She’s going to live,’ he said, very quietly. ‘As for anything else, any sort of disability or mental … Well, you know what I mean. The next few days will tell, and whatever happens we’ll deal with it, won’t we? Look, we’ll talk later, okay? Away from Lily, I mean …’
‘Would you like me to go now?’ William was hovering, clearly not sure of his place. ‘So you can go back up and see her together? I can always come back later, to drive you all home.’
‘No, no.’ Michael held out his hand and shook William’s. ‘You’ve been great today, driving Mum about, and keeping her company in here and we wouldn’t want to put you to any more trouble.’
He turned back to his mother. ‘What Ruby needs now is time, some peace and quiet, and plenty of rest. She opened her eyes but she’s not what you’d really call properly awake. Not really with it. She’s still got a lot of recovering to do, and I don’t think we should crowd her. They say they’ll know more tomorrow. So, how about we all go home now?’
‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t one of us be here? You know, in case …’
‘don’t think about any in cases, Mum. Let them do their jobs, eh? They can look after her better than we can. Come on, let’s make a move. Then we won’t have to take up any more of Mr Munro’s time. We can pop the car seat thing into our car as soon as we get back, and then Lily and I’ll be all set to come back here whenever we need to. You too, if you want to. But it won’t be tonight.’ He looked at his watch. ‘God, it’s only half past three but I’m knackered already. It’s bloody shattering, all this hospital lark.’
Geraldine gave him a withering look. ‘Michael. No swearing. Not in front of Lily. Walls have ears, you know.’
‘do they, Daddy?’ Lily said, looking up puzzled. ‘Can they hear what we’re saying? Did they hear you say bloody?’
‘Right, let’s go then, shall we?’ William spoke into the short awkward silence, and slipped his jacket back on. ‘If that’s what you want. I just hope we’ve been out long enough for my mother to have finished all that ironing!’
‘That’s a point. Maybe we should give her a bit longer.’ Michael laughed. ‘We don’t want to get caught having to do any of that ourselves, do we?’
*
Patsy sat in the garden, huddled inside one of her dad’s baggy jumpers, and listened to the birds. It was amazing how different they sounded when there were no cars or planes or conversations going on. Like a dream world she’d almost forgotten existed.
‘Here, love.’ Her dad came across the grass bearing a tray and placed it precariously on the little wooden table beside her. It was a bit of a rickety old thing, cobbled together from the remains of an old wardrobe, but he’d made it himself, so there was never any question of throwing it away or replacing it with one of those fancy plastic jobs. ‘I’ve brought you some lemonade. Homemade, with plenty of sugar. I know how much you used to like it when you were small, especially when you had something on your mind. This stuff’s seen you through many an exam, and the odd bit of boyfriend trouble, if I remember rightly.’ He lowered himself into the second chair, each positioned perfectly to catch the dying rays of the evening sun without missing out on the view.
‘I don’t have boyfriend trouble, if that’s what you’re inferring.’
‘Of course not, love. Not my place to infer. Or to interfere. But if there is anything …’
She took the glass of lemonade and sipped at it. Yes, it was good, just how she remembered it. Fresh and fruity, w
ith just a tang of sourness, despite the copious amounts of sugar. The effect on her teeth didn’t bear thinking about.
‘So … Tell me about this Michael of yours. I know we met him once before, but only briefly. And now, well, now you’re going to marry the fella, and I for one would like to know a bit more about him. I’m sure your mother—’
‘Yes, I know, Dad. Mum has her doubts. She’s worried. She’s made that perfectly clear. Thinks we should have waited longer, that I haven’t known him more than five minutes, that I should have brought him here for vetting or whatever. But I’m twenty-seven, Dad. We’re not teenage runaways. I … We do know what we’re doing.’
‘Where is he, then? The two of you would be up here for a few days, that’s what you said on the phone. Some time next week, we’d thought. I half expected some sort of formal chat, if you know what I mean. You know, him asking me for your hand.’
‘Just my hand? How about my head and my body, and my arms and legs?’
‘Well, the rest of you too, obviously.’ He brushed her attempt at humour aside. ‘But then you turn up on your own, several days ahead of schedule, only giving us a few hours’ notice and half a story. What are we supposed to think? No sign of your fiancé. No explanation. Your mother hasn’t even got the beds ready yet.’
‘Beds? We can share just the one, Dad. We do live together in Portugal.’
‘I know all that, but old-fashioned, that’s us. We did things properly in our day. Engaged for two years, your mother and I, and it was single beds for us, I can tell you. Your grandfather would have had a fit if I’d waltzed in expecting hanky-panky under his roof before the wedding day! There’s your brother to consider, too Don’t forget he’s only fifteen. What sort of message or ideas would it be giving him, at his age?’
‘Times change, Dad. Stop sounding so old.’
‘I am old. Or I’m starting to feel it anyway. It’s not as if we see you often these days. So, if we’re not meeting your young man this time, then when? Only, we would like to get to know him properly. You know, as a future son-in-law. Find out what makes him tick and all that …’
Patsy sighed. ‘He’s got family problems, Dad. He would have come if he could. Still might, if he can get away.’
‘Ah, yes. Family. That ex of his, I suppose. And the child. What’s her name again?’
‘She’s called Lily and she’ll always be a part of his life, and of mine now too. You can’t wish her away.’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘Oh, never mind. The lemonade’s lovely, and thanks for caring, but nothing you say is going to change anything now. I have this …’ She held up her finger and flashed her diamond at him. ‘And that means I’m going to marry him. Not Andrew Piper, or Johnny Smith, or any of the other local lads you’ve had lined up for me over the years. Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m a big girl now, and you have to let me make my own choices. Okay?’
‘Okay. Point taken. And I won’t pry any more. But if he comes up here to join you, you’ll have to tell your mother about the beds situation. It’ll be more than my life’s worth!’ He chuckled, taking the empty glass from her hand. ‘Now come on inside for your dinner. It’s starting to get chilly out here. Your Mum’s made a chicken something or other and roast potatoes. I bet you don’t get those in Portugal. Not made with real goose fat, anyway. Matt’s just finishing off his homework, then I’ve promised he can have you to himself all evening. Monopoly, TV, computer games, whatever he likes. Us oldies will get out of your way. We’re due at the Pipers for bridge tonight. I hope that’s okay, that you didn’t have other plans? That lad has really missed you, Patsy, love.’
‘I’ve missed him too. And it is great to be back home, Dad, really. Just don’t worry about me, all right? Or Michael. Things will work out fine, just you wait and see.’
Would they? She certainly hoped so. Patsy took a deep breath, put on her best smile and followed her dad back towards the house, the overpowering smell of too much garlic wafting out from the open kitchen door and across the grass to meet them. Her mum never used to cook with garlic. She was strictly a plain meat and three veg kind of a woman, and always had been. It was probably her idea of what Portuguese food was like, giving Patsy what they both believed she wanted, trying hard – too hard – to make her feel at home. But it didn’t matter what they ate. It was the being here, back with her parents, old-fashioned and traditional though they were, and the air and the view – and her lanky, loopy, nutter of a brother – that made this place home. And in that moment she knew that, one bed or two, Michael or no Michael, she didn’t really want to be anywhere else.
*
Lily had a bad dream. Mummy was all wrapped up in lots of white sheets, like a mummy from a scary grown-up film, making funny breathing noises and she was staring at her and not saying anything, and then, when Lily tried to jump on the bed and get a cuddle, Daddy pulled her back and wouldn’t let her. And Granny said Lily couldn’t come to her house ever again because she’d wet the bed and made too many marks on the carpet and left the tap running. And then she lost Archie and couldn’t find him anywhere, not even under the bed. Then she woke up crying, and Granny came and carried her into Mummy’s bed and cuddled her up tight, and kept the light on, but Mummy wasn’t there, and neither was Archie. And the bed didn’t smell of Mummy any more, like she was never coming back, and the photo of Daddy was gone, and everything was different and dark and scary and sad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ruby
I feel weird. Like I’m waking up from a bad dream. I’m only half here, the rest of me still somewhere else, buried in a hazy place I want to tear myself away from but can’t. Like when they buried me in the sand that time at the beach, on a day trip, just my head sticking up into the sunlight, with my cap on back to front, my arms and legs pinned down, bogged under by the sheer soggy weight of all that sand. But I wasn’t scared. I laughed, because I knew they would get me out, digging with their plastic spades, and their eager hands. Mrs Castle in her deckchair, watching and listening, a battered straw hat on her head, a Woman’s Weekly in her lap. Sand flicking into my eyes, into my ears.
There was no sand when I opened my eyes. Just noises, echoes bouncing off walls, and faces peering in at me. Not the children on the beach. Strange faces, ones I didn’t recognise at all, in a circle, all around me, like a halo. But, she was here too. My eyes drawn to her. Lily. Why was she here, on the beach? Wide-eyed, and small, and white. Behind all the others, like a tiny dot. And my mother. I think I saw my mother, her head bobbing up down through a window, before she disappeared again, like she always does.
It’s warm, and they’ve gone, and I’ve been asleep again. Something hurts. My head. My leg. This isn’t right. Still healing, someone said, holding my hand. Or was it my wrist? They come and go all the time. Touching, looking, talking. To each other, to me, about me. But I’m still only half here, only half listening.
It’s funny that all I really want is to fall back into sleep. They say I’ve been doing that for a while. Sleeping. They say they were waiting for me to come back. Now I am back, now I am here, but I just want to sleep again. Deep, peaceful sleep. To make it all go away. All the thoughts, and memories, and truths and half-truths and lies, that wash over me while I lie here under this bare white ceiling, with nothing else to think about, nothing else to do.
The next time I hear them, I try harder. Much harder. I reach for the hand, without knowing whose it is. I peel my eyes open and drag my gaze away from the stark whiteness of the ceiling, and struggle just that little bit harder to stay awake. I open my dry lips and try to say her name. Nothing comes.
‘Hello, Ruby,’ a voice says, close to my face. ‘Welcome back. Don’t try to talk just yet. Just squeeze my fingers. Do you know where you are?’
Of course I know where I am. Do they think I’m stupid? I move my hand, just enough for the voice to feel it. Yes, I’m trying to tell her. Yes, I know where I am. I�
��m on the little bus thing, going home from the park, my head nodding against the glass, the sun streaming in, the noise of the younger ones buzzing around me as they squeal and scream and giggle, the rhythm of the wheels on the road thudding and clicking in time with my breathing, only half awake.
But I can feel that the wheels have stopped turning, and that the sun has gone, and so has the glass with my mother behind it, and the screams around me sound different. Are different. One of them might even be mine.
What have I done? Where is she? It feels like I’m watching a film. The replay of a film, in slow, slow, motion, with my fingers frozen over the buttons, unable to move. Even the bits of the story where I run are in slow motion. And I want to scream out loud, that Lily isn’t here, that I know I shouldn’t leave her, should never leave her, but I do, I have. And I can’t rewind it, can’t make it stop, can’t change it.
I’m at the door and watching her. She’s sleeping like an angel. And there’s rain. I do remember the rain. But what happens next? I can’t see it, can’t stop it. Just the flying, the flailing, the falling …
In slow, slow motion, the faces come back. Huddled around me again, and this time I can’t lift my head at all. Or my arms. And I’m suddenly frightened. Stuck in the sand, cold, wet, alone, with no plastic spades to save me.
I’m watching the film play again and again, but it isn’t over. I know it isn’t over. It’s stuck in freeze-frame. Me in the sand. Lily at home. Lily alone. And I don’t know the ending yet. I need to know the ending.
What happens to me? What happens to Lily? After I leave her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Oh, well.’ Geraldine was scribbling something on a scrap of paper. ‘Another day, another dollar.’
Michael looked up from the computer screen. ‘You’re not talking about work, surely?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I want to be here for you and Lily, and to see Ruby. But the shop can’t run itself, can it? I’ve been making a note of a few things that I need Kerry to do, but in reality I think it might be time for me to get back down to Brighton and take over the helm myself. Some time today, maybe?’
