‘I was! It was lovely! Everything was lovely!’
‘I got the rose from the cemetery.’ He sniggered. ‘Just lifted it right off a grave. Stupid waste, putting flowers on a grave.’ Reaching out, he picked the rose from its vase and handed it to her. ‘There. A rose for my rose.’
The red petals were edged with brown; something had eaten away at its centre. She placed it down gently. ‘It’s lovely, Danny.’
‘I don’t want you being scared of me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘There’s nothing to be scared of, anyway! Sometimes I think you’re not right in the head, the way you go on. Ben thinks so too. He’s a good boy. I told him – he’s my good boy. I asked him how he thinks we should sort you out. Stop you being so timid.’
He picked up the rose and began plucking out its petals. When it was almost nothing he said, ‘Ben should have a bed to himself. It’s not right.’
As calmly as she could she said, ‘We’ll have to try getting another bed on tick.’
‘We don’t need another bed. What do we need another fucking bed for?’ He came to stand close to her. He gripped her arm tightly; she felt his breath against her ear as he said, ‘You’re sleeping on the floor from now on.
She pressed her thighs together against her body’s shameful softening; a trickle of urine ran down her leg. ‘But Danny…’
‘But nothing! Oh – maybe I’ll let you sleep on the settee if you’re a good girl, eh?’ He smiled. ‘Like a little dog: a little bitch, all curled up on the settee.’
He sighed and looked down at the rose petals scattered at his feet. ‘Oh dear. What a mess.’
‘I’ll sweep them up –’
‘I know you will. No hurry. First you can go and get Mark and put him in my bed. Tell him I’ll be up in a minute to take care of him.’
Chapter 17
Mark drove to the hospital. He bought flowers from the florist in the foyer and a bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut, the largest the hospital shop sold. He also bought bottled water and The Times and The Evening Gazette. He’d brought fruit from home, an apple and a banana and a tangerine. He waited for the lift to the fourth floor and Simon’s ward, and thought that perhaps he’d over-done it and that Simon would tell him again that he fussed. The flowers were beautiful, though, white roses and spray carnations, baby’s breath and blue-green eucalyptus; they would cheer up Simon’s drab little room. In the lift a woman smiled at the bouquet and then at him. ‘Your wife will love those,’ she said.
Last night Simon had said, ‘I think I’m having a heart attack.’ He staggered over the words, each one an effort, his face such a terrible shade of grey that Mark had been certain he would die. He had only ever seen that colour on corpses, a putty grey, no longer living flesh but something that would quickly break down into the earth. Simon’s lips turned blue; he had wanted to press his fingers against them to see the pink colour return, shocked by the terror in his father’s eyes and needing him to be normal again. Simon couldn’t be afraid, it was unthinkable.
The lift stopped and its polite and lilting voice announced the fourth floor. Mark stepped out with his flowers and his bags of treats and followed the little group of his fellow visitors along the corridor that dog-legged past the diabetic clinic and through a set of double doors that swung both ways. He turned right, past the family room and the little kitchen. At the end of this corridor was Simon’s room, close to the nurses’ station; he hadn’t needed Ben to tell him that this was a bad sign.
The Jamaican nurse greeted him. ‘Look at you, all loaded! My goodness your father’s a lucky man.’
‘How is he?’
‘Oh he’s doing just fine. He’ll be pleased to see you.’ She walked in to the room ahead of him. ‘Look who’s here!’
Simon opened his eyes. ‘Mark.’
‘Here,’ the nurse said, ‘let me take those flowers. I’ll find a vase for them.’
When she’d gone Simon made an effort to sit up, refusing Mark’s arm. ‘Flowers, eh? I don’t remember anyone ever buying me flowers.’
Mark sat down on the armchair beside the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine. How are you – you look better than you did this morning, at least.’
‘I managed to get some sleep.’
‘More than I did. No one sleeps in a hospital – it’s not allowed.’ He looked at the carrier bags. ‘Goodies?’
Mark began to unpack the chocolate and fruit onto the bedside cabinet. He handed him a bottle of water. ‘Ben said you mustn’t become dehydrated.’
‘Did he?’ He sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose he’s right. Do I drink it out of the bottle like all you youngsters? You’re like babies sucking on dummies.’
Mark laid the newspapers on the foot of the bed. The Gazette’s lead story was about the child that had gone missing on the Rosehill Estate, its headline Please Bring Back My Leanne. There was a photograph of the child’s mother and Mark turned the paper over so that he wouldn’t see her distraught face. Aware of Simon watching him, he said, ‘I bought you The Times, too.’
‘Thanks. I don’t feel up to reading – take it back with you.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Mark, I don’t want you to stay. Thank you for the chocolate and everything but I can’t be bothered with small talk.’
‘No, I understand.’ He made to get up.
‘You can stay a moment. I’ll let you catch your breath.’
Mark sat down again. He looked across the bed to the window and its view over the Rosehill Estate to the Cleveland Hills. A huge, fat moth clung to the outside of the glass, battered by the wind. He found himself surprised that it had flown so high; he wondered if it was lost.
He said, ‘Dad, we don’t have to talk – I don’t mind sitting here quietly if you feel you just want company.’
‘I know you don’t mind. I know you’re a good boy.’ He opened his eyes to look at him. ‘I used to sit by your hospital bed for hours. I suppose you remember?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You don’t have to repay me in kind.’
The nurse came back. The flowers had been placed in a too big vase so that the florist’s careful arrangement was lost and the roses fell against its sides. Brightly the nurse said, ‘Here we are! I’ll put them where you can see them, Simon. Now – would you like a cup of tea?’
‘My son’s just leaving, my dear.’ To him he said, ‘Will you telephone Ben and remind him to bring Nathan with him this evening?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He bent to kiss his head but Simon waved him away.
‘Off you go. Don’t get caught up in the afternoon traffic.’
Mark drove to the Rosehill Estate. He stopped outside the playground and locked his car carefully before walking along the path to the swings and slides. There was a rocking horse beside the infants’ slide, its red and gold metal head defaced with graffiti. He touched the horse and set it rocking gently. Its long body would carry five children, each on an individual saddle; with their combined energy the horse could rear up like a bronco. They would have to hold on tightly, their arms around the waist of the child in front. And the lead child, the child at the horse’s head, would urge them to go faster, imaginary reins wrapped around his fists.
Annette sang, ‘I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear…’ She kissed his head and held him close. ‘But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear…’ He heard the smile in her voice. She liked this rhyme and always stressed it. Shifting his weight a little she whispered, ‘We’re in a garden in Spain and the sun is hot and gold and purple butterflies bask in the heat and we sit beneath the shade of a tree that bears precious fruit. Just you and me and Ben. And roses grow all around and their scent is so sweet and we can hear singing, the gentle voices of the nuns who care for us…’ She held his head between her hands, searching his face anxiously. ‘Won’t you speak?’ She tried to laugh. ‘Stick out your tongue so Mummy can see it’s not cut off.’
He shuddered and she held him close again. ‘Oh, I’
m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Shall we sing together? I danced over water, I danced over sea…’ Sadly she said, ‘But all the birds in the air…Mark, you mustn’t be so frightened…try not to be so scared and he won’t hurt you any more.’ She looked at him, smiling encouragingly as if willing him to understand. Her eyes were frightened and he didn’t know how to comfort her.
His palm was flat on the horse’s head between its goggling eyes. He pushed hard and the horse bucked on its rockers, creaking, old and rarely used – children had different pleasures nowadays. He turned away to where bunches of chrysanthemums and carnations were arranged on the spot where the missing child, Leanne, was last seen. There was a blue teddy bear with the child’s name embroidered across its chest and he thought how bedraggled the toy would become in the rain that was bound to fall. The little girl was dead, of course. On the news just now in the car the police had announced that her stepfather had been arrested and charged with her murder. How obvious it was that such a relationship had proved to be so deadly, no doubt the police had known all along that this man who had such a responsibility of care had decided not to care at all. Or care too much; it was easy to imagine the man’s obsessive love, his desperation.
Mark crouched down and read the cards attached to the bouquets. They told of an angel child, a precious little girl now safe in heaven. He touched the tightly closed bud of a pink rose, soft as a child’s mouth.
Danny said, ‘Your Mammy doesn’t love you any more because of the things you make me do. Do you understand?’ He had nodded and Danny pressed his hand against his cheek. ‘You understand, don’t you? You’re mine…’ He groaned softly, a noise that sounded like pain so that he’d held his breath, knowing it meant there would be pain for him, too. ‘Oh Christ,’ Danny groaned. ‘Oh sweet Jesus Christ.’
‘Mark?’
He turned, shocked at being suddenly dragged into the present, and Steven stepped towards him. He held a little girl’s hand, a pretty, dark-skinned girl, her hair neatly braided.
Mark straightened from his crouch, staggering a little like a drunk because his knees had become stiff. Putting out a hand to steady him Steven said, ‘I thought it was you.’ He smiled shyly. ‘I wasn’t spying, honestly. Jade and me come here most afternoons.’ Looking down at his daughter, he said, ‘Jade, this is Mark. Why don’t you say hello?’
She held on to her father’s leg and hid her face. Steven laughed. ‘She’s a bit shy.’
‘It’s all right. Don’t make her speak if she doesn’t want to.’
‘I wouldn’t make her do anything.’ He ruffled her hair then suddenly lifted her into his arms. ‘We come here because she likes the rocking horse,’ he said. ‘Don’t you, Jade?’
The girl nodded and turned her gaze on Mark, curious now.
Gently Mark said, ‘Hello, Jade.’
She turned away again. Steven said, ‘You heard about Leanne?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nicola’s mam knows the family. It’s terrible, awful.’ He added, ‘Nicola’s my ex – Jade’s mother.’
Mark turned to the flowers. ‘I was reading the cards.’
‘Yeah…people like to show they care…’ Steven crouched down just as he had, standing Jade beside him and steadying her with a hand on her back. He looked up at him. ‘Listen, Mark, Jade said she’s thirsty. There’s a café over the way – if you want to come and have a cup of tea.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Just a thought.’
‘All right.’
‘Great!’ He got up from his crouch gracefully and swept his daughter into his arms again as though she weighed nothing at all. ‘It’s this way. She loves the ice cream there, it’s that soft, whippy stuff…’
‘Mr Whippy,’ Mark said. ‘That’s what we used to call it.’
I smiled at him. He was sitting opposite me and Jade, watching her as she played with the ice-cream because she wasn’t really hungry, guessing I’d used her as an excuse to be with this strange man. She kept looking at him when she thought we weren’t taking notice. From time to time Mark would catch her out and smile, embarrassing her.
Mark sipped his black tea. He put the cup down in its saucer gently and said, ‘There’s always been a café here. When I was a child I remember they served the ice cream through a hatch in the wall.’
‘Really?’ I looked at him like he’d said something really fascinating and he laughed a little, making my heart ache with longing.
He said, ‘Ben and I used to play in the park here.’
‘Quite a walk from Oxhill.’
‘No, we came before then, when we lived on
Tanner Street
.’ ‘With Danny,’ I said, and watched for his reaction.
He pretended not to hear. He said, ‘Would you like another glass of milk, Jade?’
She shook her head, always mute with strangers. ‘I think she’s had enough,’ I said.
The café was shabby, all dark oak chairs and tables with vases of tatty plastic flowers trying to break the gloom. The menus were wipe-clean and hadn’t changed for years – lots of toasted stuff. The place smelt of toast and cigarette smoke – there was an ashtray on every table so it was like walking into the past, before the government decided we should all stop smoking.
Mark took out a packet of cigarettes, and then he looked at Jade and put them in his pocket again.
‘Her mam smokes in front of her,’ I said.
‘But that doesn’t make it right that I should.’ To Jade he said, ‘Was that ice cream delicious?’
She grinned at him and I felt relieved she didn’t feel so wary any more. I’d been beginning to think that I shouldn’t have introduced her to him, that it would all get confusing. But he was her uncle. It seemed weird; it was hard not to ask him what he thought of her, if he could see any resemblance.
‘How’s your Dad?’ I asked.
‘He’s better, I think. Thank you.’
‘He’s really old, isn’t he?’
‘Over eighty. I’m never quite certain of his exact age – he keeps it to himself; he’s quite vain, in certain ways.’
‘Yeah? What ways?’
‘He’s vain about his appearance. He’s a very handsome man.’ Mark looked at me frankly, as if he knew all about the kind of man I thought handsome. ‘Mum used to say he had a look of Charlton Heston. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of him?’
‘Of course I have – Ben Hur. Very sexy.’
Mark laughed and glanced away. ‘Well, Mum thought he was, I think. Wooden leg or no.’ He turned back to me. ‘He lost his left leg during the war, during the Normandy Landings.’
‘A hero, then.’
He ignored me again, his eyes on Jade. She’d pushed the bowl of melted ice cream away and was scribbling in the little notebook I’d given her to keep her quiet as we’d waited to be served. He said in that lovely voice of his, ‘What’s that you’re drawing, Jade?’
It’s easy to tell when people aren’t easy round young kids – they ask them questions, as though that might kick-start a conversation like they were at a dinner party. Jade only stared at him and after a bit she returned to the orange and green mess she was working on. He went on watching her with that single-minded intensity he had. Desperate to regain his attention I said, ‘Ben told me you were in the Marines.’
He frowned. ‘Did you and Ben talk about me a lot?’
‘No – not really – just the usual stuff people tell each other –’
Coldly he said, ‘Usual stuff? That doesn’t sound like Ben. He likes to get beyond the usual.’
‘He only told me that you were in the Royal Marines, that you were wounded during the Falklands War.’ I hesitated, but then rushed the words out anyway. ‘Danny was in the Marines.’
He gazed at me. After a while he said, ‘I was an officer, a very junior second lieutenant. I just about knew where the Falkland Islands were – very far away.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I loved that I was going to war. Terrible eh? I can hardly believe what a vicious
little sod I was.’
‘You were never vicious.’
He raised his eyebrows and looked like Ben for a split second.
‘So, were you wounded?’
After a bit he said, ‘Yes, I was wounded.’
Trying to keep my voice light, to not sound too nosy, I said, ‘How long were you in the marines?’
‘Am I being interviewed?’
I laughed – it seemed best to make a joke of it. ‘Yes. So, Mr Walker – you were in the Royal Marines…?’
‘Yes, I was. Not for very long – although I still managed to squeeze a war in. Not a very big war, not like Dad’s, but all the same…’ He sipped his tea. Setting his cup down he glanced at me. ‘I wouldn’t have left, I wanted to stay on but I wasn’t fit enough. I had to leave.’
‘And then what did you do?’
‘Oh you know – drifted. Unemployed…unemployable.’ He smiled at me. ‘I was on the streets for a while – begging.’
‘Really?’ I was amazed.
‘Terrible, eh? The way this country treats its veterans…shocking!’ He laughed. ‘Why are you so astonished? I was at a loss. I felt my life – my reason for a life – had been snatched away from me. I was an officer in the Royal Marines. I didn’t want to be anything else. Besides – I didn’t think I was capable of anything else.’
‘How did you get off the streets?’
‘My mother, Joy, came and found me.’ He picked up a sachet of sugar and turned it over and over, his eyes fixed on it. At last he said, ‘She found me – I don’t know how – perseverance, I suppose. She said I’d left a trail – made me feel like a slug – although of course she didn’t mean to, just a figure of speech. Anyway…she took me home. Got me on my feet.’ He looked up and smiled at me too brightly. ‘Got me fit enough to go to university, but that was a waste of time – didn’t fit in. All the other students were so anti-everything I’d been for…’ He looked down at the sachet again. ‘Anti-war – I used to wonder what they thought they knew about it. So I left at the end of my first term. I started to write, and that was a waste of time, too, at first. But you know – you keep trying, keep pushing at doors…’
Say You Love Me Page 19
