The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2)

by Field, Stacey

  “Not really.”

  “How come.”

  I struggled to give a reason. “We’re divorced, I guess we don’t need to be around each other anymore.”

  “She seemed very hostile, why was that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess she didn’t like the fact that Ben had witnessed me threatening someone.”

  “Ben is your son?”

  I nodded. It still felt strange to admit it.

  “He looked young, how old is he?

  I tried to remember the year the diary was written; my memory told me it was 2012. “Three.”

  “Very sweet.” Lucy smiled. “He looks like you.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  I felt uncomfortable lying to Lucy, creating a world that wasn’t mine, pretending to know people I didn’t, but I was here to save her life, not to pick up where we’d left off. It seemed I had a problem remembering that Adam would eventually come and reclaim his life.

  “Why did you split up?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said honestly.

  “Do you think you’ll get back together?”

  I shrugged, not really knowing how to answer. I decided to redirect the conversation.

  “How about you and the doc? How did you meet?”

  “I had an accident, fell and hit my head pretty hard. They put me in an induced coma. Jamie was my doctor. He came to my rescue and I guess I came to his.”

  “And he ended up being the love of your life?” I asked the question in a teasing manner but this was just a veil, a way of covering up what I really wanted to know.

  She laughed nervously. “He’s... very special to me.”

  She’d dodged the question and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Lucy had always been a private person and I realised her reluctance to open up about her feelings for Jamie could be down to her lack of trust in me.

  As we walked side by side, down the winding country lane towards the village that was my childhood home, I felt a sense of normality, a sense of the familiar. My best friend chanted songs from our childhood while Lucy and I exchanged looks of amusement. This was what I had been missing: the camaraderie, the friendship, the comfort.

  A sound filled the air and I realised it was a mobile ringtone playing Tom Jones’s ‘Sex Bomb’. We watched Russ with interest as he fumbled with every single pocket of his jeans; eventually he found the phone in his right back pocket.

  “Ah, so that’s the music he’s into,” I whispered to Lucy, who gave a low laugh.

  “AWRIIIGHT?” Russ shouted down the phone before pausing to listen to whoever was calling. “I may ’ave ‘ad a few, me little pumpkin pie… Nah, am I ’eck! Lucy’s ’ere and so’s Adam, I’m not on me lonesome… Now look, Lucy is ma fr… ma frrr… friend.” Russ swayed back and forth as he spoke. “No trouble ’ere, jus’ ask Luce.”

  Placing the mobile in his other hand Russ changed ears, eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the caller’s voice.

  “Oh, well, you can jus’ sod off then!” he spat as he hung up the phone and placed it back in his pocket before continuing on his way up the hill.

  “Girlfriend?” I guessed, glancing sideways at Lucy

  “Yep.”

  “You weren’t kidding.”

  “Nope,” Lucy sighed sadly.

  The house came into view as we reached the top of the hill. It was now late evening and the sun was low in the sky, casting streaks of orange and pink over the fluffy clouds. Russ reached the house first and fell to his knees outside the front door. Lucy ran to him and I was reminded of the kindness she always seemed to show others. I helped to prop him up as Lucy lightly tapped Russ’s face with her palm while saying his name repeatedly.

  “He’s completely out of it,” I concluded, “let’s get him inside and lay him down.”

  After struggling to get him upright, we somehow managed to drag him into the lounge. The smell of alcohol was strong as Russ mumbled senseless sentences that were difficult to decipher. After a few attempts at heaving his torso on to the sofa we managed to get him into a sitting position, Lucy lifted his legs and laid them down so that he was flat. His head lolled to one side and I propped it up with a few plump pillows while Lucy went in search of a bucket. The condition that Russ was in worried me; excessive drinking was usually a sign of stress with him.

  After Lucy came back with a bucket and placed it next to him on the floor, we got settled in the kitchen. The door was left open so we could hear any noise coming from the lounge. Lucy poured me a glass of lemonade and I settled into a chair at the large dining table. At first we sat in silence and listened to the flock of starlings as they flew over the house, a pre-roost ritual they had been performing for years.

  “Were the locks any trouble?” I asked, referring to the replacements installed earlier that day.

  “No, not really. All done pretty quickly and my peace of mind has been restored.”

  “So you won’t need me to stand guard in the treehouse then?” I smirked.

  “No.” She paused and reflected. “Not unless I’m craving one of your delicious breakfasts.”

  I grinned and looked at the floor in embarrassment.

  “Did you manage to go through your husband’s study?”

  “Not with the locks being changed and then meeting you, I ran out of time.”

  I nodded. “Do you mind if we take a quick look now? I want to make sure you’re not in any danger.”

  “Sure, I’ll just get the key.”

  “It’s locked?”

  “Yes. Sometimes Jamie would bring patients’ files home with him. It’s not really allowed.” Lucy paused and added thoughtfully, “In fact, I think they frown on it. I imagine he could get into trouble.”

  “Why would he need to study patients’ files?”

  “I don’t know… he always seemed worried he would make a mistake. He thought by studying their medical history he would get things right.”

  I shrugged. It made sense that someone with such an important and high-risk job would be worried about an oversight, no matter how small.

  When Lucy returned with the key we entered the large study that had been the room she’d stayed in when she’d first lived with me, before we were officially an item. I took in the oak wardrobe that housed the old, tatty blanket we used to hide under as kids. Lucy’s collection of teddy bears could be seen on the shelving unit that stood next to the computer; they sat upright and proud, glassy eyes staring out from their vacant faces. Some were dressed in clothes – dungarees, pyjamas, cute flowery dresses – but they were all bears. Lucy was very rigorous about her collection: only bears could be displayed. Sitting on the edge of the shelf in front of the others was a small bear wearing a sash that read Mother Shipton’s Cave, Knaresborough and I instantly recognised it as the one I had recovered for her from Russ as a young boy after he had buried it.

  Lucy was on her knees in front of a filing cabinet, with papers and documentation spread all around her. She had a look of intense concentration on her face, her perfectly straight eyebrows drawn together and her forehead furrowed. Her long hair was swept over one shoulder and I noticed a strand rested lightly against her delicate collarbone, just waiting to be swept back into place. Her still form gave her an almost childlike appearance, an innocent quality. She was in her own world and far too deep in her thoughts to notice that I was staring.

  Taking her lead, I kneeled down in front of a chest of drawers and started to rifle through a life that wasn’t my own. It was starting to become a hobby of mine.

  As I worked I began to feel uncomfortable. I was looking through bills and receipts that belonged to a stranger. I came across electricity bills, gas bills, car repair receipts and dinner expenses. I found photos of Jamie as a young boy standing proudly next to his parents and an older boy with similar eyes to his. His brother, perhaps? They were posing awkwardly outside a large house and were all wearing stiff smiles. His parents stood poker- straight and I
noticed there was no contact between any of them, no reassuring adult hand on a child's shoulder, no subtle, comforting lean of a child against an adult’s hip, there was absolutely no emotional attachment between any of them. Their connection appeared almost clinical and to someone from a warm and loving home, such as myself, the picture appeared pitifully sad.

  In my search I uncovered a folder that contained mortgage details for an address that didn’t match the house we were currently in. The house was in the nearby town of Skipton and the mortgage was in Jamie’s name.

  I called Lucy over to where I was and she kneeled beside me as I showed her the document. She appeared confused and leaned closer to me as she read it again.

  “What is this?” she mumbled.

  “Apparently Jamie had another property.”

  “He has properties all over North Yorkshire, he rents them out, mainly student accommodation.” She continued to look confused.

  “You weren’t aware of this one, though?”

  “No, Jamie never mentioned this one.” She stared down at the document blankly.

  “Does he often keep secrets?”

  “He could be extremely uncommunicative at times,” she said without looking at me.

  “Any reason for that?”

  “Possibly his upbringing. You met his parents, I’m sure you noticed the stiffness of their upper lips.”

  “Not to mention the rather large pole inserted up their backsides,” I added.

  Lucy smiled and I felt some of the camaraderie I had experienced earlier but also the sense of uneasiness I’d felt previously when Lucy discussed Jamie and his family. The two of them seemed incompatible, with no similarities in background and no common interests.

  “Let’s put this to one side and keep looking,” she suggested.

  As time passed my uneasiness increased. I had so far uncovered degree certificates, old photo albums, including Lucy and Jamie’s wedding album, dissertations, research, patient information and medical documents. The room was scattered with folders and scraps of paper. When I looked at my watch it was almost eleven p.m. Lucy had been yawning for the past half an hour. It was time to call it a night.

  “Lucy,” I called repeatedly before she lifted her head in my direction. “It’s getting late and sleep is sort of a requirement of mine so…”

  She looked at her watch and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw the time.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so long, I get carried away.”

  “It’s OK, we’ll pick it up another time.”

  We stretched our legs as we stood up. My calf muscles tingled slightly due to decreased blood flow from sitting on the floor for so long. I followed Lucy downstairs and watched as she peered into the lounge to make sure Russ was still there.

  “Asleep,” she whispered.

  She opened the front door as silently as she could and held it open for me.

  “I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out.

  I had reached the end of the long driveway when I heard her call Adam’s name. I turned around to see her sprinting towards me, her long summer dress billowing behind her. She stopped abruptly in front of me and almost smacked her torso against my chest. She looked down in embarrassment and I stifled a laugh.

  “I just wanted to thank you for your help today,” she said earnestly. “I don’t know whether I deserve your kindness – God knows I can be difficult at times.” She looked me in the eye. “I just hope that your help isn’t out of pity for me.” I fought the urge to comfort her. “I was actually hoping that you... maybe... might have...” She laughed awkwardly. “That you saw me as more than just a girl who needs saving.”

  I paused in my reply. My feelings for her encompassed so many emotions but I couldn’t reveal my true identity.

  “I have a lot of respect for you and I care for your saf—”

  Before I could finish Lucy had leaned closer and pressed her lips to mine. Her behaviour reminded me of the kiss I had witnessed between her and Russ, the way she’d lunged at him eagerly. Her actions seemed aggressive and desperate, there was no romantic feeling in them.

  With all the willpower I could muster I placed my hands on her shoulders and prised us apart. She looked at me in shock as I held her at arm’s length.

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  “Nothing, none of this is your fault. It’s all mine.”

  I saw the sparkle of tears as they appeared in her eyes.

  “You don’t feel anything for me?”

  “I do, it’s just…”

  She waited as I tried to come up with a convincing lie.

  “It’s just what?”

  I decided to get something off my chest, something that had been bothering me since I’d witnessed it.

  “I saw you kissing Russ on the CCTV footage.”

  Lucy turned away abruptly and ran back into the house. The sound of the door as it slammed shut behind her echoed in my head.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning began with a spot of light reading. I set Adam’s diary next to me as I ate a bowl of muesli and skimmed over the next entry. I noticed that his handwriting had changed slightly, it was less erratic and more precise.

  30 September 2012

  Today I can say with pride that I have completed my first AA meeting. I sat in a small village hall for an hour as I listened to the tales of others around me, who were bound by the same addiction as myself. From all backgrounds, these men and women poured their hearts out to complete strangers.

  The group was a mix of professional, educated types, such as myself, and individuals who had experienced atrocities in their lives and over time resorted to easing the pain with alcohol. Then there were the criminals, the ones not long out of prison, driven by their overwhelming need to feed the demon living inside every alcoholic. These were the ones with nothing left, the ones who had been abandoned by their families and harshly judged by society.

  I cried with them as I heard their stories, I reacted in shock when a man in his seventies told me he had been homeless for five years, that his children wouldn’t speak to him, that for the last six months a kind vicar had let him sleep in the village church. He told me he was fearful of the winter, that he ached for the warmth and comfort of a home, and that his health was failing. In the space of an hour I finally realised how privileged my life was.

  As I watched the people around me get to their feet one by one, I realised that it would soon be my turn to speak. I stood up confidently and with every intention of talking through my problems with the friendly, non-judgemental crowd who stared back at me with genuine interest. But when I opened my mouth I stumbled and stuttered, unable to transform my thoughts into speech. The words didn’t flow as I’d imagined they would and I stood within the circle of my confidants in silence. As my mind raced and threw random words around I realised the reason for my apprehension: all of these people had faced many struggles and setbacks in life that had caused their issues with alcohol. My life was easy, fortunate, a carnival ride compared to the rollercoaster some of these people had endured. As I willed my mouth to form words I felt the pressure of guilt, realising there was no reason for me to have turned to alcohol. Unlike the others, I hadn’t been treated badly or ever felt the burden of financial problems. Therefore I had absolutely nothing to say.

  As the meeting came to a close and the serenity prayer was chanted, the crowd dispersed and I felt relief that the whole thing was over for another day.

  I drove home eager to spend time with the people I feared losing. I remembered the sad eyes of the old man whose life was now in pieces and realised how easily my life could alter. I turned the key to my own front door eagerly, expecting my wife to be waiting for me, with a smile and a warm embrace.

  She appeared in the hallway, and instead of a look of pride, she wore a look of disgust. She came towards me looking distracted and roughly handed me my crying son while avoiding eye contact. />
  “What’ve I done?” I asked her. “I’ve only just got in, Em,” I said as I followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  “I’ve had a really bad day. Ben has been so trying today and I can’t get him to eat anything. All he’s done is cry. To be quite honest, I’m sick of the sound.”

  “Have you checked his temperature? Maybe he’s ill?”

  “He’s not ill, Adam,” she snapped, “he’s being difficult because he misses you.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t manage to see you before the meeting started. I had to stay behind at school – a parent came in to see me.” I was careful to steady my tone as I didn’t want to worsen her mood.

  “Well, you’re here now and I’m on my way out so I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To a film with Sarah, I need to get out.”

  “When will you be back?” I said, looking at my watch. It was already eight o’ clock.

  “I really don’t know, Adam,” she replied harshly, “it depends if we stay out for a few drinks.”

  I watched as she threw various bits and pieces into a black leather handbag I didn’t recognise.

  “OK, well, enjoy yourself,” I said before moving in to kiss her cheek.

  We heard a car horn sound outside and without so much as a goodbye, she flew out of the door, slamming it closed behind her. I looked at the red tinge to my son’s face and wiped away his tears. As soon as his mother was gone his crying ceased.

  “Let’s see if I can get you to eat.”

  I mashed together some sweet potato, parsnip and carrot until it was a puree and offered it to Ben. After rejecting a few spoonfuls he obliged me but I noticed that his nose was running and his skin felt hot and clammy. I gave him some Calpol and let him sleep it off.

  Later that night I waited up for Emma, enduring trashy TV programmes to pass the time until I heard her key in the lock. When it got to midnight I gave in to my weary muscles and dragged myself to bed. I was woken up by Emma slamming the front door. The clock on the bedside table read 2:30.

  As she climbed into bed I pretended to be asleep. I told myself I would avoid any arguments at all cost from now on, if not for our marriage then for the sake of our son.