There was no choice but to follow her, and as soon as Hope did she realised with relief that Suze was effectively cornered; the fence that separated the garden from the woodland was tall and topped off with a robust stretch of barbed wire. Added to which, the little area she was in now was hemmed in by two substantial and aggressive-looking shrubs. Suze saw this too and looked petulant and cross.
‘Leave me alone!’ she called out. ‘I haven’t finished.’
Hope could see that a firmer approach was required.
‘Yes you have,’ she shouted back, in equally firm tones. ‘So just put that fork down right now, or I’m coming in there to get it off you.’
Suze glared out from beneath her frondy fringe.
‘Go away!’
‘I will not! Now put down that fork!’
To Hope’s utter surprise, she did so. But just as she was taking a step closer to her, Suze wheeled around and started off again, tracking along the line of the fence, her nightie catching on the branches as she went.
There was nothing else for it. If Hope wanted her she’d have to go right on in and get her. She pushed up her sleeves and strode in.
But Suze was determined otherwise. She seemed oblivious to the thorns and was inching further away from Hope with every step.
‘Go away!’
‘Come back here!’
‘Go away! Go AWAY!’
Hope pulled in frustration at a thorn caught in her jacket. Suze must be covered in scratches though she obviously wasn’t feeling them. Hope could hear the snap and thwack of the branches, as the thorns alternately gripped and then relinquished the fabric of the nightdress. She stopped a moment, a pungent onion smell sour in her nostrils. It was pointless trying to follow. Suze was going nowhere. She should go back to the house and call someone for help. But even as she decided this, Suze began whimpering, and Hope could see she was now stuck and in pain. She was pulling ineffectually at a fretwork of branches that criss-crossed her torso and had pinioned her there.
Releasing her was easier than she expected. The silence now punctuated by Suze’s increasingly hysterical cries, Hope cast around and found a fallen tree branch, and, thus armed, was able to make much more efficient progress through the undergrowth. Once close enough, she managed to free the tangle of branches, while keeping a firm grip on Suze’s left arm, in case she tried to escape. But she didn’t. All the fight seemed to suddenly go out of her, and Hope was able to pull her out of the woodland with a great deal less effort than she’d expended getting in.
They emerged onto the lawn to find Hope’s mother jogging across it towards them.
‘Gracious me!’ she called out, almost gaily. Hope blinked at her. Almost jolly, in fact. ‘What a palaver!’ she declared as she reached them ‘What a to do! Come on. Come on, chicken. Let’s get you inside.’
Suze, who had by now become floppy and inert, allowed herself to be supported by Hope’s mum’s arm as well, and between them they half dragged, half carried her back into the house.
‘I dropped off the children,’ Hope’s mum told her, almost conversationally, as they walked. ‘And I got hold of Paul. He’s only in Bristol, so he won’t be long. Paul’s on his way, chicken,’ she added, to Suze.
‘Oh dear,’ Suze cried suddenly. ‘Oh dear. Oh dear.’
‘Shhh, sweetheart. Shhh. And I’ve called an ambulance.’ By now they were shovelling Suze through the back door. Her sobs were growing more voluble with every step.
‘Oh dear,’ she cried again.
‘Now don’t fuss,’ said Hope’s mother, sternly, as if talking to a whining child. ‘Come on and let’s get you sorted.’
Between them, they manoeuvred Suze through the kitchen and into the living room and Hope helped her mother lay her down on the sofa.
‘Oh dear,’ she kept saying. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
Hope’s mother pulled Suze’s nightie up and inspected the cut on her leg. She tutted.
‘We’ll have to get some Savlon spray on this. Dear me. And on all these grazes. Oh, and that’s a thought. Hope, go upstairs and grab her a few things, will you, lovely? Clean nightie. A wash bag. Some undies and that.’
‘But what about the children, mum? Where are they?’
Hope’s mother nodded. ‘Oh dear. Of course. I should have told you. Dear me, I’m getting old. I should have remembered. They’re at their other Gran’s, of course. They’ve gone to stay for a few days.’
Suze’s mother lived in England, on the coast somewhere in the south east. And Suze’s children, of course, were at private school. So they’d already broken up for Easter.
Hope ran upstairs and gathered all the things she thought were needed, her mind in overdrive and teeming with questions. About her mother, for one thing. Unlike Hope, who was still reeling, she seemed to be busily taking charge of a situation that was no surprise to her at all.
Suze was flat out on the sofa under a blanket when Hope came back downstairs, and her mother was bustling about tidying the place up.
‘Mum, do you know something?’ Hope asked her pointedly. ‘About this?’
Her mother paused, half-plumped chenille cushion in hand.
‘Yes,’ she answered, sighing. ‘Yes, dear. I’m afraid I do.’
Simple psychosis. That was what the doctor said. Hope didn’t know what a complicated psychosis was, so was none the wiser until Paul, who had by this time travelled back and joined them at the hospital, explained.
‘It’s the sleeping pills that caused the psychotic episode,’ he said. ‘She takes the pills and then they react with the alcohol. And then – well, you saw. I’m sorry, sis. Must have been a bit of a morning for you.’ He was drinking coffee from the vending machine. Hope felt more like a proper drink. Could it really still be only eleven-thirty? ‘God, I shouldn’t have gone. I should have seen it coming. It’s been building up for a while.’ He glanced at his mother and she patted his wrist. ‘I certainly shouldn’t have left her on her own. But it was only the one night. I thought it would be OK.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, dear,’ Hope’s mother reassured him. ‘She’ll sleep it off and that’ll be that. I doubt she’ll remember a thing about it.’
Paul looked tired. And tangibly different. Or perhaps it was just that Hope was seeing him differently. He drained his cup.
‘We’ll have to do something about those wretched bloody moles, though. Perhaps I’d better see if the guy can come over later. Don’t want to start her off again.’
Hope’s mother nodded. ‘Good idea.’
Hope felt she was watching a movie, and that she’d come in too late and didn’t know the plot. She drained her own cup and crumpled it in her hand.
‘This has happened before, then?’ she asked them both.
Her mother and brother exchanged glances. Paul nodded. ‘Not this exactly. But yes, this. That’s the trouble with all these bloody drugs she’s on.’
Hope threw her cup at the bin. ‘I had no idea, Paul.’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘No. Well, you wouldn’t. It’s not… well, you know. It’s not something we tend to talk about.’
‘But what drugs?’ She spread her hands. ‘Why?’
‘Ah,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If only we had the answer to that one. It’s just, oh, I don’t know. She’s just anxious. There’s always been… well, she’s always had a tendency to anxiety. Panic attacks. She’s not depressed. It’s not like that. She just has trouble dealing with stuff. She’s OK. I mean it’s not like it’s anything progressive. But she’s been popping pills for years.’ He smiled wanly. ‘One of the merry band, eh? But you know, from time to time something just, I don’t know, tips her over the edge. And then she can’t sleep, and then she’s on the sleeping pills, and then she gets it into her head that she wants a drink… and then… well, you saw.’ He looked miserably back towards the ward.
‘And you’re telling me all this has all come about just because you’ve got moles in the garden?’
‘Oh, it’s not really about that. That was probably just the trigger.’ He smiled a mirthless smile. ‘Mountains out of mole hills, eh?’
Hope nodded ruefully. ‘I already thought that.’
And had done nothing. Nothing.
‘You got it,’ said Paul. The smile left his lips and he pushed his hand through his hair. ‘God knows what it’s really about this time. It’s never clear cut. Mid-life crisis. Her dad dying last year. The kids getting older. It could be any number of things. Shit. I shouldn’t have gone on that trip.’ He crumpled his own plastic cup in his hand now, his expression so full of guilt and woe that Hope wanted to take him in her arms and cuddle him. So much she didn’t know. So much she’d never even suspected.
‘So is drink the main problem, then?’
Paul shook his head. ‘God, no. Not at all. She hardly touches the stuff. Because she knows she shouldn’t. Not with the drugs she takes. But every now and then… ’
‘Tell you what,’ said Hope’s mother. ‘I’ll come and stay for a few days. How about that? I doubt they’ll keep her in more than a day or two, and you need to go to work. You’re the one who keeps it all together, you know, darling. Come on. It’s not your fault. Don’t feel bad.’
Paul smiled wanly. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’d really appreciate that.’
‘That’s what mums are for,’ she said, almost jauntily. ‘That’s what we’re best at.’ She turned to Hope. ‘And what about you, sweetheart? You’ve got work to get to haven’t you? Will you able to drop me back for my car on the way?’
She stood up. Yes. She did have work to get to. The BBC, at least, for another Heartbeat interview. It was too late to go into work first, so she’d have to call them from Paul’s. ‘No problem. We’d better get going, I guess.’
Paul stood up too.
‘Thanks, sis,’ he said, putting his arms around her and hugging her. ‘You’re a trooper. What would I do without you?’ He held her out at arms’ length.
‘I just wish I’d known, Paul. I wish… ’ What did she wish? That she could unthink all the uncharitable thoughts she’d always had about Suze? What good would that do? What help would it be? But she wished it even so. ‘I mean I know it’s none of my business, but –’
Paul shushed her with his hand.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s not like that. Please don’t think that. It’s just not your problem, sis. There’s a difference.’ He looked carefully at her. ‘And I think you’ve had quite enough problems of your own to deal with.’ He smiled. ‘OK? You get me?’ He hugged her again, and she felt her eyes fill with tears for him. Yes, she said, kissing him. She did.
Was that what it was about? The unbearable lightness of being? Hope still wasn’t sure. Only knew that she felt suddenly unanchored. As if the landscape of her life had shifted and deformed. Knew that she’d been cast loose, and was flailing to get purchase again.
The events of the morning felt like a dream by the time she arrived at the BBC. Something other and unreal that had happened in a parallel universe.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly. Automatically. ‘You got my message OK, did you?’ She tugged her arms from the sleeves of her jacket as the producer lady – who she remembered was called Hilary – held the door to the stairway open for her. She felt as though she’d been dragged through a hedge. But then she had been through a hedge. Been the one doing the dragging. She shook out her jacket. She was cold. She was wet. Her nerves were still jangling.
‘Yes, yes,’ Hilary reassured her, taking it from her. ‘No problem at all. We just re-jigged the schedule a bit. Swapped you with the chicken carcass story. You’ve got time for a cup of tea, even. Everything OK at home now?’
Hope nodded and they made their way up to the first floor. She’d dropped her mother back at Paul and Suze’s – he was staying on at the hospital for a while – and telephoned work to say she wouldn’t be coming in, and then the BBC to let them know she’d be late. They’d told her the schedule was reasonably fluid and just to get there whenever she could. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said, managing a nonchalant smile. ‘Just a minor domestic panic. All sorted.’
She was still breathless when Hilary ushered her into the little cubicle. It had been a very long run up from the car park. There’d been no sign of Jack anywhere, but she’d half expected this. His own show had finished now, so he’d either be in an office somewhere preparing the next one, or off home to write one of his columns, perhaps. Or whatever else he did in the afternoons. What did he do in the afternoons? She swallowed her disappointment. Now she was here, even though she hadn’t really admitted it to herself, she realised how much she wanted to see him. To talk to him. She realised how much she longed to put things right. Especially today. Paul’s words had stayed with her. She did have enough problems of her own. Most of them, just lately, she knew, of her own making. Like making an ass of herself over someone. Like making judgements. Like leaping to conclusions. Like not giving people – giving Jack – a chance. But he’d be probably long gone by now, even though Patti was still in evidence. She’d passed them on the stairwell and called a breezy hello.
* * *
The interview itself, which was really just an update on the fun run for one of the afternoon programmes, took mere minutes, and it occurred to Hope that it would have been altogether easier if they’d just done it over the phone. Except that that thought would never have occurred to her, not when there was a chance she’d get to see Jack. God, she’d got it bad.
‘Right,’ said Hilary brightly as she ushered Hope back into the cubicle afterwards. ‘Better let you out of the madhouse, then.’
Hope managed a smile at this. If only she knew. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. Someone had evidently put it on a radiator, for it was now dry and warm.
‘Right,’ she said back. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘No problem at all,’ said Hilary. ‘Always happy to oblige for a good cause. I think we’ve even got a bit of a team coming ourselves, as it happens. Did Jack tell you?’
The mention of his name caused Hope’s stomach to turn over. The reflex was automatic now. She was powerless to control it. She shook her head.
‘Actually,’ she said, because there was always some chance he’d still be there. ‘He’s not about, is he? I’ve got a couple of things I wanted to check with him.’
Hilary glanced at the clock on the cubicle wall.
‘He might be. D’you want me to see?’
Hope said she did, and Hilary rang through to an office somewhere, and then the canteen, but without success.
They set off down the corridor, Hilary still chatting. He quite often stayed and had lunch there, apparently. But evidently not today.
‘Oh, but there’s a thought –’ she said suddenly.
She stopped in the corridor and pushed an adjacent door open, putting her head around it as she did so. Hope couldn’t see anyone, but there was obviously someone in there, behind the door.
‘Ah, Danny,’ said Hilary. ‘Just the person. You don’t know if Jack’s still around anywhere, do you?’
Hope could hear a male voice answer. The name Danny rang a bell.
‘Jack? No. He’s long gone,’ it said.
‘Is he?’ said Hilary. ‘Where to?’
‘Hey, of course,’ said the voice now. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’ said Hilary, leaning further round the doorway. Hope rather got the impression he must be beckoning her. His voice dropped a little.
‘Allegra,’ he said quietly. ‘Came to pick him up. Word has it she was taking him out for lunch.’
Hilary’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Was she, now, indeed?’ She stuck a thumb in the air. ‘That’s excellent news!’
Hope remained in the corridor, smiling politely at the carpet.
‘Anyway,’ said Hilary, who was beaming now. ‘No matter. But if you do see him later, could you let him know Hope Shepherd from Heartbeat wanted to have a wo
rd?’
‘Hope Shepherd?’ said the man’s voice, suddenly changed in its timbre. Hope’s ears pricked up. There was a silence. Then a laugh. ‘Oh, did she?’ he said then. ‘Well, well!’ She could see Hilary’s expression doing sudden gymnastics, but they were obviously lost on him. Or, if not, way too late. ‘Well,’ he was busy saying, and she could tell he was smirking. ‘You’d better go and tell Ms Hope Shepherd from Heartbeat that she’ll just have to join the queue.’
Hilary, embarrassed, bundled her off down the corridor then, and though Hope’s mind was teeming with questions she would have killed for answers to, she meekly accepted Hilary’s goodbyes and good lucks, and her promise that she’d leave Jack a note to call Heartbeat. Almost before she knew it, she was back in the car park. And now, all things considered (and she couldn’t help but consider them), pretty comprehensively sad.
Chapter 23
The estate agent Jack had arranged to meet had a slim, boyish figure and a twinkle in her eye. Jack wasn’t altogether sure what he was doing here, but here he was anyway, just like he’d said.
In truth, he felt no pressing need to be looking at property right now. There was his big new TV career, of course – a penthouse in the bay would sit very well with that, even if it felt so not him – but the impulse was more because he knew he had to make some sort of effort for his father. And now. His father had been so agitated about it when they’d last spoken, and he wanted to have something to show him.
Jack wasn’t about to inherit any great fortune, but his dad had insisted he put his own house on the market, and was anxious to know Jack was moving things forward.
Barefoot in the Dark Page 22
