‘No,’ he said. ‘Not at all. I couldn’t be more happy to see you.’ He wanted to pick her up and hug her, just to check she was real. But instead he cast his eyes over her and then pointed to her feet. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You’re even wearing your trainers, Cinderella.’
She nodded. ‘So I am.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘I wish you’d told me, Jack. This is where you were on Sunday, wasn’t it?’
Jack nodded.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known, I could have – well, I wouldn’t have –’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve been trying to make a conscious effort not to offload my problems on other people.’ He smiled wryly at her. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Yes,’ she said. He could see that she meant it. ‘Yes. You’re right. I do know how it is. Jack, is it – has he –’
Jack patted the bench and sat down on it again himself.
‘He’s hanging in there. I just came out to stretch my legs for a while. It gets a bit grim.’ He shook his head. ‘But it’s OK. He’s still hanging in there.’
She didn’t say ‘good’, or anything. She just nodded and sat down. Her slender brown knees were shiny beside his. He still couldn’t quite believe she was here.
He shifted to face her properly. ‘I’m sorry about the race.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t even think about that. The race is carrying on perfectly well without you.’
‘But what about you?’
‘And without me.’ She hooked a clump of hair behind her ear. She was wearing it in a pony tail, but lots of it had escaped. It made her look very young. It made him want to hold her. So much. ‘Anyway, I really wouldn’t care if it didn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry about everything.’
And then, suddenly, and almost as if the granting of Jack’s wishes was her very reason for being, she gathered him into her arms and held him very tightly, while a scatter of late starlings took flight above them.
Jack let himself be held by her, happy to be still. Tucked into her embrace, breathing her in. Feeling the warmth in her limbs creep in through his shirt. He hadn’t realised how chilly it had become. Hadn’t realised how utterly alone he’d been feeling, and how much he didn’t want to be alone any more. How much her being here, holding him, meant to him.
‘Don’t be,’ he said at length. ‘Really, Hope, don’t be.’
She lowered her arms and spread her hands in front of her. ‘But your job!’
‘Is just a job. I have several. There’ll be others.’
‘But the TV thing! What happened?’
Jack shrugged. ‘It didn’t happen. They often don’t.’ Jack, to his relief, found he could say these things with a detachment he never thought he’d be able to feel. He could have a different future. It would all work out. Now was the time to re-think, make new plans. He only hoped that, in some way, his dad would know too. Hope was looking out over the slope of the hospice gardens to the sliver of Bristol Channel beyond. He could tell by the way her head was angled. The curve of her chin. All at once so familiar.
‘But what will you do?’ she asked, turning to him now and searching his face. He shrugged again. He was chock full of ideas but maybe now wasn’t the time. There would be time enough soon. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Stupid, stupid question. That’s got to be about the very last thing on your mind right now.’
He took her hand and squeezed it, and the silence grew and eddied around them, broken only by the irritable cawing of the birds.
‘It isn’t,’ he said at length. ‘As it happens, it isn’t. But it’s funny, you know. It actually doesn’t matter. All that really matters is – well, this.’ He glanced at her. ‘I was just thinking about something. You know, when you got here? When I was small – I don’t know how old exactly. Definitely no more than four – I won a football in a raffle. My mum and dad used to go to these dinner dances, and they’d always buy a raffle ticket for me. Anyway, this time, I won a football. It was one of those charity ones they do – you know? You probably do. Signed by the whole 1966 World Cup team. You can imagine how pleased my dad was. But I wanted to play with it, of course. I was four and I gave them merry hell. I mean, why couldn’t I kick it? It was mine and it was a football and I wanted to play with it!’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, in the end, he caved in. I got my football and I kicked merry hell out of that as well, and it wasn’t long before all the autographs on it had vanished. And eventually, of course, I lost it. Kicked it over a wall, or something. I don’t even remember. But that was that. And I guess I didn’t really think about it until I was a teenager – another World Cup, probably – and I would have so loved to have a football like that. And then, out of the blue, on the day of my twenty-first birthday party, my dad made this little speech and presented me with my football. As new and perfect as the day he’d won it for me. He said he thought I was just about grown up enough not to attack it with my right foot.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘He hadn’t ever given it to me at all, you see. He’d been out and bought another just like it, and painstakingly written all the signatures on it, plus his own, or so he told me – though I never twigged.’ Hope remained silent, her eyes shining. ‘That was my dad,’ he said. ‘That was him all over. So the football’s still here, and it’ll pass down to Ollie. Probably worth a small fortune by now. I’m going to give it to him on his twenty-first.’ He sighed. ‘But you know what?’
‘What?’
‘I really wish I had that other ball right now.’
He fell silent again and Hope took his hand in hers. ‘Your poor father. Was it sudden?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. Not at all. He’s been ill for a long time. Prostate cancer. We thought – well, I thought – that he was going to be OK. But then, well, he got secondaries. And… No. I’ve known for a long time. But when they said he was going to… that there was nothing more they could do for him –’ His tongue felt thick in his mouth. He swallowed. ‘Well, you’re never really prepared for it, are you? You tell yourself you will be, but you never really feel… ’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know. Ready. You know?’
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘It’s tough, isn’t it? The waiting. I remember it when my dad died. As if it was yesterday.’
‘When did he die?’
‘A long time ago now. I was twenty-five. I was pregnant with Tom. I wish he’d seen him. He so wanted to.’
She looked at Jack for a long moment.
‘But he’s still with me,’ she said. ‘I think of him all the time. Sort of check in with him.’ She smiled. ‘He would have liked you.’
He swallowed again. Let the silence lengthen. Then took a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose hard. Hope squeezed his hand again.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’
He smiled wanly at her.
‘I have a very bad cold.’
‘Oh, poor you!’ she cried. ‘On top of everything!’ She twisted her head. ‘Can I get you something? I have some paracetamol in my car. And water.’
The amber in her eyes was turning gold in the light of the setting sun. He shook his head, then reached over and placed his other hand over hers.
‘You have, you know,’ he said at last.
She met his gaze, her brows furrowed in confusion. ‘ Have what?’
‘Been on my mind. All the time, Hope. Ever since I first met you. I’ve been such an idiot. I so nearly called you. Many times. But you made it so clear that you didn’t want to see me, and… ’
‘I did, Jack. I just… well, I was just scared, that’s all.’
‘Of me?’
‘Of… well… ’ She stopped speaking and looked out across the water again. ‘No, Jack. Far from it. Of letting myself fall in love with someone like you.’
Jack thought he’d never in his life felt such a physical effect from a state of mind. It was as if a mushroom cloud of happiness was right there inside him, growing palpably. Almost, almost within reach. He gripped her hands tighter
. ‘God, Hope, believe me. I’m really not the person you think I am. I’m not the person I thought I was. I wish I could explain to you. I’m just… ’ But she shook her head and motioned him to stop. She released her hands and placed two of his fingers on the soft skin of her forearm.
‘Feel this?’ she said.
‘What?’
Her eyes were fixed on his now.
‘Red squashy thing. Pumps blood. A little worse for wear, you’ll notice. But it’s OK, Jack. It’s OK now.’ She lifted both arms towards him. And he folded her gratefully in his.
‘I know,’ she said again. ‘So you don’t have to explain. You don’t have to say anything at all.’
She lifted her face and touched her lips gently against his own. And so they sat, saying nothing, while the sun met the water. Because, suddenly, with her here, with her head on his shoulder, there was nothing else he needed to say.
They heard the nurse before they saw her. A steady click-clack of feet on the footpath. Jack swivelled his head and she smiled at him, her eyes full of professional compassion. Oh, God. Was this it? But she raised her hand.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just that there’s been some changes in his breathing. We thought you might want to come in and… well… ’
This was the language of death, Jack knew. All those unfinished sentences. Changes in his breathing. A form of shorthand. Or longhand, perhaps. It meant it wouldn’t be long.
He raised his own hand and stood.
‘Thank you.’
The nurse tilted her head and turned back towards the buildings. Hope, getting to her own feet beside him, found his hand again and gave it a squeeze.
‘I’ll go now.’
He nodded, letting her hand drop from his own and feeling the hollowness rise within him again. They turned and began walking back up the path, the nurse a few steps ahead of them, her low heels still clicking as she walked. The sky was dark now, the birds all flown.
‘I’ll call you, shall I?’
She looked shyly at him. ‘That would be good. But… well, you know. Whenever.’
They’d reached a junction, where the path diverged around a big circular bed. Cream roses, in bud still. Massed and almost ready, thrusting towards the heavens. But frozen in time. For his father, at least.
‘Or – Jack?’ She stopped on the path and put her hand on his forearm. Looked up into his eyes. ‘Jack, shall I stay?’
He shook his head. ‘Hope, I’m sure you don’t want to be –’
‘Jack, I mean it. Would you like me to stay? I have nothing to get back for. The children are with my mother. I can stay. I can be here, and… well. If you’d like me to. If you think it would help.’
Jack couldn’t trust himself to speak. But then he saw himself reflected in the mirror of her eyes and it gave him a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He found a wry smile. ‘I told my dad about you, you know,’ he said. ‘He wanted to meet you.’ It was the most ludicrous thing to say, and yet, suddenly, it felt like the most important thing in the world. That she should meet him. See him. Connect with him in some way. Jack didn’t know why, but he knew it was what he wanted her to do. It didn’t matter that his father would know nothing about it. It was simply the connection with his past that mattered. Continuity. He traced a finger across her forehead and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. ‘Would you? Would you do that?’
‘I’d love to,’ she said.
‘I mean, he’s not conscious. It’s not –’
‘Jack, I know that.’
‘I mean, he’s dying, Hope. It’s not pretty. It’s –’
They had reached the edge of the gardens, and the building itself loomed expectantly ahead. The language of death had now utterly engulfed him. But she nodded and touched his arm again and he could see from her expression that she’d already been here. That she knew what to expect. That she wanted to be here. That it was right that she was.
‘I know,’ she said again.
God, how he loved her.
He swallowed. ‘Thank you. I’d like that, Hope. Yes.’
She slipped her warm hand into his and they walked back in together. It would be OK now. He was ready.
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Barefoot in the Dark Page 29
