by Shari Low
The restaurant manager was standing by the door. ‘Sun, Sea, Ski!’ he bellowed, making Chrissie laugh. The staff from the shop came here at least once every couple of weeks or so after work, and Gino, the manager, was always an exuberant host.
‘Gino, I’m so glad you’re here tonight. I’m on a date. If I look like I’m having a terrible time, please rescue me.’
‘Ah, lucky, lucky, man. You look very beautiful tonight.’ Gino crooned. ‘Not a worry, I will keep my eyes peeled and I will throw him out immediately if I do not see you smile,’ he assured her, feigning seriousness. ‘Okay, table five, please come right this way.’
She followed him as they crossed the room. It was a small bistro, maybe twenty tables in total, but it was the perfect example of an authentic Italian restaurant. The aromas were breath-taking, the decor a combination of deep wood panels and exposed brick walls, one of them almost entirely covered in a wine rack containing hundreds of bottles. The ceiling was draped in Christmas fairy lights and the tables were thick mahogany slabs, surrounded by beautifully carved wooden chairs, upholstered in red leather. At least half of the tables on the other side had been pushed together to accommodate a party of about twenty, all wearing festive hats and draped in tinsel. A few of them already looked like they’d been over-indulging in the mulled wine. Chrissie was glad. If they broke into an impromptu medley of Christmas songs, it would be a great ice-breaker with Davie.
‘What can I get you to drink?’ Gino asked as she took a seat.
‘A rosé please.’
‘Uno momento,’ he said with a smile, before turning and heading in the direction of the bar.
Chrissie felt herself exhale. She was on home territory and she loved this place. This was going to be okay. And if it wasn’t? Well, that was fine too. The important thing was that she was finally moving on, opening herself up to new possibilities and to having new people in her life. Leaving Tom Butler in the past.
She nibbled on one of the breadsticks from the pot in the middle of the table, as she ran through everything Davie Bailey had told her about himself. He ran his own marketing agency. He lived in Glasgow. He was single, obviously, and loved to travel and try out new things. That was about as far as it went, but then, when you met any new guy you didn’t have their résumé beforehand, unless it was a dating app set-up and she hadn’t tried those… yet.
Besides, she already knew more about him than vice versa.
She hadn’t told him yet about Ben, mostly because she made it a rule not to discuss her personal life and family situation with people online. If he had a problem with the fact that she was a single mum, and that ruled out any potential romance, that was just fine with her – it would mean he obviously wasn’t the kind of guy she wanted to date.
It was time to just go with the flow… to roll with the punches… to do all those clichéd things she’d been avoiding for so long.
She checked her watch. 7.55 p.m.
Gino returned to her table, delivered her glass of wine, then gestured to the doorway, where a tall man with dark hair had just entered. ‘Is that the gentleman the signora is waiting for?’
Twenty-four
Tom
Tom’s glance went to his watch when he heard Norry and Rosemary’s unmistakable chatter as they approached the room. Norry always had been too bloody loud for his own good.
Seven o’clock. They’d not been away long – barely an hour. Maybe he had them all wrong. He’d been sure they would have strung this out for at least a couple of hours, given how uncomfortable they’d seemed when they were here.
He felt a twinge of guilt for misjudging them. He picked up the damp sponge and was moistening his grandad’s lips when back they came, although Rosemary hovered at the door again.
He bit his tongue. He had to be civil if there was any hope of getting some kind of peace and reconciliation in George’s last days.
‘Rosemary and I were just talking,’ Norry said, ‘and we’re exhausted. This jetlag is a bloody nightmare.’
Tom just stared at Norry’s face, thinking that he didn’t look jet lagged in the least. Neither did Rosemary. Although, he had a growing sense of impending doom about what was coming next.
‘So we’re just going to go jump in a cab and head on over to Dad’s place. If you can give me your car keys, we’ll get our luggage out of the boot. Oh, and I’ll need a set of Dad’s keys, too.’
Tom had to take his hand off George’s arm, for fear his clenching fists would squeeze his skin. But he couldn’t hold his tongue.
‘Well done, Dad. You haven’t seen Grandad in twelve years and you didn’t even manage a couple of hours with him before you felt the need to bail out,’ he said, his voice softer than his words suggested.
‘Don’t you dare—’ Norry started.
No. Not this time. Norry didn’t get to dictate what happened here. Tom cut him right off. ‘No, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare waltz back in here and treat Grandad as if he doesn’t matter. Don’t you dare deprive him of the respect he deserves. This is your father and all he gets is a brief appearance from you? You really are despicable. And, just so you know, you’re not staying at Grandad’s house, you’re staying at my flat. Grandad wouldn’t have wanted you there. I’ll take you to my place and then I’ll come back and sleep here.’
Norry’s caramel tan was fast turning a shade of pink. Thankfully he lowered his voice, but Tom knew that meant nothing because he was still speaking through clenched teeth and looked ready to explode at any second. It was a familiar sight from when he was a kid. Norry would pass the shouting stage and go deadly quiet as he issued a warning that inevitably ended in punishment for Tom. ‘We. Will. Stay. At. My. Father’s. House,’ Norry said, with absolute menace.
Tom decided to take a completely different route and went for flippant. He lightened his voice, carefree and blasé. ‘You know, this is just awkward, Dad. Do you mind if I call you that?’
Stony silence.
‘I’ll take that as a no. Great. So. This is awkward because you seem to think I’m still a young kid that you can intimidate and push around, but those days are long gone. Grandad and I talked about this before he got sick and I know exactly what he did and didn’t want to happen. He didn’t want you in his house. Period. Do you know how gutted he was that you never bothered to check in on him, never gave him the time of day? It was actually me who decided to tell you he was sick because I wanted you to be able to make your peace with him after pretty much ignoring him for all these years. Do you know what hurt him the most? That you didn’t bother coming back for your mum’s funeral. That cut him to the quick. The only family there were me and Grandad because her son was too busy to show.’
‘We were on a cruise—’ Rosemary started to object.
Tom just cut her dead with a glare.
Norry started to speak, but Tom just talked right over him. ‘You probably didn’t know he was upset because you wouldn’t have given it much thought. And I’m guessing you didn’t spend the money coming home because there was nothing to be gained that time. We all know this time it’s different. What is it you want? The house? The life insurance?’ He knew he was being seriously cruel now, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. He sighed, exhausted, the fight sliding right out of him, before he went on in a calmer voice, ‘Make your peace. Grovel. Apologise for everything you’ve failed to do to repay this man for being your father. I’m going to go now. I need to take Grandad’s washing home and I need to pick up some things from his house. I’ll be back in an hour or so to collect you and take you back to my place. If that isn’t agreeable, you can stay in a hotel. Your choice. In the meantime, you can sit here and find a way to make things right and to compensate for being an absolute dick.’ At that he stood up, lifted his jacket from the back of his chair, and headed to the door. When he passed Norry, he patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck with that.’
Rosemary stood to one side to let him exit and, as he did, he saw Liv standi
ng just to the right of the doorway, her expression suggesting that she’d heard some or all of what had just been said.
‘That you away now?’ she asked, with a loaded grin.
‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Like I said, I’ll be back in a little while to pick them up and take them to my place. Thanks for putting up with all the toing and froing today.’
Liv smiled. ‘No problem at all, Tom. See you soon.’
Most of the visitors started to leave around this time, and the ward would begin winding down for the night. Sometimes, when it got to ten or eleven o’clock, it was just Tom and George, with the bedside light on and the rest of the ward – apart from the nursing station – would be in silent darkness. It reminded him of the nights he’d spent by his mum’s bed before she passed too. Not a day went by that he didn’t wish Catriona was still here to speak to him, to give him advice, to share the life he’d built for himself. He knew she’d be proud. Throughout his childhood she never missed a school show or a sports day, always cheering him on, making excuses for Norry’s absence. How was it right that she was taken, that George would soon be gone too, and yet those two cretins he’d just left up there would probably bloody live forever?
He realised his fists were still clenched. It took until he’d descended in the lift, walked to the car park and got into his car before his fury dissipated. All these years and his father and stepmother could still have that effect on him. He was only happy that his mother had a chance to leave and find happiness for the last few years of her too short life. Catriona put up with far too much for far too long, and it was a blessing for her when Norry finally cut her free. God, he missed her. He missed Catriona and he missed Chrissie.
As he pulled on his seat belt, he tasted the saltiness of a tear. He hadn’t even realised that one had fallen. Frustration, that’s what this was. Added to devastation over George, disappointment about Davie, and the sheer emotional turmoil of finding Chrissie. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
The snow had stopped now, leaving only a layer of slush on the streets. Fireworks were going off somewhere in the distance as Tom flicked on the sound system and set off for his grandad’s house. It was only fifteen minutes away and he could be there, find George’s things, and be back in the hospital in under an hour.
As soon as he switched on the engine, the sound of Smooth Radio playing ‘Blue Christmas’, by Elvis filled the car. It was George’s top choice of radio station, and Tom had switched it on for him when they were on their way into the hospital a few weeks ago for what would turn out to be the last time. George would love this moment, right here right now. Blue Christmas was his favourite.
Just thinking about the things George loved and would no longer do broke a piece off Tom’s heart. George would never sit in this car again. His grandad had loved the BMW from the moment he’d spotted it on one of their afternoons out together browsing in car showrooms. It was the reason Tom had bought it. They’d never do that again. They’d never drive down to Largs on a sunny evening to have ice cream at Nardini’s café. They wouldn’t nip through to Edinburgh to have a wander around the Christmas markets. They wouldn’t go to a football match in Glasgow or a rugby game in Edinburgh. Tom always made sure they went to the hospitality suite and he’d tell his grandad that he got the tickets for free, even though they’d cost him full price. He knew George was proud and he’d insist on paying. He wouldn’t do that any more. They wouldn’t do anything any more. They were done.
Several old songs later, he was almost at George’s street when the pain in his chest became so sudden and strong that he had to pull over and stop at the side of the road.
They were done. That thought was going over and over again in his head, as he rested his forehead on the steering wheel, gasping for breath as he tried to force his body to breathe. In the end, the suffocation broke in a gut wrenching sob and more tears, bloody rivers of tears, slid down his face.
They were done. His life was never going to be the same again. The most important person, by far, in his world would be gone and all he’d be left with were memories and the lessons that George Thomas Butler had taught him.
And they were many.
He sat for a while, through several old songs, until there was a change of tempo, and Tom’s anguish turned to an almost incredulous laughter. Frank Sinatra. “That’s Life”. Another of George’s favourite songs of all time, the one he sang to his granny, Betty, when he’d had a couple of whiskies at New Year. She would pretend to be embarrassed and implore him to stop, but then he’d win her over and pull her up to dance, and they’d waltz around the kitchen, both of their faces beaming. Tom would watch them and think they were hilarious. Nothing was funny any more.
That’s life. He listened to the song, silent tears falling with every line, hearing George’s voice singing every word.
That was who his grandad was. Someone who lived life. Someone who loved. Someone who never, ever let him down.
And how had he lived up to George’s legacy? He hadn’t. He’d bailed on the one important relationship he’d ever had, and then been unable or unwilling to find another one.
‘You’ll know it’s right when you meet her,’ George would say, but Tom couldn’t even face trying. Every romance he’d had in the last decade had fallen in his lap, because he just didn’t have the motivation to go looking for that woman who was out there. Probably because he knew he’d already met her.
‘Fuck it.’ It was out of his mouth before he even realised what was happening. His indicator went on, and thankfully he checked his wing mirror before he pulled out, because otherwise he’d have careered right into the taxi that was passing by and turning into George’s street.
As soon as it was safely by, he pulled out, did a U-turn and headed along the expressway towards the city centre. His eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard. 7.55 p.m.
In five minutes, Davie Bailey would be meeting Chrissie. His Chrissie.
He put his foot down on the accelerator and hoped that there were no speed cops in his future. He’d planned to go and see her tomorrow at her shop, but he couldn’t wait. This was Chrissie, and he wasn’t going to let that lying, cheating scumbag anywhere near her. If she didn’t want Tom, that was fine. He wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t forgive him for leaving. But at least he would know that he tried. Years ago, he’d let Norry and Rosemary dictate what happened in his relationship with Chrissie, and it had cost him everything.
He damn well wasn’t going to let Davie Bailey do the same.
8 p.m. – 10 p.m.
Twenty-five
Shauna
‘Oh I do like the songs on this radio station, John,’ Flora said, swaying in time to “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby. ‘Arthur and I have always liked a bit of a song and dance. Isn’t it amazing? Sometimes I couldn’t tell you what I did yesterday yet I can remember every word of all these songs from years ago.’ She demonstrated this by singing along, and Shauna, Lulu and John joined in on the chorus. Shauna scrapped her earlier assertion that today couldn’t get any crazier. She was now having a sing song in the back of a Glasgow taxi.
After belting out two more choruses and the big finishing line, John laughed. ‘Have I mentioned I’m fair enjoying myself today?’
Lulu nudged him. ‘You have. And if there’s a café in the hospital, I’ll bring you a wee coffee and cake to make it even better.’
‘Aye, you’re a grand one,’ he told her, winking.
Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside the entrance to Glasgow Central Hospital and Flora led the way through the foyer to an elevator on the back wall. Inside, she pressed the button for the second floor.
‘Arthur will be quite overjoyed. I usually come over once a day and now he’s getting an extra visit from all three of us,’ Flora chirped, delighted.
The elevator pinged open, and as Shauna stepped out, she checked the signs hanging from the ceiling above. General Surgical and Paediatrics to the left, Palliative Care and Cardia
c Care to the right.
They turned left. She didn’t even want to think about all those poor patients and families in the palliative care ward, preparing to say goodbye. Just heartbreaking. A sudden picture of Annie on that last night flashed into her mind again. If Annie had chosen a way to go, that was it – after a great night of dancing and laughing. Shauna was grateful she hadn’t suffered.
Arthur’s room was halfway along the corridor and his face lit up with surprise when Flora entered the room. ‘Sweetheart!’ he said, and Shauna suddenly felt quite overcome with emotion. He still called her sweetheart and was thrilled to see her, even after all these years. This was exactly how she’d imagined she and Colm would be when they got to that age, and it was a constant source of sorrow that she would never find out. Her throat tightened as she swallowed back a large lump that had lodged there. This was a happy time, not one for “could have beens”.
‘Darling,’ she said, crossing the room to kiss him. He was a slender, smiling chap, who still had a full head of grey hair and wore pristine blue striped pyjamas. Shauna recognised them from Marks and Spencer adverts. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve brought to meet you.’
Arthur’s glance went first to Lulu and you could see by his penetrative expression he was searching for a clue. Finding none, he turned his gaze to Shauna and the reaction was instant. ‘Dear God, I’ve no idea, but you’re definitely related to Agnes Butler. You’re her spitting image!’
Shauna felt a completely irrepressible burst of happiness.
‘You’re right! This is Shauna,’ Flora announced triumphantly. ‘She’s Annie’s granddaughter.’
‘Well, my dear, I would have picked you out as a Butler in a crowd, that’s for sure – you’re Flora’s mother Agnes right over the back!’
‘I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that,’ Shauna grinned, stepping forward to shake his hand. ‘Please to meet you, Uncle Arthur,’ she said.
