Parallel Life

by Ruth Hamilton

  Harrie agreed. ‘I’ll do it. My mother has a generous soul. She’s acted selfishly, and she’s aware of that, but I think she’s a sensitive spirit deep down.’

  ‘And needy,’ said Gus. ‘She must remarry. I have been an unfit husband.’ He stared hard at his daughter. ‘You are so like Mathilda. May I give you some advice? Not that it will work . . .’

  ‘Of course.’

  He turned to Will. ‘You, too. Never let the love take over. Never let the love become a burden you can’t carry.’

  Harrie swallowed hard. ‘So you loved Katherina too much?’

  Gus shrugged. ‘She took everything in that department, yes. But I allowed that. Perhaps I am weak, or perhaps there was only one woman in the world for me. I stopped feeling, started working. You must love and work. The two are not mutually exclusive.’

  They drank tea and talked about nothing in particular. It was clear that Sheila felt excluded in her own house, so Will and Harrie left.

  Only then did Sheila speak. ‘Are you definitely dying?’

  ‘We are all dying. But yes. It will not take very long. The surgery may buy some time during which I may work, but it all depends on Humphrey.’ He tapped his skull. ‘That’s the name of my chief tormentor.’

  Sheila excused herself and went to the bathroom. The world was losing a brilliant man; the world had not deserved him.

  The Warburton brothers arrived at one o’clock. Smartly dressed in dark-grey suits, they climbed out of a black, shiny car and walked towards the house while Lisa operated the gates. Weaver’s Warp was now battened down. Annie, standing next to Lisa, dug her in the ribs. ‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘mine’s all right, but I don’t think much to yours.’

  ‘Behave yourself.’

  ‘You’re no fun.’

  The men introduced themselves and were sent up to meet their true employer in the attic. Annie was blushing. As soon as the guards disappeared, Lisa rounded on her. ‘Listen, birdbrain. They’re here to look after us – all of us.’

  Annie sighed. ‘Matthew can look after me any time he likes. I’m going to put my face on. And the other wig. Don’t you think the other wig suits me better? Oh, you can have Luke Warburton. He’s the older one.’

  Lisa clipped her friend lightly across the ear. ‘If they were the bread Warburtons, I’d understand you. The bread lot are millionaires, at least. You’ve no idea, have you? Brain damage. Definitely. Not even a birdbrain. And,’ she looked over her shoulder, ‘Luke has the bigger feet. Do you know about bigger feet?’

  ‘Aye, but I’m daintier than you are. So there.’

  Lunch that day was in shifts. Although the kitchen was the size of the whole ground floor of one of the original weavers’ cottages, it was still a push to feed so many. Harrie and Will were forced to eat with Daisy and the twins. Their agenda for the day had been mapped out – they were to eat with the children, then play with them until bedtime. ‘My cup runneth over,’ commented Will as he sat down with Annie’s children.

  When the first shift was over, Sal had to take her place with Lisa and Annie. The latter was making eyes at the younger of the security men, who had both been invited to partake. The men did not sit down, choosing instead to walk about the house and get their bearings while eating sandwiches. Lisa kicked Annie under the table several times, but Annie took no notice. Matthew Warburton reminded her of Brad Pitt; Lisa nominated him Bottomless Pitt, because his trousers were not quite as well filled when observed from the rear. ‘Luke has the better bum,’ she whispered.

  Annie was ready, as ever. ‘Trust you to go for the biggest arse,’ she whispered.

  Sal simply smiled. Surely, he would be arrested today? She was safer here in company. It was better not to think about how wild Jimmy had become; she was among decent folk, and that should be enough.

  Will popped his head round the door when the second sitting was almost finished. ‘Mrs Compton-Milne?’

  ‘Yes, dear? Oh, and call me Lisa.’

  ‘I’ll mind the kids. Harrie needs a word with you.’

  ‘Are you sure about the twins?’ asked Annie. ‘You’ve my permission to tie them up if necessary. And I’ll help you entertain them in a minute.’

  Lisa made her excuses and prepared to leave the room. For someone expecting a happy event, Harrie had been quiet since her return from that funeral. Yes, it was sad when someone young died, but Harrie had never met Will’s cousin, had she? She would have said so.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she begged again as she stood up. ‘Annie, make sure you do help Will. Those boys of yours are ready for straitjackets.’

  Annie scarcely heard. She was too busy keeping an eye on Matthew-Brad Pitt-Warburton. Could he tell she was wearing a wig? Did these jeans do her justice? Should she have worn a frock and her best gold sandals?

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Lisa threatened.

  ‘See you later, then,’ Annie answered absently.

  Lisa followed her daughter into Gus’s office. This was the one place in which they were unlikely to be disturbed.

  ‘Mother,’ Harrie began, hands twisting nervously in her lap. ‘It’s not easy, but he isn’t fit to tell you himself.’

  ‘Who isn’t?’

  ‘My father.’

  Harrie allowed the whole truth to make contact with the air. She said her piece slowly, trying hard to keep the emotion from her voice. ‘So,’ she concluded. ‘There you have it, Mother. No New Zealand, treatment for cancer, and now you know the rest of it.’

  Lisa sat in silence for at least ten seconds. Emotion moved across her face, but she did not open her mouth until she had risen and gone to stand at the window. ‘I’m glad,’ she said.

  ‘Mother?!?’

  Without turning to look at Harrie, she carried on. ‘There was something – always something. I don’t mean I’m glad about cancer – you must believe that. But – what did you say her name was? The mother, I mean.’

  ‘Katherina. The family came from Hungary when the trouble started with communists. He fell absolutely head over heels. She left her husband for him. Then she died giving birth to their daughter.’

  ‘And he kept Mathilda alive.’

  ‘Yes. She was a piece of Katherina.’

  Lisa’s back began to shake. ‘Thank God,’ she wept. ‘He loved somebody, Harrie. He really, really loved somebody. He married me because I was there – I married him because he showed promise as an earner. Though, I have to admit, I was fascinated by him. A clever man, you see. I had a rough upbringing, and Hermione and Gus carried me out of the gutter.’

  ‘You carried yourself, Mother. You are a master jeweller.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She faced her daughter. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. ‘He loved. Don’t you see? He is capable of that all-consuming passion. That means he is human after all.’

  ‘Yes. My father is a human being. Sheila Barton – there’s nothing going on. She just has a vast attic full of trains, and he uses it.’

  ‘We must bring him home, Harrie.’

  ‘Not yet. Not until the house is back to normal.’

  Lisa smiled grimly. ‘Normal? When were we that?’

  Harrie nodded pensively. ‘I was thinking, at the beginning of summer, that mine was a life lived in parallel with everyone here. But hers was the real parallel life, wasn’t it? Just lying there, not truly with us. We’re all alone, I suppose, because we’re locked in our own heads. Things get shared, but we’re little islands, since a person can never absolutely know anyone apart from him or her self. Mathilda was denied even communication. Life without communication? Doesn’t bear thinking of.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Lisa.

  ‘I wonder if she heard? I wonder if she listened, Mother?’

  ‘We’ll never know.’ Lisa wiped her face. ‘And neither will he. God help Gus.’ She disposed of her tissue. ‘They have to get hold of Jimmy Nuttall so that your father can get back here when he’s had that next operation. I shall talk to him on the phone. It will be easier now
because I feel as if I know him. Pity he has so short a time.’

  Harrie remained in her father’s office for a while. She looked at the tomes he had published, books used by students of biomedical sciences all over the world. Loose papers filed under MRSA, folders marked with words too long to read, essays on antibiotic warfare against killer bugs. He had given his whole life to cleanliness, to safety. His son had developed the same fixation to a degree that had proved unhealthy. ‘But Ben will come good,’ she told the empty room.

  Outside, a brilliant sun shone on a garden filled with people. Even Hermione and Woebee had come down from their higher realm to watch the twins and Will playing football with two large security men. It was all so wonderfully normal – fresh lemonade in icy jugs, kids screaming, their elders looking on and smiling at the antics.

  Harrie sat on the grass. Soon, the sun would move to shed light elsewhere, and he would have the darkness he required. Sal, Lisa, Annie and herself were in the most danger – but what about his children? If he knew they were here . . . How much did he know?

  So they had brought in some big boys, had they? From just below the highest canopy of a tall oak, Jimmy Nuttall watched the al fresco party, twisting controls on the binoculars until he could almost count the raisins in a scone. Tea, lemonade and scones. His children playing. ‘Mine,’ he growled. Annie was there, as was Sal. Lisa and her daughter sat to one side; they were plainly engaged in conversation of a private nature.

  Bouncers. Two of them. Great big men with sleeves rolled up. Annie laughing at one of them. His wife.

  Third tree along, covered in branches. Not here, no. Up at Cotters Farm, there was a van and . . . and stuff. Stuff. What was it he had to do? There was something he must find and, if he didn’t find it, he had to kidnap Daisy. No, not Daisy. Where was Dilly-Dolly? Had he lost her?

  Daylight was dangerous, but there was plenty of cover. It couldn’t be a fire, not if his children were here. He would burn the rest of them without a care, but not Daisy, not Craig and Billy. Lisa had broken things . . . He looked at her. She seemed sad, so that was some kind of justice, he supposed. Annie laughing again, laughing at one of the big men. Daisy skipping.

  The games ended. A thin, ugly woman pushed a wheelchair into the house. Sal just sat. She was good at sitting. Now, she lived . . . she lived in a cottage that had once been tied to Cotters. Dad. Teeth in a glass, pills lined up. Why was she here? Why were they all here together?

  He climbed down and ran further into the woods. Chocolate had melted in his pocket, but he licked it from the wrapper. Calories were needed when a man had to think, had to remember why he was here and who his target was. Better to sleep for a while. If he could wake refreshed, he might remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing.

  The Warburton brothers took their job seriously, so Annie got no chance to show her feathers to Matthew that evening. She bathed her children, put them to bed, threatened the twins with all kinds of deprivation if they moved a single toe out of line. Daisy was no trouble. She clung to Dilly-Dolly and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Annie stood for a while and gazed at the doll. It looked as if Sal Potter might be right – Jimmy was losing his grip. He wasn’t the type to leave evidence all over the place, was too keen on saving his skin to put himself in the limelight. The Jimmy she had known would not even stand under a forty-watt bulb if it endangered him, so he certainly wouldn’t be leaving a blazing trail unless he had mislaid the plot. Sal reckoned Jimmy needed doctors, not jailers. It looked as if Sal might be right. Poor Sal. So down in the mouth, she looked.

  Hermione had been funny about the police. She couldn’t stand them, wouldn’t trust them to crack an egg, let alone a case. ‘Let them root around at your house,’ she had said. ‘I’ll get some real men here.’ Well, Annie had enjoyed that bit of fun with Matthew Warburton. It took her mind of the main issue, made her remember that she was still relatively young. But, upstairs in Weaver’s Warp, she looked at her children and felt as if her chest had been run through by a sword. Without distraction and the company of other adults, she was frightened to death.

  In the kitchen, Lisa, Harrie, Will and Sal were playing cards for money. Annie bucked up and joined them, noisy as ever. She was no good at it, couldn’t hide her joy when she got a good hand, her disappointment when the cards were poor.

  But Sal was miraculously successful. Each time she won, she beamed at everyone and came to life.

  ‘You’re pretty when you smile,’ Lisa told her.

  Sal blushed. ‘I learned my poker face from a good master,’ she told them. ‘It was me dad. Oh, he was a bugger for cards, darts, dominoes, crown-green bowls, even cricket when he was young. Good enough for Lancashire, we all thought.’

  Annie started the argument. ‘Just a cotton-picking minute,’ she said. ‘Somebody keeps changing all the rules. Is a flush better than two pairs and a few crumbs off my butty?’

  ‘Yes,’ chorused the assembly.

  ‘Oh.’ Annie was also the one who stopped the argument, since she had forgotten the hand over which she had decided to quarrel. ‘Please your bloody selves, then,’ she pretended to snap. ‘You’re only taking bread out of my kids’ mouths.’

  The noisesome group scarcely noticed sounds from outside until Matthew and Luke Warburton appeared at the door, a scruffy-looking individual in their grip. ‘We found this outside,’ announced Luke. ‘Fiddling with a van. Didn’t you say Nuttall has a van?’

  Harrie stared at the miscreant. The miscreant stared at Harrie. ‘That’s not Jimmy Nuttall,’ she said.

  Everyone agreed. Lisa opined that Nuttall was never as dirty as this creature, while Annie said the captive was too good-looking to be mistaken for the bag of manure she had married. The prisoner said not a word until Sal asked the men to take their prey and give it a good wash, because it was scarcely recognizable as human.

  At last, the captured man spoke. ‘Back into the arms of my loving family. I was mending my engine.’ He shook off his captors and said a few short words that did not bear repeating. ‘Mending my van, causing no trouble, then these two apes pounced. I am Benjamin Compton-Milne, and I am going for a shower.’

  Luke scratched his head. ‘Eh?’ he murmured.

  Harrie leapt up. ‘Four A-stars!’ she shrieked before throwing herself into her brother’s arms. ‘The world’s your oyster, babe. Or your lobster, as Woebee would put it.’ She was then forced to explain to the uninitiated that Woebee was Eileen and why Eileen was Woebee.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ben asked. ‘Have we been invaded?’

  Harrie linked her arm through his. ‘Come on, ratbag. I’ll tell you what you’ve missed while you clean up your act.’

  Lisa smiled tentatively. ‘We’re in a bit of a mess, son. But welcome home, and congratulations on your exam results. If anyone deserves it, you do.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’ Brother and sister left the room.

  Annie busied herself making tea for the Warburtons. She found some Bourbons in a tin. Matthew liked Bourbons – she had heard him saying so earlier in the day.

  Upstairs, a cleaner version of Ben sat with his sister. He had just returned from the rim of life, an area in which the unacceptable endured the scathing attitude of those who existed behind hedges and triple-glazing. And he had come home to this. ‘Our half-sister?’ Tears threatened.

  ‘I wish you’d charged your phone. But I understand the difficulties, babe.’

  He learned that he was about to enter a state of uncle-hood, that Jimmy Nuttall had lost his marbles, that Gran had brought in security. He lowered his head. ‘And on top of all that, our dad has cancer.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can’t imagine Father as a Romeo.’

  ‘Well, he was. Emotionally, he died the day he buried Katherina. Our dad’s been through hell, and we never noticed. Mind, it happened before he married Mother. Even so, he’s been so . . . stoical.’

  ‘Remind me never to be that,’ said Ben.
‘Poor Father. Poor, poor man. Stoicism is never a good idea.’

  Things were jumping off the edge of his mind, deserting him like rats diving from a sinking ship. Jimmy Nuttall was entering an area of confusion from which he needed to escape as quickly as possible, because he was fighting for his life and his freedom. He remembered that much, at least. Places were all melding into one – where was his van, where was Cotters Farm, where was Sal’s cottage?

  Something was after him. They were after him. No. They were all in the one house, a big place made out of four cottages knocked together. Old woman in a wheelchair. Gun. Lisa with a safe under the shop floor, Sal and her plasma screen, leather sofa, Dilly-Dolly. Where had he left that toy? Teeth in a glass – bottles – tablets – policemen. Up a tree, looking at cops – no – looking at all the women, all except his mother.

  He found himself walking across the front of Bolton Town Hall, and he didn’t know how he had got there, couldn’t remember where he had travelled from or to. It was brightly lit. Tea and scones on the lawn, people playing, lemonade in a jug. Thirsty. He was so dry. Daisy. Little face looking up at him, hospital blanket, Annie with her hair wet through after the exertion of birthing. There was a gun somewhere . . .

  He walked past the open market – it was deserted now, of course. Mam used to bring him here. So colourful. Asian men and women selling bright silks and bangles, sheets of finest Indian cotton. There was a shop somewhere that used to be a mill. All the spices of the orient were in there. Annie used them for curries, said they were authentic.

  He should go home. Annie would make a brew and a bit of toast. He was starving, and his throat felt like sandpaper. All this walking. Why was he doing all this bloody walking? St Patrick’s. Would a priest help him? Was there a priest? Someone had said there weren’t enough priests to go round. He remembered that, all right.

  Bradshawgate. There were a lot of gates – Deansgate, Moses Gate, Churchgate. But there were no gates any more – except in the names. He leaned against a column erected to the memory of . . . of some Earl or other who had been beheaded here under the rule of . . . that chap who was Protector rather than monarch. Bolton didn’t like the monarchy – he recalled that, too.