by David Barry
‘What?’
‘Last train couldn’t leave Charing Cross because of leaves on the line. Remember it happened about five years ago, and they had to put us up at the Charing Cross Hotel...’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Marjorie said, impatiently. ‘So when are you coming home?’
Ted’s voice sank into a bottomless well. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
‘As soon as you possibly can.’
Hugely depressed now, Ted was unable to construct a reply.
‘Because I need to have a very long talk with you, Ted,’ Marjorie added, ominously.
***
Nigel was on his way to a meeting in Croydon and had offered Vanessa and Nicky a lift to Tunbridge Wells Station, which was on his way. Nicky sat in the front passenger seat and Vanessa sat in the back, next to Nigel’s laptop and bundle of telecommunications brochures and leaflets. As they drove towards Eridge, Nigel whistled tunelessly, which irritated Vanessa.
‘Do you have to?’ she said.
Nigel chortled. ‘Someone got out on the wrong side of bed.’
‘Not at all. I’m fine. It’s just that your tuneless whistling is getting on my nerves.’
‘I might drop you off at the bus stop,’ Nigel teased. ‘And you can make your own way there .’
‘Anything would be better than your whistling.’
‘I can’t help it if I’m happy. Life is good at the moment. Full of problems. But then problems create challenges, hopefully leading to solutions.’
Nicky, who wasn’t interested in joining in the conversation, nevertheless felt as if she ought to say something. ‘So if life is good,’ she said, ‘what problems d’you have?’
Nigel glanced round at her and grinned. ‘Who said anything about my having problems? It’s secondary schools that are having problems. And your mother and I intend doing something about it?’
Intrigued and puzzled, Vanessa stretched forward. ‘But we’ve long ago left school, and so has your son. So why are you getting involved with schools?’
‘We want to persuade them to offer pupils the option of being taught Intelligent Design as well as all that Darwin poppycock.’
Vanessa laughed harshly. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘No, I’m perfectly serious.’
Vanessa made an impatient clicking noise with her tongue. ‘There is not a single shred of evidence that something intelligent created the universe. Not a thing. You creationists are a bunch of morons and no one’s going to take you seriously.’
As Nigel neared the bottom of the hill near Eridge Station, he spotted the number 29 Brighton bus. He put his foot down and overtook it going up the hill on the other side of the valley. As soon as he reached the next bus stop, he screeched to a halt.
‘What are you doing?’ Nicky asked, nervously.
‘Letting you catch the bus,’ said Nigel. ‘There’s one just a few seconds behind. I’ve decided to cut through High Rocks and Rusthall and miss the Tunbridge Wells traffic.’ He turned and stared at Nicky. ‘Sorry about that. But you know how it is?’
They both scrambled hurriedly out of his car, and watched as he zoomed off, seconds before the bus pulled up. As they boarded the bus, Vanessa said:
‘What a bastard that man is. I’m so glad I’m moving out.’
‘You and me both,’ said Nicky. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to start looking for a flat in Tunbridge Wells. I don’t care if I never see him again. I hate him.’
***
While Maggie was still in bed, still in a deep inebriated sleep, Mike caught a bus to Crowborough and visited her parents. As soon as they opened the door, they saw the concerned expression on his face and were immediately alarmed.
‘It’s OK,’ he assured them. ‘Maggie’s asleep. She’s hungover - again - but she’ll be all right.’
Gordon, Maggie’s father, nodded gravely and invited Mike into the kitchen. Once they had all settled round the kitchen table with a cup of tea, Gordon glanced at his wife and said:
‘We’ve known all along that Maggs had a problem. Haven’t we, Gloria?’
Gloria nodded sombrely and sighed. ‘We want to help. But we don’t know what we can do?’
‘It’s got really serious,’ Mike said. ‘She can’t even remember where she parked the car yesterday. But I’ve got an idea what you can do to help. It means involving the children. But it’s the only thing I can think of.’
Gordon looked at Mike with a sad, dog-like expression. ‘We’ll try anything to help our daughter. Won’t we, Gloria?’
Again, he looked towards his wife for encouragement, and she gave him a nod of approval. Mike began to outline his plan and they listened carefully.
***
As soon as Ted arrived home, he called out, ‘I’m back.’
Silence, as if the house was empty. He went into the kitchen where he expected to find Marjorie. He found piles of crockery on the draining board, and the kitchen table was strewn with mail that had been torn open and abandoned. Ted frowned. This was uncharacteristic. Marjorie was usually so fastidious.
‘Marjorie!’ he called out, nervously.
He crept out into the hall and pushed open the living room door. He started as he caught sight of his wife, sitting in an easy chair, half facing the door, as if she was waiting for him. Her face was hard, like a block of ice, and her eyes were red from crying.
‘Sit down!’ she commanded him.
Nervously, he swished across the carpet and sank onto the sofa. Her wrathful voice came at him like a battering ram.
‘So you thought you’d send me a text, you cowardly little worm. You couldn’t even tell me to my face.’
Ted gasped and tried to find his voice. ‘I - I didn’t think you’d got my text.’
‘Oh, I got it all right,’ she yelled. Suddenly she was on her feet and hurtling towards him. ‘Fuckin’ little worm. You shitty little bastard.’
Fists clenched, she hit him hard in the face. He felt his nose crack as her fist came into contact and the blood spurted. A knuckle caught him in the eye. He tried to shield his face with his hands but she seemed to have the strength of an ox as she beat him about the head. He sank onto the floor, trying to protect himself with his arms about his head, but now she began kicking him in the stomach and ribs. The pain was unbelievable and he begged for her to stop as he choked on the blood from his nose. But still she went on unrelentingly.
Eventually, after what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, Ted heard crying from the nursery upstairs. Marjorie stopped beating him and hurried away to attend to Miranda. As injured as he was, Ted still couldn’t think of her as Tracey.
Sixty - Six
When Donald arrived at Pembury Hospital, Ted was sitting in the waiting area, staring zombie-like, his face covered in bruises and traces of the beating he’d suffered. Donald slid into the seat next to him.
‘I’d have brought flowers,’ he said, but people might talk.’
In spite of the shock he’d suffered, Ted responded with a watery smile. ‘I couldn’t care less. That’s the least of my worries.’
Donald patted his knee and summoned up a hearty brightness. ‘You don’t have any worries any more. You’ve now got every reason to get shot of the old cow.’
Ted shook his head in a mystified manner. ‘I don’t understand. The police came to the hospital, asking me questions about what happened. How on earth did they know?’
‘Because I told them.’
Ted’s head swivelled around to face Donald, causing him to wince slightly from the pain he was still feeling. Marjorie had done a thorough job in her husband battering.
‘Why did you call the police, Donald? What was the point of that?’
Donald grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Beca
use, my dear boy, it puts you in a strong position with regards to our little Miranda.’
Ted frowned uncomprehendingly.
‘Don’t you see, if a custody battle ensues, this will give you grounds. A few stories about her neglect of your daughter, and perhaps some little embellishments about other times she physically abused you - which they’ll have to believe now they’ve got police evidence of tonight’s events - and I reckon you’ll be home and dry in any custody battle.’
Ted sighed deeply. ‘Yes, but what happens for now?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Where am I going to go?’
Donald laughed pleasantly. ‘Home, of course.’
Ted’s eyes wavered uncertainly. ‘Home?’
‘Yes. Your place and mine. You live with me now. Remember? That decision was already made.’
From the row of seats in front of them, a drunken man with a bloody face and hair matted with blood seeping from a deep gash on his head, turned round and said, ‘If you ask me: wanker had it coming to him.’ He glared aggressively at Donald. ‘You agree, pal?’
Donald nodded effusively. ‘Oh, absolutely. I’m sure the bastard deserved it.’
He grabbed Ted’s arm and pulled him to his feet. ‘Come on, Ted. We are off home.’
‘Home!’ Ted said, in a dreamlike voice, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening to him. Recent events had swamped his otherwise safe emotional barrier, and he was feeling a wondrous shift in the discovery of a new life available to him, like a young child experiencing snow for the first time.
As he shuffled out of A & E, supported by Donald, he grinned hugely, and in an intoxicated-sounding voice said, ‘We’re going home!’
***
After Daryl and Hannah had sat at the kitchen table and finished a packet of crisps and a can of Coke each, Maggie’s father, Gordon, asked them if they wouldn’t mind having a serious talk about ‘Mummy’ in the living room. Both children frowned, looking concerned, and he reassured them.
‘We just want to help her. And I know we can do it. So why don’t we go and talk it over with Nanny in the lounge?’
Both children nodded silently, got down from the table and went dutifully into the living room. They discovered their grandmother was sitting on the three-seater sofa, and patted either side, indicating that they should sit one either side of her. Once they were seated, Gordon pulled up a light easy chair and sat opposite them. He cleared his throat before speaking, like someone about to launch into a long speech.
‘It’s your mother...’ he began, exchanging an awkward look with his wife.
Impatiently, Daryl broke in. ‘If you mean her drinking, yes we know.’
Gloria patted his knee. ‘Daryl, we’ve come up with a plan to help her. Tell them, Gordon.’
Hannah and Daryl watched their grandfather struggling with what he was about to say. He stared at the floor, shifted uncomfortably, and spoke in a tremulous voice when he looked at them.
‘I know it’s wrong to tell lies, but sometimes we have to if it means helping someone. It was Mike’s idea. Your mother went out yesterday in her car. She was too drunk to drive and she can’t remember where she parked it. Mike told her she came to pick you up at school, started to drive you home and almost crashed. You both got out of the car and ran off.’
Hannah frowned thoughtfully. ‘Wouldn’t she remember if she’d done that?’
Gordon shook his head gravely. ‘Unfortunately, your mother was so drunk, everything’s hazy. You could tell her anything and she’d have to believe it. She needs treatment. It’s not going to be easy, but she needs to feel responsible for something terrible that might have happened.’
‘Before it does happen,’ said Gloria. ‘We need to prevent her from getting any worse. It’s a sickness, you see. And we need to help her.’ She sat forward on the sofa and turned to each of them. ‘I hope you don’t think it’s wrong to tell lies like this. But we’re desperate. And the only way we can get her to seek help is if she thinks she nearly hurt her children. And I know she loves you both so much, she wouldn’t want that to happen?’
Gloria fell silent, waiting for the enormity of what was expected of her grandchildren to sink in. Hannah seemed to shrink back into the upholstery, her face a mask. After a pause, Gordon cleared his throat lightly, and said, ‘Will you do it, both of you? It might be the only way.’
Daryl stared into the distance as if he was weighing everything up. Suddenly he smacked a palm into his hand, as if this was an adventurous challenge, something to be enjoyed rather than endured.
‘Yeah, I will. We’ll tell her she drove at ninety miles an hour down St. John’s Road.’
Frowning worriedly, Gordon leant forward in his chair. ‘No, Daryl, we must all stick to the same story. It has to be believable.’
Hannah recovering from her numb feeling of shock, glared at her brother across the sofa. ‘Yeah, you couldn’t go that fast down St. John’s Road, you wally!’
Daryl sneered. ‘You can go whatever speed you like, if the car’s capable of it.’
‘I think what Hannah means, Daryl,’ said Gordon, ‘is that there’d be too much traffic going along there during the school run. Perhaps if we say she was going too fast and went over a red light, that might be enough.’
‘Whatever,’ said Daryl sulkily.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Gordon.
‘I know,’ said Gloria, brightly. ‘Why don’t we go out and get some fish and chips, come back and talk about exactly what we’re going to say?’
‘Cool,’ said Daryl. ‘But why can’t we say seventy miles an hour? I mean, she’s not going to know, is she?’
Sixty - Seven
When Mike, Daryl and Hannah arrived home, they found Maggie sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar watching Pointless on the portable television. Daryl rushed forward and said:
‘You almost killed us when you gave us a lift from school.’
Hannah glared at her brother. She was worried that if he exaggerated their story about her drunken driving, then she wouldn’t believe them.
Mike went over and laid a hand on her shoulder, and looked at her with concern. ‘We need to have a serious talk, Maggs. All of us.’
Hannah screwed her face into a frown as she caught her mother’s defensive expression, frightened as a cornered animal.
‘Mum,’ she began. ‘Mummy...’
Daryl threw his sister a look that was both scathing and pitying. Hannah took a deep breath and continued.
‘Can’t you remember what happened? You were swerving and nearly hit one of those things in the middle of the road.’
‘Bollard,’ said Daryl. ‘We were so frightened you were going to kill us, we jumped out at the lights. You must have been going along St. John’s Road at...’
He paused as he caught the anxious look in Mike’s eyes. ‘You were doing over fifty miles an hour.’
Mike stared at the boy and gave him an almost imperceptible nod of approval. It was hard to believe anyone could do that speed during the school run, but at least it was an improvement on the boy’s previous embellishment when they discussed it at his grandparents’ house.
‘You really don’t remember, do you?’ Mike said gently. ‘Have you discovered what you did with the car yet?’
Maggie nodded slowly, her eyes watery and distant. ‘I vaguely remembered going up to The Compasses for a drink. This must have been after...’
She stopped and stared at the children, and Mike was worried that she might realise she hadn’t picked them up from school. She shook her head and frowned deeply, troubled by random thoughts of her movements that day.
‘So where was the car?’ Mike prompted.
‘Just off Mount Sion.’
‘That’s nearly all double yellow lines r
ound there. I expect you got a ticket.’
‘I didn’t. I know it’s hard to believe, having left it on yellow lines for so long, but I just got lucky I guess.’
Mike gave a short sharp sigh. ‘You were also lucky you didn’t have a major accident in the car. And you’re lucky Daryl and Hannah are still in one piece.’
Hannah, knowing it was time to pull out all the stops and deliver an Oscar-winning performance, stared at her mother with wide Bambi eyes, saying, ‘Mum, please don’t do it any more. Please. If something happened to you...’
She left the sentence unfinished, instinctively allowing it to do its work.
Maggie’s eyes, Mike noticed, suddenly hardened with the irrational resolve of an alcoholic.
‘I’ll be careful,’ she said, ‘not to drink too much next time I drive. I really won’t drink and drive. I promise.’
Mike felt anger rising inside him. ‘It’s not just the drinking and driving. It’s taken you over. You’re not the same any more. And you’re a danger to your children. Next time it might be something you do in the home. For Christ’s sake, Maggie, one morning you might wake up and you might have done something terrible - maybe not intentionally - but you won’t remember what you did. How could you live the rest of your life with the knowledge that you might have harmed your children.’
Maggie suddenly slumped forward on the breakfast bar, her head in her hands, choking and sobbing. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and get help. I really will. But I need...’ She turned her tear-stained face up towards Mike. ‘I can’t do this on my own. I need you to help me, Mike. I’m frightened.’
Mike threw an arm across her shoulder and squeezed. ‘It’s OK. I’ll organise something. We can start with your doctor’s surgery. They’ll be able to help.’
Maggie shook her head forcefully. ‘But not one of those group therapies. I couldn’t stand that. Alcoholics Anonymous.’ She shivered hugely. ‘Maybe some counselling. Just you and me.’
Mike let his breath out slowly, relieved that at least she had acknowledged she had a problem. It was a start.
