‘She’s in Room C,’ Brad said.
Alison had hoped that Maggie would be in the day room, with plenty of company to distract her and Brad around to keep the peace. Hospital wards are awkward visiting places at the best of times, and a room is worse. This one was small and square, with white walls and white sheets, regulation blue blankets and a regulation plastic jug. There was nothing to look at or talk about except the patient in the bed who was lying flat on her back with her eyes closed and her mouth open.
Shall I go away again? Alison wondered. Or just sit here till she wakes up? She was shocked by how frail her mother-in-law looked.
‘I’m not asleep,’ Margaret said, and opened her eyes slowly, rubbing her eyelids with both hands. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Alison.’
‘Could you come a bit closer?’ Margaret asked. ‘I can’t see so well now.’
Alison walked right up to the edge of the bed, surprised by how close she had to get before recognition flickered in Maggie Toan’s blue eyes. She was even more surprised when the old lady struggled to sit up and grabbed at her hand.
‘I am glad to see you, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to have to receive you in here looking like this. Get my lipstick for me, will you. It’s over there on the cabinet.’
Alison retrieved the lipstick and watched while it was applied. ‘I’m sorry you’re not well,’ she said.
Margaret waved the commiseration away. ‘My son’s coming to see me soon,’ she said. ‘He’s a wonderful young man and so good to his mother.’
‘That’s not what you told me,’ Brad said, putting her head round the door.
‘Ah well, you’re medical staff, aren’t you my dear,’ Margaret said. ‘We don’t have to tell everybody.’
‘Tell everybody what?’ Alison said.
‘He was going to hit me, you know. That’s why I had this little stroke.’
‘Oh Margaret,’ Alison said. ‘I am so sorry.’
This time her sympathy had an immediate and unexpected effect. Margaret plunged into such a diatribe that it made Alison’s head spin. It went on and on in an endless complaint – about Rigg – about his father – about what an awful life she’d had to lead – and finally about ‘that ghastly woman from the social security.’ By this time Brad had removed herself, with a grimace at her friend, so Alison had to cope with it all on her own.
‘She’s going to put me in a home,’ Margaret said, scowling horribly. ‘Don’t you think that’s wicked?’
‘Oh, I’m sure she isn’t,’ Alison tried to be tactful. ‘I think she’s just trying to look after you.’
‘Nobody looks after me,’ Margaret complained. ‘I’ve always looked after myself. Always. Well I won’t go in a home and they needn’t think it.’
‘Some of these homes are lovely,’ Alison tried again. ‘They’ve got sun lounges and aviaries and all sorts of things. You might like it.’
‘I shan’t,’ Margaret said. Then her expression changed and became so crafty she looked like a little old witch sitting up in her blue bed. ‘Anyway,’ she confided. ‘They can’t get me into anywhere until my house is sold, because I shan’t have the money to pay for it. They haven’t thought of that. If I can’t sell the house I shall have to stay here, won’t I? And we all know what the housing market’s like with all those repossessions on the market. All those silly feckless people.’
Anger at the old lady’s selfishness rose in Alison with surprising strength. ‘One of those repossessions was mine,’ she pointed out.
‘They’re a drag on the market, that’s all I know,’ Maggie pouted. ‘People should be more careful with their repayments. They shouldn’t be feckless.’
‘And that’s your son you’re talking about,’ Alison said.
‘Oh that’s right,’ Maggie said, swinging from complaint to self-pity in an instant. ‘Don’t mind me. You say what you like about me. I’m only a poor old woman, that’s all. I should have died when I had this stroke and then you’d all have been satisfied.’
‘You say things like that,’ Brad said, striding into the room again, ‘you won’t get your tea.’ She had an empty cup in her hand and was smiling brightly.
Maggie changed expression yet again. ‘I feel really bad,’ she said, looking pathetic. ‘These young people don’t know what it is to be old and in pain.’
Brad winked at Alison.
‘Where’s the tea?’ Alison asked.
‘In me pocket,’ Brad said, giving one of her devilish grins. ‘Ready then darlin’?’ And she took a miniature bottle of gin and a small bottle of tonic from her apron pocket and poured them into the cup.
‘Is she supposed to have that?’ Alison whispered.
‘No. Course not,’ Brad said, lowering the G and T into Maggie’s eager hands. ‘Staff ’ud have a fit if she knew. There y’are darlin.’ You get that down you. Soon chase away the blues that will. Little a’ what yer fancy.’
It was obviously true. Margaret was cheering by the mouthful. Alison was astonished by how rapidly she swung from mood to mood.
‘I might have a little nap now,’ the old lady said to Brad when the cup was empty. She dismissed Alison with a wave of imperious fingers. ‘You can go.’
‘What d’you think of her?’ Brad said as the two of them walked back along the corridor towards the day room.
‘I think she’s a nasty crabby old woman,’ Alison said. ‘She hasn’t got a good word to say about anybody. All she thinks about is getting her own way. She was gloating because there won’t be enough money to pay for her to go into a home unless she can sell her house.’
‘Then the sooner it goes on the market the better,’ Brad said.
‘Who’s handling it?’
‘The social services,’ Brad said. ‘They couldn’t trace the Great-I-Am and there ain’t any other relatives, by all account, except you an’ the kids. I told ’em you wouldn’t want to be bothered with it. Right?’
The visit had given Alison an unexpected surge of energy. ‘I think I shall call in to see Mrs Cromall tomorrow,’ she said, ‘and see how she’s getting on with my divorce.’
She came home from the solicitors dark with rage. When Morgan arrived at her house that evening she couldn’t wait to tell him her news.
‘They’ve written three letters to Rigg and he hasn’t answered any of them,’ she said furiously. ‘Not so much as an acknowledgement. Mrs Cromall says she thinks he’s given us a false address. Isn’t that just typical?’ She was more animated than Morgan had seen her for weeks.
‘We’ll go and have a look,’ he decided. ‘If he’s livin’ there we shall soon see. If he’s not, we shall see that too. I should’ve checked it out at the start.’
They drove to Littlehampton the following morning, in a shower of bleak rain, past sodden fields and over a putty-coloured River Arun, into a town awash with water.
Allingham Avenue turned out to be a caravan site and number 10 was a modern four-berth trailer that had obviously been unused for a very long time. Mail lay on the dusty floor in dishevelled heaps, curling at the edges and long since airbrowned and faded.
‘Ain’t seen a soul since the September before last,’ the caretaker told them. ‘She come over then fer a day or two. Couple a’ visitors. She bought it fer visitors. About five years ago. Had a lot in one time – come over from Canada. Nothink since September.’
‘The owner’s a woman?’ Morgan asked.
‘She pays the ground rent,’ the caretaker went on. ‘That comes from the bank, reg’lar as clockwork. Direct debit, I should say. But you don’t see her.’
‘What’s her name?’ Alison asked.
‘Toan,’ the caretaker said. ‘Mrs Margaret Toan.’
‘The artful bugger’s tricked us again!’ Alison said later that night when she and Morgan were entertaining Martin and Brad to dinner. ‘We all thought that was his proper address. I’ve been worried sick in case he suddenly came over and started on me and the kids again. And he’
s never been there.’ The meal was over and they were sitting at the table finishing the wine.
‘Well now you don’t have to worry no more,’ Brad said, picking a chunk out of the remains of her bread roll and nibbling it. ‘That’s one good thing to come out of it. An’ I can tell you another one. Maggie won’t have to wait until she’s sold her house. That’ll disappoint her. She can put her caravan on the market and go straight into a home as soon as she likes.’
That made Martin laugh, but Alison was less interested in her mother-in-law than her divorce. ‘I can’t divorce Rigg unless I can serve the papers on him,’ she said. ‘And if I don’t know where he is, how can I do that? It’s going to take years at this rate.’
‘No,’ Morgan said very quietly. ‘It’s not.’ There was a determination on his face that Alison hadn’t seen before, an expression that was both powerful and threatening. ‘It’s my job to find runaways. Right? OK then, I shall find him. Barbara can cope on her own for a day or two. I’m goin’ to Spain.’
Brad’s face fell. ‘Now?’ she asked.
‘Right away.’
‘Oh!’ Brad said, and grimaced at Martin.
Alison was alerted. ‘What is it?’ she said.
‘We was hopin’ you’d be around over Christmas,’ Brad said.
‘Why?’
‘We was hopin’ you’d come to a weddin.’’
‘What?’ ‘Whose?’ Alison and Morgan chorused together.
‘Ours,’ Brad grinned at them. ‘Me an’ Martin. We’re goin’ legit. Sat’day after Christmas.’
‘But that’s great!’ Alison said, her face beaming with delight. ‘Congratulations. Oh Brad, that’s great.’ And she flung her arms round her friend and kissed her happily.
‘Don’t I get a kiss too?’ Martin asked. And was kissed in his turn.
‘So you’ll come?’ Brad said.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for worlds,’ Alison said. ‘You can go to Spain afterwards, can’t you Morgan.’
He could. There was no problem about that. ‘Why did you choose Christmas?’ he beamed at Martin.
‘She wants to wear holly,’ Martin said, beaming back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brad’s wedding was such a riot it stopped the traffic and caused a stir from one end of Chichester to the other.
The bride wore cerise pink. Her dress was a Mae West confection, made of satin, cut to reveal a generous and well-powdered cleavage and so tightly fitting that her legs were pinioned together from squashed thigh to manacled ankle. At the ankles it erupted into a fishtail froth of net frills in black, chestnut and gold, and to complete the picture she wore chestnut coloured gloves to her armpits, gold high-heeled shoes on her feet and a coronet of artificial cerise flowers on her newly dyed chestnut hair. Her bridegroom, standing beside her in his neat grey suit and an advanced state of nerves, looked like a fisherman who’d set out to catch a mackerel and ended up with a manta ray.
As they posed for the photographer, Brad certainly made an impressive picture, but she’d forgotten that a bride has to walk about on her wedding day and walking in a dress like that was virtually impossible. The best she could manage was to shuffle one foot in front of the other and she had to lean heavily on her bridegroom’s arm to accomplish that.
The procession from the car to the Registry Office was a grotesque and giggling struggle, and when they tottered back, arm in arm after the ceremony, there was another hurdle to contend with that was even more ridiculous. They were greeted by a wheelchair guard of honour which was holding aloft a ceremonial archway of crutches and walking sticks, and as the arch was barely four feet high, they would obviously have to crouch to run beneath it.
‘Blin’ ol’ Reilly!’ the bride said. ‘I’ll never do it!’
Her guard insisted, cheering and stretching their old arms as high as they could. ‘Go on Brad!’ ‘Show a leg gel!’ ‘Let’s be ’avin’ yer!’
But it was impossible. She simply couldn’t bend at all, not from the waist, not even at the knee, struggle and wriggle as she might. In the end Martin had to unzip the dress so that she could lift the whole thing up in both hands and totter through. Passers by were delighted by such an unexpected striptease in the middle of a chill Saturday afternoon shopping and gathered to cheer as bride and groom negotiated the archway, with yards of net billowing before them and the bride’s black tights and chestnut underwear revealed behind for all the world to see.
‘That’s made my day,’ one man said to Alison. ‘Is she an actress?’
‘Nah!’ another one said. ‘She’s a stripper. You can see.’
As soon as the newly-weds had scrambled to their car, Alison left the children with Morgan and ran to zip up Brad’s dress.
‘Turn round quick,’ she said to her old friend, ‘and I’ll make you respectable before you get arrested. Or freeze to death.’ But Brad was glowing with warmth.
‘Gawd that’s tight!’ she said as Alison pulled at the zip. The photographer was happily taking unconventional pictures while the admiring crowd cheered and clapped. They were quite disappointed when the happy couple finally got into their car and were driven away to the reception. But as it took a long time and an assortment of vehicles to transport the extraordinary wedding party, they stayed on to enjoy that spectacle too.
The reception was held at the Royal Maritime Hotel, where Christmas carols were playing over the tannoy and the banqueting hall was hung with Christmas decorations. There were Christmas wreaths on every door and a Christmas tree standing in one corner in all its brightly lit, baubled glory. And the wedding cake was the most amazing thing any of the guests had ever seen. Instead of the customary white royal icing, it was decorated in cerise pink and hung about with golden bells and good luck charms, and instead of a model bride and groom to top off the third tier, there was a pink birdcage with two artificial love birds crammed inside it, plumed in chestnut and gold and looking like two turkeys in an inadequate oven.
And naturally turkey was on the menu.
By the end of the meal the groom was looking rather the worse for wear because Brad had been keeping him well supplied with wine all through the meal in an effort to calm his nerves. But when the time came for speeches he swayed to his feet.
‘Ladies an’ gennelmum,’ he said and blinked as if he didn’t know where he was.
The guests shushed one another. Chairs were scraped into position. All faces turned towards the bridal table.
‘Jush like to shay. Thank you all for coming…’ the groom managed. ‘Fredery jicket splurm … fredery jicket kenge spludgely.’ And he beamed with triumph at his guests, smiled at his bride and fell sideways back into his chair.
His audience cheered and clapped and stamped. The Royal Maritime had never known such a successful wedding speech.
‘Oh poor Martin,’ Alison laughed. ‘He’ll never live it down.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Mark said. ‘They’ll be queuing up to bring their pets to him after this. Some notoriety’s healthy.’
‘There’s dancing next,’ Katy said. ‘How will he ever dance?’
He didn’t, of course. They laid him out on the stage behind the drawn curtains with two cushions under his head and left him to sleep it off. But everyone else danced, even Brad who contrived to perform a stationary wiggle like a pink-clad chrysalis, and Emma who insisted on dancing with ‘My-friend-Morgan’, and Jon who insisted on dancing with everybody he knew.
After the third dance, Alison sat by the wall and watched them. He’s so good with those kids, she thought. It’s no wonder they love him.
An elderly couple were sitting on the bench beside her and, as the music stopped, she turned to talk to them.
‘Isn’t this fun!’ she said. ‘I’ve never been to a wedding quite like this, have you?’
The woman sighed and looked meaningfully at her husband. ‘No. I haven’t,’ she said, ‘And to tell you the truth I wish we hadn’t come.’
Oh dear, Alison thought.
I’ve trodden on corns.
‘We’re his foster parents you know,’ the woman continued. ‘So it’s a great disappointment to us – well, you can imagine it, can’t you? – a great disappointment to see him married to a woman like that. He was always such a nice, quiet little boy, a little gentleman. And now this. Have you ever seen such a freak?’
Alison looked across to where Brad was dancing with a child in each hand and her temper suddenly boiled. How dare they say such things?
‘Brad’s my best friend,’ she said, springing to her defence. ‘I know she looks a bit over the top today but she’s the kindest girl alive. I think they’ll be very happy.’
Her vehemence silenced her new companions and, seeing their discomfited expression, she felt she ought to explain.
‘I had my wedding reception here,’ she said. ‘Seven and a half years ago. It was a very grand occasion. Traditional. White dress, white cake, lots of speeches. Everybody said how handsome he was, and how wonderful it was. We were the perfect couple.’
‘There you are, you see,’ the woman said. ‘You prove my point.’
‘No,’ Alison said. ‘Actually I don’t. Appearances were deceptive. He might have looked handsome. He was handsome but he had a terrible nature. He beat me. I’m a battered wife. You wouldn’t think that to look at me, would you? And those two little children over there, dancing with the bride, they’re battered children.’
‘My dear!’ the woman said, with instant sympathy. ‘How dreadful! Are you still with him?’
‘No,’ Alison said. And was glad to be able to say it.
Morgan was walking across the dance floor to rescue her. ‘What you doin’ sittin’ here all on your own?’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Come an’ dance.’
‘What was all that about?’ he asked when they were safely on the dance floor and he had both arms comfortingly round her.
She told him, briefly.
‘Da iawn,’ he said. ‘Quite right. You got to defend your friends.’
‘I told them about Rigg,’ Alison said. ‘That’s the amazing thing. I was so cross, I told them about Rigg.’
‘Good,’ he said.
Maggie's Boy Page 35
