Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep.

by Sheryl Browne

  Years ago, no problem. That was his dad’s yesterday nowadays. ‘Brought Emma with you, have you?’ His father asked as he filled kettle, confirming Mark’s fear that he was getting more confused.

  ‘No, Dad.’ Mark dragged a hand through his hair. ‘We, er… We split, Dad, remember?’

  His dad furrowed his brow. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry, lad. I get a bit forgetful sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ Mark made light of it, because he knew his dad hated being reminded about his incompetent memory. He’d have to organise some home help for him at some point. ‘I’ll just go and…’ He nodded towards the stairs, then went off to scout about for other candles that might inadvertently be left burning.

  ‘I’ve got some of that walnut coffee cake in, if you fancy some,’ his dad called after him. ‘Your mother’s cake was always better, of course.’

  Mark paused on the stairs.

  His dad didn’t often talk about his mum, but when he did his tone was always tinged with remorse. Mark had been furious with him, initially, but now… Whatever he’d done, it was enough for Mark that he knew how much hurt he caused.

  ‘Man after my own heart, Dad,’ he called back, then swallowed quietly as he peered into his parents’ bedroom; at the bed where his mum had sat once, quietly crying. That was the only time Mark had seen her cry. He’d known she was, though she wouldn’t admit it, dabbing quickly at her eyes when he came into the room.

  She was fine, she’d assured him, telling him to get off and see to his own problems, of which she knew Mark and Emma had plenty, Karl being at the stage where he seemed to be unlearning all that he’d learned. She hadn’t been fine though. Mark had heard the arguments and the loaded silences when he’d visited thereafter. He’d gleaned his dad had had ‘a fling’ while working away.

  It was later though, while his dad kept up a vigil at his mum’s side at the hospital, that Mark had learned how much of a fling.

  His mum had been taken ill so suddenly, it shocked both of them. Mark recalled with familiar sadness how she’d seemed to lose weight overnight. She wasn’t going to make it, they’d realised that as they’d watched her slip silently into unconsciousness. Needing to confess, Mark supposed, his dad had started talking to him, telling him how, as the sales director for Mercedes Benz in Japan — where there was cachet in owning a European car, he’d been kept busy; too busy to come home sometimes. There were times, though, he’d admitted, not meeting Mark’s eyes, when he could have come home, and he hadn’t… because he’d had a longstanding relationship with another woman.

  That’s what had made his mother cry openly that day, Mark realised then. She’d obviously found out. And his father had examined his conscience every day since, living a frugal existence, donating all of his mother’s insurance payout — other than that which he’d put in trust for Karl — to the hospice. Cutting himself off from the company.

  Mark knew it was his father’s way of trying to make amends. He wished he wouldn’t; isolation seeming only to exacerbate his confusion. Knew also that he had to let any resentment he might have go. At the end of the day, hadn’t he walked away from his responsibilities, too? He didn’t blame Emma for leaving, not really. He should have been listening, not getting to work as fast as he could, leaving Emma to cope on her own with Karl, to feel utterly alone. Mark knew how that felt now.

  He closed the bedroom door and went back down to the kitchen, where his father was slicing up the coffee cake. He definitely looked older. The perpetual swarthy tan had gone and there was a slight stoop to his shoulder. No, there was no point raking over old coals.

  ‘Your mum was a good cook, you know?’ his dad said, glancing at Mark, nostalgia shot through with sadness in his eyes.

  ‘I know, Dad.’ Mark nodded and went to pour the tea.

  ‘Upstairs, is she?’ his dad asked.

  Mark tensed. This was not good. ‘No, Dad. You know she’s not,’ Mark reminded him gently. He looked back at his dad now seated back at the farmhouse table. The same table his mum had stripped of ‘atrocious’ gloss paint and lovingly restored. That was the abiding smell of home Mark always remembered, wax polish, and home-baked cake.

  ‘There’s plenty,’ his dad said, eyeing the cake, then Mark hopefully. ‘I like to keep some in for…’

  … when Mark ever bought Karl round, Mark knew his dad wanted to add. He would bring him, he decided, at the weekend, though the chances of Karl eating anything unfamiliar were nil. His last tantrum in mind, when his food wasn’t arranged on his plate as he needed it to be, coffee cake would be more than Mark dared to put in front of him. He’d need to visit before then though, he suspected, his father forgetting — or more likely not bothering — to keep much else food-wise in.

  ‘Cheers. Looks good,’ he said, plucking up the cake to take a bite, and remembering that he hadn’t thought much about food himself that day. ‘Tastes pretty good, too.’ Mark checked his watch as he downed the last mouthful. ‘I’ve got to go, Dad,’ he said apologetically. ‘Will you be okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Go on.’ His dad waved a hand. ‘You get off. Karl will be waiting. All right, is he, young Karl?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark assured him, dusting crumbs from his lapel and feeling much better for having broken bread of sorts with his father. ‘A handful, you know, but nothing I can’t cope with.’

  ‘Good. Good. And how’s that woman who looks after him, Gemma?’

  It was Jody now, but Mark despaired of his father ever remembering that. Gemma had retired to become a full time mum six months ago. And what an adjustment that had been for him and Karl. But it was over now, and Jody and Karl were getting on famously.

  ‘She’s fine, Dad. Got her hands full with Karl, too, as always, but doing okay. I’ll see if Mrs Bruce can pop round, shall I?’

  His father gagged on his tea. ‘Bruce the Brute!’ he spluttered. ‘Your mother would turn in her grave. And I’ll probably jump in mine if that woman comes around fussing and flicking her duster. Go on. You go. I’m not incapable yet. I can get myself fed and watered and off to bed.’

  ‘Okay, I’m gone.’ Mark held up his hands in surrender, as his dad clattered his cup up and marched to the sink. ‘Make sure you lock up though.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’ His dad assured him as Mark headed for the door. ‘Don’t want The Mighty Bruce sneaking in.’

  ‘To have her wicked way with you.’

  His dad shuddered. ‘God forbid.’

  Mark laughed as he left. He’d drop by tomorrow, but… He tapped on the next-door neighbour’s door, nevertheless. Better to be safe.

  Mrs Bruce squeaked her door open an inch. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mark.’ Her expression went from wary to warm when she recognised him. She flung the door wide and had him pressed to her ample bosom in two seconds flat.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, finally releasing him before his ribs cracked.

  ‘Fine, thanks, Mrs B,’ Mark assured her, glancing past her to where her friend, business partner, and fearless leader of every local campaign, was shooing three barking dogs back into the kitchen. ‘Hi, Evelyn,’ he called. ‘How’s things in the dog walking business?’

  ‘Dog sitting,’ Evelyn corrected him, turning from the kitchen door and dusting herself free of dog hairs. ‘And business is slow with madam here…’ Evelyn rolled her eyes towards Mrs Bruce ‘… stopping to pee every time we pass the loo in the park.’

  ‘I do not!’ Mrs Bruce blustered.

  ‘Dot, you do.’ Evelyn collected a wine bottle and corkscrew from the coffee table and strolled towards the door, looking trendy and elegant, in a belted thigh-length jumper and leggings. ‘No point being embarrassed about it. No shame in old age, is there, Mark?’

  ‘Er, no.’ Mark glanced at his shoes.

  ‘So have you come to show an old girl a good time?’ Evelyn made suggestive eyes at him.

  ‘I’d love to. Unfortunately, my heart belongs to another, doesn’t it Mrs B?’ Mark gave Mrs Bruce a wide smile and a wink.
>
  ‘Oh, get on with you.’ Mrs Bruce blushed. ‘I’m old enough to be your grandmother. Mind you,’ she mused, ‘I could do with getting myself a boy-toy.’

  Evelyn sighed. ‘Toy-boy, Dot. Toy-boy. Honestly, how on earth is a girl supposed to pull any kind of man with her tagging along?’ She handed Mark the bottle with an amused smile, indicating he should pull the cork, presumably.

  Mark laughed. She was a strange woman. If he had to describe her, he’d call her a glamorous battle-axe, one he couldn’t help but admire. Last time he’d seen her, she was stopping traffic trying to get a new school crossing in place. Evelyn Thompson took on local causes as if they were her own. He doubted she’d allow herself to be put out to grass any time soon.

  ‘You’re on, Mrs B,’ he said, handing the open bottle back to Evelyn. ‘I’m yours, so long as you do me a favour in return.’

  ‘Oh, dear, been playing up again, has he, our Mr Independent?’ Mrs Bruce nodded towards his dad’s house.

  ‘No, he’s doing all right,’ Mark assured her. ‘Just a bit forgetful.’

  ‘And cantankerous.’ Evelyn added.

  ‘And that,’ Mark acknowledged with a smile. ‘I just wondered if you could keep an eye out for him?’

  ‘I always do.’ Mrs Bruce assured him. ‘Even though he obviously thinks I’m after his body and shuts himself in his loo.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mark said, a tad uncomfortable.

  Mrs Bruce gave him an affectionate pat on the cheek. ‘Stop worrying,’ she scolded. ‘I’ll check on him. Your mum would never forgive me if I didn’t. Though I’m not sure it will be a pleasure.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs B. But don’t bother yourself tonight. He’s just going to…’

  ‘Batten the hatches?’ Mrs Bruce rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll pop around in the morning.’

  ‘Cheers Mrs B. You’re an angel.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bruce, as Mark planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘And I’m sure I’ll get my reward in heaven.’

  ‘How’s Karl?’ she called after him as Mark headed for his car.

  Mark turned. ‘Good,’ he said, his stock answer, anything more being too complicated sometimes.

  ‘Bring him for tea one Sunday.’ Mrs Bruce waved him off. ‘And if you’ve got a young lady, bring her along, too.’

  She was fishing, Mark knew. Said the same thing every time she saw him. ‘Still looking.’ He smiled half-heartedly as he turned back to his car, wondering how it was he thought he’d finally found someone, and then lost her in such a short space of time.

  Chapter Five

  Donna sighed, highly fulfilled by her scintillating night out — not. Couldn’t get much more enjoyable really, could it, she thought obliquely, as she puffed her way along the hard shoulder in her “not desirable footwear for Pilates” according to the instructor.

  Donna glanced down at her cheap feet. Cheek. She didn’t have the financial resources for prominent logos. And nor would the snooty instructor if she had a son who thought child abuse was not having a PS3.

  Oh, gosh, more joy. She glanced up. It was raining, again, a fat splat, followed by a deluge, landing on Donna’s head as testament to which. Perfect.

  Abandoning her car had been a no-brainer. Against the law to leave vehicles unattended or not, Donna had been out of there in a flash, minus all worldly goods, including her mobile. Breathing hard, she peered over her shoulder, just in time to see her car puke out an acrid cloud of black smoke. Oh, God, it was well and truly — terrifyingly — on fire! Carless of her juggling bum-cheeks on display to passing traffic, Donna cranked her sprint up a gear.

  Please, Lord, she prayed, as her feet pounded on the tarmac, don’t let anyone open the door and be burnt to a crisp, and please, please, let me reach the emergency phone soon.

  At last, there it was. Donna strode the last few yards like a gazelle — a heavily pregnant one, clutched at the receiver, and then paused to wheeze and pant.

  And then almost wet her sweatpants as a voice in her ear said, ‘Keep calm,’ before she’d even dialled. ‘The burning vehicle at your location has been reported,’ the voice went spookily on. ‘The emergency services are at the scene.’

  ‘They are?’ Donna glanced behind her, and there indeed were flashing blue lights. Two fire engines worth of flashing blue lights.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked he who was obviously trained to soothe in such situations.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ Donna assured him, breathlessly.

  ‘Good. Now, can you tell me whether there is anyone else in the vehicle?’

  Donna knitted her brow. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The emergency services need to know whether there’s anyone in the car.’

  What?! Did the man think she’d actually leave someone in a burning car whilst she wandered along the hard shoulder in search of extinct emergency phones?

  ‘No,’ she said flatly.

  ‘So, there’s no one travelling with you, then?’

  ‘No, no one,’ Donna confirmed, peering worriedly into the dense wooded area on the opposite side to the traffic. Oh, God! There might be a made axe-murderer sharpening his axe, right now, even as she spoke! She took a step sideways, then another back sharpish, as a car shaved past.

  ‘Right, well, keep calm,’ the voice said, as Donna’s stomach tied itself in a knot. ‘I’ll make contact with the emergency services and inform them you’re a lone female.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Donna said, suddenly all too aware of the loneliness of being alone.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ the disembodied voice continued, ‘could you make your way back to the vehicle and let them know you’re safe?’

  ‘Yes, no problem,’ Donna croaked, reluctant to let go of the phone as the call ended. She was sure she could feel evil eyes watching her.

  An icy chill prickling the back of her neck, she turned ready to flee, and then froze. There, before her eyes, a miracle occurred. Trundling towards her, blue lights rotating, was a police patrol car. Thank you, Lord. Donna prayed earnestly, utterly relieved and tremendously…

  Gobsmacked.

  Mark was out of the vehicle, racing towards her, almost before she’d closed her mouth. ‘What happened?’ he asked, catching hold of her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’ He searched her eyes, so much concern in his, Donna was shocked.

  ‘Yes. I think so,’ she mumbled, her teeth suddenly chattering down to her toes.

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Good,’ he repeated throatily, then, right there on the hard shoulder, spotlighted by the beams from his headlights, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight.

  Donna swallowed back a lump in her throat, which was stuffed full of remorse. He cared. He really did care. And she’d refused to even go out with him.

  ‘Come on, you’re freezing.’ Mark eased away from her to tug off his jacket. ‘Come and sit in the car,’ he said, wrapping the jacket around her and leading her there.

  Donna didn’t resist. She didn’t want to. She felt snug tucked under his arm. Safe by his side. She studied him as he helped her into the passenger side. He smiled. Donna watched him walk around to the driver’s side, climb in, check the heater. Quietly authoritative. Quietly caring.

  ‘Okay?’ He smiled again, his face turned towards her, one hand draped over her seat as he readied himself to reverse.

  Donna nodded, still watching him, unable to take her eyes off him. Was it possible that Mark Evans was all that he seemed?

  ‘I’ll take you back to your car,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to give a few details to my colleagues. Nothing to worry about. You just need to tell them what happened.

  ‘Are you okay with that?’ he asked, concern flooding his eyes again as he obviously noticed the confusion in hers.

  ‘Yes, but… Why can’t I just tell you?’ Donna didn’t fancy speaking to anyone who was going to be all detached and official when she actually felt quite vulnerable.

  ‘Not my patch.’ Mark turned his attention to reversing back along the hard shoulder. ‘I caug
ht the call. When I heard it was a red PT, I, er…’ He glanced at her, embarrassment flitting across his lovely concerned features. ‘Well, I thought I’d just check it out, you know?’

  Donna did know. Just because she’d had the misfortune to pick a rotten apple didn’t mean they all were. Mark had ridden to her rescue. He was nice at the core and she’d tossed him away.

  ‘Mark, I…’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Mark slammed on the brakes, then pulled her bodily towards him as something whooshed, then exploded behind them with such ferocity it popped Donna’s ears.

  ‘Your windscreen just blew out,’ he said tersely, his heart beating so loud Donna could feel it. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Donna mumbled to his chest, her eyes scrunched shut and her own heart pounding.

  ‘Sure?’ he asked, stroking her hair, lifting her chin.

  She opened her eyes. Donna had the feeling she’d never be sure of anything again. Had her car just exploded?

  ‘You were bloody lucky, you know?’ Mark’s China blue eyes darkened almost to cobalt. ‘If it had been a petrol engine, it would have gone sky high ages ago.’

  ****

  It was whilst trying to extract Matt from her toasted car the next morning — Matt having insisted on checking out whether her CD player was salvageable, that Donna noticed a sparkling new Jaguar cruising towards the house.

  She squinted at it, then almost dropped to the floor as she realised that Jeremy was at the wheel, the Twiglet adorning the passenger seat at his side. Just what Donna needed with her wearing soot-covered scruffs and her own car a scrapheap on the drive. Damn.

  ‘Jeremy.’ She dredged up a smile as the car pulled up — for Matt’s sake, who was loitering behind her, Findus in arms and an incredulous look on his face. No doubt he was wondering to what he owed the pleasure. She nodded at Leticia, rather than call her by name. The only name springing to mind being lettuce, draped in a green fitted slip dress as she was.