He bit his lip. ‘And once that was done, once that was over…’
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he opened them again and drew a deep breath.
‘She’d taken the requisite amount,’ he calmly continued, ‘whatever that was…She’d actually passed out. From what I could glean afterwards she’d been “dead” – in Kane’s mind, at least, without any detectable pulse, he said – for twenty minutes or so…’
He smiled. ‘But the human animal is a resilient beast…’
‘She wasn’t dead?’
‘No. She suddenly started to twitch, to gasp, to move about. An awful kind of seizure…’
‘Kane must’ve been terrified.’
‘He panicked. He went to pieces. As luck would have it, though, I’d just come home from work…’
‘So you walked in on the whole thing?’
‘No. No…I was working unsociable hours at the time. I’d just crawl home in the afternoons and slip straight into bed. I rarely saw the two of them. We were all so bound up in our own lives, our own routines…Anyhow, the next thing I knew Kane was shaking me awake. He was hysterical. He said his mother had tried to kill herself. He said he needed help.’
‘He?’
‘Yes…’ he glanced up, ‘not she. Not she needed help. He needed help. I thought about that a lot, after…’
He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I ran downstairs, I saw her. It was…’ he winced ‘…a terrible sight.’
‘And Kane?’
‘Hysterical. You’ve got to help me, he kept saying, so I tried to sit her up, I tried to make her…’
‘Is that what he wanted, though? To revive her?’
‘No. I don’t know. Yes. I mean he loved her. He was traumatised…
He certainly didn’t try and stop me at that stage, although I do remember that he became quite distressed when I rang for an ambulance…’
He slowly shook his head. ‘In all honesty I don’t think he knew himself. That was the problem. It wasn’t the kind of decision he should’ve been called upon to make…’
‘But weren’t you tempted to just leave her? To let her die? That was what she’d wanted, after all…’
‘No.’ Beede’s answer was immediate. ‘Absolutely not. It didn’t dawn on me. And apart from anything else I could’ve been considered an accessory, which would’ve been a disaster for Kane. The boy had to be my priority. I couldn’t jeopardise his future care…’
‘But you never actually asked him?’
‘Asked him what?’
‘What he thought you should do.’
‘There wasn’t time…’
‘But you said he was her partner, her rock, surely…’
‘He came and woke me up. He was floundering. He’d lost control. He requested my help…And another thing,’ he continued staunchly, ‘if I’d left her to die, Kane may well have been haunted by his involvement – tormented by it, even – later on…’
‘Are you sure of that?’
‘Of course I am. How could he not be? He was a child…’
‘He was the adult. You said so yourself.’
‘I was the adult. Heather was the adult.’
‘So you revived her?’
He nodded. ‘I did my best. And the ambulance was mercifully prompt.’
Silence
‘So how long before she…?’
‘Before she died? Months. Almost a year. She was profoundly brain-damaged. But still she knew somehow…There was this powerful, this palpable sense of…of rage, of disappointment.’
‘God.’
‘Yes. It was awful.’
‘And Kane?’
‘Totally devastated. Furious. Mortified. He blamed me, obviously. And at some level I suppose he blamed himself for not having had the strength to sit it out.’
‘Didn’t you ever try and talk to him about it?’
‘I tried. Of course I tried. But the situation was on-going. It was fluid. There was never a perfect opportunity. And it was complicated. It was too difficult – for both of us. There was no…no groundwork…no…no rapport…’
Beede suddenly paused, agonised, as if an awful truth had just dawned on him. ‘I suppose there never really has been…’
Silence
‘…Ever.’
Silence
‘God. I was an abysmal dad,’ he said.
Once the boy had finally been persuaded to head upstairs to bed again, they sat together, stiffly, at either end of the sofa, a small pile of folded bed-linen placed between them like a buffer.
Elen had taken the opportunity to yank on a pair of loose, black sweat-pants and a huge, navy-blue jumper – (five sizes too large for her), which Kane presumed (with a slight sinking feeling) belonged to her absent partner.
‘When someone dies,’ she said, staring straight ahead of her, kneading anxiously with her agile fingers at the jumper’s hem, ‘it’s like they suddenly become a part of you. I mean at first there’s the grief, this huge void, this terrible sense of loss, but then one day you wake up and you find yourself eating the same cereal they ate – salted porridge, in the case of my dad, which I’d always really loathed before…’ she paused, ‘then buying the same kind of clothes – a certain type of vest, for example, which I started getting for Isidore, made out of this special Irish yarn, which really makes him itch, he says,’ she smiled, dreamily, ‘but which my dad had always worn…’
At the mention of Isidore’s name, Kane glanced towards her, with a frown.
‘And he loved Monkey Puzzles,’ she continued. ‘The trees?’
She glanced back at him, very briefly.
Kane nodded.
‘He’d always point and yell, “Monkey Puzzle!” whenever we drove past one – it was like some great, big joke which I never really caught the punch-line of…But I even found myself doing that…’ she shook her head, smiling, ‘and Fleet’s just as bemused by it now as I once was…’
‘My mother used to sing this stupid song about Aspidistras,’ Kane reminisced. ‘She had the most awful voice…’
‘Then one day I looked into the mirror,’ she interrupted him, ‘and I saw his face staring back at me. I’d never considered the resemblance before. I mean I don’t think there even was one…But suddenly our foreheads, our jaws…’
She ran a gentle finger along the sharp line of her jaw.
‘Even tiny things – phrases he used, hand gestures, smells…’
‘They definitely settle on you once they’re gone,’ he said, ‘like a strange kind of powder…’ His mind turned, momentarily, to the bottle of pills in Isidore’s pocket. ‘Like a fine layer of chalk.’
‘But it takes ages, doesn’t it? The same way it takes a while for the dust to settle after you’ve replastered a wall or a ceiling…?’
‘Months,’ he nodded, ‘years, even…’
They were quiet for a while.
‘So what did she want for you?’ Elen suddenly wondered.
‘Want?’
‘Your mother. What were her dreams for you?’
Kane frowned. Then he smiled.
‘She always thought I’d be a carpenter,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘Yup. I used to whittle away at things, as a boy. I was actually quite good.’
‘A carpenter?’ Elen considered this for a moment. ‘I can’t really imagine that.’
‘I used to make woodcuts. Old-fashioned, oblong woodcuts…’
He approximated the shape and size in the air with his hands (and as he did so he had a sudden, sharp memory of his father’s cheerful indifference to his painstaking endeavours). ‘I did these amazing Star Wars ones, full of all this incredible detail…’
He shook his head, fondly.
‘What happened to them?’
‘I don’t know. I guess they must be at the back of a wardrobe somewhere…’
‘So why did you stop?’
He shrugged. ‘I just lost interest, I guess.’
He never encouraged me.
I was never really good enough.
‘A talented carpenter can always find work,’ Elen volunteered.
‘I carved her a cross,’ he mused, ‘but it was never finished. God. I’ve not thought about that in years…’
‘Is she buried locally?’
‘No. There was a family grave just outside Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire…’
‘Wood’s so mutable,’ she sighed.
‘Everything’s mutable,’ he responded blithely, ‘that’s why it’s important to savour the moment.’
‘Oh God,’ she suddenly exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand.
‘What?’
He jerked forward in his seat, concerned.
‘I’ve just had a thought…’ she turned to face him, her eyes full of wonder.
‘What?’ he repeated.
She grinned at him. ‘You must finish it.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The cross. You must finish it. Complete it. Take it to her…’
He frowned. He wasn’t especially impressed by the idea.
‘I mean finish what you started…’ she ran on excitedly.
‘Find closure, eh?’ he said, scratching four, tiny, deeply ironic speech marks in the air.
She looked hurt. Then, ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
He reached for his cigarettes.
‘May I smoke?’ he asked, taking them out.
‘No,’ she slowly shook her head.
‘Why not?’ he demanded petulantly. ‘Doesn’t your husband like it?’
‘The smell,’ she explained, ‘will get on to Fleet’s bedclothes.’
She put out her hand and patted the small pile of linen. As she reached out he saw the mean line of bruises on her forearm.
‘Of course.’
He quickly put his cigarettes away again, frowning.
‘And no, Dory doesn’t actually like it,’ she expanded (somewhat unnecessarily, he felt).
As she spoke the dog – Michelle – appeared in the open doorway. Kane stared at her, moodily.
‘What happened to her legs?’ he wondered.
‘Her legs? Michelle’s legs?’
He nodded.
‘I don’t really know. I think she was probably born that way. The legs are malformed. They never grew.’
‘Have you had her for long?’
‘God, no. Only a month or so. She just…uh…she just kind of turned up.’
‘What?’ Kane scoffed, thinking of Beede and the cat. ‘Just landed on your doorstep with the special little cart attached?’
‘Isidore – my husband,’ Elen explained, frowning, ‘sometimes he does things – initiates things – and then forgets…’
‘Did he build the little cart?’ Kane asked, smirking (still niggled, at some level, by the smoking ban).
‘No.’ Elen shook her head. ‘At least…’ she frowned, ‘I’m not entirely sure…Although it’s beautifully made, exquisitely made, like a tiny work of art…’
‘Did he bruise your arms?’ Kane wondered (as if this question was of exactly the same order – the same calibre – as all the others he’d just asked).
‘Pardon?’
‘Dory. Your husband. Did he bruise your arms?’
Elen turned to apprehend him, shocked.
Kane calmly met her gaze. ‘You said that sometimes he initiates things and then he forgets, I just presumed…’
‘No,’ she drew back from him, visibly appalled. ‘God. How awful.
What an awful thing to…’
She pulled down her sleeves, offended.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kane apologised, ‘I must’ve got the wrong idea. It was just something Beede said…’ He shook his head. ‘It was nothing.’
‘It was an accident,’ she persisted.
‘Good. Fine. You don’t need to explain.’
‘I slipped on a patch of black ice while out visiting a client, and someone – this man – they just…’
She paused. ‘Beede? Did Beede say something?’
‘No. Nothing important.’
‘What did he say?’
Kane looked uneasy. ‘He just warned me to keep my distance, that’s all.’
‘Keep your distance?’ she seemed surprised. ‘Keep away from me, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Yes. He said the situation at home was complicated, that your husband wasn’t well…’
‘And that was all? That was all he said?’
Kane thought about the drugs.
‘Yes. That was all.’
‘So he warned you off? Beede warned you off?’
She looked forlorn.
‘He was right to,’ she added. ‘It is complicated.’
She glanced down at her arms. ‘But Dory didn’t do this.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Kane said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘So where is he tonight?’
He tried to sound nonchalant.
‘Dory?’
Her chin jerked up. ‘He’s at work. He’s just at work.’
‘I see.’
She suddenly drew her legs up, folded them tight into her body, pulled the baggy jumper over the top of them, yanked it down to her ankles, manoeuvred her arms from the sleeves (withdrew them inside), wrapped them around her legs and balanced her chin on her knees. She stared straight ahead of her like a grave, blue Sphinx. ‘I must put the dog to bed,’ she murmured, ‘otherwise she’ll just drag herself around, peeing all over the place…’
‘Can I give you a hug?’ Kane asked.
‘What?’
She turned, hostile. He didn’t dare repeat it.
‘I’m just so tired,’ she sighed, ‘and it’s made me a little fractious, I’m afraid. I’m not quite myself.’
‘Then you should sleep.’
He prepared himself – mentally – to go.
She closed her eyes. ‘I can’t. I can’t sleep. I just keep on waking up.’
She opened her eyes again. ‘I wish I could sleep.’
‘I can give you something,’ he said, gauging her reaction, coldly. She quickly shook her head. ‘No. I need to stay alert in case Fleet…’
‘I can keep an eye on the boy,’ he insisted. ‘And I give you something to make you relax,’ he expanded, ‘which’ll definitely help…’ ‘If I relax I’ll just shatter,’ she smiled, slightly self-consciously (as if perfectly aware of how dramatic this sounded), ‘like some beat-up, old windscreen.’
‘Damned if you do…’ he told her, watching on possessively as she gently tipped her head against the arm of the sofa, her long, dark lashes slowly fluttering to a close. After a while her breathing deepened.
He leaned over towards her, then, instinctively reaching out his hand to brush the damp tangle of hair from her forehead, her cheek, her throat, but not actually making contact – not daring to make contact – just holding his fingers aloft, mere inches from her skin, like a scrupulous pianist too enthralled by the thought of a tune to presume to play a note.
EIGHT
‘You forgive me?’
‘Yeah…’ Kelly slapped her Bible shut and grinned into her mobile’s mouthpiece, almost beatifically, ‘yeah, I do, as it so happens…’
She was sitting – legs akimbo – in a badly broken wheelchair, on a busy hospital corridor, alongside a lightly slumbering Reverend, patiently awaiting their latest x-ray results.
‘But why?’ Winifred demanded, her words slightly slurred. ‘I mean for what?’
‘Because I’ve found God an’ I wanted to make my peace,’ Kelly informed her, cheerfully. ‘I sent the same text to everyone in my address book…Uh,’ she frowned, concerned, ‘an’ if you don’t mind my sayin’, you sound just a tad pissed, love.’
‘So let me get this straight: you suddenly got this overwhelming urge at…uh…’
Pause
‘…five past eleven – pretty much on the dot – to forgive everyo
ne you ever met?’
‘Yup,’ Kelly nodded. ‘That’s about the sum of it.’
‘But why?’
‘I already said,’ Kelly shrugged, unperturbed, ‘because it was the Godly thing to do…’
‘The Godly thing?’ Winnie snorted.
‘Yeah. You know, clean slate an’ all that…’ she paused, thoughtfully, ‘or maybe you don’t, come to think of it…’
‘So which God are we talking about here?’ Winnie enquired (as if Gods were just something you might select at the cheese counter). ‘Which God?’ Kelly was incredulous. ‘Don’t be stupid! The God. The God who found me. My God.’
‘Urgh…’ Winnie hiccoughed. ‘I’m suddenly feeling ever so slightly sick…’
‘An’ because of Paul,’ Kelly calmly continued, ‘I’m forgivin’ you for Paul. Paul died. He’s dead.’
Pause
‘Yes,’ Winnie spoke extra slowly, as if engaging with an imbecile, ‘I know that. You already told me that, remember?’
‘No I didn’t, as it happens,’ Kelly maintained, swapping her phone to the other ear (and inadvertently nudging the Reverend awake as she did so). ‘Well I did, but I didn’t, because he weren’t actually dead at that point.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I fibbed.’
‘You did what?’
‘I fibbed. I porky-pied.’
‘You lied?’ Winnie struggled to digest the full implications of this news. ‘But that’s just…I don’t understand. Why on earth might a person do that?’
‘Oi!’ Kelly harrumphed. ‘Climb down off your high horse. It was you as got him snortin’ glue, remember?’
The Reverend delivered her a warning glare. She delivered him one straight back.
‘Well strictly speaking…’ Winnie slurred, ‘I mean to be completely fair, we kind of got started together…’
‘Balls!’ Kelly exclaimed. The Reverend nudged her, sharply. She drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. ‘But who cares – whatever. It’s over with, yeah? A done-deal – kaput. I forgive you. So let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’
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