Street that Rhymed at 3am

by Mark Timlin

  ‘I take it you’ve heard.’ Just like that. No tears, no nothing. Just ‘I take it you’ve heard.’

  ‘I’ve heard,’ I said. ‘I just had a bloke on from Chicago. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Save it,’ said Jane. ‘If you’d –’

  ‘Don’t, Jane,’ I interrupted. ‘Don’t say anything you might regret.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t regret anything I said to or about you. You killed her, Nick, as sure as if you’d shot her. But that’s not why I’m calling. Where’s Judith? She’s staying with you, isn’t she?’

  ‘At a friend of mine’s, with his wife and kids,’ I replied. ‘She stays there when she visits me. There’s no room here.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Not from me. I just heard myself. She’ll be in bed. Charlie and Ginny run a tight ship.’

  ‘Are you going to tell her? She has to know.’

  She was getting on my nerves. ‘Of course she has to know. Of course I’ll tell her. Who else?’

  ‘I was just checking, Nick. I spoke to the man from the airport too. I’ve just put the phone down. Laura left my name and number with the airline as well as yours. Obviously she didn’t trust you. Someone has to go over there. Make the arrangements to get them home. Louis has no one here. No brothers or sisters. John and I will go.’ John was Jane’s husband. They had no children. I’m not surprised. I doubted if they’d ever had a fuck together. He was a keen gardener. She was as cold as ice. But then she hadn’t always been. I can still remember the way she clamped her thighs so tightly on my hand, that night so long ago, to keep it between her legs.

  ‘I could go,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t think so, Nick, do you? Mother would have kittens. Besides, you need to look after your daughter. And, talking about her, what do you intend to do?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About Judith, of course. She’s your responsibility now, and will be until she’s at least eighteen.’

  Christ, I’d never thought about that, I thought. ‘I haven’t had time to think,’ I said. ‘It’s all happened so fast.’

  ‘Think about it, Nick. For once you’ve got to act like an adult. Seagram International are putting us on a plane this morning at ten. We’re going straight to Chicago. I’ll call you when we get to the hotel. This will take a good few days, I just hope we’re back in time for Christmas. I’ll speak to you later.’ And she hung up.

  Yeah, I thought, as I switched off the phone my end. We wouldn’t want you to miss the turkey, would we?

  3

  Then I phoned Charlie’s house. After a long time, a sleepy-sounding woman answered. It was Ginny, Charlie’s missus.

  ‘This had better be good,’ she said. ‘At this time in the morning.’

  Like I’d said to Jane, a tight ship, with no messing.

  ‘Ginny,’ I said. ‘It’s Nick. Nick Sharman.’

  ‘I might’ve guessed. What is it this time? Your car broken down on the North Circ? Can’t you just call the AA?’

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ I replied. ‘Is Charlie there?’

  ‘If he wasn’t at twenty to four in the morning, I’d want to know the reason why. Hold on.’

  I heard her speaking and a masculine grunt, and Charlie came on. ‘Nick. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s Laura, Charlie,’ I replied. ‘And Louis and little David. They’re dead.’ And the truth suddenly hit me and I sobbed and sat down on the bed.

  ‘Nick, I’m half asleep. Say that again.’

  So I did, and it didn’t get any easier.

  ‘What happened?’

  So I told him that too, and he didn’t interrupt once.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said when I stopped. ‘So sorry. What about Judith?’

  ‘I need to come over and tell her. But don’t wake her. What time do the kids get up?’

  ‘On Saturday, early. There’s cartoons on TV. I dunno, seven-thirty, eight.’

  ‘Don’t let her see the news.’

  ‘They don’t, Nick. Not as a rule. Power Rangers is the show of choice.’

  ‘OK. Listen, can I come over soon? I need someone to talk to…’

  ‘’Course. We won’t go back to sleep now. I’ll get the kettle on. Come over as soon as you like. I’ll make the tea like my old granny did in the Blitz. Lots of rum and sugar.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I said, and put down the phone.

  4

  I got dressed then, collected my car keys and headed for Charlie’s. Although the heater was on full-blast, my heart was as cold as ice. He was watching out of the living-room window as I parked up, and he let me in. He closed the front door quietly and gave me a hug before beckoning me to follow him into the kitchen. Ginny was there sipping at a steaming mug, which she put down when we were inside with the door shut, and she gave me a hug too.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nick,’ she said. ‘And that crack when I answered the phone…’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I hate those late-night calls too.’

  ‘I should’ve known something was wrong.’

  ‘You weren’t to.’ And to avoid any further embarrassment I said, ‘So where’s this tea then?’

  Charlie poured me a mug and laced it heavily with dark rum. But even that couldn’t warm the pit of my stomach. I reiterated what I’d told them before and we sat at the kitchen table and waited for the time to pass, drinking more tea and smoking too many cigarettes.

  At seven-twenty we heard movement upstairs and Ginny went into the hall. I heard voices, then she came back with Judith.

  ‘Daddy, what are you doing here?’ she said in a bewildered voice, and Ginny motioned for Charlie to go outside with her and they left Judith and me alone.

  ‘Darling,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry. There’s been an accident.’ I didn’t know how to put it any better.

  Judith’s eyes widened. ‘Mummy…’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘And Louis and David too. A plane crash…’

  I saw Judith start to go then, and I moved forward and caught her in my arms. How could I have put it any differently? How could I have saved her the shock and the look of pain in her lovely eyes?

  ‘Are they…?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. I had a call from Chicago. A nice man…’ What a stupid thing to say.

  I steered my daughter to a chair and poured her a cup of tea from the fourth pot that Charlie had made. She ignored it. ‘But how?’ she said.

  ‘Bad weather. Pilot error. Engine failure. I don’t know. Auntie Jane is going over this morning. She’ll tell us more when she finds out.’

  ‘I want to go…’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s all been arranged. You stay here.’

  ‘But, Daddy…’

  ‘Judith,’ I said, sitting opposite her and taking one of her cold hands in both of mine. ‘It won’t do any good. Let’s just wait and let Auntie Jane handle it.’

  ‘But, Daddy…’ And she started to cry then and I held her tight and felt my tears mingle with hers as they dripped to the floor.

  5

  Charlie and Ginny left us alone for half an hour, then Ginny knocked on the door and came in.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But I need to make some breakfast…’

  ‘’Course,’ I replied. ‘We shouldn’t…’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Nick.’ And she opened the fridge and got out the eggs and bacon and butter and all the normal things. ‘You want some?’

  I looked at Judith, who just shook her head, and Ginny stopped what she was doing and came over and gathered my daughter up in her arms and that started Judith off again, and soon Ginny was weeping too and I didn’t know what the hell to do except light yet another cigarette and watch.

  In the end I got up and put some bacon under the grill, found the frying pan and started
to cook their breakfast myself.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said Ginny.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But it’s something to do.’ And pretty soon the kitchen was full of the smell of food, which just made me nauseous, and I went out into the back garden and stood in the freezing air and looked at the world gone pear-shaped yet again.

  When I went back in, Judith and Ginny were gone and Charlie was serving the food on to plates. ‘We’ve told the kids,’ he said. ‘They’ll leave you alone. Judith’s upstairs getting packed.’

  ‘Packed?’ I said.

  ‘She’s moving back in with you.’

  ‘There’s no room.’

  ‘You tell her that. She’s got a lot of you in her, Nick. Once she decides something…’

  I went upstairs into the bedroom she was sharing with Sally, Charlie and Ginny’s eldest girl, where Judith was neatly folding clothes into her suitcase. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Dad, if I can’t go with Auntie Jane I’m staying with you. Christ, it’s Christmas next week!’

  I don’t think I’d ever heard her swear like that before. ‘It’s so small at the flat,’ I said weakly.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, standing with a sweater in her hands. ‘We are related.’

  ‘But you’re so grown-up now.’

  Truth to tell, probably more grown-up than me.

  ‘Are you embarrassed?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Oh, Daddy!’ she said, dropping the jumper and coming over and holding me tight. ‘You’re so silly.’

  She reminded me so much of her mother, then, that my eyes filled again and I put my face into her clean-smelling hair and we stood there in the middle of the room, and it was almost as if she were the parent and I was the child.

  6

  We drove home in silence. When we stopped outside my flat I told Judith about the TV coverage.

  ‘I want to see it, Dad,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not very pleasant,’ I said. ‘But if you feel you have to…’ What else was there to say? She was growing up. Fast. And all the faster now.

  We went upstairs and Judith put on the TV, but it being Saturday morning it was all kids’ stuff and she turned down the volume and started to unpack.

  Then the phone rang. My first thought was the newspapers, so I answered with a non-committal ‘Hello.’

  ‘Mr Sharman,’ said a male voice with a cultured accent.

  ‘Who wants him?’

  ‘My name is McAllister. I’m a solicitor.’

  ‘Ambulance-chasing?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He seemed genuinely confused. ‘Am I by any chance speaking to Mr Nicholas Sharman?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Good. Mr Sharman, I’d like to meet you. I have a client who would be interested in employing you.’

  ‘I’m not taking any work at the moment.’

  Judith gave me a questioning look.

  ‘I see. Even so, I think it would be to our mutual advantage to meet. I might be able to tempt you.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Have I caught you at a bad time?’ Understatement of the year. ‘I realize it’s the weekend and all…’

  ‘The day of the week’s got nothing to do with it. It’s personal.’

  ‘I see…’

  Judith had come close and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘If it’s a job, take it. We might need the money.’

  ‘We, white man?’ I said. ‘It’s probably just serving a summons.’

  ‘Find out.’

  Fancy being bullied by a fifteen-year-old, I thought, but when she took her hand away I said, ‘When?’

  ‘I’m sorry…?’

  ‘The meeting. My business associate has just informed me we are taking work after all.’

  ‘I thought you worked alone?’

  ‘This is a relatively new phenomenon.’

  ‘Monday would suit. Ten o’clock at my office.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  He gave me an address in Holborn. ‘Ten o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘Sounds OK, but I might have to change it. Personal reasons.’

  ‘You’ll find I’m very flexible, Mr Sharman,’ he said. ‘Until Monday, then.’

  ‘Until Monday,’ I replied, and we broke the connection.

  7

  Saturday afternoon/Sunday

  We caught the lunchtime news, on which the plane crash was the lead story. The news reader said that there had been seven British passengers on board, but no names were mentioned. Judith cried. She cried a lot that weekend and it almost broke my heart. I cried too, and we did our best to comfort each other. But truth to tell, we weren’t much help.

  Over that Saturday and Sunday we were deluged by phone calls from the media. In the end I just turned on the answerphone and cut the volume. There were some rings on the doorbell too, but I ignored them. I also cancelled Judith’s flight to the States. Every so often I checked the answerphone tape and, on Sunday afternoon, I found a call from Jane in Chicago. She left a phone number and I dialled it back when Judith went to have a shower. It was the Sheraton Hotel and they put me through to her room. She answered on the third ring. ‘You just caught us,’ she said. ‘We have to go to the airline office. It’s bedlam here. Newspaper reporters and TV people everywhere. They’re having to smuggle us in and out.’

  ‘We’ve had our share too. Someone put two and two together from the passenger list. We’ve had some visitors, but I haven’t answered the door. And I’m not answering the phone.’

  ‘Keep Judith out of it as much as possible, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. What do you think I’m doing?’ I hesitated. ‘What about the bodies?’

  ‘We can’t see them. They’re too badly burned. It looks like identification by other means.’

  ‘Were they definitely on the plane?’

  ‘It looks like it. They checked in…’

  ‘But that doesn’t always mean…’

  ‘Nick. They’re dead. My sister is dead. Face it. I’ve had to.’ And I could hear her sob over all those thousands of miles and suddenly it didn’t matter that she was a bitch.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jane,’ I said. ‘I know you probably think I don’t care…’

  ‘I’m sorry too, Nick,’ she said. ‘And I know that you do. Suddenly everything else seems so unimportant.’ She sobbed again, then pulled herself together. Back to something more like the old Jane. ‘Is Judith there?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s in the… no. Hold on,’ I said as Judith came into the room in her dressing gown, towelling her hair. ‘She’s here now.’

  ‘Auntie Jane,’ I said passing the receiver over.

  ‘Hello,’ said Judith. ‘Auntie Jane. How are you?’

  A pause.

  ‘I know. I can’t believe it either. What’s it like over there?’

  A longer pause.

  ‘Have you seen them?’

  Short pause.

  ‘But you’re sure…’

  Funny how we all ask the same questions. Where the hell else would they have been?

  ‘Will you ring back later?’

  A short pause again.

  ‘OK. Auntie Jane, I’ll talk to you then,’ and she put the phone down. When she turned round she was crying again. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Why did this have to happen?’

  8

  Sunday evening

  I got Chinese takeaway for supper that evening, and we sat indoors with the curtains drawn and listened to music on the stereo. It was very quiet inside the house, and I turned the volume down low. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked Judith when she pushed away her plate of food that she’
d hardly touched.

  ‘Bloody awful. How about you?’

  ‘The same. Listen, Judith. We can nish this meeting tomorrow if you like. With this solicitor geezer.’

  ‘No, Dad. Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand being cooped up any longer.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. OK, we’ll go. But I don’t fancy taking on any work.’

  ‘Let’s see what the offer is.’

  All of a sudden she reminded me of Laura. Always the sensible one. Pragmatic. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Your mum and me…’

  She looked at me through Laura’s eyes. ‘Yes, Dad?’

  ‘I did love her, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Never stopped, really. It broke my heart when she slung me out. Divorced me. And it broke my heart again when she remarried. I always hoped… maybe one day we’d get back together.’

  ‘I know that too.’

  ‘But it was never her fault. She could be a cow. Well, you know that.’

  Judith nodded.

  ‘But it was me. I screwed up that marriage big time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I thought I was the greatest. Jack the Lad. Mr Big Time. But I wasn’t. I was just a bent copper who dragged a fine woman down with him.’

  ‘But there were other women as well?’

  Icy fingers clenched my heart again. ‘Oh yeah. Plenty. Plenty of them. I was stupid, Judith. But I thought I’d paid. You see, I believe in the old saying: “What goes around, comes around”. Some people call it karma, but that’s too hippie bullshit for me. But I really do believe that we pay for what we do. Somehow. And I thought I’d paid. Finally. Everyone I’ve lost. But obviously I haven’t. Maybe I never will until I’m dead myself.’

  She held my hand tightly. ‘Don’t say that, Daddy,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you too.’

  ‘No, Judith. Not for a long time. Only the good die young. The really bad people, God keeps them around for as long as possible and takes away everything and everybody they care about. Dying seems to be easy. Carrying on living is the hard thing.’