by Linda Huber
At least Frank was around to give her some support. That was the only good thing, actually. Today she felt as if the whole situation was about to rear up and crash back down, flattening them all. She was working so hard here and nothing was going right. And none of it was her fault.
Her fault. Her mother’s voice echoed through Alicia’s head. Stop, Bob. It wasn’t her fault.
Alicia stood still, Margaret’s ancient shopping bag clutched in one hand. Something hadn’t been her fault, but what? She’d been with Cathal... and yes, it had happened more or less right where she was standing, just outside the house where the O’Brians had lived.
The memory was suddenly crystal clear in her mind. She, her parents and Cathal had been walking along here, Cathal had been going home, and he had clapped her shoulder in a friendly goodbye. Not quite a hug, just a fond gesture from a boy of ten or eleven, which would make her eight or nine. The memories were getting younger.
Her father had been outraged that a boy had touched his daughter. He had grabbed her shoulder and shaken her – that was when Mum spoke – and then he had marched her home and... what? She could remember him dragging her up the lane and how terrified she had been, but the rest was a blank. What had he done to her? Something ‘bad’, she could feel that in her bones.
There were only a handful of people in the shop, and Alicia wrestled a basket from the pile by the door. Mrs Mullen was busy giving a middle-aged woman a very detailed account of someone else’s operation while a man waited patiently, his basket on the floor beside him.
Alicia grabbed a family pizza and a lettuce for tonight’s dinner. Maybe tomorrow she’d feel up to an outing to Merton. The man was packing his shopping into an old-fashioned leather shopper not dissimilar to Margaret’s when Alicia reached the checkout. By the looks of things he was having pasta with cream and bacon sauce for dinner, and Alicia felt slightly ashamed of her ready-made pizza.
‘Right then, Alicia dear,’ said Mrs Mullen, jabbing at the old-fashioned cash register. Scanners and bar codes obviously hadn’t reached this far north yet. ‘How’s your Dad today?’
Alicia sighed. ‘Alright, I suppose, but things aren’t going to change for the better,’ she said. ‘It’s just a case of deciding what’s the best way to take care of him.’
The man leaned towards her. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but am I right that you’re Mr Logan’s daughter?’
‘Yes,’ said Alicia, surprised. Gosh, this guy was a real Robert Redford lookalike. Maybe eight years older than she was, he had a full head of red-brown hair and he was tall, towering above her. He was smiling - he looked kind.
‘Let me introduce myself, I’m Douglas Patton, the head of St. Joseph’s in Middle Banford.’
Alicia felt a broad grin spread over her face. Talk about being in the right place at the right time, this chance encounter in Mrs Mullen’s shop might just make things a whole lot easier. She shook his outstretched hand. It was warm, and he was holding onto hers for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Which was very interesting... and quite exciting, too.
‘Frank Carter has told me about you and the home,’ she said, stuffing her pizza into the shopping bag. ‘He thinks my father would be better off in St. Joseph’s, and I feel the same way, but my aunt isn’t happy about it which is why we haven’t been in touch yet.’
He stood holding the shop door open for her, leaving Mrs Mullen staring after them.
‘That’s better,’ he said, when they were standing on the pavement. ‘Anything you say in the shop in the course of the afternoon will have reached Upper Banford by tea time. At the latest. Mrs Mullen’s contacts, you know.’
Alicia laughed. ‘Oh, I do know. I grew up here. Mrs Mullen’s been gossip-leader since the invention of the wheel. Not that I’ve anything to hide. But thanks anyway.’
‘Frank put your father on our waiting list this week,’ he said. ‘Would you like to see round St. Joe’s by yourself sometime, just unofficially? I’m off today and tomorrow but I could give you a wee tour on Thursday morning, if you like?’
Alicia stared at him. It was actually a really good idea. She would try very hard to persuade Margaret to come too, but if that didn’t work, she would go by herself.
‘That would be fantastic. I might be able to convince my aunt to come as well. What time would suit you?’
Was she imagining the look of pleasure that crossed his face?
‘Shall we say half past ten? In the entrance hallway?’
He held out his hand again, and Alicia shook, another grin spreading across her face. But maybe she was reading way too much into a couple of handshakes. She didn’t get out enough, that was the problem. Well, today she’d had coffee with one man and now she’d made a date – of sorts – with another.
She grasped her bag and turned to go. ‘Fantastic. Thanks. See you on Thursday, then.’
He waved, then walked up the street in the opposite direction. Alicia strode homewards, aware that she felt lighter. What an interesting half hour that had been.
The Stranger
The most wonderful thing had happened. He had touched little Helen. A lovely warm shiver ran through him as he recalled the moment.
He switched on the lamp by his armchair and pulled the heavy velvet curtains across the window, shutting the world out. It was beginning to get dark, and here in the stillness of his own home it was safe to think about the miracle that had occurred. With shaking hands he poured himself a glass of red wine, then sat down slowly, cradling the glass in both hands, watching the ruby liquid swirl as he raised it to the light.
Such an amazing thing.
He had gone up through the woods late that afternoon, hoping that little Helen might be playing outside again, and she was. In the woods, at the special place. He had talked to her, he had touched her sweet face, and it had been just the two of them. And oh, she was so lovely. His own Helen herself must have been exactly like that as a little child.
She’d been running round amongst the trees, talking to that stupid enormous dog. He ducked behind a tree to watch her, then crept closer, still carefully concealed, until he could hear her every word. She was pretending to be a princess in a palace. How perfect she was.
‘Come and sit on your throne, Unicorn Conker,’ she said. ‘We have to wait for the King.’
He hadn’t been able to help himself. He stepped out in front of her and bowed, a low, old-fashioned bow. The dog growled, then barked twice.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I am your humble servant, King Oberon. Permit me to wait upon you and the unicorn Conker.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and he could see both puzzlement and fascination in her eyes. ‘Alright. Be quiet, Conker. You can play too, King Oberon. I’m Princess, um - ’
‘Queen Titania,’ he said, bowing again. The dog had subsided, thank God.
‘Oh yes. Queen Titania. And Conker, does he have a special name?’
‘The jester, Puck.’
It was that easy, he couldn’t believe his luck. She had laughed and chatted and showed him round the ‘palace’. Then Big Helen had called from their garden.
‘A secret,’ he said quickly, bending close and touching a finger to her perfectly formed lips, feeling the warmth from her delicious little body spread right through his own. ‘We won’t tell anyone, not a soul. This is our secret.’
And of course she agreed straightaway. She was his friend now.
‘A secret.’ She touched her lips too, then turned and raced down through the woods, the dog loping along behind her. It was a pity about the dog, he would have to get rid of it.
Very soon it would be Paradise time for Little Helen. When he was certain that big Helen trusted him – and that wouldn’t be long now – then it would be his hour. His day. And when little Helen was safe with his own Helen, big Helen would turn to him. All his Helens, how lucky he was.
Little Helen in Paradise. It would be easy, she was so sweet and trusting.
The wine glass was em
pty, and he set it down on the table, smiling gently. The good times were beginning.
Alicia
Alicia said nothing about her encounter with Douglas Patton when she arrived back home. She wanted to get Margaret to help her, see if they could find out more about what, exactly, her father could understand now. There was a big difference between suggesting putting someone who was more or less compos mentis into a care home, and sending someone who didn’t know if he was coming or going. It would be easier for Margaret if she knew the old man’s mind was irreversibly affected by the strokes. And it was - wasn’t it? You could see that he was oblivious to the world around him. And yet there was the mystery of his reaction to Alicia herself - what was going on there? The sudden eye contact and inappropriate laughter were reserved for her, he never did that with anyone else. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.
Margaret immediately agreed to try some of the old speech therapy exercises, and Alicia heaved a relieved sigh. Her father was more likely to be cooperative with Margaret around.
They sat down in the living room and tried to engage the old man. He wouldn’t look up at first, but eventually Margaret succeeded in attracting his attention and worked with him, trying to get him to sign ‘yes’ and ‘no’ with his good hand. Alicia watched in frustration. Bob looked at Margaret when she asked the questions, but his hand stayed limp in her hand.
‘It’s no use,’ said Alicia at last. ‘He doesn’t understand. He can move that hand perfectly well, he just doesn’t know what you want from him.’
Margaret nodded. ‘I think you might be right,’ she said, patting Bob’s hand and turning to look at Alicia. ‘But remember this, lovey, he’s still your father.’
She left the room, and Alicia sighed. Somehow that remark didn’t bode well for a successful ‘let’s put Dad in a home’ conversation later on. A soft snigger made her look up, and she gasped before backing away. Her father was staring straight at her, with perfect eye contact, and he was laughing quietly, his mouth half-open and his breath wheezing in his chest. A dribble of spit worked its way down his chin.
Fury took hold of Alicia. ‘You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you,’ she said quietly. ‘Be careful, old man. You only have one family.’
His gaze left hers but he chortled on as Alicia went out to the kitchen, not trusting herself to stay in the same room as him.
The kettle was boiling when Alicia came down from settling her father for the night. Jen, bless her, was sound asleep already. She’d spent most of the day in the woods with Conker. Alicia smiled, remembering how the little girl had come running into the kitchen at dinner time. Not for the first time her daughter had managed to surprise her.
‘Mummy, who’s King Oberon?’ she asked. ‘It’s a game I play in the woods but I can’t remember who he is. And Titania?’
‘Oberon? He’s from a Shakespeare play called A Midsummer Night’s Dream – that was the one they did in Middle Banford this year – Oberon is King of the Fairies, and Titania is his Queen. What made you think about them?’
‘Nothing. I was just playing. It’s our special game, isn’t it, Conker?’ And off she’d run back outside, Conker galumphing along behind her.
Alicia reached for the teapot. Thank Christ she’d be able to go to bed soon, this tiredness was horrible, and if her father didn’t let her have a better night’s sleep tonight she didn’t know what she would do.
She poured tea and lifted the mugs. Margaret was sitting out on the bench, lit up from behind by the light from the kitchen window. The garden was in near darkness. It was an almost midsummer night right here, but the dream was more of a nightmare.
‘Tea up,’ said Alicia, handing over a steaming mug and sinking down beside her aunt. ‘Oh, this is just what the doctor ordered. I’m exhausted, Margaret. I don’t know how you’ve been managing here all by yourself.’
Margaret sniffed. ‘Perfectly well on the whole. And the doctor’s been ordering something else too, I see. I don’t approve of sleeping pills, Alicia. It isn’t natural.’
‘Well, not sleeping isn’t natural either. We all need our sleep,’ said Alicia mildly. She took a deep breath. ‘Margaret, I really would like the two of us to go together and have a look at St. Joe’s. Then we could have a proper talk about it, involve Frank Carter too. We’ll be able to decide things much better when we’ve seen exactly what we’re deciding about.’
If only she could make Margaret understand. It would be much better if they both went to St. Joe’s on Thursday, met Douglas Patton, and saw round the place. Her aunt, however, soon dispelled any illusions she had about that.
‘Alicia, there’s nothing to decide! I don’t want my brother in a home and that’s all there is to it. He has family to look after him! It isn’t as if he’s wheelchair bound. I’m very grateful for your help this summer, and I’ll be glad to take things a bit easier while you’re here. Then I’ll have plenty of energy to cope by myself again when you go back to Bedford.’
Alicia was silent. By the looks of things she would have to go it alone. Frank would help her. And maybe Douglas Patton. But her aunt wasn’t finished yet.
‘David phoned this morning to invite me to stay with him and Sheila in York for a few days while you’re here to hold the fort. I knew you wouldn’t mind, so I’m going on Thursday morning. I’m sure when I get back you’ll have come round to my way of thinking, Alicia dear. Bob doesn’t make much work at all, and looking after him here is something I feel I have to do.’ And with that, Margaret stood slowly, and headed back inside.
Left alone in the darkness, Alicia sipped her tea, feeling her courage sag. Brilliant. With Margaret away, not only would she be alone here with her father, but the plan of moving him to the care home would be on hold until Margaret returned. Alicia knew she hadn’t reached the point yet where she would go completely against her aunt’s wishes. She could still go to St. Joe’s on Thursday, of course, but now she would have to find a sitter. She couldn’t leave Jenny and her father here together with just Conker looking after them.
She glanced across to the house next door, all but hidden behind tall shrubs.
One of the neighbours would help out for sure, and this way at least she’d get Douglas Patton all to herself for an hour or two.
Which, when you thought about it, was a very big advantage.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday, 12th July
The Stranger
Two afternoons in a row with little Helen, how lucky he was. The memory of his finger brushing over those warm little lips was so, so delicious. He had never touched another person’s lips before, except of course for his own Helen’s. Or possibly Mummy’s too, but he couldn’t remember anything definite about that. And now that he had little Helen within grasping distance he didn’t want to think about his futile quest to win Mummy’s love. Those had truly been years of desperation, starting with the death of Snugglepuss and not ending until Mummy went to hell. It was only afterwards, with the hurt all parcelled away, that he had learned how to live in the world. He had realised that if he was nice to people they were usually nice back, and this had worked splendidly for him until Helen came along. She was such an angel. But she hadn’t loved him unconditionally. Just like Snugglepuss and just like Mummy. The anger had returned and that wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Helen, he truly hadn’t meant for her to go to Paradise. But now he could make it up to her by giving her the two new Helens. And oh, little Helen... he just had to enjoy her as often as he could in this world before he sent her off to the next.
So he’d gone back to the woods this afternoon, and what a good thing he had, for there she was, and this time when she saw him she waved and laughed.
‘King Oberon! You’re just in time for a picnic, Mummy gave me some lemon wafers and some grapes, look!’
He bent over the bag she was holding out. ‘Food fit for a king,’ he pronounced, taking his place on the fallen tree trunk. She busied herself setting the �
�table’, a paper serviette spread beside him, and he sat there watching her, clasping and unclasping his hands, feeling his body tremble in anticipation. She was here, and his was the power. He could do whatever he wanted with her. He could kill the dog ‘by accident’ and then comfort little Helen and cuddle her straight off to Paradise today.
But of course he wouldn’t. A fairy queen deserved a better plan, a special ceremony. And he deserved more of her, too.
‘There!’ said little Helen, looking up at him with those sweet, trusting eyes. ‘That’s the table almost ready, now if you watch that um, Puck doesn’t steal the biscuits I’ll just pick some flowers.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said, watching as she crouched down to pick bluebells. How glorious she was. What a pity she wasn’t wearing something a little more regal. He would find her something fitting to wear on her journey to Paradise. A golden robe, for instance, or a white one.
She danced back to the tree trunk and spread her handful of bluebells around the grapes. ‘We’re ready! What would you like, King Oberon?’
‘But Madam! Allow me to serve you first. My Queen must eat her fill before her king and humble servant.’
He had lifted a little bunch of five grapes, and slowly, one after the other he placed them in her perfect little mouth, touching her lips every time. She giggled and chewed and swallowed, and then when the fifth grape was gone he took a tissue from his pocket and wiped her lips, holding her face with his other hand. And she had let him. It was so wonderful; it made the sweat start all over again.
‘There!’ he said. ‘Now my Queen has eaten, and you may serve me!’
