by James Anson
He was checking through the clothes he had piled on the bed when he noticed the phial of pills on the bedside table. He glanced at them curiously: What's Mike taking these for? Not hangovers unless they're monsters ...
Returning home he found Michael still soaking in the bath with an impressive amount of bruising developing. Robert looked at him.
"I'll make us some coffee," he said. "Don't bother to shift yourself."
"Don't worry, I won't," said Michael. "I like being waited on."
Robert came back in with a large mug of coffee. "Here you ..." He stopped short, staring at Michael. "I'm sorry," he said, looking away.
Michael glanced down at his scarred body. "Not a pretty sight is it?" he remarked. "I like to keep the light out now. Still, can't grumble, everything's still there and it works.
That's starting to smell good, whatever it is."
"Chicken pie," said Robert. "I'll be dishing it up in a moment." Michael hauled himself out of the bath and dried himself, then pulled on his briefs and the bathrobe: anything more at the moment would be too uncomfortable, he judged.
"That," said Robert, wiping his mouth, "was the best meal I've had in a long time."
"Can't fault Jessie's cooking," said Michael, helping himself to a large portion of ice-cream.
"Hey, leave some for me!" said Robert. "Brandy and coffee to finish?" Michael nodded. "Right, then just pile the dishes in the sink. I'm going to buy myself a dishwasher when the paperback royalties start coming in. I'm sick of wasting time washing dishes. Brandy's over there, in the cupboard with the glasses."
When Robert returned from the kitchen with the coffee Michael was looking at the portrait of a very serious small boy.
"My son, David," said Robert.
"How old was he?" Michael asked.
"Six. It was no one's fault, he just ran out - over in a moment."
Michael slipped an arm round his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Yeah, I know. Come on, coffee's getting cold. If you still feel cold you can stay here the night, you know."
"No, I'll be fine." Michael swayed suddenly and sat down. "Phew, went dizzy," he remarked.
"Stick your head down then," said Robert practically. "And stop playing the Spartan hero -doesn't impress me. Just plain daft to go home feeling rotten and fall down the stairs or something. Stay on that sofa till you feel better and I'll tidy my papers."
Robert cleared the dishes and started sorting his papers, making a mental note to remember where he was putting things. Michael had fallen asleep quite quickly.
Everything filed to his satisfaction, Robert settled with a brandy, putting on a music tape quietly.
"Liked that," said a sleepy voice as the tape ended.
Robert smiled across to him. "I haven't played that in a long time. It's one of my favourites."
He walked over to the machine to change the tape and glanced across at Michael, who was gazing at him with what could only be described as melting affection. Robert changed the tape then walked over, looking down; kneeling, he ruffled Michael's short hair.
"More than time for a talk, isn't it?" Robert remarked. "Penny's just dropped, Mike. Been very slow, haven't I? You're very fond of me, aren't you? Thought those jokes were a try-on. Didn't realise how serious you were underneath."
Michael combed his hair straight again with his fingers. "Robert, just let it go, will you?" he said.
"Why?" asked Robert. "Got scared now I'm taking you seriously? Can't say I'm affected the same way, but you seem to have grown on me like moss, or mould - not sure which."
"No," said Michael. "It isn't that, it's ..." He got up from the sofa and stumbled.
"Blasted leg's seized up."
"Not really a good time for romance, is it?" asked Robert, grinning. "All right, we can wait till you're in better shape, and then have a good talk."
After supper he steered Michael up to his spare room, surprised at how little fight there was in him, then went off to bed himself.
He was up early, clashing pans in the kitchen, when he heard Michael moving about.
"Breakfast's nearly ready," he called.
Michael looked at himself in the bathroom mirror; his sight was blurring constantly now, the pain in his head almost unendurable. There wasn't any time left. He could leave Robert a letter, but there was nothing he could say. Better for Robert if he kept it light, just walked out of his life. He winced as the pain deepened, waiting until it eased again.
Good, just breakfast to get through, then he must leave. He borrowed Robert's razor and shaved carefully.
Um, not bad. Pale but presentable. Now go and have breakfast, play the mad Irish idiot for Robert one last time.
"Sure you don't want any more toast?" Robert asked. "Not up to your usual effort, that. What are you planning to do today?"
"Decided to go on a diet, haven't I?" said Michael. "Have to think of poor old Piper. Not fair to him hauling a weight like me over those banks. I must go - want to give him a good gallop this morning."
Robert studied him as Michael refilled his coffee mug. You look like the wrath of God and you haven't stopped burbling since you came down this morning. What's the matter with you, Mike? he thought worriedly.
"Going to have to put you in a book one day, Mike," he remarked, sitting back.
Michael smiled at him. "As the hero, I hope: handsome, dashing, charming?"
"No," said Robert. "As a big, daft lump with nothing between his ears but bran mash. Get on with you then: I have work to do. You sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine now," said Michael. "It's wearing off." He smiled towards where Robert was sitting, then turned to go out of the door. He could see the light dimly, stepped forward and almost fell over Ashley, who appeared suddenly on the step, clutching a decent-sized cheese.
“Mike!" yelped Ashley, startled.
Michael tossed him up. "Less of the Mike, brat," he said. He hugged Ashley, then set him down. His sight had cleared again and he walked confidently down the path.
Ashley put the cheese down on the table and watched Robert searching, like a squirrel after nuts, through his filing cabinet for the green notebook which he was sure he had left here. It had moved, he thought irritably. Must have!
"Mike took an awful fall yesterday," said Ashley. "He and Piper went right head over heels. Dr Ryan said it was a mercy they both weren't killed. Mike’s guardian angel will be putting in for a transfer, he said. He stuck close to Fat Amy all the time after that. She kept going on: 'Didn't you see the fucking wire?'" Ashley's mimicry was perfect.
Robert bent a severe gaze on him. "Ashley! You use that word again and I'll wash your mouth out with soap and water."
Ashley giggled. "Better be off," he said. "Mother says she hopes you enjoy the cheese. It's the same batch as took the prize last month at the dairy show."
"Thank you," said Robert absently; he was still searching. "Bye ..."
Oh, there it is. How did it get there? He sat down and started to work but found his attention wandering back to Michael. I've been worried about him for a while, he admitted to himself. Better go over and see him tomorrow. No, dammit, now. He grabbed his jacket. There was something wrong - he could feel it.
* * * * *
Michael looked round the room. Yes, he had left everything tidy. They would have no problem finding the documents needed to settle his small estate: his will was in the drawer, with the letter to the police. He hadn't left one for Robert. There was nothing he could say and Robert would hate the embarrassment of being mentioned in court.
Better put a note on the door. I don't want anyone calling and finding me on the floor without being warned.
He carefully printed a card and pinned it to the back door. He had taken his cat back to the farm, asking Jess to mind him for a few days. Ashley would inherit his property and he had gone through his papers, burning anything he considered personal, which included the clipping of Robert opening the fête; he had smiled on reading th
e account again. Now there was only one thing left to do. Going upstairs, he brought down and loaded his father's old service revolver.
He was startled a moment by a sound. Something brushing ... Oh, that bush by the side gate. I should have done something about that.
Now, Mike, he said to himself, don't bugger this up too ... He began to raise the revolver.
"Any tea?" asked Robert from the doorway. He was smiling as he walked into the room. "Thought you'd be in," he added.
Michael stared at him. "How did you get in?"
"Pantry window - you need a decent lock on it," said Robert. "I'm on the small side, remember? Put that gun down, will you? You're making me nervous. Loaded, is it?"
Michael nodded dumbly, then put the gun down on the table and sank into a chair.
He began to shake.
Robert was across the room, unloading the gun in a moment. "Bloody hell," he said.
"You gave me a hell of a fright. Saw the notice. I'll get myself a drink, I need it." He poured himself a large brandy, keeping an eye on Michael. "Would have expected you to finish this bottle," he remarked.
"Didn't want it read out at the coroner's court that the deceased had partaken of a large quantity of alcohol," said Michael. "Always sounds so sordid. Oh hell ..." He began to shake again.
Robert was across the room, holding him. "It's all right now, Mike. Just hang on a little longer. You're coming home with me."
"It's no good," said Michael. "Don't want you involved - nothing you can do."
Robert snorted. "I'm already involved. Come on, I've got the car out the front. You can't see, can you? Just hold on to me ..."
Michael got to his feet and allowed Robert to guide him out of the house to the car.
He didn't speak during the short drive. Robert settled him in the kitchen, then insisted he had a hot drink, to which he had added one of his own sleeping-pills. After a valiant effort to keep his eyes open Michael agreed he was very tired and lay down. Robert waited till he was sure Michael was sound asleep, then telephoned Dr Ryan, who came right over.
"Well, he should sleep right through till morning," he remarked. "Now tell me what has happened."
Robert hesitated. "I found him in a very depressed condition," he began.
"How depressed? Go on, man, I knew something was wrong but he wouldn't tell me anything."
"With a gun in his hand," said Robert. "I thought the best thing to do was to get a pill into him - better than booze - and call you."
"Yes, I agree. Well, I don't think he'll move till the morning. I could send him to hospital if you would rather."
"No," said Robert. "Knowing Mike, he'd just walk out, if he had to crawl, the way he feels at the moment. He's better here. I'll watch him."
"Very good, I'll call in the morning then."
Robert saw the doctor out, then fixed himself some supper and settled down in a chair, a bad-tempered eye fixed on his charge. Trust Mike to disturb his work ...
Michael did not stir till early morning, then looked round, blinking.
"You're at my place," said Robert. "Like some coffee?"
"Yes, after the bathroom. Can you point me the way?"
Robert went over to him. "Come on then. Dr Ryan will be over shortly, so you'd better shave as well. Use my battery shaver. Head still giving you gyp?"
"No, it seems easier this morning - just throbbing now and again."
Shaved, Michael looked round. "Robert, how do I look?"
Robert surveyed him critically. "Pallid, with terrible bags under your eyes - much as usual in fact. Fancy any breakfast?"
"Not sure," said Michael doubtfully. However, after a sniff at the pan he managed a bacon sandwich.
They ate in silence, before there was a knock at the door.
"Dr Ryan," said Robert. He let the doctor in, then strolled out into his garden. Still have to get this sorted out one day, he thought. After I've got Mike sorted out. Could bloody murder him ...
Dr Ryan called him back in. "Faulkner would like to talk to you. Call me as soon as he makes a decision. But, March, he hasn't any time left to waste if we are to try and save his life."
Robert nodded and went into the front room where Michael was sitting in front of the fire.
"That you, Robert?"
"Yes. Are you ready to tell me everything now?"
Michael nodded. "I was badly injured on my last trip in the Middle East: mine splinters. You've seen some of the damage. There was a head wound ... fragments ... they got out what they could. What's left has started shifting ... pressure building up, nerve damage ... that sort of thing. I found out when I was in Dublin. Had a bad fall with a horse which shouldn't have happened, so they sent me for a check-up. They could operate but the odds aren't good. It's likely I'll still be blind and ... not myself. Bad enough being blind and dependent but the other ..." He shivered. "So I decided it would be better to finish it now."
"And if they don't operate?" asked Robert quietly.
"Pressure will build up ... haemorrhage and that's it," said Michael.
"No choice then," said Robert. "You're going to have that operation. I'll ring Dr Ryan, get things moving. We're not waiting for the bloody National Health. I'll pack a bag for you, get Jessie to mind my place and the cats."
"Robert!" Michael was on his feet looking, Robert was pleased to see, much livelier in spite of his pallor, not to say displeased. Michael opened his mouth to continue his protest but Robert had not finished.
"Look, Mike, having invaded and disrupted my life, the least you can do is to try not to die on me. Be bloody annoyed with you if you do. I'm already pissed off at you about yesterday's performance, so shut your face for a while."
He settled at the telephone and made the arrangements, then made lunch for Michael.
Dr Ryan would be over later.
Michael seemed more relaxed and Robert assumed the extra pills Dr Ryan had given him would keep any pain to an acceptable level. They began to talk over the meal.
"Mike, would you like me to get in touch with your family? Tell 'em what's going on?" Robert asked.
"No. Charlie will hear anyway if I don't get through the operation. He'll be as mad as hell when he finds I've left everything to Ashley. Only right, of course, but he won't see it that way."
Robert stared at him. "Been having me on, haven't you? Ashley isn't your son after all. Lousy sod!"
Michael grinned. "You and half the village are assuming he is. No, he's my nephew, Stephen's child. Stephen was killed before they could get married - Pa had forbidden it.
Very old-fashioned ideas. He blamed me for Stephen's death - his car went over a mine on the Border. I was in the area with a patrol - only time I ever was: not army policy. We knew a British officer had been hurt but couldn't get to him. It wouldn't have helped anyway. He was too badly injured - died in hospital. Had a dust-up at his funeral. Things were said - and I left. Never saw the old man again. I was in hospital in the Middle East when he had his final heart attack. Doesn't matter any more."
"It does to you," said Robert. "Bloody Irish. When you're fit, I'm going to unscramble your brains for you. And kick Charlie in the balls if he makes trouble!"
Michael grinned again. "He's not going to like you at all."
"Good," said Robert. "Is it true he had to marry Winnie Cosgrave?"
Michael choked over his coffee. "Slander, that is. No, Charlie doesn't approve of sex - it interferes with his squash."
* * * * *
The next day Robert was sitting by Michael’s bed in the large modern hospital. "Met the fella that's going to do the job," he said. "He said the X-ray didn't look as bad as he expected. Now, about this family of yours: where will I find them?"
"Why?" asked Michael suspiciously. "It's nothing to do with them."
"Mike! Well, let's say I need to know for your funeral, or it's going to be very thinly attended."
Michael glared at him. "Don't want them there - would spoil the day for me," he said.
He brightened: "On second thoughts, be sure to invite Charlie and see I have a full requiem Mass: he'll hate it."
Robert looked at him with irritation. "I don't think I'll be enjoying it much either. Now will you give me his address?"
"All right." Michael gave the required information. "You won't like him," he added.
"Don't like him now," said Robert firmly. "What about that sister you have locked up somewhere in Ireland?"
"She's in an enclosed Order, not Strangeways!" said Michael. "No, don't tell her for now. She'll be putting in a word for me anyway. Robert, I wish I could see you."
"You'll see me when you wake up afterwards. They're coming to throw me out now, I'll be back in the morning."
Robert sat back and glowered at the telephone. How much longer was it going to take to track down some tinpot army colonel? It was costing him a fortune in calls, too.
The telephone rang.
"This is Colonel Charles Faulkner. I understand you have been trying to reach me, Mr March?"
"Yes, I have. Your brother Michael is having a serious operation in the morning. I thought you should know."
"I see." The voice sounded uninterested.
There was a long silence.
"Look," said Robert, "I haven't time to waste with you. Here is the hospital telephone number if you want to get in touch. If not, forget it!" He slammed the receiver down.
He saw Michael briefly the next morning. Michael was very dopey with his pre-med and chuckled over Robert's bout with Charlie.
"Knew you wouldn't get on, Robert. Better this way. Thanks for everything."
"Just you wait till you're fit again," said Robert. "I've got a lot to say to you. I have to go now. See you when you wake up."
Robert settled into the visitors' room and began to write - anything to keep him occupied. He filled two notebooks and went and bought a third from the hospital shop.
