Max opened his mouth and Jenna said quickly, “Coffee, Mum. Max is a great coffee drinker. Aren’t you, Max?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Coffee’d be great.”
Luke emerged and checked him out for five minutes. After an effort at conversation, he wandered off again. They had absolutely nothing in common, not even the same A levels.
After lunch, Jenna took Max for a walk round the garden. They stood at the stone pillars and iron gates and she told him about the village up the road, beyond the bridge; about how her father loved the people here.
Max made a face and a curl escaped from behind his ear and blew across his nose. “Yeah, well. I suppose you’d have to, to put up with some of the weirdos about.”
The grass was damp and mossy underfoot as they walked round the side of the house to the back. The remaining kitten, bigger now but still as playful, came with them, pouncing on leaves, wrestling grass, and murdering twigs. It galloped across the lawn and hurled itself onto the back fence, running along the top rail and falling off on the other side in a twirl of tail and paws.
Max looked across the field, one hand in his pocket and the other round Jenna’s waist. The trailing hems of his frayed jeans were wet.
“What’re those?”
“Old buildings from the war.”
Max swung her round and made for the back door. “I’m surprised they haven’t knocked them down and built houses. It’s a good site.”
Next time Jenna talked to her mother on the phone, Cora said absolutely nothing about Max. They didn’t approve. She was sure that her mother and father had decided not to comment. It was just as eloquent.
Next time Luke stayed over at Jenna’s house in Belfast, he threw himself down on the sofa with a take-away. He ripped a chunk of battered fish with his alabaster teeth and said between bulging cheeks, “So are you still seeing Max?”
“I am. This place is going to reek of chips for days. And don’t drip mayo on my cushion.”
Luke checked round his knees, scooped up a drip and licked his finger. “He’s not your type.”
“Nobody’s my type, according to you.”
“Well, the choice so far hasn’t been massive. Adam the aardvark or Max the moron.”
“Max is not a moron.”
Luke swallowed and burped. “Speaking of the aardvark, he’s gone to England, apparently. Did you know that?”
“Gone for good?”
“Seems so. Work or something.”
Jenna turned this over for a minute. She found she didn’t mind. In fact, try as she might, she found she didn’t care at all. Then a thought jabbed sharply. “Paul’s not going back, is he?”
Luke nibbled a chip into his mouth like a rabbit with a blade of grass. “Not that he’s told me.” He looked at his sister from under his brows. “But then, he doesn’t tell me much. He only told me about Adam because I asked.” After a pause, he said, “You haven’t seen Paul lately then?”
She gave a careless shake of the head. “Not for weeks.”
Luke chewed noisily and thought. It seemed to lead him back to Max. “Seriously, why are you with Max? Are you on the rebound from…” he waved a chip in the air “… oh, Adam, I suppose?”
“No, I’m not. Max is just a normal guy. He’s easy to get on with. He’s…” she shrugged “… normal.”
“The aardvark was normal. It’s another word for boring. You don’t ‘do’ normal, Jay.”
“So you do, I suppose?”
He emptied the last chip into his palm. “Shit, no. I’m as odd as a bunion on a bee’s bum.”
Luke always ended up making her smile, even when she could throttle him.
“So where are you two going tomorrow?”
“Don’t know yet.” He picked delicately at a piece of lettuce that had caught on his pullover and examined it. “I don’t think Paul’s looking after himself right.”
“Oh? Why?”
He made a face. “Dunno. He looks a bit…” he searched for the right word “… stressed.”
“He has a wife to notice things like that.”
Luke held out a hand and rocked it from side to side. “Hm. Well. I’m not sure about that.”
All Jenna’s attention was on him now. “What do you mean?”
“Just some things he does. Like he says he’s run out of bread and stops at a shop. Or last time we were a bit late back. He didn’t ring home to say he’d be late or anything.” He stretched out his legs and leaned back. “And he keeps taking naps. He mustn’t be sleeping well at night.”
“Naps?”
“Yeah. We’ll stop to eat some sandwiches or something and next thing you know…” he clicked his fingers “… he’s asleep. Head against the car window.” He sagged sideways, demonstrating.
“So long as he doesn’t fall asleep when he’s driving!”
Luke stood up and crumpled the chip wrapper into a ball. He lifted one knee and flicked the wrapper neatly under it, straight into the wastebasket. “Shit no. I talk too much for that. I’ll be back tonight, by the way. I’ve someone to see tomorrow.” He turned to the door. “Is there water for a shower? Ta.”
“Leave some toothpaste in the tube this time!” she called as he sprinted up the stairs three at a time, humming ‘Glory, glory, hallelujah’. The smell of chips swirled round the hall in his wake.
In the small hours of the morning she woke, unsettled. She sat up and switched on her bedside light. Paul wasn’t looking after himself. Dianne had probably gone. Was he not eating properly? Was he not sleeping? She hugged the teddy bear and rubbed her cheek on the black wool of the hat. The missing of him descended heavy on her like a shroud. She was hurting more inside her cage than if she had flown free and risked a storm of bullets. I care about him, she whispered to the bear. I really do. My God, it even hurts if I think he’s hungry.
She rocked a little. Faintly, the sound of a snore came from Luke’s room across the landing.
25
NEXT MORNING, J ENNA found Luke’s cereal bowl and mug dropped in the sink as usual. She ladled marmalade onto a piece of toast and thought about going home to see her mother and father. Max had gone home to see his folks this weekend. Or maybe she should head up to the university to see if there was anyone about to have lunch with.
It was no use; she had the concentration of a gnat. She pulled out the ironing board and rammed the iron across a few t-shirts and tops. Now she was feeling cross. Lack of sufficient sleep was fouling her mood. Luke was with Paul. Again. She slammed the iron across a white shirt and ironed a razor sharp crease right across the back. She rumpled it into a ball and threw it back in the basket. Not once, not once had he asked for her. Luke would tell her if he had. She put her hands on her hips and addressed the iron: “This cannot go on!”
Outside. She had to get outside. She shrugged into her cream coat as she slammed the door behind her. It was a crisp morning and March was going to go out like a lamb. The road at the top of her street was loud with Saturday morning traffic as she turned the corner past the church. Piles of apples and oranges and lettuce were arranged on sloping pallets outside the greengrocers. Smells from the home bakery made her turn her head briefly.
She loved the florists. She could never afford to buy anything, but lingered if there was time before the bus came in the mornings. This morning, restless discontent drove her on and on and on, hardly knowing where she was going. Coming down on her hard was disgust at herself and all that she was allowing to suffocate her. For that’s what it was doing. What was it Paul had said? Want more for yourself. Reach for the moon and the stars and the sun. Well then, Mr Shepherd, point taken. I will do just that. And I’ll do it without you. If you can shut me out, forget me so completely, then I’ll erase you from my memory. I have to. I have to.
She walked on again, considering her options. She didn’t want to be at university still. She had never wanted to stay on for another year. She ducked round two elderly women, obviously sisters, strolling along in the
middle of the pavement, shopping bags hung from their bent elbows. Her parents were going to sell the house. She couldn’t keep it herself without a job. They expected her to go back to the manse to live if she hadn’t got a job by the time she graduated. She clenched her fist. Damned if I’m going to do that!
It came to her as she stood at the edge of the street, waiting for a gap in the traffic. A simple course was open to her. By the time she had dodged across to the other side, she had made up her mind.
Luke was going to university in Scotland. She would go to Scotland too.
What was there here? Her head was up as she pushed her hands into her pockets and strode on. That was it. She would go to Scotland and make a fresh start. Adam and then a few weeks of Max had shown her that she did not crave company like theirs. Max was OK. He was well-meaning and easy to be with. But… Luke was right. She didn’t do normal. Not any more. If that made her odd, then the world would have to cope.
It was time to wash Paul Shepherd from her brain. He wasn’t safe. There was something so intense about him he was fright and delight all in one. Despite all he had said that last day, despite putting his arms round her and telling her he needed her, he had taken himself out of her life completely. She stopped at a furniture shop, her thoughts taking over and stopping her feet. How could he do that, especially if Dianne had left him? Fleetingly she considered ringing his phone. She would hear the lovely golds and silvers of that voice again. Her hand came up to the shop window, fingers splayed. She had never known anyone like him in all her life and with certainty she knew she never would again. Her fingers left their imprint on the glass. He had told her to go away and had vanished from her. She hadn’t meant it to be like that. But hell would freeze before she asked him why.
She spun away, bumping into a huge man with a tiny terrier on a lead. The decision was made. She would leave for Scotland when her course was finished. Inside her was a need to be busy, to feel that she was using her life, not just living it. If nothing else, the vanished Paul Shepherd had given her the confidence to do something about it. Her lip curled. Thank you for that, Mr Smart-guy. But for nothing else. As of now, you’ve gone, out of my head, out of my sleep. All of you has to go. I’ll do this alone. So be it.
She was on her way back, nearly at the church on the corner of her street, when real rebellion kicked in. Why wait till the summer? Why don’t I chuck it all in and leave as soon as I can? I need to go away. Far, far away from here. Her head was light with excitement as she hopped up the two steps to her door and held out her key. She would talk to Luke before he left in the morning.
She was in a grand house, looking for something, but every time she thought she had found it, there was a tiny puff of smoke and it had gone again. In the dream it didn’t seem strange that she didn’t know what she was looking for. She knew it was there, if only… There was a ringing sound. Surely there was someone in this mansion who would answer the phone. The sound grew louder and she shouted for someone to pick it up. The ringing became so insistent that she was going to have to answer it herself. Her feet hit the sheepskin mat before she realised she was dreaming and the phone was her own, shrilling at the bottom of the stairs. She peered at the clock. Six o’clock! Who the hell was ringing at this hour? No doubt Luke was sound asleep. A phone ringing wouldn’t even make him scratch his nose. She hadn’t heard him come in last night, but then she rarely did when he was staying over. She turned on the light and made for the stairs.
It was her father. Alarm spread to her toes, colder than the cold floor. “What is it, Dad? What’s wrong?”
His voice was strained. “I’ve some bad news. It’s Luke.” Jenna’s mouth went dry. “Luke? But he’s here. He’s staying over…”
“I’m at the hospital, Jenna.” He stopped and she heard him take a deep breath. “Luke was attacked last night. He was found in an alley. He’s not too good.”
Tears started to her eyes and she pushed her knuckles into her mouth. “Oh Dad!”
Donald seemed to gain strength at the sound of her sob. Later Jenna would remember and think it was so like him. His own distress lessened when he had to deal with the distress of another. “Can you be ready in a few minutes? I think you should come. I’ll call for you. Your mum’ll stay here.” He swallowed. “Luke’s in theatre.”
Jenna stumbled up the stairs. Pointlessly she pushed open the door of Luke’s room. The quilt on the bed was awry because he never straightened it, but this night he had never arrived. She dressed, shaking from head to foot. “I think you should come,” her father had said. It was bad.
She was never, ever going to forget this car journey. Never, ever. The streets in the early morning were waking with the milkmen, the first buses, the newspaper vans. Workmen walked the footpaths with their lunches in tins under their arms. It was all so normal and yet her father was explaining to her that Luke was critically injured. The hospital contacted them by looking for the entry for ‘Home’ on his mobile phone. His parents had seen him only briefly when they arrived because a rib had punctured one of his lungs and he was rushed to theatre.
A security man on his way home had seen Luke’s leg protruding from an alley only three streets from Jenna’s house. He must have lain there for hours. Donald glanced at Jenna as he drove in the gates of the hospital. “I’m sorry, love. I have to tell you. You need to know, so you won’t be shocked when you see him.”
Jenna’s elbow rested on the car door, her head dropped onto her hand and her eyes closed. “Then tell me…” she looked up “… is he in danger?”
Donald swung the car into a space near the A & E entrance. He pulled the brake and switched off the engine. His keys dropped into his hand and his fingers closed tightly over them. Jenna had never heard her father’s voice break before. “I believe so,” he said, hoarse.
Her head went back, her eyes tight with tears and her skin crawling with shock and fear. “Oh, poor Mum!”
Cora was sitting on a black metal chair in the corridor. All colour was gone from her face and she looked cold, as if it were icy in here instead of stuffy and antiseptic. She clutched her handbag on her knee and her feet were planted flat in front of her. Her tan raincoat was strained a little round her full figure. She had put on a little weight recently. Jenna bent to kiss her and Cora’s lip trembled but she did not cry.
“No word yet,” she said, her voice clipped and high. They sat in a row, silent, and waited. Then they were in a room with a doctor, an older man with a kind face and receding grey hair.
He wasn’t wearing a white coat. He was saying that they had successfully released air from Luke’s chest cavity, leaking from his punctured lung. However, he was still sedated and probably would not regain consciousness for some time. They would have to wait and see. He had probably been the victim of a random attack, and there had been more than one attacker. They could tell. And they had probably used iron bars. They could tell that too. They had seen it before.
But Luke’s not a statistic, Jenna wanted to cry. This is Luke! This has never happened before, not in the history of the world. Not to Luke; not to us!
She didn’t like the way the doctor was talking. He was too sombre, too considerate, too gentle with them. This was the way people talked to relatives when things were really, really bad.
She licked her dry lips and reached for her mother’s hand. “Exactly what has happened to him?” she asked.
The doctor folded his hands and spoke the list for her. “He has had one leg broken – the tibia; the knee is also fractured. Three ribs are broken and his lung is punctured.” Jenna held on to her mother’s hand more tightly. “Two of his fingers are broken. He has multiple contusions all over his body. His nose is broken and there are injuries to the mouth area.” The doctor paused and shuffled a notepad on the desk before continuing. “He was beaten badly around the head. His fingers were probably broken as he tried to protect his head.” The doctor slumped back and Jenna realised he was upset himself. In a perverse way, this ga
ve her hope. He will do his best for Luke. “We are doing all we can. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
Her father spoke, his voice steady, surprisingly normal. “Do you think he may have injury to his brain?”
“We have to wait and see, I’m afraid.” He stood up. He had more patients. “The nurse will come and take you to him when he’s settled.”
Later, much later, they sat round a bed and in it, they were told, was Luke. There seemed to be wires and drips everywhere. The quiet noise of the respirator and the constant beep of the heart monitor became the underlay of a nightmare. His head had been shaved and there were staples in a long curved line above his left ear. His nose was swollen and black beneath the oxygen mask. His left leg was bandaged and had large metal bolts fixed onto it. His chest was strapped. A nurse was constantly reading dials, checking drips, making notes. She left the room only rarely.
Jenna glanced at her father. His eyes were closed and she knew he was praying. Her mother had her eyes fixed on Luke’s face. Every muscle in her body seemed to be rigid. Her eyes were too bright for the pallor of her skin.
“Mum?”
“What?”
At least she responded. “Would you like some tea? There’s a machine down the corridor.”
Cora just shook her head and continued to watch her son as if to move her gaze were to take away his life. Then she said slowly, “His teeth, Jenna. I think he’s lost some of his lovely teeth.”
Jenna had already taken that in somewhere amongst the jumble of dread. That her mother could reach into the tangle of bandages and broken bones, bruises and pain and pull out the fact that Luke had lost some teeth, was frightening in its simplicity. Lots of people broke bones. People broke ribs. People got beaten up. But Luke, Luke had lovely teeth and they had been smashed. “Leave some toothpaste in the tube this time!” Jenna had called up the stairs after him. They were the last words she had said to him.
The nurse checked the monitor and then gently patted his hand. “He’s a strong lad,” she said softly.
Maker of Footprints Page 25
