Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  'But it doesn't really matter what I think.'

  'It does to me.'

  'What I mean is, what matters is doing something that will stop what you did to Vincent ever happening again.'

  'Something like what?'

  'I don't know, but it should probably start with you talking to someone who knows about these things.'

  'A psychiatrist, you mean?'

  'Not a psychiatrist. You're not mentally ill. I mean someone like this woman from Chester. A psychologist.'

  I thought about it. If I'm honest, I'd thought about it before. But not for a long time.

  After I was acquitted of trying to kill Kevin, there were recommendations - from the sorts of people who know about these things - that I should undergo counselling, to try and get to the root of my problem. Mary Oakley even offered to take me on again, for free and in her own time. I think she felt a bit guilty that she hadn't sorted my problem out for good the first time. But I was twenty-two, arrogant, like a lot of lads that age, and I'd just got off at Crown Court. I made the right noises about following all the advice, but once I got back to work I soon forgot about it, sure that what I did to Kevin was a 'one off' and would never happen again. Within hours of me beating Vincent up, I knew I'd been wrong. Now, talking to Vicki, I finally realised what my real problem was.

  I make a good part of my living putting myself in the way of people who intend violence, either to me or someone else. Ever since Kevin, I've worked to show I can be relied upon to deal with those sorts of people in a way that is in line with how doormen are supposed to work. Firm, fair, always in control. Admitting to someone - even myself maybe - that there are circumstances where I might lose that control and hurt someone, maybe badly, is no small matter. In short, I was scared to do so.

  Vicki must have been reading my mind.

  'There's no shame in seeking help, you know.'

  'I know. It's just- uhh,'

  'What? Hard guys like you don't do counselling? Opening yourself up to others is for wimps?'

  She was spot on. 'No, it's just...' But I couldn't think what to say.

  'Listen, Danny, if it was good enough for Tony Soprano, it's good enough for you.'

  I didn't know what she meant, though I’d heard of The Sopranos and knew it was a TV series about gangsters. When it comes to watching TV, a good action movie and sports are about my limit. David Attenborough as well sometimes. When I told her I'd never watched it, she shook her head.

  'I can see I'm going to have to educate you in a few areas.'

  I liked the sound of that. 'What sort of areas?'

  The way she looked at me over her wine glass, with her hair falling forward and what I hoped was a sexy smile playing about her lips, the heart-thumping started up again.

  'If you'd like to get us both another drink, I might tell you.' I wasn't about to refuse.

  When I returned, she'd moved to the couch. I wasn't sure where everything was going, so before it did I said, 'There's something else I need to speak to you about.'

  'Like what?'

  I hesitated, worried in case she thought it was the only thing I'd come for. 'Yesterday you mentioned that If I still needed an in to the club, you would help.'

  She gave me a suspicious look. 'Ye-s?'

  'I might need one.'

  She took another drink. 'Tell me.'

  I did.

  When we'd finished talking she said. 'Anything else?'

  The way she said it, abruptly, caught me off guard. 'Uh- No, I don't think so.'

  'Good.' She stood up, suddenly. My stomach fell, certain she was about to ask me to leave. But instead she simply held out her glass. 'You see to the refills and I'll change out of my training togs. Then we'll talk about what areas I might be able to educate you in.'

  I stood up and took the glass. By then all I could manage was a hoarse, 'Okay.'

  It was while I was in the kitchen pouring her wine that my phone rang. The caller ID said 'Alison'. My first thought was Dad, but then I pictured her the last time we'd met, that day, at her house.

  'Alison?'

  'You need to come down here, Danny.'

  'Is he alright? What's happened?'

  'He went missing this evening, but he's ok now. He's here with us.'

  'Missing? How?'

  'He went out, to the corner shop we think, but must have got confused and couldn't remember where he lived. The police found him and brought him home. Lucky he had his wallet with his old driving licence still in it.'

  'Oh, Jesus. I'll come right away. Be there in an hour.'

  'Okay.'

  'And Alison?'

  'Yes?'

  'Thanks.'

  'No problem.'

  I hung up. Shit.

  A noise behind made me turn.

  Vicki was standing in the doorway. She'd changed into a different outfit. One I'd never seen before, but imagined many times.

  It was the absolute worst timing. Ever.

  CHAPTER 49

  'Right,' I said. 'Now you know where you are?'

  Sitting up in bed in his striped pyjamas, Dad nodded. 'I'm at your place. In- Warrington.'

  'Whitely, actually. But close enough. So if you wake in the night just remember. I'm only next door so you can call me if you need anything, okay?'

  'Yes, okay. Don't fuss.'

  Don't fuss? That's rich. But all I said as I rose from the side of the bed was, 'Get a good night's sleep.'

  At the door I was about to switch out the light, when he called, 'Danny?'

  I turned. The sad look was back again.

  'I'm sorry.'

  I gave him a big smile. 'What for? I was only thinking yesterday that a change of scenery would do you good.'

  He returned the smile, or tried to. I pulled the door to, but didn't close it fully.

  Downstairs, I rang Laura. She likes her early nights during the week but as it wasn't much past ten o'clock, I took a chance.

  'I'm just in bed,' she said. Good guess. 'What's up?' .

  I told her what had happened. How Dad had gone walkabout and got lost. About the police finding him and bringing him home. That Alison had seen the police car and come out and taken charge of him before ringing me.

  'Thank God. That woman's a saint. You'd better send her a bunch of flowers or something tomorrow, as a thank you.'

  'I intend to.' Though not too big, I thought. I didn't want to risk anything being misinterpreted.

  'How was he when you got there?'

  'According to Alison, a lot better than when the police brought him home, though he was still a bit agitated. He settled down after a while and by the time he'd had another cup of tea he seemed to have got over it.'

  'I take it he hadn't?'

  'When I took him back into his house, he became confused again. He didn't seem to recognise it. He kept saying it wasn't his house and he wanted me to take him to his proper home, in Warrington. Which is how I ended up having to bring him back here.'

  'Oh my God, it doesn't sound good. How is he now?'

  'That's what's so damn frustrating. He seems more or less normal again now. He's just asked me how long he's staying because he was planning on clearing out his shed and he wants to do it while the evenings are still light.'

  'Oh, Danny.' To be fair to her, she sounded sympathetic. I'd been half-expecting she would start on the, 'told-you-sos' about putting him in care. 'What are you going to do tomorrow?'

  'I'm going to take him to the Medical Centre in the morning and get him assessed. But I wouldn't be surprised if they say he's fine. It's obviously something that comes and goes. The trouble is, it looks like it might be happening more often.'

  'Is there anything I can do?'

  I hesitated. I'd anticipated she would ask. I took a deep breath. I was hoping straight out honesty would hit the spot. 'Yes.'

  'What?'

  'Right now there are some things I'm working on. Important things that affect my business, as well as this thing the police arrested me
for. I can't do them if I can't go out.'

  The silence on the other end lasted several seconds. Eventually she said, 'You want me to come up there and look after him.'

  'Only until Friday. It'll all be over by then.'

  'You make it sound like a showdown.'

  'It is, of sorts. Can you do it?'

  For once, it only a took a couple of seconds for her to say, 'Yes.'

  CHAPTER 50

  Tuesday

  After the previous two lousy nights, my sleep must have been deep enough that when I heard the crash, my brain played one of those tricks where it instantly translated it into a dream involving a car crash. A split second later my eyes shot open and I was wide awake. I leaped out of bed and got to the window just in time to see a dark figure disappear out of sight round to the left. Somewhere, a car engine revved, loudly. I was straining to see it when I noticed the flickers of orange directly below, where the living room window looks out over the garden.

  I turned and bounded across the bed and out into the hallway. I smelled the smoke at once. Looking over the rail, I could see more flickering, red and yellow as well as orange now. As I watched, a tongue of flame leaped across the kitchen floor.

  I dived into the other bedroom. The bed was empty. He wasn't in the room.

  'DAD?'

  I raced down the stairs and stopped a couple of steps from the bottom. The heat was already intense. A good part of the front living room was ablaze, carpet, curtains, the couch. There was a strong smell of petrol, glass fragments visible here and there. And a big hole in the window.

  'DAD?'

  Leaning round and into the room, I searched for him through the smoke, frantic in case he was lying amongst the flames. Then I saw him, standing like a statue in the corner at the far end of the room furthest away from the flames. Thank Christ.

  'DAD?' But I knew he couldn't hear me. His gaze was locked on the fire in such a way I could actually feel his terror.

  I swung, two-handed, round the newel-post so I landed in the back half of the room and ran over to him. As I did so I trod on a piece of glass and knew it had broken the skin. When I got to him one look was enough to tell me he was out of it. I didn't try talking to him but just scooped him up in my arms and turned back towards the fire. My back door is actually a side door off the kitchen, where I'd just come from. Where I was, there was nowhere I could go. I had no options. Even as I watched, flames reached out across my route licking up the walls. Bloody footprints marked my path back. The smoke was billowing now, becoming thicker. Before I set off I sank to one knee, bent as low as I could and filled my lungs with the clearest air I could find.

  As I stood up I shouted, 'HANG ON, DAD,' but doubted he heard me.

  I ran back to the kitchen, feeling the heat of the flames against my bare legs, arms and back as I went. Just as I got there, Dad started shaking, violently, in my arms. God knows what was going through his mind.

  'WE'RE OKAY, DAD. WE'RE NEARLY THERE.'

  Caroline always used to complain that for someone who runs a security business, I was the least security-minded person she'd ever met. Right now I was glad I always leave the key in the lock when I lock up at night. I guess that somewhere deep down I've always thought that one day, something bad might happen. In which case-

  Ten seconds later we were out in the cool, night air. I didn't want to get trapped in the back garden - it's only small - so I carried him down the side and out into the close and away from the house. By now Tom and Liz from next door were out. I could hear someone shouting. I was aware of lights going on in upstairs windows. Someone shouted, 'I've rung the Fire Brigade. They're on their way.' But my focus was on Dad. After the shaking he'd gone limp in my arms and as I laid him down on someone's lawn a coat appeared in front of me. I threw it over him. Someone draped a jacket over my shoulders.

  I shouted to him, 'DAD? DAD?' and slapped his cheek, though gently. There was no response. I put two fingers to the side of his neck - my concern right then was he'd had a heart attack - and I've never felt so grateful as when I felt the faint throb that told me his heart was still beating.

  'SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE,' I shouted.

  CHAPTER 51

  At four o'clock in the morning, Warrington General's Intensive Care Unit can be quite unsettling. For a start everyone talks in whispers, which immediately sets you in mind of a church, or somewhere else associated with spirituality and death. Then there's the subdued lighting. Subtle shades of greens, blues and yellows lend the place a sense of drama, as if to emphasise that it's a place where Bad Things sometimes happen. The sounds of the machines that monitor the patients, or pump air into their lungs and medicines into their compliant bodies, serve as reminders that the people there are living, literally in some cases, on the ‘edge’. To me, there's something deeply creepy, about all the beeping and artificial breathing noises. I think it comes from watching too many horror movies and scary thrillers set in hospitals where the noise suddenly cuts off and someone either dies, or they sit up suddenly in their cot and sink their teeth into someone's neck.

  How much of this I was conscious of as I looked down on Dad lying in his Assisted Breathing Unit, I couldn't now say. I do know that during the hour I'd waited for word from one of the team who'd met us when we arrived and rushed him straight through A&E and into one of the treatment rooms, I'd pondered on all of it more than once.

  This was my third - or was it fourth? - visit to the ICU in the space of a week. By now I was on nodding terms with a couple of the night nurses. I'm not religious or anything, but I couldn't help wondering if I was being prepared in some way for when something happened that would put me in there, and that’s assuming I survived what some people clearly had in store for me, if tonight's incident was anything to go by.

  The irony of it all was that right now, Dad was looking about as good as he had in a while, apart from the yellowish tinge to his skin. The doctor had said he'd given him something to make him sleep so that the ventilator could do its work without interference. The peaceful look on his face made me wonder - hope? - he was having happy dreams about Mum or family holidays long-past.

  It was clear now that the fact he was still alive was pretty miraculous. According to the medics, what he'd been through could easily have seen off any man his age, never mind one whose lungs were only operating at half capacity. Apart from all the smoke he'd inhaled, there was the shock of being in the room when the petrol bomb crashed through. So far I'd managed to not dwell on what would have happened if he'd been near the window, instead of the other end of the room. I still had no idea what he was doing there, probably never would.

  For myself, I'd finally managed to stop the shaking and get my brain functioning at something close to normal. Even so, some part of me was still back on my neighbour's lawn giving the limp figure on the grass CPR while shouting, 'DON’T YOU DIE ON ME, YOU BASTARD. DON’T YOU DARE DIE.’ I think I was still shouting at him when the paramedics shoved me out of the way, clamped a mask over his face and did whatever it was they did that the doctor said saved his life.

  Amongst everything I was experiencing in those moments, one thought stood out. What had happened to Dad was my fault. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid as to bring him back to mine. Ever since the night I'd gone nose-to-nose with Yashin over Bergin enticing Agnes upstairs, the same night she was taken, I'd been expecting some sort of come-back. The white van on the Brigadoon's car park and the attack on Eric, were just them putting out feelers. And far from my being sacked off the door removing the danger, my foiling of the intended riot would have only strengthened Yashin's determination to demonstrate to the world that you fuck with him at your peril. I should have been thinking about that every moment since, rather than carrying on like I was Captain Invincible. The only good thing was that so far they hadn't linked me with Vicki or any-

  HELL. Vicki.

  The thought hit me like a hammer. For all I knew, they could have followed me to her flat the night befor
e. They might even have been outside, pouring petrol into milk bottles when I got the call from Alison.

  My hand went, instinctively, to my pocket, only to remember that my phone was still on the table, next to my bed. So far I'd neither called nor told anyone about what had happened. The only ones who knew were me, my neighbours, the emergency services, and the bastards responsible. Which was where my thoughts went next.

  I cast a final glance down, struck by the way he now seemed only half the size of the father I remembered from my youth. I gritted my teeth and fought against the feeling that threatened to engulf me and which I'd been resisting ever since I'd seen him disappear into the examination room. I took a long, deep breath. 'I'm sorry, Dad.' Then I turned away, quickly, and headed for the exit.

  Jamie Carver and DS Jess were still waiting for me in the corridor outside. They'd arrived just as I'd been about to go in and see Dad and I'd only had time to speak with them briefly. It was Carver who had told me that the Fire Brigade had managed to get the fire under control before the whole house went up. He also said he needed to speak with me, 'Urgently,' and, 'Before someone gets killed.' I gave them the bare story - not that there was much more I could give - then left them talking on their phones to whoever was working the scene with the Fire Investigation guys. I guess a Fire Bomb is still a rare enough event to warrant the call-outs you see with any major crime investigation.

  As I came out, they both stood up, showing genuine concern. I was conscious I probably looked ridiculous in the way-too-small tracksuit and slip-ons one of my neighbours had given me.

  'How is he?' Jess said.

  'He's holding his own, for now. They're saying the next twenty four hours are critical. If he can get through that, then he's in with a good chance.'

  Carver nodded, but didn't attempt any of the forced optimism many show in such circumstances. He'd have heard similar many times before, and would know the odds.

  'We need to talk,' Carver said.

  'Okay. But can we make it short? There's stuff I need to do.'