“Yes, I did.” I reply, coming to a halt and standing still in the street. “…and before you ask me, no it is not mine. If she is pregnant, I’m not the father.”
“I know,” she sobs. “Ben is.”
.
Chapter Forty Four
.
.
Perhaps I didn’t hear her correctly.
“What did you just say?”
“I said, Ben is the father. He’s the bastard that got that slut pregnant.”
I press the mobile harder to my head, poking a finger into my other ear so that I can hear better. “You are joking, right?” I say, stupidly, my mind playing for time as I try to digest the impact of what Gail has just said.
“Would I bloody joke about something like this?”, she replies, her voice trailing off into another round of incoherent sobs. “Andrew, can I see you? I need to talk to you. I need your company just now.”
“Gail, …this is unbelievable…I’m sorry, but I have to go the hospital just now to see Sal. Then I’m going to go and meet Slávka at the train station. She’s just coming back from Slovakia…Can I see you this evening? I know she has a few things to do, and maybe once I take Slávka back to the flat, I can try and get away for a little while and we can meet up somewhere to chat. Can it wait till then?”
More sobs.
“I suppose so,…but can you come as soon as you can?”
“Yes. But how do you know that Ben is the father?” I ask.
“Because I was meant to meet him last night, and he didn’t turn up. Again. So I called his mobile this morning, and a woman answered. Guess who it was?”
“Dianne?”
“Bingo. The bastard was at her place, probably fucking her brains out again.”
“So? How do you know that Ben is the father though? Just because he was at her flat…”
“Because she told me. The bitch told me on the phone. And she laughed when she told me. It was almost as if Ben was some big status prize or something…”
“I don’t understand,” I say, confused.
“Dianne hates my guts. She has ever since you arrived.”
“What’s it got to do with me?” I ask, more confused.
“Come on, surely you know? Are you that blind?”
“Now you’ve lost me…”, I mutter, even more confused…
“Dianne really likes you. And she’s always been jealous of the friendship you and I have.”
“No, hang on. Dianne doesn’t like me like that, Gail.”
“Andrew, you really haven’t got a clue have you? You don’t really understand women do you? You couldn’t spot it a mile off if a woman really liked you or not. You’re so naive…”
“What do you mean? I honestly don’t…”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s part of the reason I like you so much…You’re so bloody innocent.”
She starts breathing deeply, trying to calm down. I can hear her taking a moment to think. I say nothing, still struggling to understand what is going on.
“Oh, …” she starts speaking again. “I’m sorry, Andrew. That was probably totally uncalled for… I’m just really upset.” Some more tears. “Anyway, the point is…” , the word ‘point’ heavily intoned and dragged out as she takes another breath. “It seems, at least, the only thing that makes sense is that she went after Ben to get at me, when she realised she wasn’t going to get anywhere with you. And I think that Ben has always fancied her but was too shy to do anything about it. So, naturally, when she starts to pretend to be interested in him, he drops his trousers at the first possible moment. Then the next, and the next.”
“You mean…”
“Exactly. He’s been shagging her for weeks. I think that half the time he says that he has been going round to his friends to play cards all night, he was really playing with her. Or she has been playing with him.”
“I can’t believe it. And she told you all this?”
“Most of it. He was in the shower when she told me. I’m telling you, she was laughing on the phone. When she insisted that Ben was the father, I called her a liar, and when Ben came back into the room, she stuck him on the phone. He was really scared when he found out it was me. I asked him if it was true, and at first he didn’t say anything, then I heard Dianne shouting at him in the background, the phone went muffled for a second, as if he was putting his hand on the receiver, and then next thing he was there again, and he confessed to me that it was all true.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told him to fuck off, and that I never ever wanted to see him again. Ever.”
“And when was this?”
“This morning…just now… about half an hour ago.”
“Shit….”
We are both silent for a while, and I can sense that Gail is waiting for me to talk next. To tell her what to do.
“Gail, I’m really sorry,” I say. “This is all my fault. I should never have told you to go out with Ben in the first place. And I should never have slept with Dianne….”
“It’s not your fault…” she whispers quietly, but not really believing it. Obviously, this is all my fault.
“I think it is. But how was I to know that Ben was so different than what I thought he was like? And Dianne? …. Fuck…Everything you do in this world has ramifications. Everything…”
“Will you come over as soon as you can?” she asks, starting to cry again.
“Honestly, I will. As soon as I can. I’ll call you about five. Are you going to be okay until then?” I ask, worried about her.
“I suppose so. I’ve got no choice…I just can’t believe this has happened to me again…” I hear her crying, and then the line goes dead.
I sink down against a wall at the edge of the pavement, crouching on the backs of my heels and close my eyes, oblivious to the passers-by. This is all my fault. It was me that persuaded Gail to try going out with Ben, and it seems that it was all because of me that Dianne lured Ben into her bed.
A surge of anger rises up within me, anger not just at Dianne, but towards all of female kind. What is it about a woman that she cannot be trusted? Why do they have to continuously wreck relationships, or seek their own pleasure to the detriment of others?
A mental image of Slávka appears in my mind's eye, and I can almost feel the softness of her hand as she reaches out and cups my jaw in her palm and then strokes the side of my face. Almost as soon as I visualise her, the anger within me subsides and I realise how blessed I am truly am.
Slávka is a diamond. Perhaps all women may be made of the same material, but not all are constructed the same way. Slávka is special beyond words, sparkling brighter in my heart than any women I have ever met. I love her. I may not have known her long, but the next time I see her I am going to take her in my arms and tell her exactly how I feel. I never want to let her go.
“Are you all right, mate?” a male voice asks me, and I open my eyes to find that its owner is a young man who I have often seen selling ‘The Big Issue’ just outside of the hospital, who always seems to be so cheerful and the owner of a big, bright, smile.
“Yes,” I say. “Thanks for asking. I just needed to close my eyes for a second, but it’s all okay now.”
“No problem, pal. But whatever it is that’s bugging you,…don’t let it get you down pal. Life is just too short to be sad.”
He winks at me and starts to whistle, and as I watch him walk away from me, one hand in his pocket, a bounce in his step, and a new pile of magazines tucked under his arm, I marvel at how sometimes the people with the least always seem to be so much happier than those who have so much more. Or is it actually that the more we own, the less we have?
.
It takes me five minutes to walk the rest of the way to the hospital, and every step is spent in deep concentration. I focus on what I am going to say to Sal in probably less than ten minutes time, forcing myself to stop thinking about the suffering that Gail must be going through just now, and maki
ng myself block out the revelation about Ben, Dianne and their impending offspring.
It would of course be helpful, if by this time I actually knew what it was that I was going to say to Sal.
It’s funny,-or rather it isn’t-, but before Sal confided in me, I was so sure that I knew what the right thing to do was.
But the moment she took me into her confidence and turned to me for help, I came to see and understand better just what had happened and why, and Sal began to redeem herself a little in my eyes. Now what the right thing to do is a lot less clear, because seen from her very different perspective, the clarity I had previously been blessed with is simply no longer there.
Nevertheless, as the Americans would say, there are only two ways you can cut it. In other words, there are only two choices in the advice I can give her: ‘Tell him’, or ‘don’t tell him’, and either way I will be dammed.
.
She looks up as I walk into the ward and immediately starts to hobble towards me, this time only supported by a walking stick, her broken arm supported by a sling slung around her neck. I can see the anticipation in her eyes.
“Guy’s patience is wearing a little thin. He’s trying his best, God bless him, but I can see he’s becoming desperate for an answer. So please tell me that you’ve got some good advice for me…?”
“Not here. Let’s go the hospital canteen,” I say.
We kiss each other on the cheeks, and we walk quickly down through the hospital to the café.
“I’ll get us some tea,” I say, stalling. “Would you like some…?”
She shakes her head and looks at me questioningly, as if to say, ‘hurry up, is tea really necessary?’ but then changes her mind and says, “Oh okay, if you’re getting one, I’ll have one too.”
She goes over to the same corner table where we sat before, and I fetch the tea and a few chocolate biscuits.
“So?” she says impatiently, as I sit down across the table from her.
“Sal, I know I said I’d tell you what to do, I know I did, and I have thought about it a lot. But this is something that you must really decide for yourself. If you really, really, want my advice I can only give you my perspective on what I think about it, but at the end of the day, I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Why not?”
“Because there probably isn’t a right answer to this. And the answer I would probably give you if I was pressed to do so, would probably not be the same answer that I would give if I was thinking about Guy and what would make him the most happy. Whatever the answer I tell you to give him, someone will get hurt and I will be the person responsible for causing that hurt. And quite frankly, I just don’t think that right now I want to be responsible for causing any more people any pain by giving them my advice and encouraging them to do what I think is right.”
“I’m not getting you. I…I don’t understand.”
I breathe deeply and look away from Sal, unable to look her in the eyes. She reaches across the table and rests her hand on my wrist.
“Andrew, please. Just tell me what you think. Maybe you’re right. Ultimately the decision has to be mine. But I need a different perspective on this, so anything you’ve got to say about it would really, really help me, Okay?”
She squeezes my wrist and I look back at her and meet her gaze..., so trusting, imploring me to speak my mind.
“Alright,” I say, giving in. “I’ll tell you what I think. But you might not like it. I’m just going to speak my thoughts aloud, so just hear me out. Don’t interrupt me in mid-flow.”
She nods, saying nothing, understanding it’s best just to let me speak.
“Fine,” I start, breathing in and gripping both sides of my mug of tea, cupping it in my hands. “The thing is, the way I see it is that you can either tell him exactly what happened, and hope that he will understand and forgive you, or you can say nothing and hope that he never finds out. But if you don’t tell him, you’ll be starting your new life together with a big white lie.”
“How will it be a lie, if I don’t tell him? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him!” she protests.
“I never said that it would be him you’re lying to. I meant that you would be lying to yourself, and you could maybe spend the rest of your life worrying about your hidden secret. In the future every time he buys you flowers, or tells you that he loves you and just how happy he is that he married you, it will be like he’s sticking a knife in your wound and turning it round. Of course, that assumes that you feel bad about what you did…?” I say, looking at her straight in the eyes.
She nods vehemently, and her face flushes red, water immediately starting to well up in the corners of her eyes.
“Good. Because you should be feeling guilty about it…” I say. “And if you feel guilty, and are hiding something from him, you won’t be as relaxed and natural with him as you would be if you weren’t covering anything up. Don’t you see, there will always be some kind of wall between you? …No matter how small.”
“Maybe…” she says, nodding a little.
“Or alternatively, you could tell him everything so that there is no wall between you and that you have nothing at all to hide from him, and then you could start married life with no lies or hidden truths, and being completely honest with him.”
“Of course,” I continue, “…the down side of that scenario is that you may break Guy’s heart, and he might never talk to you again.”
She starts to cry.
“I’m sorry, Sal. I told you it was a difficult decision. Anyway, of the two, which one do I think is right?”, I say, not pausing for dramatic effect, but because I am scared of what I am just about to say. What happens if I have got it wrong? “…Basically, my dad always told me that I should tell the truth. That I shouldn’t lie, and if there is one thing that I’ve learnt so far in my own stupid, ridiculous life is ‘that the truth will always out’. You can’t tell a lie and get away with it, because somehow the truth will be uncovered. Sal,…like it or not, somehow or other, the truth will always get out.”
“So you think I should tell him? Even if it means that the wedding might be off?”
“Sal, I can’t tell you what to do. Perhaps in this case, there is no right or wrong. But for me personally, I just can’t lie. Lying is against everything I hold to be true and important. So, if my back was against the wall and it was me who had to make the decision, and I really knew and understood that I had done wrong, I wouldn’t lie about it. The fact is, that marriage is about two people living together, and if one person already has trouble living with themselves and facing themselves in the mirror every day, what hope do they have of living with someone else?”
“Are you sure?”
“No. I’m not sure. But if I were in your shoes, I would start by being true to myself. For better or for worse, I would tell him what happened and what you nearly did, but didn’t.”
.
We sit for a moment longer in silence, Sal going over and over my words in her head. For a while I sit watching her, but then decide that it would be best just to leave her alone to think.
“I’m going to go. It’s up to you now.”
She looks up at me. “Thanks Andrew. I appreciate it. Honestly.”
“So when are you going to tell him?”
“Tomorrow evening. He’s coming to pick me up and take me home, and when we get back to the flat I’m going to sit down with him and tell him my answer. Whatever it is that I decide that I should tell him.”
“Sal, I know you promised you’d take my advice, but what I’m saying is that it’s really up to you. I’ve given you my thoughts. Now you must decide.”
She tries to smile, but the corners of her mouth turn down and not up, and tears start to escape from the corner of her eyes.
“I know, thanks, …but you make a lot of sense.”
“I’ll be thinking of you. Can I just ask you one thing though?”
She nods, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Whatever you decide to say to him, please don’t tell him anything about these conversations, or that I gave you any advice, okay?”
She smiles, understanding immediately.
“You’re a good man, Andrew. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
I bend over and kiss her gently on the cheek.
“Good luck Sal, I really wish the best for you, and for Guy…” I say, and then I turn and walk away.
.
I let the blue door to the café swing closed behind me, and I am just starting to climb the stairs to the corridor leading to the hospital entrance when I see Mary, the nurse on Sal’s old ward, coming down the stairs towards me. She has already seen me coming, and she is busy reaching into her handbag which is slung across her shoulder.
“Andrew. Hi! I’ve just finished your book. I loved it. Couldn’t put it down. I loved the surprise at the end. What a twist….”
“Woooah! Sssshh! ” I say, smiling and raising my finger to my mouth. Don’t give the ending away.”
“Ooops, sorry…” she says, “Almost…Anyway, here’s your book back. You’ve saved me sending it to you, so I can give you your change back too…”, she says, starting to search her handbag for her purse.
“Don’t worry about it. Put it in the charity box.”
“Okay, I will, thanks. So how are you? Are you here visiting Sal?” she asks, as we stand on the side of the stairs, letting others go past us.
“We’re both fine. I just had a coffee with her in the café. She seems almost completely recovered now, and she’s getting to go home tomorrow. She just needs a little support from a walking stick. That’s all.”
“That’s fantastic!” Mary beams. “It makes us so happy when we get these happy-endings. I can’t wait to tell the others on the ward.”
“It was nice seeing you again,” I say, just about to go and feeling rather in-the-way, standing on the staircase.
“You too. And thanks again for the book. It makes you really want to visit Slovakia, doesn’t it. The people there seem so nice. The countryside the author describes is so beautiful. It’s a shame really, if I had read the book a few months ago I would have made a bigger effort to get to know the two Slovakian doctors that we had here. They came over last year together, then the boyfriend went home a few months ago. His girlfriend still works here, but she is leaving next month I think. She’s such a nice person, just like the woman in your book. I wonder if they are all like that?”
The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Thriller (Omnibus Edition containing both Book One and Book Two) Page 33
