Dog Roses - Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Why? I kept asking myself, Why Ben, of all people? What was he doing at The Connie anyway? It wasn’t as if he had ever bothered before, so why now?

My mother proceeded to make more choked, sobbing noises.  Yet another surge of guilt coursed through my veins as I realised I must have voiced my tormented thoughts aloud. I started to reach out with my free hand to comfort her, but let it drop.  Comfort, did I say? Some comfort! I groaned inaudibly. What use, comfort? It would not bring Ben back or Baz or Liz or my dad. Oh, how I wished Dad was here! He would know what to say, what to do. All of a sudden I had the strongest sense of his presence and, yes, it was a comfort.

I reached out again and caught my mother’s hand in mine.

“Poor Ben, he came to the house looking for you,” she said after a long, weepy silence, “I saw the message on the pad was gone, the one from Shaun, so suggested he try The Connie. He said he didn’t think he’d bother. I pressed him, said I thought you’d be over the moon to see him. You should have seen how his face lit up…” She began to cry again. “Why, oh why, did I say that? I could just as easily have said to call back another time.”

“You were right though,” I tried to sound reassuring, “I was over the moon. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him.” It hit me between the eyes then that I would never see Ben again, and I blacked out. Seconds later, I opened my eyes. Mum was still holding my hand and regarding me anxiously. “I’m okay,” I lied.

We kept an unbearable silence for ages, Mum with tears streaming down her face and sniffing into one tissue after another, the handkerchief no longer fit for purpose, while I attempted in vain to shrug off a horrible detachment from everything. It struck me that I hadn’t even cried for Billy. What is wrong with me? People are dead, one a dear friend. So why can’t I even cry for them?  Yes, I told myself repeatedly, Ben was a dear friend, even if we had somehow drifted apart.

I watched my mother crying softly and envied her capacity for tears.

Dimly, I was aware of my father’s fingers in my hair as real as my mother’s hand in mine. It was as if the kernel, the very hub of me, was being dangled in front of my eyes, like bread on a string hung out for birds, only to be jerked out of reach whenever my senses rid themselves of a stubborn inertia just long enough to let me make a grab for it. I grasped, perhaps for the first time, that I needed to confront whatever or whoever was jerking the damn string.

“It will get better, dear. Don’t ask me how or when, but I promise you it will get better,” Mum assured me, smiling weakly through her tears. If for no other reason than she was my mother, I believed her. Moreover, from that moment, I experienced a new if tenuous, confidence in myself. It was nothing as dramatic as off with the old and on with the new, but I was dimly aware of a subtle difference. How ironic, I wryly confided to my alter ego, that this burst of quiet optimism should be coming at me out of nowhere while I felt so sick at heart and anything but confident.

“I’ll be okay, Mum.” I looked right at her as I said it and could tell from her relieved expression that it was all she wanted to hear. While any conviction it might be true may have been tenuous on my part, it was enough to see me through an interview an hour later with an irritatingly pedantic police constable. It also helped keep my blood pressure down when my temperature shot up and the hospital refused point blank to discharge me.

My mother came every day, sometimes with Peter Short. My brother Paul came just the once. He was on his own and brought some grapes. But the tension between us was embarrassing and he did not stay long. I had several other visitors, in addition to the dour constable, who took innumerable notes and grew impatient with my hazy recollections of the fire, but was at least able to reassure me the Crolleys would be brought to book for it.

Bo and Gabby brought a huge bunch of flowers.

Clive dropped by and told me not to worry, he would see to everything. He was keen to put forward a view that The Connie’s fortunes were far from irretrievable and seemed confident we would be back in business within six to eight weeks. While his enthusiasm was commendable and helped lift my spirits, I couldn’t help thinking it was a totally unrealistic timetable. Even so, if it was little more than a brave attempt to cheer me up on Clive’s part, it certainly gave my morale a welcome boost to take his predictions at face value.

Bo, making a second visit on his own, appeared to share Clive’s optimism. At the same time, he pooh-poohed any suggestion that the man might be concerned with sparing my feelings. “Clive is never, but never sentimental about business. You know that as well as I, dear heart. If Clive says a veritable phoenix will rise from the ashes, you can be sure a veritable phoenix we shall see.”

“In six to eight weeks?” I was sceptical.

Bo shrugged. “Who knows what plenty of overtime and a healthy bonus incentive might achieve? But enough of Clive’s wish list. It’s good to see you looking so much better.” His beaming face was more effective than any tonic.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said, laughing for the first time in ages.

“You too, dear heart, and I have to say you’re looking halfway human again too. Gabby and I left before the fire. When we heard the news, well, there were some bad moments when we feared the worst I can tell you.” He frowned but the sober expression lifted soon enough. “Yet, here you are, as safe as houses and raring to go!”

“Then you need glasses,” I sighed wearily.

“Surely you want to get out of this place? Hospitals give me the creeps, I’ll say they do!” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

I had to smile, but couldn’t keep up the pretence for long. “Then what…?” I put to him, “Another inquest, more aggro from the press and more…” My voice trailed off miserably.

“More funerals, yes, I fear so,” Bo murmured.

I was grateful to him. No one had cared to mention the deaths. Everyone, even my mother after that first time, had contrived to avoid the subject. “I don’t think I can go through it all again,” I said, “First Dad, then Billy Mack…”

I had only ever mentioned Billy to Bo in passing and was briefly tempted to tell him the truth until it struck me like a sledgehammer that this was neither the right time nor place. Instead, I went on, “Ben Hallas and I were very close, you know. That is, we were once. We sort of drifted apart. My fault, that, not his…” I found myself confiding.

Bo said nothing. 

I talked for a long time. Bo made no attempt to prompt me whenever I fell silent, suggest answers to the many rhetorical questions I’d put to myself or pass any comment.  I might have been talking to myself. Only, I could not have handled it on my own. Grief, guilt, pain…I held all these things and more up to the light of Bo Devine’s consummate silence.

Now and then, I’d pause for breath. Bo would smile encouragingly, and I’d struggle on, fumbling for words that, if not quite making sense of what had happened, at least put me in touch with my feelings in a way I hadn’t been able to do for a long, long, time.

An expurgation process had begun.

Bo sat chewing on an unlit cigar, uttering no word of recrimination, judgement or sympathy. It was as if he understood that I needed to work these things through for myself. So it was I continued to explore my conscience and deal as best I could with whatever I found there. No one could help me square things with Ben any more than with Billy. But Bo, bless him, lent me the full weight of his friendship that afternoon in support of my clumsy efforts to make sense of the world according to Robert E. Young.

A watery twilight had filled the space above my head and begun to dip a darker hue before I let myself drift, drained, yet at the same time curiously refreshed, into a kaleidoscopic reverie of things, events, people, that represented all the good things in my life from which (and whom) I felt able to take…Yes, comfort. At the same time,  even as I took what I could, I remained painfully aware of an acute lack of giving on my part. Inevitably, the kaleidoscope stopped turning and pieces of a pattern fell into place.

“Matthew!” I sat up with a jolt, wide-awake.

An elderly man in the next bed leaned across to tell me that Bo had slipped away hours ago. I glanced up and twisted my neck, the better to see through the window above my bed. As I settled down to sleep, I carried with me the image of a solitary star, lighting up a tiny patch of midnight among windswept clouds intent on snuffing it out. My last conscious thought was that the clouds might do their worst, but the star would be back. The old adage crossed my mind about losing battles and winning wars…

The next day my temperature was normal, and it was with eager anticipation of being allowed home that I awaited the po-faced Mister Shaw on his rounds. Shortly before he was due, Maggie flung open the double doors at the end of the ward and sauntered up to my bed. “Hi,” was all she said before plonking herself in the chair beside my well propped-up pillows.

“How’s Shaun?” I asked immediately, as I always did of anyone I thought likely to have some idea.

Maggie gave a characteristic shrug. “You know…Holding his own.”

“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking,” I said testily.

Maggie refused to be riled. “He’ll be okay, you’ll see. And look at you. Aren’t you the lucky one? I mean…” If she could have chosen a kinder turn of phrase, at least she had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Yes, lucky,” I agreed.

“Lou sends her love.”

“How is she?”

“Oh, she’s fine, apart from being exhausted.”  Maggie ran both hands through her hair in that old familiar gesture I remembered so well. “She’d have come with me, but I told her to rest. Not that you get any rest with a new baby,” she added with a wry grimace, “but her mum’s been helping out a lot while Shaun…”

“Baby, you say?” I had to interrupt, “But it wasn’t expected until…”

“A few weeks yet, that’s true. But, well, what with the shock of…everything. She went into labour on the night of the fire.” I felt as though an awkward pause was building a wall between us, but Maggie was having none of that, tossed her head and said gaily, “Babies, eh? It’s not as if the little tykes even wait until they’re born before they start calling the shots! She’s got Lou and just about everyone else wrapped around her little finger, this one, believe you me.”

“She…? It’s a girl then.”

“She’s usually are,” Maggie giggled.

“What’s her name?”

“Lou’s waiting until Shaun is well enough to help her choose one. They were so convinced it was going to be a boy, you see. If it had been me, I’d have wanted to know. But Lou didn’t for reasons best known to her. As for Shaun, he was so sure it was going to be a boy. I think Lou’s a bit worried he might be disappointed….” She chattered on. Now and again, I had the feeling she was holding something back then remonstrated with myself for being over sensitive.

“Shaun won’t care what it is, boy or girl. He’ll just be so happy to be a dad,” I commented.

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Maggie agreed, “and so should you be, seeing as how you’re a godfather.”

“Too right, I am.” I hadn’t forgotten. A warm glow settled on my stomach and took most of a persistent chill away.

“How’s Ed?” She had my complete attention so I missed neither a telltale reddening of the cheeks nor a change of tone reflecting a subtle edginess in her manner.

“Ed’s just glad to be alive, like the rest of us,” she replied, unconvincingly. But if something was wrong, it was hardly my business to pry. 

Glad to be alive. Yes, I, too, was glad to be alive, and how!  Moreover, for the first time in days, I began to feel alive. Suddenly, I was not only anxious to leave the hospital and get on with my life but also found myself considering the prospect with growing excitement.

“Mind you…” Maggie was saying, “He’s none too happy about the local rag rating him hero of the hour,” she giggled again, “so he’s playing hard to get, the idiot. That’s why he’s not been to see you, by the way. He’s terrified you’ll try and thank him for saving your life. Oh, Ed can make out he’s a hard case as much as he likes. But take it from me, under all that macho there’s a real sweetie. One of these days, he’ll make some lucky woman very happy…”

But not you, I acknowledged wordlessly without having to be told. Even so, I could not resist asking, “Do you love him?”

“So what’s love when it’s at home?” she countered, “Cleaner, nurse maid and production line all rolled into one if a girl’s not careful. Oh, and for what? All Ed Mack’s worldly goods...? I don’t think so somehow.”  How could someone so young, vivacious and beautiful be so cynical, I wondered?  I was thinking, too, and not for the first time, how much she reminded me of Gabby Devine when Maggie added softly, “Yes, I love him.”

“So why are you wearing Clive’s ring?”

“Why do you think? I’m going to marry the man, for heaven’s sake.”

“But if you’re in love with Ed, and I imagine he’s in love with you…”

“Of course he’s in love with me. But that’s our business. It’s certainly none of yours or anyone else’s for that matter. And don’t look so damn disapproving either. You may be my boss but you’re not my keeper or Ed’s.” She ran both hands through her flaming hair and gave me a glare that told me I looked picture of self-righteous indignation.  Hastily, I attempted to modify my expression. She was right, after all. It was none of my damn business.

Maggie laughed. I felt the colour rush to my cheeks. “Look,” she went on, “Ed could have died, you and he both. And where would that have left me, eh? I’ll tell you. Broken hearted and stony broke, that’s where. Now, if I marry Clive, Ed will see to it that the heart stays in good nick and should Clive should ever snuff it, bless him, I’m well taken care of. He gets to die happy while Ed and me…”

“Live happy ever after, I suppose?”

“That’s the idea.”

“It’s horrible, so…cold-blooded,” I stammered.

“And marriage isn’t?” she flared. “As an institution it stinks. All the more reason to bleed it dry, if you ask me.”

 “It’s sick!” I retorted, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. A thought struck me. “Besides,” I challenged her with some conviction, “Ed will never see things your way.”

The grey-green eyes flashed wickedly. “Oh? I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you. He’ll love it once he get used to the idea. Playing the ‘other man’ will tickle his ego no end. And we both know how big an ego Ed has…” She gave a feisty chuckle in the way some women have of being intensely maddening and incredibly sexy at the same time. Again, I was reminded of Gabby Devine. “Even if Ed does decide to be bloody minded, it won’t last. Trust me. As soon as Clive and I have a joint bank account, Ed will see things differently.”

“Why, you calculating little…”

“Yes, I’m a bitch.” She laughed aloud. “You can say it to my face, you know. I couldn’t give a damn. It’s only what people say behind my back that bothers me. I like to be sure they get their facts right, you see. It’s only fair, after all. Don’t you agree? I mean, look at what people say about you behind your back….” She laughed again.  “No one likes to be misrepresented do they?”

Was she winding me up? If so, she was succeeding. Moreover, she was doing a damn good job of pulling me all ways at once. “Clive is nobody’s fool,” I said flatly. Even so, I couldn’t be sure whether I intended the inflexion of my voice to convey a warning, threat, or grudging admiration.

Maggie sighed and I caught a glimpse of the teenager who used to hang out with Billy Mack’s crowd. “I am fond of Clive, you know. All he really wants is for us to play Mums and Dads so why not if it will make him happy?”

“You’re pregnant?” I gulped.

“Don’t look so shocked. It does happen, you know. Be flattered you’re the first to know.”

“Whose?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“What does it matter whose?”  She pouted angrily, piled up her hair and let it drop, partially covering her face, “Who cares, so long as it’s healthy and guaranteed to carry on the Rider dynasty?”

“There are no guarantees in this life,” I remarked abjectly.

“Honestly, Rob, you can be so bloody pompous sometimes!”  She roared with laughter, tears in her eyes, “Why do you always have to be so damn right all the time too?”

“Chance would be a fine thing!” I said with feeling and then found myself, a trifle bewildered, in fits of laughter as well. My flesh may not have been quite up to it, but my spirit most certainly was.  In spite of everything and whatever my feelings about Maggie’s revelations, it was good to know I could still laugh.

“Call me a bitch as much as you like, but, I promise you this. My kid is going to have the best of everything. So is Mum…or you’re no pain in the proverbial yourself, Rob Young.” She leaned forward ad kissed me on the lips. “Sorry,” she giggled, “I don’t suppose you like girls kissing you?”

“I can bear it in small doses,” I conceded dryly and we both burst out laughing again. As the sound died, we regarded one another warily, not quite ready yet to admit we each liked what we saw. At this point, a junior nurse came and begged us to keep the noise down. Apparently, Doctor Shaw had begun his rounds and the ward Sister was in a foul mood.

In less than two hours I had been discharged and was knocking back cranberry juice at my mother’s kitchen table, happy to be ‘home’ and sad because I wasn’t ‘home’ at all. I sighed. Where was ‘home’? I sighed again and answered myself with another question. Where, oh where, was Matthew? He must have heard about the fire so why didn’t he come to see me in hospital? Do I matter so little to him? Had I hurt him too much?

Glad to be distracted, I turned my mind to more practical matters. Earlier, Mum and Peter had broken the news that they were planning a June wedding, less than six weeks away. Leaving me alone to digest this sobering thought, they had departed for the supermarket almost immediately. I considered my options. They had made it clear I was welcome to make my home with them, but…How could I? It didn’t feel right. I don’t belong here any more. But dare I return to the flat? What if Matthew threw me out? It was not an unlikely scenario, after all.

Whatever, I had to find a place to live. As for belonging anywhere, that was something else.

Dog Roses - Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I had seen movies and read newspaper accounts of fires on public premises but nothing could have prepared me for the horror of being caught up in one.  It struck me that the smoke was getting thicker, flames spreading more rapidly. At the same time, in spite of the terrified yells and screams of shadowy figures dashing in all directions, it was as if time stood still.

     Everything that happened next seemed to take place in ghastly slow motion.

     As I ran into the main dining area, the lights flickered into life. It was a great comfort. Although still difficult to see through dense, swirling patches of smoke, that generator undoubtedly saved many lives.

     Gradually, a sense of ordered chaos prevailed over blind hysteria. There was still panic, but the lights coming on had a tangibly calming effect. Even so, the smell of fear was, if anything, stronger than the stench of burning furniture and fabrics. 

     Smoke was everywhere and into everything. I could hear people choking on it that I could not even see. Now and again it would clear fractionally, revealing nightmare scenes that would haunt me all my life. I could just make out Bax Pearce grappling with a fire extinguisher, saw him almost topple backwards as a blast of foam drenched a young couple whose hair and clothes were alight. 

     I spotted Ed. He was trying to clear a path to one of the exits with another extinguisher. 

     Everywhere, people were pushing, shoving, screaming. The stage was ablaze. I saw frantic shadows running from and across it, gesticulating wildly, mouths opening and shutting like cartoon characters.  It was farcical, grotesque, and desperately unfunny.

     At last, I managed to grab a fire extinguisher.

     A blazing figure collided with me and sent us both sprawling. For an instant, I let the foamy substance soak me then regained control and turned it on the burning shape beside me. It had gone quite still. Man or woman, I could not tell, partly for the smoke and partly for the extent of his or her burns. My head was spinning. I caught a glimpse of something pink. A top perhaps or razed flesh, I could not be sure.  

    Instinctively, I knew I was wasting precious time. The person was dead. Yet, I let precious seconds tick away before I could bring myself to move on, galvanized into action by the shrill, persistent shrieking of emergency sirens. Help was on its way.

     I tried to get my bearings and thought I was close to one of the Fire Exits nearest the L-shaped bar. My lungs were filled to bursting and I could scarcely draw breath. I tripped over an ice bucket. A sheet of flame flared where I stumbled, singeing my hair. I heard a swish of water, tore the shirt from my back, and then plunged it into the near empty bucket.

     As I tied the wet shirt around my nose and mouth I heard someone coughing and spluttering nearby. I headed towards the sound, fearfully aware that I should be going in the opposite direction, and tripped headlong over a crouching body.

      “Ben!” It was my old friend Ben Hallas, whom I had been intending to call for months but had never got around to it.

     “Hi Rob!” he spluttered and managed a grin. “I thought I’d come and see how you were making out.”

     “Not so good!” I exclaimed grimly while helping him to his feet. “Get your top off and wrap it round your face. Good. Now, lean on me. We need to go this way…” We stumbled through the ever-thickening smoke.

Then the lights went out again. The darkness was terrifying. I became completely disoriented. My stomach was churning over.

     I was lost.

     “Can you believe I’m lost in my own damn club?” I shouted crossly into the cloth around my mouth, but neither the weird sounds I made nor my feeble attempt at humour did much if anything to help restore what precious little self-confidence I still possessed.

     “Rob!” I recognized Ed’s voice, albeit muffled, and followed the sound. Ben was heavy and kept dragging his feet. I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a grip on him. My relief knew no bounds as Ed’s familiar bulk loomed immediately ahead.

     “You’re going the wrong way!” Ed yelled, grabbed my arm and proceeded to steer me in another direction.

     I actually saw an EXIT sign before part of the ceiling collapsed. A mad surge of unbearable heat almost swept us off our feet, a shower of white-hot sparks scorching our clothes and flesh.

     Our path was completely blocked.

     Seized by terror and panic, I let my hold on Ben slip and sensed rather than heard him stagger several steps.

     Ed had a violent coughing fit, swayed and would have lost his balance had I not steadied him with my free hand, the other clutching at the bar rail. My fingers touched glass, recognizing the feel of a soda siphon split seconds before my throbbing head acknowledged the fact.

     Simultaneously, I sensed Ben was no longer at my side. Frantically I looked around. There was no sign. I tore the shirt from my mouth and tried to yell but a mouthful of smoke sent me into a paroxysm of coughing. I hastily replaced the shirt and turned my attention to Ed. 

     After propping Ed against the bar, I hastily sprayed my face then the rest of my body then did the same for him. Wrenching the siphon cap free, I lifted it to my lips and took a brief but welcome swig before holding it to Ed’s mouth so he, too, could ease a parched mouth and throat. As soon as I had his attention again, I indicated my shirt. He understood at once. Even so, I counted anguished seconds while he tugged at the tie at his neck, tore the smart dress shirt free and drenched it with the remaining soda before securing its sleeves behind his head.

     Suddenly, I felt exhausted. The awful screaming had stopped. Only the sound of bottles exploding rose above the fierce crackle of the flames.

     Which way to go? It was the Devil’s own choice. A tug on my wrist nearly caused me to lose my balance. Ed led the way as, trusting to instinct alone to guide us, we hared through a corridor of fire barely wide enough to accommodate a circus Thin Man, let alone the pair of us. I thought I heard raised voices. But these were not calls for help.  I listened again. This time only the menacing roar of flames attacked  my ears.

Ed paused, and I sensed he was listening too.

     We should turn left, I was certain of it. But Ed was already dragging me to the right. My mind resisted, panic-stricken. My feet, though, had other ideas. Choice abandoned me.  I was aware of an almighty crash followed by waves of pain and a mad rush of intolerable heat in my face. Then I was falling, falling, falling…into a yawning Black Hole.

     It’s all over, I thought. In my mind’s eye, I saw my body in its coffin being carried on a conveyor belt to the incinerator. Absurdly, the body began protesting. I don’t want to be cremated, damn it! I want to be buried! I want a stone where people can come and remember me…

     All at once, everything became a blur, like a patch of fog letting rip horrible, terrifying echoes.

     I am a small boy making a belly flop landing in my dad’s lap. He lifts me high above his head. We are both laughing. Gently, he lowers me and holds me close, my face pressed tightly against his shirt. T’s a blue shirt, a brilliant sky blue. I am finding it hard to breathe and hammer on his chest with tiny fists. He flings me in the air. Up, up and away! Falling now but he catches me. We are in fits of laughter. He hugs me again.  I can’t breathe. He gives me some space. I start to relax. Over his shoulder, I can see my mother.  Her face is full of concern. I sense that she is looking for me. I call out to her that everything is ok. I am safe, with my dad. She makes no sign that she has heard but continues searching, with an urgency so intense it is suffocating. “Mum, I’m here. We’re here!” I try to shout but the words stick in my throat. “Dad, let me go, let me go!” I scream and try to wriggle free. But he won’t let go of me.

     A new awareness hits me. I hear my dad’s voice, caressing my frayed nerves like a summer breeze smelling of rain and roses.

     My body is wracked with pain.

     Despite the pain, I find myself struggling with a curious familiarity and striving to identify its source. The pain gets worse, much worse. All I want now is for it to stop. I feel my dad’s cheek, wet against mine, his fingers running through my hair. I start to relax again. But I am tired, so very tired. I want to sleep. But sleep won’t come. I look for my mother, afraid for her, sensing something of her fear for my safety. How to let her know that I am with my dad, snug and…safe?  Yes and no. I feel less snug now, less safe. I cannot bear the cloying grip. Again, I try to break free.

     Over the shoulder that supports my child chin, I spot a new face. Someone I dimly recognize but cannot place moves almost into focus then out of sight. Again, it appears on the very edge of my vision but only to float of sight once more. And so it continues to tease me, this shadowy shapelessness of a child’s unconscious thought. Suddenly, it darts forward, looms larger than life, features plainly identifiable.

     It is Matthew.

     My dad relaxes his grip and swings me high above his head again. Our eyes lock. Gently, he lowers me down, our faces now so close that the heat of his rapid breath fills my lungs to bursting. His expression is saintly, his face glowing with love and reassurance. My child eyes sting with tears but shed none.

     I hear sounds that might be voices but none make any sense. I look around to find myself in a sea of bobbing heads that seem only loosely attached to their bodies, so much so that I half expect them to pull loose at any time and float into the air like balloons.

     I quickly spot Bo, Gabby, too. Both wave. I want to wave back but my limbs feel like lead. Ed is there and Shaun. Maggie and Lou are mouthing words at me I cannot for the life of me make out.

I see Paul. My brother looks away, starts to elbow a path in the opposite direction then appears to change his mind but the crowd refuses to give his twisting, writhing torso sufficient space to make a full about-turn.  My dry lips shape Paul’s name. My father too, turns to look. Together, we are willing Paul to succeed.

     Suddenly, all the faces blur into one and Billy Mack’s boyish grin is tugging at my every nerve, filling my senses to overflowing.

     I feel a letting go of hands and a sense of release washes over me. Yet when I look for my dad, it is Billy’s face confronting me with a rapt expression.  Nor does it, I realize, include me. The blue eyes do not even see me. The full lips have not spread into that sweet grin for my sake.  Billy, I feel infinitely close to understanding, has a vision of his own. Moreover, I am glad. Our love belongs no more to his vision than to mine. It has passed through us, left us behind.

     I hear my name called over and over. The voice could belong to anyone and everyone. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the sound of it. Someone cares. People care. The least I can do is respond…

     Starting at the erratic sound of my own breathing, I opened my eyes. My smarting nostrils took in that unmistakeable hospital smell and the taste on my tongue was one of sheer relief. I’m alive. I must have repeated those words to myself at least a dozen times before I became convinced it was true.

     I was tucked up in a bed screened by curtains in what various smells and noises told me was a hospital ward, so dimly lit that I had to assume it was night time. A stab of pain in my right arm led to the startling discovery that the whole limb dangled from a pulley affair mounted beside the bed. In spite of a splitting headache I gave my fumbling senses leave to investigate why I should be in hospital in the first place, let alone with an arm in traction.

     Then I remembered.

     My memory was very patchy. In my mind’s eye, I saw smoke and flames in all directions. The Connie was on fire. I saw Maggie Dillon rallying frantic punters to her side at the bottom of some stairs. A cameo of Ed Mack and me stumbling through a thick pall of smoke came into poor focus. Suddenly, starkly, the image of a blackened body, still burning, and a flash of something pink occupied my entire vision.  I heard a terrible screaming that would not stop.

     Later, they told me I was the one who screamed.

     I became vaguely aware of voices, icy fingers grasping my free arm, a pricking at my flesh. Then, thankfully, I plunged into oblivion, undisturbed by dreams good or bad.

     I awoke to daylight streaming across my near naked body from a window just above my head. There seemed to be a lot of noise. At the same time, a curious hush enfolded me in a light, airy embrace.  Comings and goings reached me from a distance at first but quickly homed in on me.  The curtains were pulled open and my mother came and sank into a chair beside my bed.  She looked terrible, as if she hadn’t slept a wink all night. She was plainly unaware that I was awake although I did not leave her in ignorance for long. Stung into action by an attack of appalled self-consciousness, I shook off my dozy state and covered myself with a sheet.

     My mother cried and fussed in turn. I hardly minded at all. On the contrary, I was only too happy to let her plump my pillows and dab some of the eau de cologne she always carried on my forehead. “You had an incredibly lucky escape,” she fretted, “The ward sister says you can come home soon. Apart from some second-degree burns, a nasty cut on the back of your head and a broken arm, there’s not a lot wrong with you. You’ll have to be treated as an outpatient for a while of course but…” She started crying softly. “Oh, Robert, it could have been so much worse. I nearly lost you.”

     Something about the way my mother contrived to avoid looking directly at me made my blood run cold. This, in spite of the ward’s cloying heat. “How bad was it, Mum?” I finally managed to say.

     She hesitated before ducking the question altogether. “You’ll be fine dear. There are no complications with the arm. It’s a clean break.  You fell awkwardly when a beam came crashing down on you. Ed Mack pulled you clear…” She rambled on for a bit and then fell ominously silent.

     I waited until she had settled in the chair. Hands clenched in her lap, she directed a tearful gaze at a particularly nasty blister on the side of my neck rather than look me in the eye.

    “How many…died?” I swallowed hard. “It was arson, you know,” I blurted before she had time to answer, “Those damn Crolleys…”

     “So people are saying,” agreed my mother unhappily.

     I took several deep breaths. “How’s Ed? He saved my life, you said?”

     “Apparently, although that’s not how he sees it.” She raised a wry smile, “He’s fine, just a few cuts and bruises and minor burns that’s all. You were both very, very lucky. He’s still in shock, according to the Dillon girl, but that’s only to be expected. It seems they wanted to keep him in for observation but he was having none of it. His poor mother got into such a state that he discharged himself and took her home. That poor woman, what she must have gone through, and so soon after losing young Billy too!” My mother looked away and lapsed into a reflective silence.

     “You’ve seen Maggie?”  I expressed surprise.

     My mother nodded. “She and Louise Devlin have been here all night. A good many of us have,” she added.

     “Lou is okay?” I thought of the baby and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. My mother nodded and patted my hand reassuringly. “And Shaun, mum, is Shaun okay?” Her expression grew instantly more serious. “He’s in Intensive Care.” Her hold on my hand tightened, “but you mustn’t worry. The doctors say he has every chance of making a complete recovery. Apparently, he became trapped when a pillar fell on him while he was trying to rescue people.  Fire fighters had to cut him free.”

     “They took their time!” I muttered angrily.

     “They were on the scene in minutes, dear. I dare say it must have seemed longer.  But for them, you and Ed Mack would never have got out of that inferno alive.” Her voice shook with emotion as she fumbled in a bag for a handkerchief. I lay back on my pillows, pensively, while she sobbed.

     “How many people died?” I forced myself to ask the question again that was ticking away like a time bomb where my heart should have been.

     “It could have been so much worse,” my mother chose, nervously, to prevaricate a second time.

     “How many, mum?” I insisted.

     “I only know they brought out three bodies,” she began sobbing into the handkerchief again.

     “Whose?” I demanded flatly.

     “The police say it’s a miracle more people weren’t badly hurt or killed.”

     “Whose?” I repeated.

     She gave a long sigh then, “Shelia Pearce’s boy, Barry, was one of them. His girlfriend, Linda somebody I think they said, was another.”

      “Liz,” I murmured dully, “her name was Liz Daniels.”

     “Yes, Liz, that was it.”

     In my mind’s eye, I saw Baz Pearce in the doorway of the penthouse flat. “He came to warn us,” I told my mother, “and now…” Now poor Baz was dead, Liz too. I tried to digest this news and found it almost impossible. Yes, they had been a couple of oddballs, but so full of life. If Baz hadn’t come to warn us…and now he was dead. As for Liz, she of the weird hairdos, soppy smile and big breasts…Why her, poor cow?

     My mother began to fidget.

     “Three. You said they brought out three bodies…” But my voice gave way to a plaintive croak as my lips formed the question, “Who else?” My whole body went rigid. Whatever further tragedy my mother was about to throw at me, I would take it on the chin.

    “Ben Hallas,” she whispered, “It was poor Ben, dear.”

     I had to look away. As I did so, I snatched my hand from hers and made a tight fist, deliberately digging my fingernails into my palm. As a pathetic attempt to fight pain with pain, it failed miserably. I noticed, inconsequentially, that my knuckles had turned white. “That’s impossible!” I decided it must all be some ghastly mistake. “I saw Ben, spoke to him. He was as close to me as you are now.” Already, though, I was being tormented by a memory, vague at first but clearing fast, homing in on me like an express train. Now I'm holding on to Ben and now, in the thick of all that sickening horror and confusion...I'm letting go. How could I have done that? But my throbbing head was providing no answers, only more questions, each one banging away like a frantic drumbeat, one especially.

     Why?

Dog Roses - Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As I parted from Bo, he called out. “Oh, and if I were you, young Rob, I’d make my peace with Maggie, and be quick about it. Better to have a woman like that on your side than not, wouldn’t you say?”

     I made no answer, merely waved, acknowledging to my alter ego that he was absolutely right (of course) but in no mood to go down that road, for now at least. Although talking to Bo had cleared my head in so far as I now had an inkling of what I might say to Matthew, I felt no less emotionally insecure. How would I cope if he rejected me? (Who could blame him if he did?) Even if he forgave me, could I live with that? If he doesn’t, what on earth will I do then?

     Any optimism Bo had inspired in me was a very fragile affair.

     I went home first. The only message on the pad, in my mother’s immaculate handwriting, was to call Shaun. I gave a guilty start. There could be only one reason he hadn’t called me on the mobile, and it had nothing to do with a lack of urgency. He was trying to give me some space. Was I so transparent, I wondered?  Only briefly did it cross my mind that Maggie or Lou might have said anything. But Shaun, after all, knew me better than most.  Besides, I probably looked as much of a wreck as I felt. Nor did a wary glance in the mirror contradict me.

     I called Shaun, cleared up a minor complication, took a welcome shower and left a note to say I would be staying at Matthew’s flat until further notice.

     Back at the flat, I made myself comfortable and managed to convince myself I wasn’t trespassing. It wasn’t as if I were a burglar, for heaven’s sake. I had as much right to be here as Matthew. (Well, didn’t I?)

Later, as I stood in front of the dressing table mirror in what I had started to think of again as ‘our’ bedroom, it was as if he stood there with me. I smiled. Mathew smiled back. I blew my nose and so did he. I ran a comb through my hair. He did the same. Surely, I thought, we were meant to be together? Let it not be, I prayed silently to the God I would never quite believe in, that I had blown it between us.

     Unable to settle, I went to The Connie, intending to eat there since I could not face eating at the flat on my own. I arrived to find a crowd gathering at the front entrance.  Ed was embroiled in a noisy argument with Nick Crolley. “He’s barred and he stays barred!” Ed was saying. I followed the direction of his finger and instantly spotted Vince.

     I elbowed a passage through, the pent-up tension of recent days eager to find expression. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. I must have sounded as if I meant business. A hush fell over the swelling sea of crass mutterings and raised voices. Ed looked at me in blank surprise. “Well?” I insisted.

     “He’s barred,” was all Ed would say, stabbing an accusing finger at the older Crolley.

     “Too right,” I agreed, recalling the Halloween fracas.

     “It ain’t fair,” Vince complained in a nasal whine that did nothing to make me feel in the least forgiving.

     “We don’t want your sort here,” I hissed.

     “He’s entitled,” yelled Nick, “His money’s as good as anyone else’s.”

     “That’s a matter of opinion,” I yelled back. “He’s trouble and we don’t want any of that here. So clear off or I’ll call the police!”

     “I’m entitled!” Vince echoed.

     “Like hell you are. I say who’s entitled to come in here and who’s not. You nearly ruined our Opening Night, remember?”

     “That was months ago!” Nick protested.

     “That’s true,” I conceded. “So where has the little toe rag been all this time, banged up again where he belongs?”

     “You’re out of order!” Vince screamed.

     “Yeah!” a few voices in the crowd agreed.

     “Sort it, okay? Some of us are waiting to get inside!” Someone else shouted.

     “Yeah, sort it!” a general cry went up.

     I rounded on Vince. “You are scum, S-C-U-M.” Then I turned on Nick, the image of Maggie’s battered face after he had used it for a punch bag vivid in my mind’s eye, “That goes for you too. Now, CLEAR OFF.”

     “Or what?” sneered Nick “Spoiling for a fight are you? Somehow I don’t think so, you fucking queer!”

I saw red. “It would be my pleasure,” I snarled, shrugged off Ed’s restraining hand on my arm and took a few steps towards my adversary.

     “Mine too,” Ed growled.

     Nick’s bravado faltered as he glanced uncertainly from Ed to me then at Ed again.

     “I’ll handle this Ed,” I said with more confidence than I was feeling. “Come on then,” I taunted Nick and stuck out my jaw, “let’s see you put your fist where your gob is, or maybe you prefer to hit women. Is that it, Nick? Never mind. A fucking queer’s as good as, surely?” I raged. The crowd began to fan out. I spotted Baz Pearce and Liz Daniels. But there was no time to reflect whether they would take my side or Nick’s.

I caught the full blast of an evil look from Vince before he turned and slunk away. Nick opened his mouth and his lips formed Vince’s name. But no sound emerged. He sighed, as if realizing the futility of even trying to call his brother back. He and I glared at each other. Suddenly, all my hatred and contempt for Billy’s sometime lover boiled over. I hurled a stream of vitriolic abuse in his face and watched it disintegrate with undisguised satisfaction.

     A succession of loaded images goaded me. Maggie’s poor face confronting me in the park was quickly superseded by a succession of haunting, taunting cameos; now Billy and Nick making love, now Billy’s naked body shuddering with orgasm. Billy’s face homed in on me like a spotlight, its expression frankly defiant. It’s my body, it said, I’ll do what I like with it and with whom. I choked back a howl of rage and anguish. Instantly, the blue gaze softened. Billy reached out with both hands, plainly distressed. I’m sorry, the full lips mouthed, I didn’t mean it. Forgive me…

     But I was in no mood for forgiveness.

     I lashed out at Nick Crolley like a man possessed or so Ed gruffly informed me later. I have little recollection of any fight, only of my fists sinking into flesh and bone again and again. Such was the all-consuming pleasure I experienced, that I was oblivious to any return blows. Sensing that I had the upper hand, I struggled like a trapped animal when Ed finally dragged me clear, screaming abuse at the bedraggled figure limping away. I stared at my hands. They were covered in blood. I felt myself go limp in Ed’s grip. I broke free and tried to grin but my mouth hurt and the result was a grotesque travesty. The look of horror on Ed’s face came as no surprise, but I was unprepared for the blast when it came.

     “Are you stark raving mad?” he roared. “That could have turned really nasty. It’s certainly no thanks to you it didn’t. I could have handled it. It’s what you pay me for, remember?”

     Shaun appeared, took the situation at a glance and, without a word, proceeded to let people through while Ed took me aside. “What’s got into you, Rob? You enjoyed that. You could have killed him and would have enjoyed doing it. The Crolleys may be rubbish, but even Nick didn’t deserve that.”

     My short fuse instantly re-ignited. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I gave you this job, don’t forget. I can just as easily find someone else.”

     His eyes narrowed. “You pompous little fart!” he hissed.  His mouth hung horribly, his face as dark as thunder. “You can stuff your job. I quit!”

     “You can’t do that,” I protested weakly, but he was already walking away with the long, purposeful strides of a man struggling to control his temper. I wanted to call him back, apologize, explain…

     Explain what exactly? I could not even explain to myself what had got into me.

     I opened my mouth, but instead of finding words, my tongue tasted blood on my sore lips. Besides, the Devil was at my elbow egging me on. “Push off then,” I muttered, “and see if I care.  You won’t find too many mugs like me, willing to take a chance on a jailbird.” Ed would not have heard a word of coursem but I took a sadistic pleasure in saying them all the same.

     I looked around. The crowd had dispersed. There was no longer a queue or any sign of Shaun. Some regular punters turned up and looked me over with bemused expressions. It occurred to me that I must look a mess. “Good evening, nice to see you. Enjoy yourselves.” I contrived something resembling the obligatory welcoming smile and wandered off in search of Shaun, frantically adjusting my clothes and dabbing at my mouth with a handkerchief as I went.

     Almost immediately, I was waylaid by one of the bar staff, Jenny, in a stew about having mislaid the cellar keys. I kept a spare set in the safe in my office so we headed in that direction. “Are you alright?” she fussed,

“You look terrible!”

     “I’m fine,” I lied, “Now, the keys…”

     “I can’t think where I put them down!” she wailed.

     “Use these for now, and be more careful next time,” I said sharply. Poor Jenny, an excellent barmaid, coloured and bit her lip before dashing off. I was tempted to call out after her, insist she walk, not run. Then I heard my dad yelling those same words at me when, as a kid, I would invariably tear through the house like a minor tornado. Simultaneously, Ed’s words kicked me in the groin. You pompous little fart.  Now it was my turn to blush.

     Feeling increasingly miserable and sore, I headed for the penthouse flat.

     The door was on the latch when I arrived. I knocked and walked straight in.  Lou gasped, and a pained expression crossed her face. I quickly understood why. Ed was there, a face like thunder, letting Shaun fill (or refill?) a glass with cognac. The pair stopped dead in mid-conversation. The resulting silence was deafening. No prizes for guessing the topic of their conversation, I reflected grimly.

     Shaun looked embarrassed. Ed was still fuming. “I’ll see you later,” he muttered and jostled me in his haste to reach the door.

     I caught his arm. “Look,” I said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, okay?”

     “Okay?” he flared, “No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay at all!”

     “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

     “Huh! That’ll be the day!”  I had a vivid recollection of Lou saying much the same thing in that very room. Am I really such an unfeeling bastard, I wondered?” But before I had time to consider what I might do next, the door was flung wide and in strolled Clive and Maggie. 

     Clinging possessively to Clive’s arm, Maggie immediately began waving her left hand at each one of us in turn. On the third finger was a diamond ring so magnificent it was positively vulgar. “We’re engaged!” she declared, careful to avoid Ed’s nonplussed gaze, “Isn’t that just wonderful?”

     No one spoke.

     “Maggie and I are going to be married,” announced Clive unnecessarily with about as much emotion as a BBC newsreader relaying a late kick-off soccer result. Not until he had our undivided attention did he smack his lips like a cat that’s not only got the cream but also intends to keep it.

     Lou was the first to react, moving forward to give her best friend a hug and even planting a kiss on Clive’s cheek.  Shaun and I offered loud if less than convincing congratulations. Ed said nothing and attempted to catch Maggie’s eye, but in vain.

     For her part, Maggie put on a show of dazzling vivacity that put me in mind of Gabby Devine.  I smiled inwardly. No two women could have been more different. On second thoughts, though, I reflected dryly, maybe not so different.

     Maggie plainly intended to do Clive proud. Certainly, he preened and even glowed at times. Meanwhile, the rest of us could only look on with mounting irritation and despair. (What the hell  does she think she’s playing at?)

     “Rob! What on earth’s happened? You look terrible!” Maggie finally took in my appearance. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’ve been in a punch-up.” I was immediately conscious of four pairs of eyes fixed on me.

     “Come with me,” said Lou, “Let’s see if we can’t clean you up a bit!”

     I would gladly have followed her to the bathroom and let her minister to my cuts and bruises there and then. But Clive had a sudden attack of enthusiasm and insisted on shaking everyone by the hand, including me. “Aren’t I the lucky one!” he kept saying. He even punched Ed playfully on the chest saying, “Aren’t I the lucky one, eh?” Ed glowered. Clive did not appear to notice. Now it was Shaun’s turn. I threw Lou a pleading look. Clive, though, had other ideas. He had already begun pumping my hand even as she tried to manoeuvre me out of harm’s way.

     “Ouch!” I groaned. But Clive took no notice, oblivious as he was to anything but his own childlike pleasure and self-importance. For a few seconds, I almost envied him. But a glance at Maggie, looking increasingly uncomfortable under Ed’s dour scrutiny, changed my mind. Instead, I began to feel sorry for the man. His joy, I suspected would be short-lived. They’ll never get as far as the altar. If ever an affair was bound to end in tears, this is it.” I thought, and fancied I could see and hear the same words on everyone else’s lips, the happy couple’s included.

     Ed continued to exercise remarkable self-restraint upon which I was silently congratulating him when the door swung open again and none other than Baz Pearce stumbled inside. He had been running. “The Crolleys!” he gasped, “They’re on their way!”

     “I’m shaking in my shoes,” retorted Ed.

     “You don’t understand,” Baz panted, “They mean trouble, big trouble. They’ve made up some Molotov cocktails. They’re dead set on firing the place!”

     “They wouldn’t dare!” Ed growled, but was taking no chances and reached for his mobile phone. “Better be safe than sorry. I’m calling the police. Maggie, you and Lou get out of here. Use the fire escape, not the stairs. Shaun, Rob, come with me. We need to get everyone out without creating any panic.”

     “What about me? How can I help?”  Clive demanded.

     “Wouldn’t you know it? The bloody phone’s gone dead on me!” Ed pocketed the phone and turned to Clive. “Call the police. Explain the situation.”

     “But suppose The Crolleys don’t turn up?”

     “They will, believe me,” said Baz excitedly.

     “But suppose they don’t?” The police won’t be too pleased,” insisted Clive, "not to mention how much business we'll be throwing down the drain.".

     “Do you really want to take that chance?” Ed roared in a familiar tone that brooked no argument, “Better a false alarm than the whole place goes up in smoke, don’t you think?”  He turned to Shaun, Baz and me. “Come on, let’s go. And remember, we don’t want any panic. Rob, use the band’s microphone and tell everyone …Oh, shit, I haven’t a clue!”
     “How about telling them the truth?”  Maggie suggested with more than a touch of irony.

     “The word’s already getting around,” put in Baz.
     Ed shrugged. “Okay, the truth it is. Tell them the Crolleys are on their way and mean business, but not a word about Molatov cocktails or we’ll have a stampede on our hands.”
     We had barely gained the top of the stairs before we heard the sound of glass shattering. Then an explosion, followed in quick succession by several others. After a moment’s awful silence, the floor below erupted with cries of terror and panic. Barely had we reached the bottom of the stairs when the lights went out. A wall of fire was blocking the main exit and a draught from several broken windows was pushing the flames towards us. Shadowy figures were frantically running to and fro. I had a coughing fit. There was smoke everywhere.

     “I’ll go and see if the emergency generator’s working!” yelled Shaun above the mayhem, “Grab some fire extinguishers and see what you can do!” Then he vanished into a ball of ugly, acrid smoke.

     “I’ve got to find Liz!” I heard Baz shriek.

     “It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack!” I yelled, “We should stay together, at least until Shaun gets the generator working!” But Baz took no notice and hared after Shaun.

     A couple collided with me in the dark and screamed abuse at me before racing away in search of one of the Fire Exits. I fell. In poor shape already after my run-in with Nick Crolley, I let rip with an anguished yelp. Ed hauled me to my feet. Briefly, we confronted each other.
     “This is my fault, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have gone for Nick like that. I should have left well alone and let you do your job, just like you said.”
     “Maybe, maybe not, but we don’t have time for this now. These people are our responsibility, Rob, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s do our damnedest to help the poor buggers.”
     He ran forward. I followed, careful but with increasing difficulty to keep Ed Mack’s sturdy back in sight. It was my only comfort in a human sea of noise, panic and sheer terror.
     “This way, this way…! Don't panic, and you'll be OK!” I heard someone calling, recognised Maggie’s voice and looked back. The smoke cleared briefly. I spotted her on the stairs, gripping the banister and managing to sound remarkably calm. She saw me and waved, “I’ll send as many as I can up to the flat. Clive will see them safely down the fire escape!" she yelled. "Well, don't just stand there. People need your help, damn you! Bloody well get stuck in and help them!"
      "Get back, Maggie, get back, I shouted.
      “Not bloody likely! Now, get in there and help those poor sods!”

      “Save yourself!”

     “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine, just get on and do your bloody job!” Her voice trailed away and I could barely see again for the smoke.

      She was right, of course, but as I turned to move on, my heart sank.

      There was no sign of Ed…

Dog Roses - Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

I walked in ever-widening circles for hours, kept coming within sight of Matthew’s flat, but would turn around and wander the same streets, pass the same shops and cafes, engage with the same ghosts.

Billy Mack kept me company all the way.

Sometimes I’d glance in a shop window and see Nick Crolley’s face leering back at me.

“Ignore him,” Billy would whisper in my ear.

“Easier said than done,” I’d retort, only vaguely aware of getting strange looks from passers-by.

“He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

“He doesn’t have to, you’ve already seen to that!” I retorted. It was only then that the enormity of what Billy had done hit me squarely between the eyes. I stumbled, momentarily blinded.

“Are you okay mate?” someone said, took my arm and helped steady me.

“Yes, thanks, I’m fine,” I lied.  He or she disappeared into the swirling fog of my emotions. I picked on one and proceeded to use it as a crutch. It was not a good choice. For during those few seconds of blind anguish, I began to hate Billy Mack and wasted no time telling him so. “I hate you,” I raged, and saw his tearful, crestfallen expression as clearly as if he were standing beside me. Nor was I in the least moved by it. “I hate you,” I repeated. But it was a middle-aged man who paused to glower back at me with raised, bushy eyebrows and mutter something indistinguishable under his breath before hastening off in another direction.

I looked around as if to make sure no one was following me. There was no sign of Billy Mack. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Good riddance!” I muttered and quickened my step. Anything, rather than look too closely into the appalling void my dead lover had vacated only to surrender it to me.

A succession of car horns blasted me into a state of near sanity as I found myself having to zigzag a busy road to avoid being run over.  Once safely across, I had to lean against a friendly wall for several minutes to catch my breath. Billy reappeared, frowning reproachfully.  I couldn’t bear it and set off again at the same manic pace.

It began to feel like a race to the death.

Suddenly, we slowed, almost to a walking pace, Billy gliding leisurely alongside. I chanced a glance. He looked me in the eye, familiar grin in place, handsome face glowing with all the freshness and vitality of youth. The blue eyes twinkled mischievously as if to say, “You can be such an idiot sometimes, Robbie, but I love you anyway.”

We paused (to take stock?) beneath the leafy branches of a tree.

“I love you too,” I wanted to say but could not for panting, my throat parched. A fractional widening of the grin indicated that he understood.

Then, nothing at all, and Billy was gone.

How could you leave me again? I groaned wordlessly. But didn’t I already know the answer to that? Billy was dead. I had to let go. Besides, there was Matthew to consider now. Yet, I felt comforted. Maggie was right. Billy had loved me. If he had been careless, so had I. No one was to blame. Blame was a blind alley. I had to move on. A huge wave of optimism washed over me and I’d have burst into song had not a robin in the branches above my head beat me to it. (I ask you. How could I even begin to compete?)

I set off again, alone, at a gentler pace this time. I had to find Matthew. But there was no rush. Who’s going anywhere? I tried calling his mobile number but could only reach voice mail. “Please, Matthew, I need to see you. Please, please, call me as soon as you get this message,” I could have wept. But I didn’t.

Hours passed. Whenever my phone rang, it was always someone else. Whenever it beeped and I opened my In Box, pulse racing, the message was always from someone else.

I felt a sudden urge to see my mother, talk to her. But she wasn’t answering her phone either. Left with no sure alternative, I ran on again but this time with a sense of purpose and headed straight for The Connie. I hardly noticed a pregnant young mum, a toddler skipping just ahead, or two youths on skateboards streaking past. 

Business at The Connie was steady even for a late afternoon. The restaurant was still serving light refreshments and snacks while one of the smaller bars was open to the usual suspects.

There was no sign of Maggie.  Ed was lending a hand in the bar and grumpily informed me that Maggie had gone off somewhere with Clive at lunchtime. No sign had been seen of either since. “Just like that, not so much as a by-your-leave. We were rushed off our feet at the time too,” he grumbled.

“And you’ve no idea where she might be now?”

Ed shrugged. “You could try her mobile. Not that she’ll pick up. There’s no getting hold of Maggie when she doesn’t want to be found.”

“So why shouldn’t she want to be found?” I was instantly on my guard. “Has something happened that I should know about?”

“She’s with Rider. Isn’t that enough bad news for one day?”

I watched him pull a mean pint for an ex-military type with a shock of white hair and a red nose, answered his questioning glare with a curt nod and let my feet take me where they would, which turned out to be the penthouse flat.

Lou eventually responded to my frantic knocking. She did not look best pleased to see me, but stood aside to let me enter. Her expression remained hard and unsmiling, her voice utterly devoid of its usual warmth and good humour. “Would you like a brandy?”

“Will I need one?”  I countered jokingly, but received no like response. Instead, she went to a mock antique styled cabinet and poured a generous measure before stiffly retracing her steps and handing me the glass where I perched on the edge of a new sofa. Finally, she made herself comfortable in an armchair, lips pursed, plainly in no mood for dishing out verbal crutches to any emotional cripple who happened along. I felt inclined to get up and leave but forced myself to stay put. (Besides, where else would I go?)

I swallowed some of the cognac, hoping to acquire some Dutch courage. None materialised. “I know Maggie told you I’m HIV positive and I know why,” I blurted. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.” I added lamely. Then I got angry. How dare she put me on the defensive? I glared at her. Lou glared back. I banged my glass down on an occasional table just to my right. “It’s not my fault,” I protested, “I didn’t ask for this to happen.” Even to my own ears, I sounded pathetic. “What bloody difference does it make anyway?” I demanded, surprising myself by the question that had slid so easily off my tongue.

“It seems to make a difference to you,” she said evenly, “You seem to have washed your hands of poor Matthew, for a start.”

“You’ve seen him?”

Lou nodded. “Shaun found him wandering the streets blind drunk the other night and brought him back here. We put him up for the night. He slept on that same sofa you’re sitting on now.” I winced uncomfortably as her voice assumed a knife-edged hostility. “How could you do it, Rob? How could you be so cruel? No wonder the poor man’s a mess. He couldn’t face going home to an empty flat after the way you treated him. You’re not the only one who’s suffering, Rob.”

“I know,” I groaned and buried my face in my hands.

“How could you, Rob?” she persisted relentlessly, “How could you say such things?”

“I don’t know,” I whimpered, “I had no idea then that it was all probably my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” she murmured irritably. “Whoever infected whom, it was hardly intentional. Besides, it takes two to take precautions, for heaven’s sake!” I looked up and looked hastily at my feet again. I had never seen Lou so angry. “You practically accused Matthew of murder!”

“I didn’t mean it,” I cried, somehow finding the inner strength to confront the grim expression rearing from the armchair like some dark angel, “I was upset, angry. If you want the truth, I was bloody scared too.”

“So is he,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t mean it,” I repeated, “I know I said some terrible things, but…I didn’t mean it. That’s why I have to find him, to tell him I’m sorry, try and put things right between us.”

“He deserves the truth, Rob, all of it.”

“You didn’t…?” I began to panic.

Lou shook her head. “It wasn’t my place, and it’s none of my business. Maggie won’t say anything either. Trust me. She’s not the tough bitch most people take her for. She only told me because she had no one else to turn to. She could hardly talk to Ed in the circumstances. He adored Billy, you know.”

I nodded. “There’s always Clive…” I managed a knowing grin that she returned in good measure.

“Yes, well, he’s hardly the sympathetic type is he? His sort is only out for number one.”

“Maybe he and Maggie were made for each other after all then,” I muttered without thinking.

“Maybe,” Lou agreed. She spoke with an air of .profound sadness. I suddenly realized what it was about this plain young woman that made Shaun so protective and loving towards her.  She not only had spirit (Hadn’t I been the butt of it only minutes before?) but also radiated a genuine interest in and concern for others.

You’re beautiful, I thought, at first with astonishment then amusement and finally admiration. “I know I have to try and make it up to Matthew if I can,” I said loud and clear, much as if I’d taken the witness stand in a court of law and needed to make a good impression on judge and jury alike. Only, I was my own judge and jury. Lou played no part in this painful if fanciful scenario. At the same time, superimposed upon it was this revelation about my best friend’s wife that I didn’t quite know how to handle.  In the event, though, it did not take long to convince myself that I’d always suspected mousey little Lou of hidden depths.

“Do you love him?” she asked with a directness that didn’t strike me as in the least intrusive. I nodded unhappily. “Even though or because he’s HIV positive too?” she persisted, but not unkindly. I flung her a despairing glance that begged her to be gentle with me. Lou, though, continued to heap misery upon misery.

“I’ve been such a fool,” I admitted. But if I thought this confession would make Lou ease up on me, I was mistaken.

“What’s this? Rob Young is conceding he’s not perfect?”  From anyone else this would come across nothing less than biting sarcasm. Yet, even as she drove the knife in and twisted, I rose to her wry humour with an involuntary chuckle. 

“Point taken,” I said and we both laughed. 

“You do know Matthew loves you very much?”

“I know he did before... But now, well…How can I possibly know how he feels?”

“You could try asking him.”

“What, just like that?” I laughed again but with no trace of humour.

“What’s stopping you?” she parried, “If two people are close enough to be honest with one another, I say go for it.”

“We were close once,” I corrected her bitterly.

“Trust me, closeness doesn’t disintegrate. It might build a dirty great brick wall around itself but it’s still there. All you have to do is break the wall down and…Well, what happens next will depend on what each of you has in mind.”

“If it were only that easy…”

“Easy? Did I say it would be easy?” There was an edge to her voice again, but I sensed she wasn’t being judgemental.

“Nothing ventured, I suppose…” I gulped.

“At last, the penny drops!” Lou had looked, away but now turned her head to look me in the eye and I saw she was crying. I went and sat on the arm of her chair, gave her a hug and felt absurdly exhilarated, flattered even, that she chose not to pull away.

Later, as we parted, she kissed me on the cheek, something she had never done before.  That kiss struck me as cementing or at least acknowledging a new intimacy in our friendship.  Once again, I found myself envying Shaun.

Lou had been unable to shed any light on Matthew’s likely whereabouts other than to suggest I contact his friends and might even try the school where he worked.  Guiltily, I realized I knew none of Matthew’s friends except as names in an address book that I went through painstakingly, telephoning every number I could find. Nor was the irony lost on me that I’d had my brother to thank for getting me into the flat. In desperation, I slipped a credit card through the door and managed to release the inside catch, a trick ably demonstrated by Paul when we’d found ourselves locked out once; neither of us had relished the notion of contacting either parent to confess we had mislaid our house keys.

I sighed. Paul and I had been good friends in those days. It occurred to me that there were bridges to be built there, too, or a wall to be knocked down if the truth be told. For now, though, Matthew had to be my main and only concern.

Given my method of entry, I did not feel at ease in the flat and soon left. After leaving my home and mobile number with various people, I returned to the house, leaving my mother, Paul and Peter Short in no doubt that it was of the utmost urgency I contact Matthew and if he should turn up on the doorstep (unlikely, but possible) they should keep him there and call me instantly. Likewise, any phone messages on the landline, from or concerning Matthew, were to be relayed to me immediately. Mum and Peter, I could rely on. I could but pray Paul would not revert to form and conveniently ‘forget’.

After calling at the flat once more, without letting myself in this time, I caught the next fast train to London.

I booked into a seedy hotel in King’s Cross and spent the next few days and nights wandering around the Gay Scene. In spite of his outward reticence about being gay, I felt instinctively that this was where Matthew would come. (I dare say it was nothing more than wishful thinking on my part, though, if only because Old Compton Street and its lively surrounds had often been my first port of call when intent on drowning my own sorrows.)

Mostly, I stayed in Soho, but spent one evening in Earl’s Court and part of another at a gay bar near Sloane Square that I only knew by reputation. I showed people a photograph of Matthew and me, but few even bothered to more than glance at it let alone take a second look. He had taken it at the flat with his mobile phone on the day I moved in. He had one arm flung around my neck and we were both wearing silly grins.  One old queen remarked that we looked good together and wished me well, adding that if Lady Luck chose not to make an appearance, she’d be more than happy to provide cover. 

I began to despair. By the time I ran into Bo Devine in Charing Cross Road, I was in a sorry state.

“Is it you, dear heart? What a sight for sore eyes and no mistake!”

I fumbled for words, but my tongue had other ideas. At first I was only vaguely aware of his presence beside me and kept walking. An orange track suit, however, and black baseball cap perched on a gargoyle-like face, is guaranteed to demand attention before too long. “Bo!” I responded warmly to a bear hug.

“Ah!” He fixed with a critical eye. “We have a crisis, I see.”

“No crisis,” I said in a slurring voice I hardly recognized as my own. “No crisis,” the voice kept repeating over and over.

“And pigs will fly. My giddy aunt, they will! You’re a mess, young Robert. And the only thing to do with a mess is clean it up. I know just the ticket.  He grabbed my arm and proceeded to propel me along. Wherever, I hadn’t a clue, but made only a few token attempts to break free, so great was my relief to have someone else taking charge of my fate. Somehow, we managed to defeat a blanket conspiracy of intrusive elbows, bright lights, shifty streets and secretive windows to end up in a downstairs room drinking hot, sweet, black coffee.

“So, young Rob, what’s up?” I gave a weary shrug. “It’s no use prevaricating either. I shall find out sooner or later so you might as well save us both unnecessary grief and spill the beans now.”

It’s personal,” I muttered.

“Of course it’s personal or you wouldn’t be going around looking like a candidate for euthanasia.”

“No worse than a ladybird that’s lost its spots I’d have thought,” I retorted.

“So you like it?” He preened, “Gabby thought I should take up jogging for my health, not to mention my weight. Not my thing really, jogging. But I fell in love with the outfit. Don’t I look just the part? It keeps her happy too. No need to jog, of course.  I ask you. What heart would be seen having an attack dressed like this?” He beamed. “There, you see!” he shouted, making everyone jump and look in our direction.

“What?”

“Your lips twitched. I swear I saw the faintest hint of a smile.”

I laughed aloud and began to feel almost human again. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So come on, out with it. A trouble shared and all that…”

I told him everything. I had only intended to paint a general picture just to keep him quiet. But Bo had an eye for detail. While rarely interrupting, an unsubtle look here and comment there were sufficient to give him what he wanted.

For a while after I had finished speaking, he said nothing. Finally, he reached across the table, clasped my hands in his and squeezed. “So what now?” he probed gently, but without letting go.

“You tell me.” I realized I meant it. I so desperately wanted someone to tell me what to do. Once I find Matthew, what then? What could ether of us have to say to the other that would make any difference? We were both HIV positive.

“Do you love him?” I nodded. “Does he love you?”

“He did once.”

“Then he probably still does. You don’t stop loving someone just like that. It’s a slow, painful journey. Believe me, dear heart, I know. You must tell him how you feel and pray he hasn’t reached that particular journey’s end.”

“And if he has?”

Bo let my hands drop. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, take that martyred look of your face. It doesn’t suit you one bit. Besides, you’re far too young.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he jabbed a finger at me and shut me up. “As for Matthew, well… Why not let the mountain come to Mohammed for a change? Go back to the flat and wait for him there. He’ll have to show his face sooner or later if only for clean underwear. I’m sure, in the circumstances, he’ll overlook the little matter of your breaking and entering. The pair of you must face up to this thing, Rob. Where will running away get you? Nowhere fast, that’s where, mark my words.”

“I’m not…”

“Running away? You could have fooled me. Matthew obviously has the same idea. It’s pointless, dear heart, quite pointless. You must take control of a situation, not let it control you. As for love and happy endings, I rather think that depends on what’s left after you’ve flushed all the shit down the loo, don’t you?” I said nothing. (What could I say?) “Now, off you go and leave this spotless ladybird to his thoughts.”

“Such as…?” I found myself grinning.

“You don’t want to know, dear heart. Believe me, you don’t want to know.” He flashed me a wicked smile.

“Thanks for listening.” On impulse, I leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

“Oh, I say! I really must try this listening lark more often.”

Bo’s mischievous chuckle washed over me. Somewhere, among its glut of hidden meanings, I discovered and latched on to a new lease of life.