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.
