How to Save a Life

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Good question. I spoke to her about it afterwards, obviously, and she said she’d never seen him behave that way, putting it down to nerves on his part. Turns out he was more of her husband’s friend than hers and she’d only met him briefly a couple of times. Anyway, that’s me done with blind dates. Never again.’

  Rita returns empty-handed, pulling up another chair. ‘Didn’t you manage to find a brew?’ I ask her. ‘You were gone for ages.’

  ‘I, er, drank it out there,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t sure if I’d be allowed to bring it back in here.’

  I don’t query this, knowing full well the real reason for her delay, although it was totally unnecessary.

  She ends up staying longer than Nora, who has to head off to interview someone for a feature, so before long it’s just the two of us again.

  ‘Lovely lass that one,’ she says. ‘What’s the, er, situation between the two of you?’

  I’m surprised at the directness of Rita’s question. ‘Um, we only met fairly recently. She was already a friend of Meg’s and, um, she was good enough to agree to write the articles about the homeless stuff. That’s it really.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Rita says in response. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  She tries to keep a straight face, but the hint of a smile slips through. ‘Nothing. Nice of her to call by and see you in hospital. She obviously thinks highly of you. Cares enough to make the effort. Anyway, that’s none of my business. There is, er, something else I wanted to speak to you about, though.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, glad of a change in subject. ‘What’s that, then?’

  She pauses before continuing, biting her upper lip and giving me the distinct impression that she’s choosing her words carefully. ‘I’ve been thinking, Luke. You’re not going to be able to cut hair for a while with those injuries of yours. Saying you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it is all well and good, but you’re already there as far as I can see.

  ‘The barbershop has been closed since Monday night. You’re not going to be opening up any time soon – and that’s not good for business – so I’ve got a suggestion I’d like you to consider.’

  ‘Okay. What kind of suggestion?’

  ‘I’m getting to that. Bear with me.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘How about I run the business for you until you’re ready to take over again?’

  CHAPTER 28

  Rita has been gone for a couple of hours now, but she’s barely left my thoughts. Her proposal took me completely by surprise; I’m still not sure what to make of it.

  Is she serious?

  Has she thought it through?

  The answer to both of these questions would seem to be yes, from what she told me before she left.

  Is she up to the job?

  Absolutely, based on what I’ve observed from working alongside her. She has all the necessary haircutting skills and a far better manner with the clients than I do. She even used to run her own salon, so the practical side of things – opening and closing, dealing with the money, keeping the place clean and tidy, etc. – shouldn’t be a problem either.

  So why am I hesitant to take her up on the offer?

  Why aren’t I snapping her hand off?

  I’m not exactly sure. That’s why it’s been on my mind so much ever since she suggested it.

  I suppose part of me is concerned about her reasons for making the offer. Is it because she feels bad about what happened to me and wants to make up for what she perceives to be partly her fault?

  If so, I have major issues with that, since it isn’t her fault in the slightest. And a misplaced sense of guilt shouldn’t be the cause of her doing something she wouldn’t otherwise want to do.

  My other worry, and it’s a big one, is about her safety. After what happened to me in the barbershop, how could I in good conscience allow anyone else – Iris’s aunt no less – to work alone there? Imagine if something similarly horrific befell her while she was helping me out. I’d never forgive myself.

  Rita didn’t give me a proper chance to discuss these concerns with her after making the suggestion.

  ‘Don’t say anything for now,’ she said, already standing up to go. ‘I wanted to mention it and then give you some time to consider. I know it’s a big decision, so have a good think about it. Take as long as you need. You know where I am. Once you’re ready, I’ll happily address any questions you might have. And if the answer’s no, for whatever reason, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended.

  ‘I’ll leave it with you. But know this, Luke: I’m making the offer in all seriousness and having thought it through at length, so please give it proper consideration. I’m sure we could reach terms that would be financially amicable for both of us. Plus it would give you an easy path to gradually return to work rather than having to do it in one go.’

  That last point in particular definitely got me thinking. If she was to run things in my absence, it would certainly allow me to ease my way back into the job, doing the odd cut alongside her to start with, for instance, and progressing from there. But that doesn’t address my concerns, which is why I’m still scratching my head about what to do. I’m glad Meg’s coming to visit me again later today, as I’ll be interested to get her take on things. Hopefully she’ll be able to help me decide.

  I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself by the time Meg’s due to arrive that evening. It’s frustrating trying to do things when your hands are sore and bandaged up. I also had another visit from the police late this afternoon, which meant going over various details of what happened with Moxie for the umpteenth time, wearing me out and leaving me miserable.

  I was expecting my cousin at seven o’clock, so when it gets to quarter past, I’m all for believing she’s not coming at all.

  Something must have come up; nice of her to let me know.

  No sooner have I thought this than I start to worry that she might have been involved in an accident on the way here.

  I check the old mobile Meg’s lent me to see if I’ve received any messages, but I haven’t. Is that a good or a bad thing?

  I consider calling or messaging her myself, but now the idea of her having an accident is in my head, I can’t shift it. I even worry that if she’s still on her way, I could be the one to cause her to crash by making contact and distracting her.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Why am I thinking like this?

  I tell myself to stop being so pessimistic; to remember my quest to become a glass-half-full person and to honour Iris’s memory. However, the argument sounds half-hearted and hollow to my ears.

  It’s not pessimism but realism, another part of me asserts in return; optimism is akin to delusion in a world where shit can and usually does happen.

  It’s hard to disagree with this contention in light of everything bad that has occurred in my life so far.

  And it’s not like I haven’t tried optimism. I’ve given it a good go; the results speak for themselves.

  Where has my attempt at changing myself got me? What have I gained?

  At that moment, I hear a voice in the corridor that I recognise.

  It sounds like … no, I must be mistaken.

  Only I’m not.

  It really is my neighbour Doreen, I realise, as she strolls into the ward ahead of Meg and, to my further surprise, my other neighbour Sylvia, whose iPad I fixed and furniture I rearranged.

  ‘There you are,’ Doreen says. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you. We all have, haven’t we, Sylvia? Pauline wanted to come too, but she has a terrible cold and we didn’t want her to pass it on to you in your fragile state.’

  ‘This is a surprise,’ I say, flashing my cousin a quizzical look. Her brow furrows in return, causing me to add: ‘How lovely of you all to come and see me.’

  Doreen looks from me to her friend. ‘It was the least we could do, wasn’t it, Sylvia?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sylvia adds. ‘We were terribly shocked to hear what happened to you. W
hat’s the world coming to?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Doreen says. ‘I bumped into your lovely cousin when she was feeding your cat earlier. I told her how much we wanted to visit you in hospital and she was good enough to pick us up and bring us along with her. How are you, my love? Are you in a terrible amount of pain?’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a female fan club,’ Meg whispers into my ear with a little giggle as she greets me after the other two. ‘You’re a dark horse.’

  One of the nurses pops over to say I’m only supposed to have two visitors at once – not something that’s ever been a problem before – so Meg takes herself off for a coffee, agreeing to come back and swap with one of the other two in a few minutes.

  It’s sweet how they fuss over me, Doreen and Sylvia, asking if they can pour me a glass of water or do anything else to help, concern etched in the wrinkles on their foreheads. I’m touched that they’ve come to visit me at all, particularly considering how I’ve only got to know them recently. I didn’t expect it.

  Luckily, they don’t ask for a blow-by-blow account of what happened. Their main questions concern my current and future wellbeing; they’re especially interested in knowing how long I’ll be staying in hospital for.

  ‘Not too long, I wouldn’t think,’ is my response. ‘I should be home in a day or two.’

  Doreen gives me an intense look. ‘Well, don’t you worry one jot about struggling to do certain things on your own, Luke, because you’re not – on your own, that is. Anything you need, we’ll be there to help you, like you’ve helped us. And that includes Pauline. She was really sorry not to be able to join us here today.’

  Part of me wants to tell them I’ll be fine and won’t need any help. But that’s probably not true. They also look so earnest and kind in their desire to assist me, I couldn’t bring myself to reject them like that.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say instead. ‘That means a great deal.’

  ‘If you ever needed me to,’ Doreen adds, ‘I’d be only too happy to feed the cat for you as well. I already told Meg this, although she said it’s no trouble for her.’

  ‘The same goes for me,’ Sylvia adds. ‘I love animals.’

  I nod and smile at them both. ‘You’re too kind.’ I do appreciate the offer, although I’m secretly glad Meg said what she did; I’m not sure I’m ready to start handing out keys to my flat willy-nilly just yet.

  One step at a time.

  When Meg returns, the other two go off to grab a brew and stretch their legs.

  ‘I didn’t do the wrong thing bringing them along with me, did I?’ Meg asks once they’re out of earshot.

  ‘No, no. Not at all. It’s nice to have so many visitors. I’m a bit taken aback, to be honest, especially after Rita and Nora coming this afternoon too.’

  ‘Mum and Dad also send their love and best wishes from Auckland, by the way.’

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘That’s nice of them.’

  ‘Yeah, we had a video chat last night. They were so shocked and worried. They actually made me promise to keep a close eye on you to make sure nothing else bad happens.’

  Soon I steer the conversation towards Rita’s proposal. Now that I have a few moments alone with my cousin, I’m keen to get her advice about what to do.

  Meg’s instant reaction, once I bring her up to speed, is resoundingly positive. ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘That’s amazing. How generous of her. It sounds like the perfect solution to me. What did you say?’

  ‘She, um, told me to give it some thought. She didn’t want an answer straight away.’

  The hint of a frown forms as Meg scrutinises my face. ‘Yeah, okay, but surely you’re going to say yes, right? Why on earth wouldn’t you? Remember, a while ago, when I suggested the idea of her working with you? And that was before she started helping out with the homeless haircuts. Maybe you should try listening to me once in a while.’

  I voice my two main concerns, the first of which Meg brushes aside. ‘It’s not for you to question her motives, Luke. She wants to help you. That’s what matters. She probably does feel bad about what happened, like I do. It’s only normal when you consider she was the last person to see you before he turned up. I really don’t see why that’s a problem. If she’s running the barbershop, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to put her straight. And it’s not like she’ll be doing it for free, anyway. She’ll keep the business ticking over and make some cash for herself in the process. It’s a win-win situation.’

  ‘What about her safety, then?’ I ask. ‘That’s a genuine concern for me after what happened. Moxie might be gone, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t turn up and do something similar. I’ve seen first-hand that even the people you think have their heads screwed on tight can have issues with drugs and so on.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Meg asks.

  I explain about my encounter with Tommy after he’d taken spice. ‘It was gut-wrenching,’ I say. ‘He was like a totally different person. In fact, scratch that, he wasn’t like a person at all. He was like a zombie. And if taking drugs can do that to him, well … Moxie was clearly on something too. It really scares me, Meg. I invited these guys into my barbershop. Who knows what might happen next?’

  My cousin looks at me with pity in her eyes. ‘Oh, Luke. I totally understand where you’re coming from and why you say that, but you can’t live that way. No matter what you’ve been through – and I know you’ve been through way more than most – you mustn’t allow fear to rule your life. You’ve been opening and closing that barbershop alone for years. How many other businesses in the area do the same every day?’

  Citing her own jewellery store as an example, she adds: ‘I manage alone a lot of the time. Ellen’s only there with me a couple of days a week. And don’t forget we’re talking about Rita here. She’s not exactly wet behind the ears. She’s a strong woman who ran her own salon in the past. She’s more than capable of doing this. I literally can’t think of anyone better to help you out.’

  I want to argue with her, to say that my concerns are based on common sense rather than fear, but I can’t. Her words have shifted something in my mind. She’s right: I am afraid. That’s where trying to be an optimist has landed me. Positivity doesn’t allow you to prepare yourself for the worst-case scenario like negativity does, and now I’m itching to return to the security of contingency planning, of believing in Sod’s Law and actively preparing for it.

  And yet when I was permanently pessimistic, I was miserable. I was lonely as well, although too stubborn to realise it. I might have been more ready for dealing with bad news, but at what cost? I never really got to enjoy the good.

  Who visited me in hospital after the scaffolding accident? Meg and no one else.

  Look at the difference this time around.

  Yes, I might have been less prepared for dealing with Moxie’s attack, but I’ve also got a far better support structure to help me get over it.

  And I’m still alive, aren’t I?

  I take a few deep breaths before responding to Meg. ‘I hear you,’ I say eventually. ‘And I think you’re probably right. But after what happened to me, I’m still struggling with the idea of Rita being there alone, particularly at closing time. I’m coming around to the idea, but I’ll need some kind of security blanket in place before I can truly get behind it.’

  CHAPTER 29

  Two days later, I’m released from hospital and head home. My wounds are healing well, I’m told. They still hurt, don’t get me wrong. But the bandaging is already less than it was, making it easier to do things by myself. I can feel a slow improvement day by day.

  I was given the option of regular visits to the nurse at my local GP surgery to have the dressing changed, or for someone to be shown how to do it for me in between check-ups. Luckily, Meg agreed to the latter, which should make things easier.

  It’s 8.06 p.m. and she’s just left after helping me to get settled and promising to call in again first thing tomorrow.

  ‘In the
meantime, give me a call if you need anything at all,’ she said as I saw her out.

  Handing me a small piece of paper, Meg added: ‘And here’s a list of the phone numbers of your female fan club, in case you need someone on the spot. Doreen wasn’t sure if you had all of their details; she assured me that she, Sylvia and Pauline would be at your beck and call, should you need them. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they call in to check on you tomorrow, regardless, so best not lounge around in your pyjamas. Otherwise, they might need medical help themselves to slow their pulses.’

  I shook my head at this. ‘You’re hilarious, Meg.’

  She shrugged, keeping a straight face. ‘What, hot stuff? It’s not my fault you’re so popular with the pensioners.’

  I’m now sitting on the sofa in the lounge. The news is on, but I’m not really watching it. I’m too busy stroking Alfred, who’s barely left my side since I returned and is currently on my knee, staring at me and purring. I’m also going through the small pile of letters that arrived in my absence and Meg has left for me to open. Most of it is the usual boring stuff – bank statements, bills and so on – but then I come across a handwritten envelope that instantly sets my pulse racing.

  Even without the telltale Edinburgh postmark, I’d recognise that swirly style of writing anywhere. How could I not after living for years with the person it belongs to? There’s definitely no mistaking it. Long before I build up the courage to tear it open, I’m certain it’s a letter from my ex-wife.

  So why am I staring at the envelope rather than reading the contents?

  I haven’t heard a peep from Helen – the woman who nearly destroyed me when she cast me aside – in ages. What’s changed? Why now?

  Do I even want to know what she has to say?

  Is this about me being attacked? The date stamped on the envelope is from the day after the incident took place, so that’s a possibility.

  I won’t ever know for sure unless I look inside, will I?

  Why can’t I bring myself to do so, then?

  What am I afraid of?