Raising Lazarus

by Aidan J. Reid

  “I’m Father Dallat.”

  “John Mooney,” the man replied and shook it.

  “Nice to meet you John. You’re a good friend and He knows about your charity and your kindness. God Blesses you and your friend on this day.”

  “Umm… OK. Thanks.”

  The priest’s eyes moved past Mooney and found Molly. He stood, picked up his stool and placed it at the table beside Lazarus who was thumbing through a magazine on his lap.

  “Now,” he said looking from Molly to Lazarus and back again. “Who do we have hiding here?”

  “Hi Father. We’re hoping to check out in the next few days. I’m Molly.”

  “Oh,” he said and reached out a hand and shook hers. “You make it sound like a hotel. I suppose it kind of is in a way. Lovely to meet you Molly. And who is your friend?”

  The priest waved a hand in front of the magazine and gave a little yelping noise like it had broken a tractor beam from the man’s stare. Lazarus tossed the magazine onto the table top.

  “Come on, let’s go back.”

  “Oh no! Don’t be like that,” the priest said and pulled the stool closer to the wheelchair, holding onto the arm rest.

  There was a hurt expression on his face, and he peered up into Lazarus’ face which was turned away towards Molly.

  “Father, Lazarus isn’t really up for…”

  She stopped when she saw the priest’s eyes light up, mouth open wide.

  “Your name is Lazarus? How wonderful!” he said, gripping the arm rest tight and giving it a little shake. “What luck to be blessed with such a name. Your parents must be Christians.”

  Lazarus gave a sneer and shook his head. His face was still turned away from the priest.

  “Muslim?”

  Lazarus mumbled something beyond the priest’s auditory reach.

  “What? I can’t hear you?” the priest said and pulled his chair around the back of the wheelchair and sat between them both.

  “I said,” Lazarus spoke, voice raised and staring into the priest’s face. “I don’t have time for this shit. C’mon Molly.”

  Molly rose, mouthing an apology to the priest who sat stony faced, looking ahead. She grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pulled him away from the table, wheeling him out of the room.

  “Lazarus,” the priest said.

  Molly stopped and half turned the chair. The priest was still sitting in the stool, bent over and looking down at his hands, rubbing the palms.

  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.”

  “Proverbs 3:5,” Lazarus said.

  The priest looked up and saw the side of the patient. He was heartened to see the message had made an impression, the other man nodding slowly.

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s right, my son.”

  “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength,” Lazarus said.

  The priest was on the verge of standing to approach, but the patient had already instructed Molly to move him so instead sat in silence.

  “Philippians 4:13,” he said to himself and smiled. “A good choice.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Molly slid the duffel bag off her shoulder, slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a key. Lazarus was behind her, had seen her relief at unloading the weight and moved a hand to her shoulder and massaged it. She slumped under his touch, turned and smiled.

  She inserted the key and pushed the door.

  “I’m home,” she shouted into the dark hallway.

  Lazarus bent down and tried to pick up the bag, but she shooed him away, grabbed the two side handles and staggered inside.

  “No heavy lifting. We don’t need another injury now.”

  A door opened in the hallway, a woman eclipsing the light behind. She reached across and hit the hallway light and took a handle from Molly, and together they dragged the bag into the living room. When they had parked it in a corner away from the doorway, Molly dusted off her hands and smiled. Lazarus stepped into the room slowly and scanned the walls.

  “Louise, this is my friend who I told you about.”

  “Who saved the drowning kid in the lake,” the woman said and smiled. “Nice to finally meet you, Lazarus. This one hasn’t shut up about you!”

  Molly shot her a fierce look which the other woman ignored, a jolly smile relatively tiny compared to the rest of her moon face.

  “Thanks. It was nothing really. I wish people would stop talking about it.”

  Louise made a zipper of her mouth and threw away a key.

  “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you,” Lazarus said. “I’m pretty low maintenance and I won’t be here long.”

  “Take as long as you need,” Louise said. “But only if you introduce us to your hot friends.”

  Her laugh and look suggested it was a spontaneous, throwaway comment. But it was also the sort of remark that contained a seed of truth, a little too serious to be taking as a jest, something that could be dismissed later if Lazarus’ character or his friends were questionable.

  “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

  “Yeah, no worries. Second door on the left,” Molly said with her hand turning to a snake and wriggling back through the hallway.

  When he left and they heard the toilet door behind him close and the fan ventilator turn on, Louise spoke first.

  “He’s a lot better than on the TV!”

  “Well he was nearly dying of hypothermia then!”

  Louise smiled, looked at her flatmate and shook her head.

  “What? What?!” Molly asked and already felt the heat on her cheeks.

  “Look at you and your dark meat.”

  “Sh! He might hear you!”

  “Is he hung like a horse then?”

  “What? Lou!” Molly said and raised a finger to the other woman’s lips.

  Louise dodged the finger and wrapped the other woman in a bear hug. They fell against the wall, struggling in each other’s arms, Molly still trying to silence her friend and Louise trying to hug the breath out of the other. Suddenly they heard the bathroom door open again and they peeled off the wall and managed to stifle their giggles when Lazarus stepped through the doorway.

  “OK, well I’m going to pop out to the shops and pick up dinner,” Louise said. “Anything you need Mol? I’m sure you’re sick of hospital food for the last month Lazarus.”

  Louise watched as they both shrugged, saying that they had all they needed.

  “Cool. I’ll give you two some peace and quiet and be back in an hour or so. Don’t worry, I’ll knock before I come in.”

  She only had eyes for Molly as she left the room, seeing the burn on her cheeks. They both said their goodbyes. Molly suddenly realised they were alone for the first time since the day in Lazarus’ place. Coupled with that memory, which they both seemed to realise at once, and the awkwardness because of her friend’s comments, Molly shied away from the door and moved to the single chair in the living room and sat down. Lazarus followed and parked himself on the couch, looking over to her as she flicked on the TV and started scanning through the channels.

  “She seems... nice.”

  “She’s a pain in the arse,” Molly replied, an anger setting in her face.

  “Really? Why do you live with her then?”

  Molly paused a few beats, waiting for her breath to return to normal and cheeks to cool. When they had, she noticed Lazarus was still staring at her, searching eyes probing her face and trying to decrypt a response.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Stare at me like that. It’s like you’re trying to read my mind.”

  She grabbed the cushion behind her and placed it in the crook of her elbow. Curling her feet up into the seat, Molly squeezed into a little ball and lay her head down on her pillowed arm. She was peeking out at the TV and from the embryonic position Lazarus half expected her to pull
out a thumb and start sucking on it. He reached over and started stroking the bands of yellow hair off her face, tips that obscured her view.

  “Everything OK?”

  He received a nod in response and looked at the TV, a commercial playing there – a buck toothed waif in a garish ensemble of red, white and blue trying to convince viewers to get a London look. Molly’s head moved to his touch, eyes closing under his gentle caresses. Lazarus rose from his seat, quiet so as not to disturb her, although the stiffness and pain in his hips caused him great difficulty but he managed.

  He bent down and kissed her on the forehead, little puckered kisses on her soft skin. Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed under his gentle touch. Her breath was low and deep, and he heard it in his ear as he trailed the kisses down her cheek, measured and slow. A hand reached across and grazed her other cheek, fingertips moving past her ear and through the hair on the back of her head. He watched as she pulled her head back, exposing a neck, ivory white and saw the little tremble in her throat as she swallowed. Her mouth parted and as he moved his lips to the nape of her neck, she could feel the breath warm and shaky as he planted little kisses on her skin. Suddenly, she pushed his shoulders back and he sat on his heels and looked into her eyes.

  “Not here,” she said and rising took his hand and led him down the hallway.

  FORTY-TWO

  “Christ. Just my luck.”

  “What?”

  Molly had already turned away and leaned back on the bar counter. She took a deep breath and shook her head. Her colleague looked past the diners nearest who were standing and slipping on coats and jackets, and saw the two men at the front table with the maître d. One was tall and with blond hair, a bed of feathers from a shampoo advert while the other was much younger, barely out of his teens and had a twitchy, rat-like quality with an upturned nose jerking his head to a scent around him.

  “Not just your luck. He’s been in most nights since Valentine’s. You had to run into him sooner or later.”

  “Deep pockets,” Molly said and Scott shrugged his shoulders, returning the wet glass to a plate rack.

  They watched as the two men were guided to their seats. Both were dressed in navy suits, the blond with a white shirt to the younger’s pink. The older man scanned the faces of the room, noticed one or two and smiled in their direction, before tucking in his tie and sitting down. The younger dropped straight to his seat, elbows on table and fidgeting with his collar. Molly withdrew two menus out of a hole in the wall, stood tall and pulled the tails of her shirt down at either end with a hand.

  “Good luck,” Scott said and offered her a hopeful smile.

  The moment she appeared from behind the counter and approached, the blond’s eyes were on her. He continued to watch until she reached their table, smiling as she greeted them.

  “Good evening gentlemen. Welcome to Piergianni’s,” she said. “Can I show you the drinks menu?”

  “I can probably read it back to front at this stage,” the blond man said and laughed. “The Chateau Lafite for me. Barry, it’s your first time here. What do you fancy?”

  “Just a coke for me,” he said briefly, catching eyes with her.

  “Certainly. Would you like to see the food menu now?”

  “I’m dead set for the lobster again tonight.”

  “Yeah me too,” Barry chipped in.

  “OK,” Molly said and dabbed the two entries into the tablet in her hand. “I’ll be back shortly with your drinks.”

  She turned and walked around the tables and moving chairs until she was back at base.

  “Well?” Scott asked.

  “Don’t think he even recognised me. Couldn’t be nicer.”

  “See! I told you it wasn’t worth worrying about. What am I getting?”

  Molly gave him the orders and he moved behind into the cellar to fetch the wine. The order as soon as it was entered into the tablet was relayed to a computer screen in the kitchen where the head chef picked it up and barked the order. She leaned across the bar counter, allowing a gentle stretch in her spine. From her vantage point, she glanced around to make sure it was the same man from weeks before, convinced that it was. The maître d was standing at his lectern, hands behind his back and staring out at the sea of heads, a smug expression on his face. Molly happened to catch his stare at her and immediately regretted it. She pulled herself back up but too late, seeing the man storm through the room, a wide smile carved against his little head, red as a grape.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he said when he came up close, out of earshot of customers. “Don’t we pay you enough already?”

  Molly practiced her best smile, the one she used for asshole customers where the wide grin hurt her cheeks.

  “There’s never a moment’s rest in a restaurant,” he said, branding a clenched smile. “Check with your tables to see if they need anything else. Bloody amateur.”

  To demonstrate, he turned and greeted the first couple of tables with gusto, asking if everything was alright. Their enthusiastic nods giving energy to his own, laughing and joking spilling from the table. He looked up at Molly with his mask dropping for the briefest of seconds, before continuing on his way.

  Scott had returned with the drinks and loaded them onto the tray for her. She carried them across to their owners who were locked in conversation at the small table. She placed the fine crystal goblet down with the blond-haired man who she remembered was called Marcus, and followed it with the coke for the opposite man. Marcus encouraged her to keep pouring until his sample was a full glass and he swished it around in his hand, raising it to his nose and breathing deeply.

  “You can’t do that with a coke now Barry,” he said and took a small sip of it.

  “Watch me.”

  The young man was a mirror image and replicated the movement bringing laughter from Marcus, who smoothed back a tassel of his own blond hair behind his ear. Molly watched the interplay, the smooth, languid movements of Marcus, tanned complexion and an inner health that made his skin shine. The recipient of plenty of frequent flyer air miles, she imagined. Barry seemed less interesting, a rough stone to the older man’s polished diamond. Chalk and cheese, obvious in their gestures, language and their appearance with the younger man looking nervous, pinching at the collar of shirt and shifting like he had been suited for an interview.

  “Anything else I can get you both?”

  Marcus received a shrug from the younger man, then looked up to Molly.

  “Maybe some bread rolls, if it’s not too much bother? And a little button of warm butter?”

  “No problem.”

  Molly returned to base with a circuitous route, checking in with various tables and taking additional drink orders.

  Over the course of the next two hours, most of the customers had been satiated, retiring to the car park - a short walk to burn off some of the rich food. A few remained, hoovering up desserts – chocolate gateaux, strawberry cheesecakes and sticky toffee puddings, the final nail in their coffin for the night. They practically peeled themselves off the table with licked plates, big smiles promising to return next week until of course, Molly presented their bill. They floundered for a moment, paid and rolled out the front door, collecting coats and jackets from the maître d who exercised the tired joke that perhaps it had been swapped for a smaller version.

  With the crowd thinning and the kitchen closed, Molly was relieved and tired all at the same time, talking with Scott as they watched her last table polish off the final bottle of wine. Each sup of wine seemed like it was spitting more into the glass. Finally, Marcus raised his hand and she moved to them. It was hard to tell who was more affected by the drink. The blond man and his consumption of two bottles on his own, or the six bottles of coke which had made the younger man even more jittery than when he arrived.

  “Phew!” Marcus said and blotted a smooth, suspiciously wrinkle free forehead with his pink napkin. “That was a veritable feast. Please thank the chefs for the cuisine. Inc
redible.”

  The younger man mumbled his agreement.

  “I will of course,” she said and started to stack the plates. “Kitchen and the bar are closed now unfortunately.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Marcus said and knocked back the rest of his glass. “We’re full to the brim. Isn’t that right, Barry?”

  The man nodded. He dropped his hands under the table and sat on the palms as if he was afraid of what they would do, like a kinaesthetic Tourette.

  “Just the bill when you’re ready.”

  “Of course. Cash or card?”

  “Card please.”

  Molly managed to successfully clear the plates in one go, carefully placing them back to the bar top as she reached for the card scanner device. She returned to the men, entered her passcode and dialled in the cost of the overall meal. She passed the device around to the blond man. He slotted his card, punched in four digits and the device spat out a receipt which she tore off and gave to him. The younger man rose from the table, stretched out wide and gave a big yawn. Marcus pulled out a pen from his inside pocket and scribbled on the receipt, accepted the card from Molly and gave her a big smile.

  “Come on you!” Marcus said and clapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulder. “Let’s go back to mine for a nightcap.”

  Molly watched them leave and then cleared the last few remains of the table, brushing it onto her hand. She picked up the receipt and returned to the bar where Scott was watching. There was a smile on his face and he had already uncapped two beers; they sat on the table top. He took his one, sipped and smiled.

  “Well,” he said. “That didn’t go too bad at all today.”

  Molly gave a laugh and brushed the food from her open palm onto a dirty plate. Beside it she planted the note the right way up so Scott could read it. He picked it up and held it up close to the light.

  “What the hell?”

  FORTY-THREE

  Barry was wishing he had chosen the steak. He was leaning against the closed shutter door of a kebab joint and painted the screen orange with his vomit. He felt a hand rubbing up and down his curved spine, suit jacket covering the wet shirt on his back. The wide stance he assumed was to prevent the splash of puke on his polished black shoes and he looked down at it now with a detached fascination, curious to see what would leave his mouth next. A sloshing stomach that had putrefied with the assault of a bubbling soft drink had come back in litres through his nose, an irrigation that at least came with his back turned to the other man.