by Clare Boyd
It was unbelievable that it had come to this; that this had happened to him.
His arm and stomach muscles were violently quivering with cold, with the effort, with the sheer hell of the futile search for his wheelchair. The chair was not in the main bedroom, or in any of the other rooms. He began to imagine that Dilys might have parked it outside. If it was outside, wouldn’t the children have seen it? He looked out of the sitting-room window from his position on the floor by the sofa. The glass was sprinkled with rain droplets and he felt a strong draught coming through the floorboards. He could not contemplate the ghastly thought that his wheelchair – his lifeline – was wet, or blown away.
He had to struggle on. His priority was to find it. He had to find the iPad again, to call Harry, although he suspected Dilys might have thought of that already. Somehow, he was going to make it to Byworth End to see Francesca and Alice. Somehow. But, when he reached Harry’s drawer, it was empty. The iPad was gone.
He pulled himself through to the kitchen, down the rutted ramp, which scraped his skin, and slid onto the stone tiles. He lay back for a second, allowing the warmth of the underfloor heating to soothe his tired limbs. Overwhelmed with fatigue, the idea of engaging his muscles to move again seemed too much. All of his energy seemed to drain from him. He lay his head on the floor and rested, just for a second.
He must have fallen asleep or passed out, for he woke to the sound of banging on the window.
A muffled, ‘John? John! Oh my god! JOHN!’
He looked up.
The silhouette of a figure in a rainhood and heavy boots was looming at the window.
At first, he was too disorientated to recognise her.
He could see a strand of long, fizzy blonde hair flick from her hood as she placed a phone to her ear. It was Cassie, Francesca’s friend, who had been working on Uncle Ralph’s house.
‘Cassie!’ he cried, trying to pull himself up to sitting, forgetting the state he was in. After the effort of earlier, his limbs were too weak to push himself up. He flopped down, suddenly mortified by the indignity of his position, half-naked on his kitchen floor in a piss-stained pyjama top. But he was not in a position to tell her to come back later at a more convenient time. This thought made him smile, or maybe it was the presence of a kind human being that made him smile.
He watched her talk into her phone with urgent hand gestures.
The howling wind and rain blew her hood off.
She banged on the window. He forced out a weak grin and shrugged, to show her he was all right, even though he wasn’t. Her anxious grimace turned into a beaming smile.
‘Do you have keys?’ she yelled.
‘Dilys has probably double-locked it,’ he returned hoarsely.
‘What?’
He shook his head. He didn’t have the energy to shout again.
‘I’ll be back!’ she cried. ‘Hang on in there!’
After she walked away, he managed to edge his way around to the cooker, on which a line of linen tea-towels hung. He pulled one down and laid it across himself and waited, feeling a mix of relief, wretchedness and excitement.
* * *
The wait seemed interminable. John’s legs were locked in a series of spasms, almost continually.
Finally, he heard footsteps on the paving outside, and a male voice. He wondered if Cassie had called the fire brigade, which would heap a pile of fresh humiliation on top of what he was already braced for.
From where he was, by the cooker, he couldn’t see the window.
A male voice. ‘John?’
‘I’m here!’ He began to edge round.
‘Stay away from the window, okay, mate?’
John backed away again.
A quick, efficient smash of the window came next. Within minutes, a tall, handsome Paul, with all his muscles, was standing above John. A flash of historic jealousy sliced into his heart.
‘How did you know?’ John looked up at a hovering Cassie. He tugged the tea-towel a little more neatly over his groin, which he noticed had a flower blooming from its middle, sending a wave of heat to his cheeks.
‘Tea-towels are so last year, mate.’ Paul grinned.
‘I see you got dressed up for us,’ Cassie added, in her husky Manchester accent.
‘Why were you here?’ he asked again.
‘Fran called from Byworth End. She was worried, and asked me to check on you.’
‘Francesca called you?’ He was overwhelmed, baffled, elated.
‘Come on, let’s get you on the chair. Cassie, avert your eyes.’ Paul crouched down and put John over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. The tea-towel fell off, exposing John’s backside for all the world to see. ‘Where’s your wheelchair, mate?’ Paul grunted, placing him on a chair at the kitchen table and handing him the fallen tea-towel.
‘I think Dilys left it outside.’
Paul frowned at him. ‘Why?’
‘It’s a long story,’ John replied.
‘I’ll find it,’ Cassie said.
Within minutes, Cassie wheeled his chair down the ramp into the kitchen and placed it by his side. He smiled shyly at her, admiring the mass of blonde hair that took over her tiny features, feeling as though he had shared something with her that morning that made them instant friends.
‘Where was it?’ John asked, patting his chair, feeling that it was dry.
John remembered a time when he had hated his wheelchair, hated the thought of being in one, but now it was like an old friend. He wanted to kiss and hug it.
‘It was just out there, under a cover.’
At least she kept it dry for me, John thought bitterly.
He checked the brake was on and heaved himself along and onto the chair, managing to keep the tea-towel on his middle. ‘I’ll just go get something on. Help yourselves to a cup of something.’
When he returned, both of them were sitting at the table, cradling mugs, talking in low tones. They stopped talking when they saw him come in.
Cassie leapt up. ‘Tea?’
He looked at the wall clock. It was ten-thirty. If they were quick, he would catch them.
‘No. Thank you. Could one of you please get me over to Byworth End?’
‘’Course,’ Cassie said.
‘I’ll stay and fix this up.’ Paul nodded at the broken glass. ‘Got some gaffer tape and an old cardboard box?’
‘In the garage by the cars,’ John replied. ‘Thanks, Paul. Thanks, both of you. I’m so sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for!’ Cassie cried, throwing her arms up.
He had heard Dilys talk about Cassie’s work on Ralph’s house as ‘passable’. Knowing Dilys’ disdain for anyone or anything associated with Francesca, it had been high praise indeed, and he could see why Cassie had earned it.
Paul helped John into Cassie’s car, folded his wheelchair into the boot, and said goodbye.
As John and Cassie drove, they were silent. John clutched the sides of his seat, feeling as though her 30 mph was 100 mph.
They passed by Letworth’s green. A flash of him running, running, running – like the dreams he had regularly – towards Beatrice as the van had approached. He had taken the strength of his legs for granted. Who would run for her like that, now?
They drove past Francesca’s old white cottage door, and he envisaged Alice standing in the doorway.
His heart raced when he imagined holding her in his arms. His love for Francesca, and their shared selves, were wrapped up in Alice, like a perfect, surprise gift. He was itching to get to Byworth End. He prayed to anyone who was listening to keep him safe, just until he could see them both again. That was all he wanted.
And, perhaps, he wanted to see the look on Dilys’ face when he arrived.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Francesca
I cradled my phone. Finally, Cassie’s text came through:
He’s safe. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Cassie x
I wanted to yelp with joy, but I held it b
ack, watching Dilys frolic about with the children in the pool, in the drizzle, swamped by Camilla’s swimsuit, which was baggy on her boney bottom and padded unnaturally around her chest. Knowing Dilys had a vain streak, I imagined she loathed wearing it, which made me smile to myself. I enjoyed the prospect of seeing her jolly smirk drop from her face when John arrived.
Camilla and Patrick surveyed Dilys and the four children from their sun-loungers, which were pushed back underneath the stripy canopy that Valentina had cranked out from the poolhouse roof.
From where I sat, at the other end of the pool, sheltering under the big tree, I could see them both grinning like fools at Dilys’ galling exhibition of good mothering.
I fixated on Harry, who was swimming in a leisurely pace up and down the pool, marking time with each length, and I willed John and Cassie to appear.
Huddled in my coat, my heartbeat was loud in my hood. I clapped conscientiously when Alice belly-flopped, and forced out a laugh when Beatrice performed her comical backwards jumps. Inside, I was full of apprehension: for John, for me. I had wondered if his paralysis would change how I felt about him somehow. It was an uncomfortable thought. I was ashamed of it.
And then I saw Cassie’s wild hair, and stern expression, bob up from the slope as she pushed John in his wheelchair.
I caught my breath. In that instant, I knew his disability could not possibly change my feelings for him. That face of his was the same; the one that I had fallen in love with on the film set all those years ago. Albeit pale and a little thin, he was the same John. My heart constricted. His ordeal today must have been humiliating and traumatic. And now he would have to face Dilys.
As I walked the length of the pool towards him, ours eyes locked. We shared an unmistakable moment of mutual pleasure. His beauty sent my pulse racing. It was both thrilling and comforting to see him, if it was possible to experience both at the same time.
Cassie parked him under the window to the poolhouse, away from the rain. Camilla and Patrick shot up off their chairs.
‘Darling! You made it! How wonderful!’ his mother cried, kissing him on the cheek a little tentatively. Next, his father gave him a half-hearted slap on the shoulder and a limp handshake.
John looked to me. ‘Hello you,’ he said.
I bent down to kiss him and he wrapped his arms around me, holding on to me for long enough to provoke a sniff from Camilla and a throat-clearing from Patrick.
‘Good to see you,’ I said, pulling away.
We stood in an awkward semi-circle around him.
Camilla turned her frown towards Cassie. ‘What are you doing here, Cassandra? Is Ralph okay?’
‘Not sure. I don’t work at the house on Sundays.’
‘Oh, right, yes, of course.’ She sniffed. ‘Right, well, maybe you could go and help Valentina to get some hot chocolate on the go for the children?’ she said.
Cassie glared at her. ‘I’ll probably get going home, actually. Now John’s okay.’
I offered to walk Cassie to the car, mortified by how Camilla had treated her.
‘That woman!’ she seethed. ‘I’m not her bloody servant!’
‘I’m so sorry for dragging you into all this,’ I said.
Cassie stopped dead and turned to me. ‘Go back. Make sure John’s okay.’
‘Thanks. For everything.’
‘Keep me in the loop. I’m here if you need anything.’
I gave her a big hug, and returned to the pool.
Camilla was clapping and shouting at the children. ‘Come on! Time to get out, you lot! You rascals have had quite enough fun for one day.’
I stood next to John. Patrick was on his other side, waffling about the weather.
My heart picked up a fierce beat as I watched Dilys swimming towards us, in slow breaststroke, away from the kids in the shallow end, a fixed smile on her face.
As she climbed out, I stood closer to John.
Like a monster from the deep, she dripped and shivered, slimy and bedraggled.
‘Oh, John. How did you—? I’m really not sure it’s a good idea you’re here,’ she said carefully, and quickly wrapped herself in a blue towel.
The younger children spotted John. One by one, they hopped out of the pool and showered him with wet hugs and kisses.
‘Go and get your towels, children,’ Camilla ordered. ‘Off you go, into the house. Valentina’s inside. You can have hot chocolate by the Aga.’
They scampered off.
‘I was having more fun than they were,’ Dilys smarmed, twisting another towel so tightly on her head her eyes slanted.
Camilla flashed her an approving smile. ‘You deserve a hot chocolate, too, Dilys.’
A gust of wet wind blew through the five of us, and the raindrops pounded heavily on the striped awning above us, which sagged, while the lilac petals of the bougainvillea drooped.
‘Thanks, but I don’t think we should stay. Come on, John. I think it’s best we get you home again, don’t you?’
She moved around to the back of his chair and took the handles. I froze, not sure of what to do.
‘Get the hell off my chair,’ John said, pressing down on the brake.
Camilla gasped and shot a hand to Patrick’s arm.
Dilys raised an eyebrow at Camilla. ‘You see what I mean?’
Camilla bunched her chin, and bent down to John. In a sickly voice, she said, ‘John, darling, it’s best you get home.’
‘I think John would like to stay,’ I said firmly.
Ignoring me, Dilys undid the brake, and began to turn the chair. John twisted around and grabbed her leg. Dilys screamed and jumped back, as though he had stabbed her with a ten-inch knife. The towel on her head fell to the ground.
‘John! That’s enough!’ Camilla scolded.
Noticing that John was unbalanced, I steadied his upper body and grabbed both handles of his chair, marking my allegiance.
Camilla and Patrick stood melded together as a unit to our left, with their calves pressed back into a sun-lounger, the striped light of the awning shadowing their faces; and there was Dilys, hovering near the end of that same sun-lounger, where the awning didn’t stretch. She was drenched and exposed, and the grey light flattened her features.
She gulped back some pretend tears. ‘Can you believe he’s behaving like this? Day in and day out, it’s the same!’
‘That’s not true,’ I said, gripping the handles as though John’s life depended on it.
‘I don’t think you’re aware of the full story, Francesca,’ Camilla said.
‘I am very aware of the full story,’ I replied.
‘Whatever he’s said, Fran, it’s a lie,’ Dilys whimpered. ‘He’s deluded. Utterly deluded.’
‘Cassie told me that you hid his wheelchair from him overnight,’ I said.
‘I’m scared of him at night! He comes into my room and starts shouting abuse, and I feel very threatened.’
John threw his head back in laughter.
Dilys cocked her head at him sympathetically. ‘You see? He’s not himself at all.’
His parents stared at him, no doubt believing that he was not. A speck of doubt floated through my own mind. Nobody would blame him if he showed signs of strain.
‘I’m not going home,’ John said, pulling himself together suddenly. ‘I’d like to stay here for a few days, Mum, if that’s okay? Paul can bring my things here.’
Camilla patted his shoulder, and looked at Patrick doubtfully. ‘I’ll get Valentina to make up the sofa-bed in Dad’s study, darling. Will that work?’
‘Yes, that would be great,’ John said, and he began wheeling himself around.
‘It might not be such a bad idea if you had a few days away from the kids,’ Dilys said, picking up her towel and stepping under the awning.
John swivelled the chair around. ‘The kids will be staying here with me.’
‘That’s too much for your parents,’ Dilys said.
‘We’d love to have them,’ Camilla
said.
‘I don’t think it is a good idea,’ Dilys insisted. ‘You don’t know his schedule.’
‘We’ll learn it.’
‘But you can’t leave him alone with them for one second,’ Dilys added, a little desperately.
‘We’ll watch them,’ Camilla said.
‘Don’t worry.’ John laughed again, the same hollow ring to it obvious to all. ‘They don’t need watching around me, Mum.’
‘No, of course not, darling,’ she replied, casting an anxious eye at Patrick again.
‘I’m afraid they do need watching, Camilla, that’s why I have to take them home now,’ Dilys said, with a fake apologetic tone.
‘If you take them, I’ll call the police,’ John said.
Dilys snorted. ‘They’re my kids.’
‘Come, now. There’s no need for any police,’ Patrick interjected.
‘There will be, if she takes them.’
Camilla tutted. ‘John, really.’
‘Dilys locked me in the house for twenty-four hours without my chair, leaving me without a phone or food or drink. You think that is acceptable, do you? You think your grandchildren should be around someone who is capable of that?’
‘I think there must have been some kind of misunderstanding,’ Camilla said, looking rapidly from Dilys to John, and back to Dilys.
The gooseflesh on Dilys’ face had pushed up tiny white hairs across her cheeks, and her head of blonde hair was rag-tailed in ugly clumps, undermining her physical beauty. She was almost unrecognisable.
‘Of course, why would you believe me?’ John scoffed. ‘I’m not myself at all!’ Wildly, he shook his hands in the air, looking a little unhinged.
‘Don’t be like that, John,’ Camilla said.
‘Camilla,’ I said, focusing on the facts. ‘Both Paul and Cassie had to break into the house to help John.’
‘She left me lying in my own piss!’
Dilys picked up the wet towel at her feet, and stood tall in front of John. ‘You’re mad. I would never do that to a cripple.’