“She’s very well off in her own right.” I should have recognised the warning signs in the coldness in his voice. It was the tone even the children respected when he had had enough of their bickering and wanted them to be quiet.
“So if she wasn’t after Charles for his money what did she see in him? He’s at least ten years older than she is and I bet he’s shit in bed. But you’re not are you Carl? You’re fucking marvellous when you want to be. She’s got fed up with Charles and turned to you.”
“You are a stupid bitch.”
“Don’t call me that!” Where Carl’s voice was calm and cold I heard mine rise almost hysterically.
“If you don’t like being called a bitch don’t act like one.”
“Who makes me act like one? You! You’re always so fucking sanctimonious.”
The arguments Carl and I had followed a regular pattern.
Carl would argue ‘Whatever you threaten you won’t leave me because you’ve got nowhere to go.’ I would reply that I could go wherever I wanted. He would counter ‘Well go then, but remember to take your kids with you’. ‘How can I do that?’ I would say, ‘I’m trapped’. Usually after a period of silence I would ask him if he wanted a beer and I’d go to the fridge and bring two bottles of beer, giving him one I would sit down and we would be OK again, until the next time. I had thought the argument that would lead us to finally split would be over something important; money, the children, his one night stands or my inability to stop moaning about not having a career. I never imagined it would be over Holly.
The argument that day may have started with Holly but it soon spread to include every minor irritation from our time together and the one, over-riding reason I had for all my anger. “I hate you, I hate them. All those fucking children. I never wanted them! I don’t want them now. I never did. Why would I want four fucking stupid ignorant brats before I was 21.”
I realised Carl was not looking at me, he was looking at the door where Josie was standing watching us with all the superiority of her seventeen years. It seemed for a few moments that she was the adult and we the children.
“Bill’s crying.” Was all she said.
I got up to go to him.
“He doesn’t want you.”
“For fucks sake he’s nearly 13, he’s far too fucking old to cry. And if he doesn’t want me what the shit are you telling me for?”
I shouldn’t have sworn at her. If I could have taken it back I would have done but, once spoken, the words, and all the anger and resentment behind them, were irretrievable.
“I just thought you ought to know.” Josie replied with a dignity that neither Carl nor I had shown. Before I could say anything she had turned and gone.
“Well, you stupid, fucking, bitch,” He emphasised each word carefully, “that was fucking clever of you.” Carl was going to be no help.
“It’s all your bloody fault!”
“You’re not blaming this one on me!”
“If you hadn’t got me upset…”
“You started it….”
It’s amazing how childish two adults can be.
After we had snapped at each other for a few minutes we went back to reading our papers, occasionally throwing pointless remarks at each other about being strangers to my children and strangers to each other, and not caring.
After about half an hour I realised there was no other noise in the house.
“I wonder what the kids are up to.”
I heard ‘little you bloody care’ muttered under his breath as I left the room.
They weren’t in the garden. I climbed the stairs almost hearing the silence. All the doors to their bedrooms were open but there was no sign of any of them.
“They’re not here.” I yelled but there was no answer.
I ran down the stairs, a reluctant tinge of worry pressing its way through my anger.
“They’re not here.” I repeated to Carl.
“I heard you the first time. They probably heard all the nice things you were saying about them…”
“And you…”
“… and decided to leave us alone for a bit. They’ll have gone down the village. They’ll be OK. Heavens, they’re well able to look after themselves while they get over it.”
“I’m going out to check anyway.”
“Please yourself.” I hated it when he said that. He always made it sound like I was being a fool and he was going to great lengths to humour me while I acted in a completely unreasonable fashion.
I noticed the small knot of people as soon as I turned out of the front garden, but it took a while to register that they were in the middle of the road, some standing, some turned away from the crouching figures. I was a lot closer when I realised that they were all surrounding a crumpled red heap that, as I drew nearer, I realised was my youngest son.
Josie was standing staring, an elderly woman’s arms around her shoulders.
Jack and Al were being led towards me by a man I recognised as the new landlord of the pub.
The group seemed to stop what they were doing and turn towards me as one.
I felt nothing.
I walked towards them thinking how colourful they were. There was a lot of red and white, part of me realised this was the football team’s colours. It was Sunday, the pub team must be playing at home. I walked straight past Jack and Al, registering only the look of fear and guilt on their faces. They must have been larking around. It wasn’t my fault. I’d always told them to keep off the road.
A man in a beige overcoat hurried towards me.
“Mrs Witherby?”
I just nodded. Now wasn’t the time to say that Carl had never bothered to marry me.
“We’ve called an ambulance. Edna here is a first-aider and she’s doing what she can. The poor little boy just ran into the road.”
I now noticed a blue car parked awkwardly against the pavement a few yards beyond the huddle of people, a young man in bright yellow was leaning against the bonnet apparently being sick.
“He’s not in pain, Mrs Witherby, he’s not conscious so he’s not feeling any pain but don’t worry, he’s still alive, he’s breathing. Don’t think he’s…”
I said nothing as I walked passed the man who I supposed was trying to be kind.
The small crowd parted to make way for me, I thought it rather stage managed and self-conscious.
Bill was lying on the ground, his legs at an unnatural angle, blood seeping through his jeans just above his knees. His eyes were closed, his arms spread eagled above his head. He looked asleep, but not comfortable.
I still felt nothing.
I heard the siren of the approaching ambulance as I walked back towards the house completely certain that I had to get away.
Josie would go to the hospital with Bill and would do a far better job than I would. If Bill died he would never know I wasn’t there and if he lived whether I was with him or not would make no difference. I would be no help at all. They were best off without me.
I went through the open door, avoiding contact with Carl and the man in beige as they ran down the path. I walked up the stairs just as I had a few moments earlier, but this time I went into the bedroom and methodically opened drawers choosing which of my clothes I really wanted to take with me. I placed them carefully in a bag. I carried it into the bathroom and calmly took my things from the glass shelves.
I was in no hurry and I was being very deliberate.
I knew what Carl would do when he realised I had gone. He would call Charles and his precious Holly, if she was still with him, and they would look after the children. Ted or Charles would drive down to pick them up. Perhaps he would stay long enough to see how Bill was going to be. In a few days time they would be back in the north, probably where we should have left them all along.
We should never have uprooted them, never have thought we could move them and all be happy. We had taken them away from the cramped terraced cottage where they had lived since their father’s
death and given them a lovely home with a bedroom each. Instead of the paid nanny who had looked after them since they were young children we had given them two parents. Well it hadn’t worked and now they would be going back where they belonged.
I had hated every minute when Carl and I had been separated before. Carl would have known that I’d be staying at Sandhey. I had waited day after day for him to call, but he hadn’t. Day after day I waited until I finally accepted he wouldn’t call and I’d have to make a life of my own. It wasn’t my fault that my new life was a complete failure, a life in which I married Joe, had four children and a breakdown. But through all those years dreams of Carl had never gone away.
I had got what I had wished for and it hadn’t worked.
Now, for a second time, I was on my way to a new life. Perhaps I should have been thinking of my children, of Josie, so adult for her years, of Al and Jack, so in need of love and security, but most of all of Bill injured, possibly paralysed, possibly dead.
But I didn’t.
I thought of Carl, and of myself.
And I ran, for the second time in my life, to Maureen.
It was the only one place I could have gone.
Chapter Fourteen
It was obvious she knew why I was there and was both disappointed and intrigued to see me, Whatever her feelings she made me feel welcome.
“Your old room is still there, just as you left it, make yourself at home Annie.” I loved being called Annie again, it was so much nicer than either Susie or Susannah. “I’ve missed you dear. You must tell me what you’ve been up to. You never said anything really in any of your letters and ‘love Annie, Carl and the kids’ on a Christmas card says nothing at all!”
“It didn’t work out.”
“Obviously not.”
“We didn’t really know each other.”
“Obviously.”
“Not well enough. We didn’t really think it through, what we were doing to the kids, why we were moving in together.”
“It’s always a good idea to make sure your mistakes hurt as few people as possible.”
“We did try. We kept going far longer than we might have done. Honestly Maureen, we did try.”
“But you didn’t succeed and you have run way from your children. Again.”
I had left my children the first time as soon as I possibly could have done, the day Joe died. I had run away then, leaving them in the care of Max and Monika and Charles. Just as I had now.
“Well they’re back where they want to be.” Maureen changed her tone and spoke firmly “Charles and Holly will love having a family.”
I didn’t want to talk about Holly.
“It’s highly likely they won’t ever be able to have their own children.” Maureen continued. “So sad, she would make a lovely mother.”
I could only take it as direct criticism that I hadn’t.
“So now she’ll have mine she’ll be happy?”
“That’s very cruel Annie. You can’t imagine what it must be like for someone who wants children with the man she loves and can’t have them.”
There was something in her voice that made me ask “You…?”
“Another time. Not now.” I had obviously hit a nerve, Maureen was jumpy and quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, the children will be fine, your conscience can be clear.”
I wasn’t even going to try to make her understand.
“Carl called a few hours ago. Don’t you want to know about Bill?”
“Not particularly. I can’t do anything about it can I?”
“I’m going to tell you anyway. He’s broken both his legs very badly, apparently the car ran over them. And he’s got some very nasty internal injuries.”
“But he’ll survive and he’ll be fine.”
“He’ll survive but he’ll probably…”
“Oh don’t say ‘he’ll probably never walk again’ that’s so melodramatic.”
“But, Annie dear, I’m afraid in this instance true. Carl says they think they won’t have to amputate his legs, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever have any strength in them.”
“Surely it’s far too soon to know.” Perhaps there was the smallest feeling of sorrow for Bill but I quickly remembered to feel nothing.
“There may be a chance, a slim one but a chance, that he may walk with crutches. Whatever happens he’ll be spending a long time in hospital. He’s is facing a very bleak future.”
“He’ll be someone else’s problem, someone who cares more than I do, who is able to care more than I do.”
Maureen had tried her best to get me interested in the fate of my youngest child but she failed. To give her her due she accepted her failure with equanimity.
“You should keep in contact with people better. David has made excuses for you and your uninformative letters. He said you get so involved in your own life you forget there are other people who might be interested in what you’re doing and who are doing things you might be interested in. He said it was something you had probably inherited from your grandfather. You will go to see him tomorrow, Annie. I will not allow any excuses.”
David had been moved from the hospital to a hospice. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and no longer feel the pain, but every time he began to lose consciousness his head jerked back bringing him back to the reality of his agony. I watched this lovely man deteriorate day by day.
Sometimes he seemed quite lucid and reminded me he had kept his promise, he hadn’t died before I had come to visit him again. I felt so guilty that I had done nothing in those six years to keep mine.
At times his mind would be wandering and he would ask why there was a cauliflower at the bottom of his bed and whether Edie had taken the eggs out of the airing cupboard. Whenever he spoke he would stare at his hands, trying to flex his fingers, but the misshapen joints barely moved. When he did doze his breathing was shallow, punctuated by involuntary shudders as he experienced a wave of greater pain.
“I’m so sorry. Water…”
I stood up quickly and crossed to the trolley by his chair, angling the straw into his mouth so he could suck up the water. It was not dignified for such a man to have to ask for water like this, sipping through a straw held in place by his grand-daughter because he simply was not able to pick up a glass and do it for himself.
He lifted up his elbow, the most movement he could manage, to indicate that he had had enough.
“I can’t talk. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you tomorrow. I want you to know. I did try… Wasted…
He gestured for me to put the straw between his lips again and drank until he was sucking up air.
“I was always told off when I did that.” I tried to joke but it was all too sad that this wonderful man had come to this.
I was rewarded with an attempt at a smile. As I stood away he tried to move his hand towards mine, he couldn’t grasp it but could only brush across my arm. I took his hand carefully in mine, any touch seemed to give him pain.
“I should have made you … realise how … important… he will…”
“What?”
His blue eyes focussed on my face and he spoke with surprising anger. “We tried to … get you to care… Ted … your friends … to get you to care …”
The effort tired him and he sank back against the pillows and seemed to be going to sleep.
“I do care.”
“Not enough.” He whispered with difficulty as he let go of my hand. His fingers, for all the pain of his arthritis, had been gripping mine hard.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I bent to kiss him on the cheek. It felt like kissing paper.
The next morning, before I could leave for the hospice, there was a phone call. I was drinking a mug of coffee, leaning against the Aga when Maureen came in and put her arms around me.
“I am so sorry my dear, David has passed on.”
I had always wondered why it seemed so difficult for people to say ‘he’s dead’. There were so many euphemisms that people
seem to prefer. I stood awkwardly encompassed by Maureen’s arms with the Monty Python sketch revolving in my mind. ‘He is a late David, this David is no more, his metabolic processes are history, he’s shuffled off this mortal coil, he is an ex-David.’
“He can’t have.” I said stupidly.
“I’m so sorry.” Maureen repeated knowing there was nothing she could say that would help.
I sat down thinking of all the things David had told me, about his childhood, his work, his fears for his family, trying not to think that he was dead. How can so much experience, love, feeling, intelligence, disappear as if it had never existed?
“He was a lovely man, Annie, he had a long and interesting life and I know he was happy those years he had with your grandmother.”
“I know. I was just remembering things about him, things he had told me about himself and thinking how sad so much is lost when someone dies without telling their family about themselves.”
“As long as he is remembered he is alive. My God that sounds so clichéd!” Maureen put her mug down on the table slowly and deliberately, as if not knowing what to say next but knowing she had to say something. Or perhaps she knew what she had to say but just didn’t know how to frame the words.
“He had wanted me to do so much and I had failed him.” I was speaking to myself, not really expecting an answer. “He wanted me to find someone he thought would harm us, his family, and I have done nothing.”
“What did he ask you to do?” Maureen asked sympathetically.
“He wanted me to find the ‘loose cannon’.”
“Loose cannon?”
“Years ago, when he was first ill, he told me about some man he thought might harm us.”
“What did he say about him?”
There was something about Maureen’s question that didn’t ring true. She was too interested, it seemed too important for her to know what I knew. ‘Not much really’ seemed the safest answer and, as she pressed me for more information, I knew I was right to be suspicious.
“Did he say anything about the man?”
It was a long time since I had spent most of my time wondering about Max and David, and his words warning me about the Indian. During those years Maureen had often asked, in a friendly, almost detached, fashion, how I was progressing.
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