by Alison Bruce
‘No.’
‘Bollocks. Just share the gossip with me and I’ll keep you up to date on the King Street deaths.’
‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’
‘I prefer “bribe”, Gary.’
‘That’s devious but doomed. I’m not even going to try to work out what’s bothering Marks. I’d prefer to be tied up with you on the King Street case.’
‘Of course you would.’ Gully blushed. It was an odd habit, and so frequent that he rarely noticed it now. Other people still commented, but this time the rush of pink to her skin was intense and unmissable. She turned her head away to face down the corridor, and said something he didn’t catch, then turned back to him. ‘Besides, there isn’t a case any longer, Gary. It’s closed, remember?’
THIRTY-FOUR
Rob Stone bent over the flowerbeds, but instead of digging the trowel into the ground he pressed its tip into the fold of tree roots protruding from the soil. He leaned his weight on it so that he could balance on the balls of his feet and watch his boss through the gaps in the hebe.
Colin had been cornered by the manager. For all the gardening contracts Colin held, Rob reckoned 80 per cent of the care homes were run by overweight, dictatorial females, and this one was no exception. They always wanted to find reasons for discontentment; even a perfectly planted flowerbed would warrant nothing more than a grudging, ‘Very nice,’ followed by, ‘I think they should all be planted that way.’ Dissatisfaction was usually demonstrated by the delivery of a stern set of I-know-best instructions while a job well done was rewarded with a sour smile, and yet more instructions, and higher odds of failure the next time.
Phyllis Koza didn’t just fit the mould, she was the mould. One of the residents had told him her surname meant goat. Rather than using her first name he always referred to her as Mrs Koza after that. He gained quiet amusement from the mean-spirited connotations of her name.
It was petty but he had felt the glare of her distaste from the very first introduction, as though she’d already made up her mind that he just didn’t deserve the chance to return to work.
He’d wondered whether Colin had told her about his drinking and she was actually one of those women who considered alcohol the devil itself, and condemned anyone who drank even a little, never mind a man who regularly drank too hard. Whatever deficiency she’d seen in him, she’d obviously spotted it from the first, so he understood Colin’s suggestion that he should concentrate on the flowerbeds furthest away from the main building.
Colin had no problem with women like her. He’d listen politely to their instructions, and his knowledge of design and species seemed to win them over every time. Maybe genuinely knowledgeable gardeners were just hard to find, and if that was true Rob was glad that Matt had decided to study horticulture.
As she spoke to Colin now, she kept casting sharp glances in Rob’s direction. None of her words reached him, however, so in the end he turned back to the weeding and waited for Colin to fill him in.
Colin strode towards him, unhurried, but Rob could see the tension in his friend’s expression. ‘I don’t understand you, Rob.’
Rob shrugged. ‘What have I done now?’
Colin was careful not to raise his voice above a whisper. ‘Rob, you can’t just go around with that aggressive attitude, slamming things down and swearing under your breath. We’re working on the gardens of an old people’s home. This is supposed to be the space where they can sit outside and relax. This space is supposed to be peaceful and therapeutic.’
‘Sorry,’ Rob muttered.
But Colin wasn’t finished. ‘Instead of associating their time out here with something positive, they’re witnessing the fallout from your personal life.’
Okay then, a simple sorry wasn’t going to be enough. There were very few things about Colin that ever grated on Rob, but sometimes he wished the other man could relax his personal code of conduct, even if only by a little. ‘So I’m just releasing pent-up anger on the flowerbeds and that’s getting on your tits? So what? Perhaps it does me good to take it out on the weeding.’
‘The customer isn’t paying for you to indulge in your therapy.’
‘Oh, I see. You’re sympathetic only when it suits you. When you want to give me a shoulder to cry on, you’re there, but when it interferes with your business, that’s different.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You are here working for me because I have given you an opportunity to get back on your feet.’ Colin was still whispering, but it had become more intense. ‘If you’re going to insist on throwing your chances away, you’re not throwing my business away with it. I’m not going to go down the drain just because I’ve stuck my neck out and tried to help you.’
‘Well, I never asked you to.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. No, you never asked me to. How long have we been friends? You were there for me when I needed support, and I haven’t forgotten that.’
‘Debt repaid. Good for you.’ Rob heard himself talking and knew it sounded like he was doing his best to set fire to bridges he never intended to burn. Momentarily he wondered whether it was his habit to test everyone and everything he knew to absolute destruction.
Colin’s tone remained calm, though Rob knew he was angry. ‘I didn’t know I’d ever get the chance to repay your friendship, but I’m glad I have, and I’m actually not going to just abandon you. But, and it is a big but, I have spent my entire working life building this business and you need to respect that. You are either polite to our customers or do what we agreed and work down the other end of the garden.’
Colin’s code of conduct. Colin had decided that Rob should stay away from the customers. Decision made. Set in stone. As far as Colin was concerned, Rob was in the wrong.
‘I’ve told you before, there’s loads to do. Just stay where people won’t bother you and where you won’t bother them.’
‘Right, so I’m not fit to be in front—’
‘We’ve had this conversation, Rob. You’ve turned up at work drunk – fine, but it means you can’t drive the van, you can’t drive the mower, you can’t do half the things I would like you to do, right? But I know you have a drink problem . . .’
‘Well, thank you. Why not announce it to the world.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, everybody knows you have a problem. There’s not one person here who hasn’t seen you down by the river finishing off a four-pack at lunchtime, or sitting on the pub bench and getting back for work an hour late.’ Colin took a step back. Literally. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less forceful.
‘I also know that you’ve always worked hard, you are a hard worker, you are a decent person – so that’s why you’re still with me. That way, you have the time to sort things out. And the opportunity.’
Rob knew the spiel but was still festering about being sent to the end of the garden like some misbehaving infant-school child.
Colin then scowled. ‘Fuck it, Rob, am I just wasting my breath?’
‘Probably. Probably totally wasting your time.’ He paired the words with a lopsided and sarcastic smile since, after all, he was being made to feel like the naughty kid in class.
‘Rob, you are doing my fucking head in. All I am asking is that you show enough respect so that I don’t lose work. I don’t care if employing you doesn’t help me turn a profit but I do care if you push me under. How can I make it clearer?’
Rob’s expression didn’t change. He knew the next words before Colin even opened his mouth.
‘What do I have, Rob, tell me? What, apart from this business? Exactly nothing. You have your kids, and they need you. I want us both to come out the other end of this and find some way to make some sense of our lives. I don’t want to be standing there drunk like you in five years, because you’ve lost your kids and I’ve lost my business.’
‘Fuck off. I’m not going to lose my kids.’
‘They lost their mother, and now they’re being forced to watch their father dis
integrate. Don’t you think they need you to get it together, right now?’
Rob shook his head, but not because he disagreed. Getting his life together? He’d thought through it plenty of times, started and restarted mental lists of the things he needed to do to avoid wrecking his health, risking Matt and Charlotte’s future, facing financial ruin. Just thinking about them exhausted him; he never once managed to complete the list even though he knew every item on it was an imperative. Even regular housework and shopping for food had become mountains that were too steep to even contemplate. Each time he saw Charlotte packing away shopping or folding laundry he felt the gap between them was stretching to an impossible divide.
Admitting that his mental strength had deserted him amounted to saying, I can’t look after you, Charlotte. You need to care for me now.
Rob shook his head, because these days it only contained words like can’t, sorry and impossible.
Colin stared at him, waiting for what? An apology? An admission of failure?
‘Rob, just take ten minutes. Walk along by the river, just calm down, then come back and we’ll sort it out.’ Colin wanted to help but Rob was beyond asking for any more sympathy.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going. It’s obvious you don’t want me round here contaminating your customer’s garden.’
He was outwardly belligerent but Rob felt something new cutting through. It was an emptiness that he hadn’t felt since the first weeks after Mandy’s death.
Colin kept talking. ‘I’m just asking you to take ten minutes away. Fifteen, twenty – whatever, just come back and respect what I’m trying to do here. Respect my customers and my business, and respect yourself, Rob; respect yourself enough to give your kids their dad back.’
An emptiness descended that felt like it would swallow him. He heard himself shout. He didn’t know what he said, just wanting to hear his voice above the desire to fall to the ground and just stop. If this was what hitting rock bottom meant, maybe he should welcome it. Maybe though, this was just the start of the final collapse.
Colin kept talking. ‘Rob, look, I don’t want to be here making a scene. I have not turned Matt against you. I haven’t turned anybody against you. I haven’t turned Charlotte against you, but eventually she’s going to turn, mate, because they need you and you’re not there for them.’
‘Oh, same old record . . . same old, old, old, old record. You know what? I’m out of here.’ Rob heard the shake in his voice. ‘I am out of here. You know, maybe if everybody didn’t treat me like this kind of wreck, I’d show them how I could get back on my feet without Charlotte running around after me and without you giving me some hand-out of a job that I’m supposed to be eternally grateful for, and then blame me when things go sour with your business. I’m not your scapegoat and I don’t need minding by my own child, so yeah . . .’
Suddenly he ran out of things to say. The words were still racing round his head but too churned over to come out of his mouth in any coherent way.
He threw down the trowel. It landed point first in the soil. Somehow that wasn’t aggressive enough so he kicked it and it flicked through the air, hitting a stone bird-table. The corner splintered off with a sharp crack. He threw down his gloves too and turned his back on Colin.
Rob headed down the slope towards the bottom of the garden, where he could scramble over the low fence and head for the river. He even resented the idea that the river had been Colin’s suggestion. He stalked towards the towpath, finally understanding that this pain had a long time to run.
THIRTY-FIVE
It took Goodhew over an hour to track down Rob Stone and his boss, Colin Wren, to the grounds of Ferry House in Water Street, Chesterton. Even when he saw the van complete with business name parked outside, he still wasn’t convinced he would finally catch up with Rob Stone. Maybe it was the last memory of this drunk and isolated man that left him wondering whether he would really find him capable of working in harmony with anyone else.
He was directed around the back of the building where the long and narrowing gardens sloped down towards the river and a view of the tow path on the other side. He could see a man working alone but it wasn’t Rob. He approached and saw that the gardener was taller and slimmer than Stone but of a very similar age. Goodhew thought Rob looked old for his years, but this man also had the look of someone to whom time hadn’t been kind. With Rob it was the alcohol: the blotchy complexion and unhealthy eyes that saw him slipping prematurely from middle age. With Colin it was due to a life in the outdoors, where the skin hardened into an expression that shouted of physical fatigue.
He looked up as Goodhew came close by, but only straightened when he realized that the approaching footsteps belonged to someone looking specifically for him. Colin didn’t speak, just nodded.
Goodhew introduced himself and Colin nodded again but this time in understanding rather than greeting.
‘Are you the officer that was attacked at the Carlton pub?’
‘You heard about it?’
‘Rob told me – he was worried that it would be pinned on him. He can have a temper when he’s been drinking, but he just gets mouthy, and by the time he’s wound himself up enough to have a pop at anyone, he can barely coordinate his breathing, never mind his fists.’ He fell silent for a moment then added, ‘Rob’s not here.’
‘I thought he was meant to be working with you today?’
‘Well, he is . . . was. I sent him off on a break, so he should be back shortly. But that was an hour ago, maybe more.’
‘So he’s at lunch then, early lunch?’
‘No.’ Colin rubbed his forehead just above one eyebrow. ‘Rob’s struggling at the moment. I told him he should get some space – you know, straighten his head out, I suppose.’
‘He’s struggling how? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is he drinking at work or . . . depressed? Restless, aggressive – what?’
Colin hesitated for a second as though trying to make a decision. Sometimes when they did that, people were running through all the tactful ways to answer, the ways to avoid that can of worms that so often lurked behind a simple answer to a simple question. And quite often, like now, Goodhew would see them give up, deciding that the tactful answer would be too complicated, would lead to something even more complicated later on; they were usually right and Colin Wren was no exception.
After this hesitation, Colin relaxed and just told it how it was.
‘Rob lost his previous job. He had time off when his wife Mandy was ill, then more when she died. He started drinking heavily then. I think losing Mandy was too much. It wasn’t just the drink, he wasn’t reliable any more – he couldn’t concentrate. He was a welder at the time and, let’s face it, it’s a job where you’ve got to concentrate. He was working at a garage and the jobs were getting behind. He told me he reached a point when he was relieved when they let him go.’
‘So he was confiding in you through all of his.’
‘I’ve known him since school. He’s always been a hard worker, a good employee too, as far as I know. He never worked for me before but I think he’s been one of those straight-up guys who just turn up and do a good job. But now he felt he’d gone too far the wrong way to pull himself up. He had to start somewhere else and so he left I suppose under a cloud. He then tried several contract jobs but he couldn’t hold them down, and I was watching him fall to bits.’
‘Is that when you employed him?’
Colin nodded. ‘They always say that two years is the big turning-point. When you’re grieving the first year, it’s the loss, and the second year it’s the anniversary of that loss. After that, things get better so I figured I’d stick with him through that. I have contracts, care homes like this, the grounds of buildings; places that require a mix of skill and hard labour. Rob seemed perfect – he doesn’t have to go face to face with people. I thought he’d have space to think and still be working. It all made sense to me.’
‘But something went wrong?’
‘Look, I’m not admitting defeat at this point, but it’s a struggle, and several of the care homes have asked me politely about him; they’re not tremendously happy with him being in contact with some of their residents. He’s not dangerous, but sometimes he’s aggressive in a verbal way. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he has a slightly confrontational way about him, and he’s turned up several times after lunch when he’s obviously had a few too many to drink or even first thing in the morning.’ Colin stared at the ground for a moment then back up at Goodhew. He looked apologetic. ‘That type of thing will end up damaging my reputation.’
‘Is that what happened today?’
‘It’s what happens too frequently, if I’m honest. If a job goes well, it goes well. If I have a problem it’s always about Rob, and that chip on his shoulder is growing so huge he can’t pull himself out from under it. It’s in my interest too that he just keeps his head down and steers away from the customers, but today . . .’ Colin shrugged. ‘At first he seemed fine, but soon he was muttering to himself. I couldn’t even work out the words, but he was internally sorting things out and swearing under his breath. He was working on a flowerbed that was a bit closer to the house, up at that end by the patio. He was filling it with bedding plants – it’s the job of the day. All Rob had to do was move some tools from the van, collect the plants from the greenhouse, take them down to the flowerbed and plant them up. Little things kept going wrong, which turned into a vicious cycle. He’s flustered so he’s clumsy. He’s clumsy so he swears. He swears in a way that sounds aggressive, and he’s heard by a couple of residents who complain to the manager.’
Colin made a ta-da gesture with his hands, but didn’t actually say it.
‘This is a really good nursing home and they keep their grounds maintained for the residents all year round. Even in the winter we still have a few things to do here. The greenhouses here have been restored. My point is that this isn’t any old contract – I need to keep them happy.