“He likes school?”
“Oh yes.” Daisy sighed. “He gets very high grades. He’ll go off to college or university soon, and I shall miss him even more now. Sometimes I wonder how I’ll cope. But I’d never stop Dean going away. He has such a bright future ahead of him.”
“That’ll be something nice to think about,” said Harry. “And George will look down and be so proud of you both.”
Daisy managed a smile. “Yes, that’s what our lovely Reverent Phabbing told me. He came up to the hospital as soon as he heard, and he gave us a lift home. He’s so kind. He and Dean are the only good things in my life now.”
“I’m sure George would want you to stay happy,” suggested Sylvia.
“Oh, I doubt it,” sighed Daisy. “He always said that mourning the dead was part of a Christian man’s duty.”
Having reluctantly agreed to attend the wedding, Sylvia also surrendered to a new dress, “Not navy silk,” said Harry. “You look wonderful in Navy silk, but something new has to be new.”
“I have straight silver hair,” said Sylvia , shaking it into her eyes. “That says navy silk. So I never need to think about clothes again. I never liked shopping for clothes.”
“I used to think that about my own clothes,” Harry said, reaching out to smooth down her hair. “Not that I wore navy silk and I have horrid receding grey hair. I just wasn’t interested in clothes and didn’t want to buy them. But it’s different. Now. I want to buy them for you.”
“Sweet. But unnecessary,” she told him. “I have four navy silk skirts, one pair navy silk trousers, two navy woollen jumpers, and a deep blue silk dress. Oh yes, and a navy trench coat.”
“Now you’re going to have a yellow cotton dress with polka dots. Oh well, I don’t know exactly,’ Harry admitted, “but as far from navy silk as I can find.”
“I’ve got a bright red jumper too. You bought it for me.”
Harry grinned. “Tony’s idea.”
Harry wore a white shirt and navy suit. Sylvia wore a turquoise dress, double layered, and black patent shoes with a fractionally high heel. Harry thought she looked glorious. The bride wore navy silk.
Tony did as he was told all day long, drank very little, kissed his new wife with reverence, and spoke little except when he made a speech saying how much of a miracle it had been meeting the love of his life, and then hearing her say ‘yes’ when he asked her to marry him. Doreen, giggling, said she’d love him forever. Her recently divorced husband was not invited to the wedding
The nurse regarded Milton as he lay in bed. He was fully dressed but had refused to get up that morning. He had clearly slept in his clothes. One hand, vigorously active, was stuffed down the front of his somewhat baggy blue inmate’s trousers.
“If you don’t stop that, and get up immediately for lunch in the dining room,” she said, cold-eyed, “I shall take you to Mr Higgins for punishment.”
“Don’t care,” said Milton.
“He will lock you in your room and deny you exercise for a week,” threatened the nurse.
“Don’t care,” repeated Milton. “I doesn’t like exercise.”
“Just you wait till you get to trial,” muttered the nurse.
The frown increased. “Them’s operitins comes soon,” Milton remembered. “Is one o’ them a trial?”
“The operations are different, and will happen in hospital.” Nurse Tennyson breathed out deeply. “The trial takes place at court with a judge and lawyers and witnesses. Everyone you ever hurt will come back and say how cruel you were. The judge will discover exactly what disgusting and evil things you have been doing over past years. You will be found guilty and you will be severely punished before you’re sent back here.”
“I ain’t scared o’ no trills,’ Milton lied. He shivered slightly, staring up, his hand still busy. “Is trills wiv folks I doesn’t know wot I gotta talk to? Will they snigger at me legs? Will they calls me meany names?”
“You should be in prison,” squeaked Nurse Tennyson. “Your disgusting behaviour will never improve.” And she marched out, slamming the door behind her.
Lying in bed for another half hour, Milton wondered dolefully what he should do. The nurse’s outburst had interrupted his one enjoyable exercise, and his hope of climax had been ruined. If he started again, his own thoughts would probably spoil everything anyway. He was crying, although not entirely sure why, when he rose and tumbled from the bed some moments later. He pushed at his bedroom door. It was not locked.
There was a metal brace on his left leg, and he sat on the small chair and worked for some time to get this free. It took him another half an hour, but by breaking the plastic cup in his bathroom, he was able to take hold of a long plastic shard, which helped release the metal brace.
Stairs were now more challenging, for without the brace, he was badly crippled and almost entirely out of breath. Since everybody was at lunch, the back dining room echoed with chatter, and no one appeared to stop what he was doing. But holding both the metal brace and the plastic shard, Milton began to crawl up the first flight of stairs to the upper quarters. He hoped to see Nurse Tennyson, but this wasn’t his primary motive.
Nurse Tennyson came trotting down the long corridor and saw Milton in front of her. She inhaled deeply, hissed through her teeth, and descended upon him.
Withdrawing his hand from behind him, he stabbed her stomach with the long orange shard, and it entered deep though white starched uniform and whatever she wore beneath. She stared in complete amazed horror. As she gaped, Milton smashed the metal rod over her head. She fell, her eyes fluttering, half unconscious. Milton then proceeded to stab her twenty-six times with the plastic shard, and then rolled her body to the top of the stairs he had just climbed, and thrust her down. Already quickly dying, the woman toppled and fell like a rolling toy, heels over head and head over knees. The noise was inescapable.
He then continued to climb the next flight of stairs upwards, and then the third. On his hands and knees, stopping every five steps to catch his breath and swallow back the pain, Milton very slowly managed to reach the fourth floor. He had never been here before, and had no idea what he would find. He hoped only that no official face of authority would appear to stop him. Now consumed with fear and wracked with pain, he found a room at the back of the building, which appeared to be empty. It was full of ladders, broken wheel-chairs and boxes. There was a window against the far wall, which was closed and covered in bird droppings.
Milton looked out, then down. It was a long way to the garden below, a huge expanse of flat green grass beyond a paved area banking the back doors to the house. Several garden benches had been screwed into the paving. Here sat two men, presumably doctors since both wore white coats. He began to investigate the opening of the window. This happened surprisingly easily as he lifted the lower half of the glass. It slid upwards.
One of the small ladders leaned against the wall just beside the window, and with no hesitancy, Milton climbed up the first three steps. It hurt, and it took time while he wobbled, but he was pleased. Now ignoring the last moments of pain, he put both hands to one leg and heaved it over, then the other. Once his legs were dangling free, he was able to sit comfortably on the window ledge, his small legs in the fresh sunshine.
For some time he continued sitting there. No one looked up and no one appeared to see him. Then, from back in the building and echoing up the stairs, he heard a scream of utter horror. Firstly he inched, a little squirming wobble to bring himself to the very tip of the ledge. Then, with a small token kick back against the brick wall below, Milton hurled himself from the window.
It was even better than he’d expected.
A sudden thrill of excitement was cool like the wind in his eyes. He breathed and knew that he flew. Like a swan, like a butterfly, like a bird. He was singing on the way down. “Reckon the dead bit’s gonna be ------” but his voice stopped on impact. The thud was loud, sudden, and conclusive.
Several inmates standi
ng around the benches, looked down with curiosity. This was an interesting event rarely seen. A bloody mess lay spread across the paving . Head down, no one could see immediately who this might be. But several were interested.
“Tis that little mean killer guy,” said one of the inmates.
“Then it was that mean doctor who pushed him,” another decided. “That Doctor Grubb don’t like Milton.”
“I don’t like him neither,” said the first man.
There was the distant sound of a siren, then another, and then a third. Someone had already phoned the police.
Chapter Twenty
The letter from Brad cheered Ruby considerably. He was missing her, the letter said, and was so very much hoping to meet up with her again. They could go for a walk in the park, and end up in each other’s arms. It was signed Brad, with three kisses. She was momentarily puzzled that the envelope was posted from within Cheltenham, and not Cornwall, but this seemed sufficiently irrelevant.
Ruby sat down on the edge of her bed, letter in hand, and pondered. She admitted to herself without shame or doubt, that she had no genuine heartache for Brad at all. Their one sexual adventure had been brisk and extremely boring. All she now felt for Brad was the pleasure of his flattery. That a teenage boy wanted her bodily, was a delightful compliment. Her recent depressions had already fled, but the attentions of a handsome young boy certainly helped banish the last dregs of gloom. Her confidence had climbed trees. She had dreams which floated on rose petals
The boy himself was a silly little overconfident braggart, but he had some intelligence in some areas, he was certainly sweet, and he wasn’t embarrassed to express his
feelings. She was, but then she didn’t actually have any feelings. She simply liked the tingle he gave her when he touched and flattered. No caress had fluttered over her check for a couple of centuries, she decided. So make the most of this while it lasted.
The actual bedding had presumably been so dull because Brad was just too young. She wondered if she should teach him – always presuming she could dredge up those long ago memories. On the other hand, possibly she should forget the whole thing. Puppy Brad was a lot more fun than boy Brad.
The letter asked her to meet him at the gates of Pitville Park in two days time, eleven in the morning of May the nineteenth.
She went, of course.
Brad had updated his hair, and the Mohican was longer, eagerly growing into a normal hairstyle, but with a good deal more bleach added. Everything now, except for over his ears where it was razor short, was a bright blonde. His clothes, however, were no more ambitious than jeans and T-shirt. As soon as he saw Ruby, he clasped her in a hug, which was warmly affectionate, and it cheered her up.
With the breeze in her bright red dyed hair, and his bright yellow bleached hair, they strolled the pathways, bordered the flower beds and sat in the sunshine to chat.
“So you’re not sure about a future career?”
“What did you do?”
“Not a lot. Hoovered the carpets.”
“Ah. One of those cosy housewives,” Brad grinned. “Well, I never vacuumed a thing in my life. Shocking! I think I’d like to be a university professor.”
“Very studious,” said Ruby, thinking it sounded very boring for a boy of his age. “What are you actually training for now?”
“Medicine,” Brad said. “First I really fancied being a lawyer. I studied quite a lot and then gave up. They take ages before they make good money, you know. Then I decided on being a surgeon. I really do love helping people. Oh don’t go thinking I’m a saint or anything silly like that. But – you know – it just feels so good. I like medicine. I’m getting high grades. But now I’m thinking, if I don’t get good enough to be a top surgeon, I’d just like teaching everyone else.”
Impressed, Ruby linked her arm through his. They found a park bench and sat amongst the roses, their conversation eventually moving from future careers to the weather, back to school, onto possible holidays later in the year, and finally moving to friends and family.
“I never had children. To be honest, I never wanted any. Rod didn’t want any either, and I decided he’s be a horrendous father. But now I can imagine myself popping down the road to see my new granddaughter, or going up to Scotland to meet my new daughter-in-law and play mother of the groom at his wedding.”
“Come to Cornwall instead,” Brad said, “and be sexy aunty to the groom – if I ever decide to get married.”
“Someone in mind?”
“Bloody hell, no. All girls my age do is giggle into their phones and take an hour to put on six centimetres of make-up.”
Ruby laughed. Brad, she decided, was more intelligent than she’d previously given him credit for. Now he was pulling faces, mimicking the teenagers with their phones and make-up. “Oh, you’ll fall in love one day,” she said. “Everyone does. But I think I probably chose the wrong person. Be careful to choose the right one.”
“Who? You?” Still grinning.
“Oh, don’t be daft.” Ruby blushed. “And don’t tease. Neither of us want that.” There was one brief second when she wondered, and then, annoyed with herself, knew that even she was that idiotic. “But I have lots of friends at the manor,” she continued. “They’re a friendly crowd. Perhaps there’s a few I’m not so keen on, but more than half are lovely people.”
“You have special friends?”
It was increasingly pleasant, sitting in the sunshine with the perfume of roses and the small cool breeze. “Very much so. Amy. Now she’s getting very, very old, but she’s such a darling. Yvonne Norris, she’s very good with mending things, and she’s done all sorts of favours for me. Sylvia’s my best friend. Her husband’s delightful too. I consider them my very best friends. But there are others I’ll sit and talk to, sometimes for hours. Some of them have sons or daughters who come to visit a lot, and I really like Sheila’s pretty daughter. She’s in her fifties now of course, but she looks younger, and I’ve been to the theatre with her and Sheila a couple of times.” Ruby yawned. “Then of course there’s Lavender. The manager. She’s so kind. We’d never manage without her.”
With the appearance of having listened avidly to these details, Brad now suggested they go for tea and cake, which was not a suggestion Ruby would ever refuse. As they stood and walked slowly from the park, Brad put his arm around her shoulders, fingers playing at the back of her neck. She found it extremely pleasant and decided she was getting senile. But she resisted the temptation to lean against him.
It was a café she liked. The cakes weren’t as good as Kate’s, but they were nice enough. Brad said, “I’ve heard of that Sylvia person before. You mentioned her actually. Used to be a policewoman and still likes to play detective.”
“That’s a bit mean,” Ruby said through a fountain of icing sugar. “She’s clever and awfully nice. It was her father who used to be a policeman or something, not her. But she helps the police, I know the chief at the station likes her and her husband.”
“I’d maybe like to meet her one day. The four of us could have lunch.”
“Oh, dear, no,” Ruby said at once, thinking of the extreme embarrassment of introducing Sylvia and Harry to her baby boyfriend. “I mean, they’re too busy. All the time. And you must be too, with all that study. Besides, we’ll get fed up with each other soon, you know. This is just a game. Your age and my age just don’t mix. Everyone who sees us together are thinking I’m your granny.”
“I’d like a granny,” Brad said, drinking his coke. “I never had one. Grew up in a Foster home. And neither of the foster parents had living mums. One dad – well, I called him grandad, but he never liked me much.”
Ruby nodded. She had an idea that Brad’s stories of his past changed occasionally, but having spent most of her life exaggerating stories of her marriage and husband, she could hardly criticise that.” A good imagination was not a fault.
They did not book into the same motel as previously. That was Ruby’s idea. “N
o, somewhere else. That little place behind the library.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” Brad asked, still smiling.
“You should be ashamed of me,” Ruby told him. “But it’s no one else’s business, is it? And I don’t want to be stared at.”
“Except by me.”
“Especially by you.” Ruby shook her head, her frown a warning. “Remember – lights off and curtains drawn.”
It was a slightly nicer room, and the bed was wide. Brad, with great thoughtfulness, had ordered a bottle of chilled wine, and they sat on the bed together for a while, already in the dark, talking of everything except sex as they drank the wine. Ruby’s inhibitions took some time to unfreeze, and she kept drinking. Brad drank little, but began to reach out, following the curves of her body with his fingers. As her breasts tingled, Ruby finally set down her glass and lay back. Brad began to undo her buttons, kissed her cheek, her forehead, and then her mouth.
It was, she decided, a lot better this time. Not marvellous. But faintly pleasant. Ruby wondered if her own wayward imagination had, over the years, exaggerated the pleasures of sex with her husband. Rod had adored the romp, had sometimes chased around the bed, up and down stairs, whistling and calling her his paradise between the sheets. He had thrown little wrapped sweets at her, which she had enjoyed cleaning up the following day. He had bought her ridiculously sexual lingerie, and had been lavish with love notes while he was away. OK, he’d fucked a hundred other women too, made promises he never kept, and had been known to hurl saucepans at her instead of little sweets, when his temper was aroused.
But in bed, he had been a saint. He made her feel like Cleopatra. Whereas Brad made her feel like a silly old wrinkled woman, both unattractive and senile. Besides, she admitted the simple truth, he wasn’t very good at it. Kisses followed by fumbles. Then swish – inside – bump, bump, bump, a few shivers, an exhale of breath, and a quick roll off and away. Brad would then lie back, close his eyes, breathe deeply three times, hop up with a smile, and dress himself.
Daisy Chains Page 18