“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. I smiled wryly. What would she make of this? “I was going to get married once.”
“What! You never said a word.”
“Just as well. It came to nothing.”
“Whose fault was that?”
“Mine. I gave him the elbow. But it was ages ago, and now he’s married to someone else. A lucky escape for both of us.”
She looked at me intently. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes.”
“And since then?”
“Well, as it happens, I had a bit of a fling quite recently. With a young man who tomorrow is getting married to his pregnant ex.”
“Oh! You’ve been busier than I realized, Rachel.” Her voice softened. “But I’m sorry – that must be hurtful.”
“You know what, Mother? It’s fine. Yes, I feel a bit sorry for myself. But it would never have worked, so yet another lucky escape.”
I spoke lightly, but she, with her usual eagle-eyed acuity, was not to be fooled. “I’m not sure whether to believe you or not,” she said slowly.
“I promise you,” I said, “I don’t have a broken heart. Certainly not on his account. And that, dear old snoop, is all I am saying. I’ve told you quite enough already. I can’t think how I have been so frank. It must be the relief at knowing you aren’t about to snuff it.”
“Charming.”
“I’ve also come to realize just how like you I am – a bit of a shock, to say the least.”
“Of course you are like me, dear. Just without the stunning looks, elegance, and good taste.”
“Ha, ha. Thanks very much.”
I would never have believed it possible, before I walked into the ward that afternoon, that there could be any occasion when my mother and I would be sniggering like schoolgirls. Something had definitely changed.
It had become a bit of a habit for me to sit in that sad little garden after visiting my mother. Today, though, it was raining. I had no wish to hurry back to my soulless flat which felt like just a roof over my head, and no kind of home. I huddled in my car, feeling as if someone without mercy was stirring up my insides with a sharp-edged spoon. I had told some kind of truth to my mother, but it was partial, and guarded, and I felt the need to commune with someone, or something, I scarcely knew what. Even a dog would have been some comfort, and I thought of Dulcie and her bright brown eyes that spoke of unhesitating trust. Ruthlessly, I cut my thoughts off there: to have imagined Michael and Jasper in Roqueville happily carrying on without me would have been too much to bear.
There was someone I could approach, I supposed. Having admitted to my mother that I was (cautiously) coming back to faith I should, in all honesty, sign in. But prayer was something I don’t understand. I had prayed so fervently, all those years ago, for my father to get well, and yet he had died, that long, slow, agonizing death. I had prayed for Dulcie to return safely, and we’d got her back. I’d listened to Michael’s prayer as I pumped Gérard’s chest, and Gérard was alive. Many prayers were answered, and many were not, and I couldn’t see any reason for either. But maybe prayer was a mystery not to be grasped by the logical brain. Maybe I should just plunge in and trust – not something I would ever find easy.
OK, here goes. I should start by saying thank you. Mother isn’t going to die yet, so it seems – and I’m glad. Thank you for the opportunity, and for her willingness to talk. Perhaps we have built a little bridge today, something we can build on, carefully. And I should also say I’m sorry – for the years I have put you to one side, ignored you, relied solely on myself, as if I knew better. I hope you will forgive me; they say that’s what you do, those who know. But I am floundering – at a loss, worried and miserable. You know why – I don’t have to rehearse it. It hurts, but I can admit to you how lonely I am, how weak I feel, how vulnerable and frightened. I can bring out to the light my longing to be part of a tribe – and I can see my shame for what it is, a stiff-necked stupid wish never to depend on anyone. I am the victim of a delusion, one that I have fed over many years. The new Rachel needs to have some acknowledged place in the world, whether or not she gets back to work. Oh, how I’d love to go back to Roqueville, on the next available boat! To see Michael’s and Jasper’s faces as I roll down the drive, to be licked to death by Dulcie! But that’s over; it’s just a happy memory. Now it’s me, and Mother, and whatever I can salvage of Rachel the heart surgeon. But, if I’m to go on, I need guidance. It may be that I have it in me to nurture others, to see needs, to empathize, but I need you to show me how. More than that: I need you to show me how to live.
I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes – something left over from childhood, or maybe just the need to shut out distractions. When I opened them, I half-expected a thin beam of light to be breaking through the heavy raincloud and shining on me, but clearly this was not how God worked, and I certainly didn’t deserve such symbolic singling-out. Sighing, I started the engine; and then a thought came to me as if from nowhere, so perhaps God was, after all, prompting my sluggish brain to action. Malcom and Bridget were out of reach, but I still had friends in Porton. With the car idling I picked up my phone and called Beth.
When she heard my voice Beth almost shrieked. “Rachel! Wow, it’s you! You haven’t phoned in ages! Where are you?”
“About three miles away.”
“You’re in Porton?”
“Yep.”
“You must come over. It’s time you met Amelia. Come now, Rach, if you can. Stay and have some dinner.”
I drove into the city centre, and found a shop which sold baby things. I had to ask the assistant what sort of size the average four-month-old would be and she condescendingly directed me to the appropriate rail. I found a tiny dress in lemon yellow that I thought might suit, and a matching toy rabbit. I stopped at a mini-supermarket and picked up some wine and a box of Beth’s favourite chocolate. I assumed she’d still be breastfeeding and so wouldn’t want the wine, but I felt sure Jimmy would enjoy it, and I could keep him company with just one glass.
I drove over to Beth and Jimmy’s and before I could ring the bell Beth opened the door and enveloped me in a hug. “It’s such a long time since we’ve seen you,” she said. “And what a lot you’ve been through. Come in.”
Her sitting room was transformed – from a comfortable and well-ordered room it had become a baby’s paradise. There were toys everywhere – far more, I thought, than such a small child could use. Amelia herself was lying on the rug, with some kind of multi-sensory thing above her, so that she could reach things that felt interesting or made a noise. Beth scooped her up. “Look who’s come to see us, poppet!”
I know all parents think their offspring are exquisitely beautiful and stunningly clever, but I had to admit that Amelia was a pretty baby. Her skin was light brown, smooth and peachy, her cheeks pink, and her eyes were dark and huge, fringed with long black lashes. Her hair – what there was of it – was a brown fuzz. She was chubby and healthy and very – dare I say – cute.
“I brought some things for her,” I said. “And for you. I guess you aren’t drinking these days, but I can’t believe you’d ever give up chocolate.”
“Not likely!” Beth said. “Thanks, Rach, that’s very kind.”
“These are for Amelia. I hope the dress fits.” I handed her the bag, and she passed Amelia to me, as if it was something she did every day. I was surprised by the baby’s solid weight. She looked at me solemnly, then stretched out her arm and patted my face. “She’s lovely, Beth.”
“Oh, and so is this little dress! Thank you so much, Rach. Look Amelia – a yellow rabbit!”
Jimmy came home, played with his daughter, and bathed her while Beth cooked. Beth chatted away while she chopped and stirred, asking me about the attack, my recovery, and life at Brant, and telling me all about the things that filled her days, most of which were baby-oriented. Jimmy came down with Amelia in his arms, her hair still damp. She was wearing a soft sleepsuit decorated with jungl
e animals.
“Time to say goodnight,” Jimmy said. “Goodnight, Mummy. Goodnight, Rachel.”
The baby was copiously kissed and hugged and then Jimmy whisked her off to bed. I opened the wine, Beth put bowls of pasta and sauce on the table, and we all sat down to eat.
“So, Rachel,” Beth said between mouthfuls, “did you ever get to meet our friend Rob?”
“Yes. We even had a bit of a… well, a fling, I suppose.”
Jimmy and Beth looked at one another in consternation. “Oh,” Beth said, and bit her lip.
I smiled and shook my head. “It’s OK, I know about the wedding. Don’t worry, Beth, it was never a big deal, Rob and me. Honestly.”
“Phew!” Beth said. “I thought for a moment…”
Jimmy poured himself a top-up and offered me the bottle, but I shook my head. “I met Sammy once,” he said. “I thought she seemed a nice girl, very level-headed. It’s about time Rob grew up – he’s always been a bit of an overgrown boy. Having his own child will probably be good for him.”
“I’m sure it will,” I said, with a heartiness that was altogether false.
We took our coffee into the living room, and Jimmy excused himself, saying he had work to do.
“You guys seem happy,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re OK,” Beth said softly. “We’ve been lucky. We don’t have much money, but Amelia’s a healthy baby and Jimmy’s a great dad.” She sipped her coffee and looked at me. “What about you, Rach? Are you OK, after all that awful business? I have to say I can barely see any scar.”
“I was sewn up by an expert.” I thought of Michael then, gloved and masked, putting me back together, and my stomach seemed to twist in a painful knot. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a rubbish friend,” I said. “You had to find out what happened from the press.”
“Well, I guess it’s not been an easy time for you,” Beth said. “You’ve had a lot of adjusting to do. Where is that terrible woman now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “In some centre awaiting trial, I guess.”
“What about your hands? Are you going to be able to operate OK?”
“I don’t know that either.”
She fell silent for a moment, clearly feeling awkward. Then she frowned. “So why are you here, anyway? In Porton?”
“My mum’s in hospital – our hospital, Gladstone Ward. Cellulitis, quite badly.” I heard Beth gasp. “It was nasty, but she’s improving. She’s almost back to her old self. I expect by tomorrow she’ll have the nurses running round in circles. She’ll get what she wants, as usual, by her own unique blend of bullying and charm.”
Beth giggled. “Your mum’s a character.”
“She is that.”
“So you’re not here for long?”
“Until she’s better – then I’ll have to go back to Brant and see what happens. It’s all a bit foggy, my future.”
“Are you all right, Rach? You seem different somehow. A bit sad.”
“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Anyway, I should be going – you’ll need to get to bed too. I guess little Amelia gets you up early.” I stood up and stretched. “It’s been great to see you. Thanks for dinner.”
She followed me to the front door. I called out goodbye to Jimmy, who was working upstairs.
She reached up and kissed my cheek as I left. “It would be nice if you could meet someone, Rach. But you’re always so busy.”
“Well, who knows?” I said, smiling. “One day, maybe. Bye, Beth. I’ll be in touch.”
That drive back to my flat, in the dark, with the rain drizzling half-heartedly down, felt to me like a particularly low point. I thought of Rob and Sammy, their celebration the next day, presumably with some family and friends, and with the added expectation of parenthood. I wished them well, sincerely and without reserve. I thought of Jimmy and Beth, their warm, modest home, their sweet child, and I was thankful for them, and for their continuing, if mystifying, friendship towards me. Did I want the things they had? I hardly knew. I did know that my yearning to get back to operating was becoming stronger all the time, even if with it came the dread that it might not succeed. I knew I had to try, and soon. I smiled to myself, a bleak little smile, as I turned the corner into the rain-washed, lamplit street where I presently camped. I would have to consult my plastic surgeon, I supposed, to see if my hands were up to the demands of surgery.
As I approached my front door, my eyes widened and I stretched forward, gripping the steering wheel. I turned the windscreen wipers to maximum for greater clarity, and felt my scalp prickle. Parked at the kerb was a familiar dark blue estate car, complete with dog guard.
For a moment I found I could scarcely breathe. Then I shuddered to a halt, flung open the driver’s door, and scrambled out, feeling as if my heart was unnaturally high in my chest, making me gulp for air. Who was in the car? There was no sign of either a dog or a passenger. I crossed to the kerb and peered into the dark interior. There, alone, was Michael, asleep, his head slumped forward awkwardly resting on his arms which covered the steering wheel.
I stood on the pavement, oblivious of the rain, my thoughts and feelings so chaotic I hardly knew whether to whoop for joy or burst into tears. I did neither. As I calmed I looked at Michael, and seeing him sleeping, looking younger and without defence, I felt a wave of tenderness that I can honestly say I had never felt for anyone before in my adult life. He was outside my house – he was alone. What else could it mean? He had come for me, and I had not been forgotten. It was a moment almost out of time.
Gently I tried the door handle, but of course, sensible man, he had locked it. I tapped on the window. He seemed to frown a little, then his eyes opened, and when he saw me his smile lit up his whole face. He released the door; I opened it and slid into the passenger seat.
“Rachel. There you are, at last.” His voice was husky with sleep. He reached across and gathered me up, wrapping his arms around me, and for a long moment I said nothing, and neither did he.
But the gearstick, the handbrake, and the steering wheel soon made themselves felt, and we broke apart, laughing.
“You’re wet,” he said, running his hand over my head.
“Yes, it’s raining. How long have you been here?”
He scratched his chin. “Oh, I don’t know, a while. An hour or two, maybe more. I went to the hospital, but they said you’d been and gone. I didn’t know where to look after that, but I figured you’d have to come back to your flat some time.”
I frowned. “How did you know where I lived?”
“After we docked I went back to Brant, and left Jasper and Dulcie at the house. I asked the Axtons if they had your address, but they didn’t. Angela said she’d ring her friend Bridget Harries, but they weren’t there. So I did the obvious thing, and looked in the phone book. Not many people in Porton called R.E. Keyte – nobody, actually, only you. And here I am.”
I looked at him as if I needed to memorize his every feature. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you are. Shall we go in? You look exhausted.”
We got out of the car, and he collected a small bag from the back seat. When he’d locked the car I took his hand and led him to my door. Inside, I snapped on the light. “I don’t have any tea, I’m afraid.”
“Never mind that – eating, drinking can come later. There’s something I want to say to you.”
I suddenly felt weirdly, uncharacteristically shy. “Can’t it wait? We haven’t even left the hallway.”
“No. I need to know your thoughts – everything depends on that.” He sounded serious, determined not to be deflected by my flippancy. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was gazing at me, frowning, as if trying to decide what to say. “When you left that morning – was it just last Monday? – and you hadn’t even said goodbye, I was gutted. I don’t think I’ve ever before felt so utterly devastated, not even when Alison left and took Jasper with her, though God knows that was bad enough. Of course at some level I knew how
I felt about you, but I was afraid to face it. That day it came home to me like – I don’t know, like a giant wave, and it knocked me over. I was in a terrible mood all day. Poor Jasper! In the end, wise boy, he sat me down and poured me a glass of wine and said, ‘Dad, you’re a mess. You can’t go on like this. We have to go home.’ At first I protested, but he wasn’t letting me off the hook. He said, ‘I don’t know much about love. But it looks like you are suffering, Dad. We don’t know for sure how Rachel feels. But you have to find out, one way or another.’ And he was right. Without you everything lost its colour. As soon as you left it felt as if nothing meant anything. I didn’t want to be there; I didn’t want to be anywhere that you weren’t. Remember the story of Ichabod?” He took a deep breath. “So right now my most urgent issue is persuading you to stay with us – with me.”
In the end it was quite simple. I tried to stop myself grinning idiotically or crying like a fool, and failed at both. “I don’t need persuading. It’s what I want.” In a moment he pulled me close, so tight I thought my ribs would cave in. “Oh, Rachel,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair. “You wonderful woman. Thank God.”
There was so much to say, to tell, to explain, to ask; there was a lot of hugging and kissing and laughing and a few tears as well. I made him a sandwich and a pot of coffee, and he began to revive.
I said, “When you didn’t call or text I thought you’d forgotten me.”
He groaned. “I should have, I know I should, but I didn’t know what to say, and I was scared you would tell me there was no hope before I even got to see you! And things were a bit crazy – it all seemed to take so much time – changing the crossing, packing our stuff, letting people know, driving to the port, then getting Jasper and Dulcie settled, buying some supplies – I was frantic with impatience. Anything could have happened in the meantime.”
“I know what you mean, though,” I said, “about not wanting to face how you felt. I was the same. I thought of my life like a little leaky boat, barely seaworthy. If I’d admitted to myself what I felt about you I was convinced it would sink without trace.”
The Healing Knife Page 30