Gemma's Journey

by Beryl Kingston

  Heart thudding with alarm, he dialled the number.

  When Catherine came downstairs more than half an hour later, she found him slumped in his armchair staring at the blank television screen. It was such an uncharacteristic position that she was very alarmed.

  ‘Oh Drew!’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You were right,’ he sighed. ‘It is work and it’s all my fault, according to Chris.’ And he told her what he’d heard. ‘I didn’t realise this job was so important to her.’

  ‘She knew there was a price to pay for it,’ Catherine told him. ‘Right from the beginning. She said she had a choice. To tell them you were her father and be turned down there and then, or to keep quiet about it and risk losing the job when they found out.’

  ‘Which is what’s happened, according to Chris. She couldn’t phone me and tell me herself. She had to phone Chris, all the way across the Atlantic. It’s very hurtful.’

  ‘Ring her now,’ Catherine suggested.

  ‘I have,’ he sighed. ‘Twice. She doesn’t answer.’

  I knew this would happen, Catherine thought. I ought to have warned you. But you wouldn’t have listened to me if I had. You’d have told me not to imagine things. There was no point in saying anything about it now. Fortunately they had a better language for comfort. She knelt between his knees, put her arms round his neck and kissed him.

  ‘I’ve hurt her, Kate,’ he said. ‘I’ve cost her her job. It’s the one thing in the world I should never have done to her – and I’ve done it.’

  ‘Not intentionally,’ she said. But he wasn’t comforted.

  ‘Intentions are irrelevant,’ he said. ‘It’s the end result that counts.’ He took her hands and held them. ‘That broadcast was a nightmare, Kate. I knew it would make trouble. I’m not complaining. I went into this with my eyes open. I always knew I’d have to face the opposition, and I knew I’d have mud slung at me, sooner or later. That’s the way the system works. But not like that, not through Gemma and Susan. Not through my daughter. That was below the belt.’

  She kissed his hand and held it against her cheek. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was. But that’s the way the system works too. If you go around telling people the emperor’s got no clothes on, they’ll nobble you in any way they can, through the people you care about, or your job or your pension. You can’t expect to tell the truth about politics and not get punished for it. Not in the 1990s.’

  ‘When I started all this,’ he said. ‘I thought I could. That was the object of the exercise. Tell the truth and shame the politicians. Stand up for the NHS. Shed light on murky places. I can remember saying I was the only one around who could tell the truth and get away with it. The arrogance of it. Well, I was wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think you were arrogant. Or wrong. You’re too hard on yourself.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had six reporters on the phone since the broadcast. What do I say to them?’

  She gave him a wry smile. ‘Tell them the truth?’

  ‘You’re saying, fight on.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I’m saying,’ she told him, ‘except that I love you and I can’t bear to see you hurt.’

  ‘And then there’s Cyprus,’ he said.

  She waited.

  ‘I thought it was over and done with,’ he said. ‘I’d almost forgotten it. And now they’re going to dig it all up again. Dear God!’

  He was gazing into the middle distance, reliving it, feeling it, the sun warm on his shoulders, the mountain rising before him, covered with trees where gunmen could watch without being seen, the prickling sense that they were being watched, dust swirling back at them from the lorry ahead, the smell of sweat, his mouth dry with fear.

  ‘They’d shot one of our doctors the day before,’ he said. ‘He was driving through Nicosia and they shot him. In broad daylight. The one that took our lorry out was a “toffee tin bomb”. Blew it to bits.’

  A spurt of bright red flame. A roar that filled his ears with pain and reverberated through his body, making his guts shake. Bits of an arm flung into the air. A hand, its fingers spread, frozen in the instant of surprise. Chunks of metal. And such fear and anger flooding his system. He was leaping from his own car, running to the debris even before it had finished falling. Something pinged against his tin hat as he ran. It was nothing. He didn’t stop to see what it was. His anger was so extreme even a bullet wouldn’t have stopped him. Fucking evil monsters! How dare they do this! A body sprawled on the road, another trying to crawl away. Still alive. Must get to him.

  Then that dark figure dodging between the trees, running away. Bloody running away. His own voice screaming. There he is! Shoot him! Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t let the bugger get away. Kill him! Kill him!’

  ‘Oh Kate!’ he said. ‘I’ve never hated anyone in the whole of my life the way I hated that boy. I could have killed him with my bare hands.’

  ‘Did you shoot him?’ she asked. She was very calm, her face creased with sympathy.

  ‘I honestly can’t remember. I’m not even sure I had a gun. I was running to the lorry, you see. To pick up the injured. But I wanted him shot. I gave the order to fire,’

  He heard the fusillade, the roar of triumph. Down on his knees trying to reassure the crawling soldier, trying to stem the bleeding, wishing he had more skill, afraid the poor kid would die, willing him to live …

  ‘It was crazy,’ he said to Kate. ‘There I was doing everything I could to save the life of one young man and screaming obscenities to kill the other one.’

  ‘War,’ she said.

  Then there was a gentle silence between them. A soothing silence. She held his hand lovingly in both her own, caressing it with her thumb. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before?’ she asked. There was no criticism in her voice, just curiosity.

  ‘Because I’m a coward,’ he confessed, looking at her. ‘I thought I’d lose you if you knew how foul I could be. I couldn’t risk that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been a risk.’

  ‘It was to me,’ he said ruefully. ‘Well, there you are. You know now.’

  It was the first time she’d seen a vulnerable expression on his face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know now.’ And she smiled at him. ‘I’m very glad I know. It’s a weight off my shoulders too.’

  That puzzled him.

  ‘It’s hard work being married to a good man,’ she said, the teasing note returning to her voice. ‘It’s a relief to know you’ve got clay feet. It levels us out.’

  ‘Oh come on!’ he said. ‘I’m not a good man.’

  ‘You are. You’re a very good man. An honest man. Ask your children. Or your patients.’

  ‘You’re the good one,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be anything without you.’

  ‘I had an illegitimate child,’ she pointed out.

  ‘That was love.’

  ‘That was stupidity.’

  The terror of the memory was receding. They were in their own world again, at ease in their healing house, closer to one another than they had ever been. There were decisions to be made, difficulties to face. But weren’t there always?

  Chapter 35

  Alone in her nice quiet flat, Gemma was working off her annoyance by clearing up her bedroom – the police having given her permission. It was a quarter to eleven but it felt more like two in the morning. She was tired and hungry and her stump was aching but once she’d started she worked on doggedly, partly because she was cross and partly because being in a mess annoyed her. The nerve of that damned Tim Ledgerwood, turning up on her doorstep like that. The nerve of that damned Andrew Quennell, to talk such nonsense to the press.

  She limped about, gathering her scattered clothes, then she sat on the edge of the bed with her stump supported by a pillow, and folded them into neat piles, item by item, ready to put away. It took a very long time but restoring order restored her temper. Now, she thought, as she gathered up a tangle of bras and stockings that had been slung under the
dressing table, I’ll sort these out and then I’ll find a meat pie or something and leave it in the oven to cook while I take a shower. She would have liked to indulge in the luxury of a nice long bath – just the thought made her stump ache for the ease of it – but although getting into a bath would be easy enough, she wasn’t sure she could manage to get out again without slipping. Maybe, she thought …

  And at that moment somebody rang at the door.

  I really can’t deal with anything else this evening, she thought, as she went to answer it. I’ve had more than enough to cope with already. But when she peered through the peephole and saw that her visitor was Rob Pengilly she changed her mind.

  They’ve gone,’ she said, as she opened the door.

  ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘I’ve been there.’

  She stood back to let him in, noticing how weary and travel worn he looked. Poor man. ‘Are they all right?’

  ‘They’re in bed and asleep,’ he told her. ‘None the worse apparently, thanks to you. I can’t get over them running off like that.’

  There was such distress on his face that she knew she had to help him. Whatever it was that was upsetting Susan it was plainly serious. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No. I meant to get something on the train but I couldn’t face it. It’s all right. I didn’t come on the cadge. I just wanted to thank you.’

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ she told him, ‘and I haven’t had anything since lunch myself. I was just going to put a pie in the oven. We could share it if you like. It’s all prepared.’

  His face lifted. ‘Are you sure?’

  The change of expression pleased her. ‘Quite sure. I’d be glad of your company. It’s been a very odd day.’

  ‘Well if that’s the case,’ he said, smiling for the first time since she opened the door, ‘FU take you up on it. Is there anything I can do to help you?’

  They cooked and set the table and talked as they ate their homely meal. He told her how he’d come home to find Susan locked away and the girls gone. She told him how they’d been waiting at the station and how sensible they’d been to phone her – and, as he smoked his after-dinner cigarette and didn’t seem to want to tell her anything else, she added the story of the burglary to entertain him.

  He was shocked and full of admiration. ‘Weren’t you scared?’

  ‘Not at the time,’ she said. ‘I was too angry.’

  ‘And then my two idiots come barging in to add to your problems.’

  ‘They’re not idiots,’ she said. ‘They’re sensible kids. I told you. Anyway I was glad to be able to help. It made me feel like a fully paid-up member of the community again.’

  He exhaled, taking care to blow the smoke away from her. ‘I can’t imagine you as anything less.’

  There was something about this conversation that made honesty not just possible but necessary. Something about their situation: two people who’d been coping with unexpected and frightening events suddenly at peace at the end of an extraordinary day. ‘I’ve felt less sometimes,’ she confessed.

  ‘Because of your leg?’

  ‘And my scar,’ she said, touching it with her fingertips. ‘It does change things, being injured, even though I try not to let it.’

  He leant back in his chair, inhaling thoughtfully. ‘That’s something I can relate to,’ he said.

  That didn’t surprise her but she wondered how. ‘Have you been injured?’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘Not a major injury. Not like yours. Though I thought it was when it happened.’

  ‘When what happened?’ she said encouragingly.

  ‘I was working in a nursery,’ he explained. ‘I must have been about nineteen or twenty. Sue and I had just moved in together. Anyroad, it was my turn to run the potting machine and it jammed. We’d all been shown how to work it and warned how dangerous it was, but I was cocky. I used to run risks to show I could get away with it. I ran one too many that day. Put my hand in the thing to get it started up again and it went off with a rush and caught my fingers. They switched it off at once, of course, but it took a long time to get my hand out. I can remember looking at all the blood and thinking, that’s it, I’ve lost my fingers, that’s me finished. But as you see, they weren’t gone. Just mangled up a bit. I’ve never forgotten it, though.’

  She took a medical interest. ‘Did you get the use back straight away?’

  ‘No,’ he said, making a grimace that pulled his beard sideways. ‘They were in splints for weeks. I didn’t know how they’d be until the splints came off. Nobody did.’

  ‘Then you’re scarred too.’

  He held his right hand across the table for her to see the long white scars ridging all four fingers. Such a strong, capable hand. ‘Aren’t we all in one way or another?’ he said. ‘I know my Susan is.’

  She examined the scars with her forefinger, thoughtfully and gently, sensing that what he was about to tell her was personal and difficult. ‘Is that why she locked herself in?’ she asked, not looking at him. If it was too tender a subject, he could turn from it more easily if there was no eye contact.

  ‘Work’s always been much too important to Susan,’ he said slowly, withdrawing his hand. ‘Success. Getting to the top. Being the best. You don’t have to be a psychologist to see why – with two younger brothers like Chris and Nick she was bound to be competitive.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Nick competing with anyone,’ she said. ‘He’s too laid back. Were they competitive?’

  ‘Not consciously, no. Nothing like that. They were great kids. Full of fun. I used to call them the sunshine boys. You couldn’t help liking them. But they were clever. That was the trouble. Hideously clever. They could pass exams without trying. Sue was the one who had to compete. I don’t think she was ever jealous of them. They were always very close. Look how she’s just phoned Chris. Couldn’t tell me, you notice. Couldn’t even let me into the room. But she phones her brother in Canada.’

  Now Gemma looked straight at him. ‘Tonight, you mean? She phoned him tonight?’

  ‘She phoned him, he phoned Andrew, Andrew told me. How’s that for a way to get information from the woman you love?’

  He sounded so bitter that she wasn’t sure she could ask him her next question, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘So what did she say?’

  He told her, speaking slowly and carefully as though he was trying to make sense of it himself. ‘They gave her the sack because Andrew was her father and they thought she’d been feeding him inside information. Or rather, they threatened her with the sack and she jumped before she was pushed.’

  ‘That’s monstrous,’ Gemma said. ‘They can’t do a thing like that.’

  ‘They can. They’ve done it.’

  ‘But she hadn’t fed him information, had she?’

  ‘No, of course not. Not that it matters now. The damage is done anyroad.’

  ‘And she’s locked herself away.’

  ‘She can’t face the shame of it, she says. So she’s gone into purdah. She told Chris it made her feel like a nobody. She won’t speak to anyone – except Chris – and she won’t answer the phone. Andrew tried twice, so he says. We’ve been married fifteen years and this is the first crisis we’ve ever had to ride we’ve not talked through. It makes me feel useless.’

  She could see that and was torn with pity for him. ‘Do the girls know all this?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll tell them tomorrow. I’m taking them home first thing in the morning.’

  ‘She’ll talk to you about it in the end,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘She can’t stay locked away for ever,’

  ‘Never mind the end,’ he said. ‘She should have talked to me from the beginning. There’s no two ways about it. She’s rejecting me. That’s how it is.’

  She looked at him steadily. It was such an intimate confession and there was such bitterness in his voice that, although she felt it couldn’t be true, she wasn’t sure how sh
e ought to respond to it.

  ‘It’s been work, work, work, all the time since she started this job,’ he went on, staring at the table. ‘I’ve not had a look in. It’s no surprise she won’t talk to me now. We’ve been growing further and further apart for weeks.’ He sighed. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my touch. I shouldn’t be telling you all this, should I. It’s not fair on you.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she promised. ‘It won’t go any further. Did you try to talk to her?’

  ‘Yes. I did. To tell the truth, I was that angry when I knew the girls had run off, I ended up shouting at her. But I did try. Didn’t make a scrap of difference though. How can you talk to someone when they’ve locked the door and won’t answer?’

  ‘It’s a problem,’ she admitted, ‘but not insuperable.’

  ‘Feels insuperable to me,’ he said. ‘I can’t see a way round it. I mean, what would you do?’

  Ideas tumbled into her head. ‘Go into the room next to hers and tap on the wall in Morse code,’ she suggested. ‘Stage a fainting fit just outside the door with lots of groaning and rolling about. Find a ladder and climb up to the window and make faces at her through the glass. Hold up a placard with a message on it: “Guess what? I still love you”, or “Come out, come out wherever you are”.’

  That made him smile again. ‘You would an’ all,’ he said.

  She smiled back at him. ‘It’s my stage training. Dramatic situations, dramatic solutions.’

  ‘It might be worth a try,’ he admitted. Then he thought for a second or two. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘this is probably out of order. Say if it is. But you wouldn’t put me up for the night, would you? If I do the dishes or something?’

  ‘I’ve only got one bedroom,’ she said, ‘but you can sleep on the sofa if you like.’ The request surprised her. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to stay at Amersham Road with the girls.’

  ‘I’d rather not. There’s too much disapproval in that quarter at the moment.’

  ‘Which is why you came here.’

  He nodded.

  ‘It’s because of Susan, isn’t it? You think they’re blaming you for what’s happened to Susan.’