Gemma's Journey

by Beryl Kingston

  Susan was lying on the bed with her eyes shut. She’d taken off her shoes but apart from that she was fully dressed and she lay stiffly, like a corpse laid out for burial, her arms straight at her sides and her heels set neatly together.

  ‘Sue!’ he called. ‘Sweetheart!’ And tapped at the window.

  She turned her head wearily but although her eyes were open and she seemed to be looking at him, there was no expression on her face at all.

  He signalled to the girls to put the daffodils in the basket, hauled it aloft and held them up for her to see.

  Tor you,’ he mouthed through the window. But there was no response.

  He gave another signal and the basket was let down and hauled up again. When he looked back at her, she’d turned her head towards the window.

  He held up the first placard, hopefully. Dinner is served. No reaction.

  He tried the second. Your carriage awaits. No reaction, not even a smile. So jokes wouldn’t work.

  Now there was only the last placard to offer. It was bigger than the first two because it had been decorated with blood-red hearts and sheaves of psychedelic flowers and signed by all three of them. But the message was bold and direct. ‘We love you very much.’

  For a long anxious second he held the placard to the window and hoped. She didn’t even smile. It’s no good, he thought, we can’t reach her. He pushed the cardboard at the window as though he would propel it through the glass if he had the power, his face taut with entreaty. And she got up, swinging her long legs over the edge of the bed, stood up, very, very carefully, as though she was an invalid, and staggered across the room towards him.

  He let the placard fall, mimed that she should open the window, begged her with his eyes, his face, his entire being.

  She seemed to be thinking, standing with her hands on the sill and her face withdrawn, a few impossible inches away from him.

  He mimed again. ‘Open it up. Please, sweetheart.’

  She stretched out a hand towards him as if she was going to touch his face and was puzzled by the glass.

  ‘Open it!’ he begged. ‘Just an inch.’

  But she still stood before him baffled and withdrawn. If he could only touch her. ‘Please!’ he said. ‘Lift the window.’

  And at last she did as he asked, lifting the window, jerkily and with difficulty until there was a gap large enough to admit his hands. After that it was easy. He raised the frame, opened the window to its fullest extent, held out his arms to her, and, with a little moan, she burst into tears and fell against his chest.

  He held her as she cried, balanced precariously on the ladder and looking down to show the girls that everything was all right. After a while she was recovered enough to stand back and let him climb in through the window.

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt the girls,’ she sobbed as he put his arms round her again. ‘Are they all right? I didn’t mean to hurt them.’

  He was leading her to the door, rubbing her back as they went. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ve lost my job.’

  ‘I know.’

  Her face was creased with distress. ‘I’m finished.’

  ‘You’ve got me and the girls,’ he said. ‘We still love you.’ And he unlocked the door and let them in to prove it.

  It was an emotional reunion, as they clung to her waist and hung round her neck and told her how much they loved her. ‘I’ve lost my job,’ she told them.

  That didn’t worry them in the least. ‘Does that mean you won’t be going to work?’ Helen asked. And, when her mother nodded, ‘You’ll be at home for half-term.’

  ‘For a lot longer than that.’

  ‘Yippee!’ Helen said. ‘We can all go to the Yorvik Centre.’

  ‘Do you want to go to the Yorvik Centre?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Helen said. ‘If it’s with you and Daddy.’

  Have they missed out? Susan thought, looking at their faces. Have I cheated them by working such long hours? They’ve never said anything about it. And for the first time since she’d handed in her notice she saw the faint possibility of some good coming out of it. Maybe it would be better not to work quite so hard. To try for a job that didn’t take all her time.

  ‘We’ll go there on Monday,’ she told them. ‘How will that be?’

  Rapturous.

  ‘But be warned,’ Rob said, pleased to see her making decisions again. ‘Your mother won’t be on holiday for long. She’ll get another job in no time.’ And when Susan looked at him: ‘Yes you will. This is the result of one man’s prejudice. You’re too good to be out of work for ever, even in this day and age.’

  Naomi was clamouring for attention. ‘I’m starving,’ she announced. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

  ‘We’ve got a meal ordered at the Fox,’ Rob told them.

  ‘Now?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He gave her his slow, loving smile. ‘Fatted calf.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, crying again. ‘I do love you.’

  There were daffodils budding in the gardens of Amersham Road. But Nick didn’t notice them. He’d come home on the first shuttle and in a turmoil of rage and impatience, angry with the railway for making him wait in Paris all night, at himself for not being there when Gemma was burgled, at his father for putting her at risk in the first place. He was unwashed and he was hungry because he’d had no lunch and it was now mid-afternoon. But none of that mattered. There were more important things to attend to.

  In the whole of his easy life, he’d never had an out-and-out row with his father. They’d agreed about most things or agreed to differ in a fairly amiable way. He’d stood up to him that day in York but that was nothing compared to what he was going to do now. Now he was going to tell him he was wrong. He couldn’t avoid it. It had to be done even though the thought of it was tying him in an anguished knot, making his palms sweat and his heart judder.

  He let himself into the house and stormed into the attack while his courage was reckless. His parents were in the living room, sitting in their favourite armchairs, deep in conversation and his arrival was so precipitate it made them jump.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ he shouted, glaring at his father.

  Catherine half rose, ready to rebuke him, but Andrew put out a hand to check her. He was alarmed but he knew he had to be reasonable. There were bound to be repercussions and he’d accepted that he would have to face them.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. If he could get Nick into a chair it might calm him a little.

  But it was wasted effort. ‘I’d rather stand.’

  Andrew sighed. There was nothing for it but to get up himself, which he did, taking up a stance on the hearthrug with his back to the grate. ‘I had no way of knowing this would happen, Nick,’ he said.

  Nick was too agitated to stand still. He prowled about the room, stopping briefly to let his hand rest on a chairback, or the bookcase, or his father’s desk, ‘I warned you. I said it would happen. I told you not to mess with the media. Right at the beginning. But you wouldn’t listen. You never listen to anyone.’

  There was truth in that and Andrew couldn’t argue with it. ‘I wasn’t to know it would hurt your sister,’ he protested.

  That caught Nick off balance. ‘Sister? Who’s talking about her?’

  ‘I thought you were. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Susan losing her job.’

  ‘No it is not. This is about Gemma. What you’ve done to Gemma. She was burgled yesterday. And it’s all because of something you said on television. The burglar told her so.’

  Catherine’s face wrinkled into instant concern but Andrew lifted both hands and tore at his hair in exasperation. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is beyond a bloody joke. I can’t be held responsible for burglars.’

  ‘Yes. You can,’ his son insisted, prowling again. ‘Directly responsible. You were on TV. You made a public statement in front of millions of people and the burglar must have hear
d it. She could have been injured.’

  Could have been was comforting. ‘But she wasn’t.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘No,’ Andrew said angrily, ‘the point is political. I am making statements. They’re political statements and they need making. Or have things come to such a pass that no one is allowed to stand up and tell the truth? Is that it? We’ve all got to kow-tow to our masters and accept their lies and say nothing. Yes sir, no sir, Mr Health Minister sir, the NHS has never been better. There are no problems. We don’t have closed wards and patients dying in corridors and operations postponed over and over again. Everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Is that what you want?’ Rage made his hair bush about his temples so that he looked like a lion in full roar.

  Nick had grown pale during his father’s tirade, but he stopped prowling and stood his ground, now that they were really fighting. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You know it’s not.’

  ‘Well then. I’ve got to go on. No matter what it costs.’

  ‘If you pay the cost yourself, but not if Sue and Gemma have to pay.’

  It was the crux of the problem: they both recognised it and could find no answer to it. Now that they’d stopped shouting Nick realised that he was panting and that, bad though all this was, he was feeling proud of himself. He’d stood up to his father. He’d actually stood up to his father and told him he was wrong.

  Catherine was on her feet, walking towards them, standing between them, putting a conciliatory hand on each taut chest. ‘We know,’ she said to Nick. ‘We’ve been up all night talking about it.’

  Nick was still bristling. ‘And?’

  ‘We don’t know the answer.’

  ‘We do,’ Andrew said heavily, turning away from them both. He walked across the room to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky. ‘I just don’t like accepting it, that’s all. I shall have to give it up. You’re quite right, of course Nick, when it comes down to it, you can’t hurt your children. That’s how they keep us quiet. Through our children.’

  It was a victory but it felt like a defeat. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nick said. ‘I know what this has meant to you.’

  ‘Drink?’ his father offered, holding up the whisky bottle. ‘Or are you driving?’

  There was someone ringing the doorbell. The sound made Andrew tetchy. ‘Oh not now!’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Catherine said and left the two men to their whisky.

  She was disturbed to open the door and find Gemma on the step, although she might have expected it. She was bound to come sooner or later if she’d seen that article.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘Nick says you’ve been burgled.’

  ‘He’s here?’

  ‘Just arrived.’ There was no point in trying to hide what was going on. They could both hear the voices in the living room. ‘They’ve been having a bit of an altercation.’

  ‘I know what it’s about, don’t I?’ Gemma said. ‘It’s that rubbish in the Chronicle.’ And she walked straight into the room to put it right, hauling the newspaper out of her shoulder bag as she went.

  It gave her a jolt to see Nick again, especially as he looked so fierce. But when he turned and saw her, his face smoothed with such open affection that she felt as if all the pieces of her life had suddenly fallen into position.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, keeping her voice casual – but only just. ‘You’re back, then.’

  ‘And giving me a bollocking,’ Andrew said. ‘I hear you’ve been burgled and it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Yes, I have been burgled,’ she said, ‘but it’s no big deal. He didn’t take anything and it’s all over and done with now. And it wasn’t your fault. That’s what I’ve come to explain.’ Which she did quickly, spreading the newspaper on the coffee table. ‘I saw the headlines and our photographs but I didn’t read the text. I jumped to conclusions and they were the wrong ones. I was in a state. The burglar was still in the room.’

  ‘Ah!’ Andrew understood. ‘You were in shock.’

  ‘I didn’t read the damned thing until this morning. And I’ve come straight over. I told you it was your father’s fault, Nick, and I was wrong. It was my father, opening his rotten mouth and telling lies. “Tug of love! Enticed away from her loving parents.” I never saw such rubbish.’

  Andrew motioned them all towards chairs and this time even Nick took a seat. This was a practical problem that he could deal with rationally. ‘We can’t let them get away with it,’ he said to Gemma. ‘But it isn’t libellous.’

  ‘We must write to the editor,’ Gemma said, ‘and tell him to publish a correction. If I can use your word processor I’ll do it now. I know exactly what to say.’

  Action carried them away from trouble. Nick made helpful suggestions. Catherine made sandwiches and tea to sustain them while they worked. And when the letter was done they were all pleased with their work.

  ‘Two copies,’ Gemma said. ‘One to send to the paper and the other for my so-called father.’

  ‘Sounds like trouble,’ Nick said cheerfully, thinking how richly it was deserved.

  They were laughing when the phone rang. ‘That’ll be Rob,’ Andrew said, anxiety returning.

  But it was Susan to say that she was fine and to thank him for looking after the girls. ‘Chris told me where they were,’ she said. ‘I never thought they’d leave the house. I only meant for them to go downstairs. I’m so sorry about all this.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be apologising to you,’ he told her. ‘I wouldn’t have had this happen for worlds.’

  Her voice was warm with affection for him. ‘I know that.’

  ‘You should have told them I was nothing to do with you. You’d have been within your rights.’

  She was appalled at such a suggestion. ‘I couldn’t do that. You’re my father.’

  ‘Only technically.’

  ‘Oh what nonsense!’ she rebuked him. ‘You’re my father. You’ve always been my father. Not technically but in everything that matters. I couldn’t have wanted a better one. How could you possibly imagine I’d deny that?’

  He had to blink because tears were pricking behind his eyes. ‘I won’t hurt you again,’ he promised. ‘I’ve decided not to do any more broadcasts.’

  ‘I hope this isn’t on my account.’

  ‘Well yes, of course it is. I can’t put you at risk. Once was enough.’ He smiled at Nick and Catherine. ‘It’s not fair to make you pay the price for what I’m doing.’

  The old strong Susan spoke to him along the wire. ‘Now look here,’ she said. ‘I can’t have this. You’re locking the stable door. The price has already been paid.’

  ‘One price,’ he agreed. ‘There mustn’t be any others. TV appearances are too risky.’

  ‘Well I hope you’re not going to give up your column too,’ she said.

  1 don’t know about the column,’ he told her truthfully. ‘I haven’t thought about it.’ And he remembered Garry McKendrick. If I continue with it, it’ll be me he’ll attack. His animosity is personal. But as he and Kate looked at one another across the room, he knew he could cope with it.

  ‘Well,’ his daughter said, ‘take my advice and don’t give it up.’

  ‘I think your mother would probably say that too,’ he told her.

  ‘What?’ Catherine asked.

  He explained briefly. ‘Not to give up my column.’ Then he turned back to the phone. ‘She’s hovering. Do you want to talk to her?’

  So Catherine took the phone and Andrew returned to the word processor.

  ‘She’s right’ Gemma said, as he switched off the machine. ‘You mustn’t give up your column. Think of all your fans.’

  ‘Someone else will write for them,’ he said.

  ‘Personally,’ she told him, very earnestly, ‘I would much rather you did. Don’t you agree, Nick?’

  Nick tried to joke his way out of it. ‘Oh that’s right,’ he said. ‘Put me on the spot.’

  ‘H
e agrees,’ Gemma said. ‘You can see by his face.’

  ‘I can see the point of the column,’ Nick admitted. It was safer than TV because the written word was considered and edited.

  Gemma had finished addressing the envelope and, looking round at him, caught sight of the clock. ‘Oh God!’ she said. ‘Look at the time! I must go.’

  ‘Why?’ Nick asked.

  ‘I’ve told my parents to be at the flat at four o’clock.’

  ‘Am I to come with you?’ he asked hopefully.

  It was a moment of decision for them both. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Chapter 37

  There was so much to say, so many apologies and explanations, so very much to declare, but they didn’t say a word. Because suddenly and wonderfully, words were unnecessary. They left the house hand in hand and as soon as they were in the garden and hidden by the hedge, they fell into one another’s arms and kissed until they were dizzy, while the daffodils nodded their bright heads beside the blue of their jeans and a pair of blackbirds leapt from grass verge to pyracantha bush, piping shrill as they renewed their springtime battle.

  ‘Beautiful – wonderful – gorgeous – consort battleship,’ he said between kisses. ‘I love you so much. You are all right, aren’t you?’

  The sun was dazzling patterns into her eyes. There was so much electricity between then that she was supercharged, her skin tingling. ‘Six feet off the ground,’ she laughed. ‘Kiss me again.’

  As if he needed bidding! ‘Let’s go home,’ he said. ‘I can’t kiss you properly out here.’

  She turned in his arms to open the car door. ‘I thought this place was your home,’ she teased.

  ‘Not any more,’ he told her. ‘Home is wherever you are.’ So naturally he had to be kissed again. And again. It was so simple. So easy.

  They settled into the car side by side still yearning for kisses. ‘One more,’ she said, ‘and then we must behave or I shan’t be able to drive.’

  ‘You could do anything,’ he said, with his arm round her shoulder. ‘I’ll never offer to look after you again.’

  They could even tease one another about that. ‘Never?’ she laughed. Oh such laughter, bubbling in her throat like champagne, lifting her.