The policeman half-rises from his seat as I stride up in the manner of a confident, busy medic doing his rounds. ‘Just have to do a couple of quick checks on Mr Letham,’ I say, resisting the urge to put on a Spanish accent. I knock once and open the door as I am speaking. It is so easy! The way ‘Mr Letham’ trips off my tongue probably helps. The Douglas Findhorn Elder of a week ago would never have dared pull this off, but that Douglas Findhorn Elder is not this Douglas Findhorn Elder. The policeman subsides again, blinded by the whiteness of my coat.
Another reason, I discover, once inside, why the officer is so relaxed is that there is no possibility of Gerry exiting under his own steam. Leaving by the window isn’t an option (we’re on the first floor) but in any case he is completely immobilised by various straps and pulleys attached to the bed and/or his body. There’s a television on the wall facing him, with a cookery programme in progress, but the sound is off. A remote control is lying on the sheet beside his right hand. He is watching the screen intently.
‘Good morning, Mr Letham,’ I say, quite loudly. ‘I’m Dr Rodriguez. How are you feeling this morning?’ And then I shut the door behind me, interpose myself between him and the screen, and put my finger to my lips.
Gerry’s mouth falls open, then a huge smile breaks across his face. ‘Douglas, my man!’ he says in a hoarse whisper. ‘What are you daein here?’
‘I’ve come to see you, Gerry.’
‘I’m just watching this shite on the telly. The food’s good but I cannae stand the accents. Haud on a minute till I kill it.’
‘Keep your voice down. I can’t stay long or I’ll get caught, which would be bad for both of us. How are you?’
‘Could be worse, could be better. What’s wi the jaiket? You here tae spring us?’
‘Not possible, Gerry, even if that was my plan. Look at yourself. There’s more spring in a burst mattress.’ I pull up a chair next to the bed.
‘Aye, I’m no gaun anywhere fast, am I?’
‘Not a chance. Listen, I know all about the crash. What on earth were you doing all the way out there?’
‘I thought I’d be smert and come in by the back roads, just in case the polis had been tipped off or something, but then I got lost, didn’t I? And it was dark and I didnae even realise I was at a crossroads till I slammed intae the side of the guy in the Polo. Fucking eejit.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘No him, me! I was that close tae hame, and I fucking blew it. That would have been me sorted – favour done, debt settled. Now look at us. I scrambled intae the ditch and thought I’d lie there till everybody had gone but just as well they found me or I’d be deid. I’ve fractured my pelvis and they’re trying tae work oot whether tae operate or no. They say sometimes it’s better tae leave these things tae mend themselves. At least, that’s what I think they’re saying.’
‘Have they said if you’re going to be able to walk?’
‘They’ve no said I’ll no, but it’ll be a while whatever they decide tae dae wi me. Suits me. The longer I stay here the longer I’m no in the jail. Mind you, the longer I’m in the jail the longer I’ll no be ootside, which is where I really dinnae want tae be the noo.’
‘Your pal won’t be very chuffed.’
‘You’re telling me! He cannae touch me here, though, no wi that polis on the door. Thing is, I’ve a couple of good cairds up my sleeve. So long as I say nothing, he’s safe. They’ll dae me for dangerous driving, nae licence, nae insurance, stealing the motor, all that, and they’ll try tae get me for reset, but there’s been a defence lawyer in and he says that might no stick because there’s nae evidence of stolen goods. The cops are gaun mental because the folk oot there in bandit country took the lot. There was some broken bottles and cardboard boxes but that’s aboot it, and the lawyer says it’s no enough. The rain’s washed aw the whisky away. He says they’re gonnae struggle tae prove it was ever there, let alane where it came fae.’
‘Where did it come from?’
‘That’s another thing in my favour – I hivnae got a clue! Some big distillery somewhere but I’ve nae idea where, so even if they torture me I cannae tell them. Only thing that’s worrying me is if they work oot where I took the hearse, they’ll find the rest of the whisky at that Glen Lodge Hotel place.’
‘No they won’t,’ I tell him, ‘because somebody’s cleared the whole lot out. I was there yesterday. Here, give me your wrist in case anybody comes in.’
He does his high-pitched hysterical laugh, but in a whispery way. ‘Ya fucking beauty! Was that you, man? Did you organise that?’
‘No, Gerry, and I’m not telling you who did. But, believe me, it’s all away. Well away.’
For a minute I think he’s going to do a Barry and start crying. But Gerry is made of stronger stuff.
‘That’s a real weight aff my mind, Douglas. Thanks for coming in tae tell me that.’
‘It’s not going to make your pal any happier though, is it?’
‘Naw, but he’s got his ain problems. You see, I was daein him a favour, but he was daein another guy a bigger favour. And I dinnae ken, but I reckon the other guy …’
‘… owes a bigger guy. Gerry, your pulse is all over the place. It’s going hell for leather and skipping beats at the same time. That’s not healthy. Your pal isn’t a big bald guy with a scar on his cheek called Mister G, is he?’
‘Jeez, you ken everything!’ Gerry says. Then he adds, ‘Naw, it’s no him, but I ken who you mean. Different food chain. Think I should see a doctor about my pulse? A real doctor, I mean.’
‘Probably. I noticed it went even crazier when I mentioned Mister G. Is your life in danger?’
‘Nae mair than his is, and I’m in a hospital! Look, you stay oot of this. Ye’ve done loads for me already. I appreciate ye trying tae sort it oot and everything, but there’s nae point you getting mixed up in it.’
‘Gerry, I assure you, I’m not getting mixed up in anything. Once I’m out of here, that’s it for me.’
‘Good. Thing is, they’ll be tearing lumps oot of each other, which is why the best place for me right now is in here, and then the jail later. By the time I’m oot, wi a bit of luck they’ll have killed each other. I’ll get five years, the lawyer thinks. I think I’m gonnae study for a degree. May as well make the maist of it, eh?’
‘Does the thought of going to prison for five years not depress you?’
‘Aye, but it could be worse. I could be deid. Aahaaha!’
‘Get them to check your pulse or you might be. I’ll say something, Gerry, I admire your optimism. I have done from the first time we met. What’ll you study?’
‘Dinnae ken yet. History maybe. Or Philosophy. Why is life shite for maist folk? I quite fancy Philosophy. Find oot what the fuck it’s all aboot, eh?’
‘Good luck with that. Listen, Gerry, I need to ask, have you mentioned my name to anybody? Told anyone you picked me up, that I helped you load that hearse, anything like that?’
If Gerry could move I think he would leap out of bed and kick me, he is so affronted.
‘Come on, man! You’re my mate! You never shopped me. Why would I shop you? Jeesus, Douglas!’
I apologise profusely for even mentioning it. The fact that he left that card at the scene of the crime is neither here nor there. It was an accident. Ollie retrieved it. Even if the police make a connection, it’s true that when I first met Gerry I was attending a colleague’s funeral and he was a simple undertaker. I could have given him the card then, if I’d had it. It’s not so very far from the truth.
And now is not the time to have a long-drawn-out ethical debate with myself about it. Ten minutes have gone by. The last thing either of us needs is for the real Dr Rodriguez to start making a fuss about his missing coat.
‘I better go,’ I say, releasing his wrist and standing up. ‘I’m sorry it’s wound up like this for you, and I hope you get better soon.’
‘No too soon,’ he says, grinning. ‘And dinnae feel sorry
for me. It’s my ain fault. I should have stopped at that crossroads.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Story of my life, ken. No stopping at crossroads, just breengin on. Ken what, though, if this hadnae happened, something else would have. And anyway, that favour probably wouldnae have been enough for my pal. The bastard would just have said there was interest on it and made me dae something else, probably something worse. So maybe this is, eh, my destiny. A fresh start. A big fucking jail sentence and a degree in Philosophy. Do you believe in destiny?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Me neither. That’s how I fancy daein Philosophy.’
‘There’s a need for it, Gerry.’
‘Whit?’
‘Philosophy. The universities are closing down their Philosophy departments. No demand, they say. I say they’re wrong. This country needs new philosophers.’
‘You never see notices for them in the job centre, but if you say it, I believe it.’
‘How old are you, Gerry?’
‘Twenty-nine next month.’
‘That’s not so old.’
‘Aye, plenty time to find oot.’
‘I better go,’ I say again.
‘Aye. Well, thanks for coming in, Douglas. It’s made my day. See you around, eh?’
‘Probably not,’ I reply. (‘I hope not,’ is what I was going to say, but that would be ill-mannered, as well as untrue.)
‘Aye, I will. Years fae now. When I’m an old bastard and you’re an even older bastard. We’ll bump intae each other, see if we don’t.’
‘Destiny,’ I say. I grip his hand again. ‘Cheers, Gerry. Good luck.’
‘You too, man.’
And that’s it. I exit as professionally as I went in, the policeman does his half-rise-and-fall trick, and I set off in Dr Rodriguez’s white coat, breathing more easily once I have gone through the ward doors. At the first opportunity I whip the coat off and dump it in a litter bin, having first removed the name-badge, which I dispose of in another bin. I don’t want Dr Rodriguez getting into trouble.
I keep listening out for the sound of boots thundering after me, but nothing happens. I feel like James Bond, or maybe Sid James. Job done. Mission accomplished. Carry on living.
The rain has stopped and the clouds are breaking up. It’s a long walk to the Don’t Care Much Home but I feel like a long walk. I phone home to arrange things with Poppy. She’s been out to the shops, they have had some lunch, Rosalind is having a nap and then they will be bored. I suggest they meet me at the Home in an hour or so.
‘How did it go?’
‘Fine. There’s something going on between Ed and Sonya. They’ve taken a shine to one another.’
‘A shine?’
‘More of a glow actually.’
‘Well, well.’
‘In fact, they seem to know each other, but by different names.’
‘You see, it happens all the time,’ Poppy says.
‘Anyway, they’ve taken Magnus home between them. I was surplus to requirements.’
‘I can see how you would be.’
‘Poppy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this okay?’
‘What? Ed and Sonya?’
‘No. You and me.’
‘Absolutely. For you too?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Good. See you in an hour.’
‘I can’t wait.’
A LATE DEVELOPER
Lunch is over and the residents are back in the day room or their own rooms by the time I arrive. Because it’s the weekend there aren’t so many staff on duty. Beverley Brown isn’t in, but Muriel is.
‘Hello, David.’ I can’t be bothered correcting her. ‘Come to see your dad, have you? He’s doing fine in spite of everything. Gave us all quite a fright though. I’ll take you down.’
‘It’s all right. I know the way.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind, we are a bit short-staffed today. Your friends are already with him. Do you want a tea or a coffee or anything?’
‘No thanks.’
I go past snowy-haired, stone-deaf Jimmy’s open door and there he is, watching the muted television just as he was a week and a half ago, just like Gerry in hospital. Maybe he hasn’t moved in all that time, or maybe I’m trapped in a time warp. But I can’t be, because Rosalind and Poppy are sitting with my father, and they weren’t the last time I was here.
Poppy rises and gives me a kiss and an embrace. My father observes this. He does not miss it.
I go down on my knees beside his chair and give him a hug. ‘Dad, it’s me, Douglas. How are you?’
I receive a powerful, bone-crushing hug back. ‘Remarkable,’ he says.
‘We’ve been remarking on how remarkable he is,’ Poppy says.
‘Remarkable,’ Dad says.
‘He’s been giving us his own account of his roof protest,’ Rosalind says.
‘Is that what it was? What were you protesting about, Dad?’
‘Fucking roof. It’s in a terrible state. But I chopped it up and …’ He makes a hammering motion. ‘I chopped it up. It’s all to hell. Plumbers.’
‘What about plumbers?’
‘Called them out. Useless. Had to make my own biscuits.’
‘You mean “take”?’
‘No, make. Not biscuits.’ He flicks his fingers. ‘Things to …’ He hammers the air again. ‘Work.’
‘Tools?’
‘Aye!’ he shouts.
‘You made your own tools and then you checked that the roof was secure,’ I say. ‘Like you did with our floorboards, remember? Only you had proper tools that time.’
‘Fucking rotten. But I did it. Got the, eh …’ He does a kind of jerking-upward movement with one hand. It’s so vague and yet somehow I recognise exactly what he means.
‘The ladder? You got the ladder.’
‘Aye, aye. That showed the bastards.’ He sniggers and Rosalind joins in. That stops him. He peers at her.
‘Who’s this? That’s not your mother.’
‘No.’ I wait for the follow-up question – ‘Where is she?’ – but it doesn’t come. ‘That’s right, Dad. This is Rosalind.’
‘Hmm.’ He points at Poppy. ‘And who’s she?’
‘That’s Poppy. Rosalind is Poppy’s grandmother. You’ve already met them.’
‘Hello, Tom,’ Rosalind says.
‘Hello, Tom,’ Poppy says.
‘Poppy’s a dog’s name.’
‘It can be,’ Poppy says. ‘But then, Tom could be a dog’s name too.’
‘Not sure if that’s true,’ Tom says.
‘Douglas too,’ I say. ‘Doug the dug.’
He frowns at me. He doesn’t say anything, but the meaning in that look is, and this is an approximation, ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, patronising me with that bollocks?’
He’s more interested in Poppy anyway. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a friend of Douglas’s. A close friend.’
‘She’s my girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’ He could give Ed lessons in narrow-eyed appraisal. First he looks at Poppy, then at me, then back at her.
‘Nice tits.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Poppy says.
‘That’s a bit rude, Dad.’
‘Fuck off.’
Rosalind nearly falls off her chair laughing. ‘Oh, I used to swear like that,’ she says. ‘Haven’t done for years. How refreshing.’
‘Dad never did,’ I say. ‘I don’t know where he gets it from.’
‘You’re a late developer, Tom,’ Rosalind says, beaming at him.
He beams back. ‘Remarkable,’ he says.
And so our afternoon chat rattles on. Non sequiturs and the wrong ends of grasped sticks predominate, but there’s a weird thread of rationality running through it too: it all just about makes sense, and when it doesn’t nobody cares. There’s a rapport between Tom and Rosalind which isn’t just about their ages, although that helps: when Rosalind
says something about the war or the Attlee Government, Tom manages to throw a few loosely connected remarks back at her. But the main thing is, he is relaxed, enjoying himself; happier than I’ve seen him for months. He laughs and swears in equal measure, and only tries to rise from his chair if one of us is out of reach, because he wants to hold hands, all of our hands. And even when he gets stuck for a while, and gives Rosalind a long, puzzled stare, he comes out of that frozen moment with something really special.
‘That’s not your mother,’ he says.
‘No, it’s not,’ I say.
‘I’m your dad. I’m his dad,’ he tells the others.
‘Yes, you are,’ Rosalind says. ‘And he’s your son. He’s a good son.’
‘How do you know that?’ he says, a slight belligerence in his voice. ‘You’re not his mother.’
I feel my anxiety rising. Rosalind says calmly, ‘No, but I can see he loves you.’
‘Can you? Right.’
He’s holding one of Rosalind’s hands. I’m afraid he might squeeze too hard and hurt her. And I wait for the realisation, the news of Mum’s death, and then the tears.
But they don’t come. Instead:
‘She’s dead, you know, his mother. Died a few years ago.’
‘Do you miss her?’ Rosalind asks.
‘Aye, sometimes,’ he says. ‘What else can you do?’
‘I had two husbands,’ Rosalind says. ‘Ralph died more than thirty years ago. And Guy, the first one, died in the Spanish Civil War. And I miss them both still, but it doesn’t hurt any more.’
My father is still staring at her. ‘The Spanish Civil War. That was a long time ago,’ he says.
‘Nineteen thirty-seven.’
He shakes his head. ‘Jesus. I don’t miss her that much.’
There are smiles all round. No tears. Then he says, ‘Ach well. Time for bed. Thank you for coming.’
‘It’s only four o’clock,’ I say. ‘You’ve still to get your tea.’
‘I’m tired. Away you go. I’m not hungry.’
To Be Continued Page 38