A Walk In The Park

by Jill Mansell

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ It was like watching a toad go ribbett-ribbett.

  ‘Excellent. Anyway, Lara has something for you.’

  ‘I do.’ Unzipping her shoulder bag, Lara pulled out the old-fashioned man’s hairbrush, wrapped up in transparent plastic. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Lara came to visit me before the DNA results came back from the lab,’ James continued. ‘I was able to explain to her that she couldn’t possibly be my daughter because nothing of that nature ever happened between Barbara and myself. Barbara was never unfaithful to Charles.’

  ‘The results arrived the next day.’ Lara produced an envelope from her bag and handed it, along with the wrapped-up hairbrush, over to Janice. ‘Charles was my father all along.’

  Janice’s upper lip was slick with perspiration as she opened the envelope and scanned the letter inside.

  ‘Anyway, thought you’d like to know. And meeting Lara has been a delight.’ Turning to include Joan in the conversation, James said, ‘I gather we have you to thank for that, even if you didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag.’

  ‘She tricked me into saying it,’ Joan stonily replied.

  ‘Well, we’re truly grateful.’ He rested his arm around Lara’s shoulders. ‘It’s a real shame we can’t be related but we’re going to make do with being the best of friends instead.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Lara, ‘friends are better than relatives.’

  ‘So that’s it.’ James addressed his silent ex-secretary. ‘We just wanted to drop by and let you know the results, so now we’ll be off. Don’t worry, we won’t be back.’ Turning to leave he said genially, ‘Bye,’ then winked at prune-faced Joan. ‘And thanks again, you were a tremendous help. Lara would never have been able to find me without you.’

  ‘I think you’ve forgotten where it is,’ said Lara.

  They’d been walking arm in arm through mounds of dry fallen leaves, meandering this way and that along the pathways of Royal Victoria Park. She turned to look at James. ‘You can’t remember which tree you carved those initials in.’

  ‘I can, I know exactly where it is. I’m just enjoying the walk and the sunshine. Not to mention the company.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘You and Flynn. What’s going to happen?’

  Sometimes, like now, unexpectedly hearing Flynn’s name made her skin go zingy. All the more reason to keep herself under control. ‘We’re just going to stay friends,’ said Lara.

  ‘Really? Nothing more?’

  ‘He’s Gigi’s dad. I don’t want to risk spoiling anything. It’s better if we don’t get involved.’

  ‘You could be fantastically happy together.’

  ‘Or we might not.’ Surely he was able to understand? ‘It could all go horribly wrong.’

  ‘And you aren’t prepared to take that chance.’ He gave her one of those annoying that’s-fascinating looks.

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Lara felt herself getting defensive. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It just interests me that you’re going for the safe option. I’ve heard this kind of argument before, remember.’ His expression softened. ‘You’re more like your mother than you think.’

  Lara hesitated; normally such a comparison would be a huge thrill. In this instance though, she wasn’t so sure. Changing the subject, she exclaimed, ‘Ooh, conkers!’

  And there they were, dozens of them, nestled inside their split-open cases beneath the horse chestnut trees. Within minutes they’d collected up some of the best specimens.

  ‘Aren’t they just wonderful?’ James took the one she handed him, glossy and fat and with a waxen feel to its skin. ‘They never stop being amazing.’

  ‘When a man is tired of conkers, he’s tired of life,’ said Lara, breaking open another case. ‘And this one’s got twins inside! Look at them, how sweet is that? They’re nestled together like puppies . . . ooh, careful . . .’

  Had he spotted an even more perfect conker on the ground? But why was he trying to drag her down with him? The next moment she heard a guttural sound and realised he wasn’t reaching, he was falling. Bracing herself, she did her best to hold him up and discovered it was impossible. James was too big, too heavy . . .

  ‘Ggrrrhhhggghh . . .’ He groaned again and clutched his head, scattering leaves and conkers as he crumpled to the ground. His face was grey and contorted with pain; was that why he couldn’t speak?

  ‘Oh God, it’s OK, don’t worry, I’ll get an ambulance . . . you’ll be fine . . . HELP!’ Glancing up for a terror-stricken split second, Lara saw a jogger in the distance, heading towards her. ‘HELP US PLEASE. Can someone dial 999?’

  ‘Gnhnnurggh . . .’ James was gazing helplessly up at her but his eyelids were starting to close. Oh God, please don’t let this be happening. She loosened his tie and rolled him on his side into the recovery position.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ A blonde woman in her twenties with a toddler in a pushchair had reached them.

  ‘I don’t know . . . maybe a stroke . . . can you help me?’

  The blonde looked alarmed. ‘Oh Lord, but I wouldn’t know what to do. Shall I call 999?’

  ‘Yes!’ Lara’s voice rose as terror launched her into overdrive. ‘James, can you hear me? It’s all right, we’ll get you to the hospital . . . oh please, can you tell me what hurts . . .?’

  But James wasn’t able to reply. His eyes were closed now, he was unconscious. Fumbling for a pulse, she was – horror of horrors – unable to find one. His chest was utterly still.

  Oh please, no no no.

  ‘Hello, we need an ambulance please . . . um, this old guy’s kind of fallen down in the park . . . oh, um, Victoria Park in Bath, I don’t know which bit, we’re not too far from one of those monument thingys . . .’

  The jogger reached them as Lara finished hauling James over on to his back and pushing his jacket clear of his chest. ‘Need a hand? I’m a doctor.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. He just collapsed, he’s not b-breathing, I can’t find a pulse,’ stammered Lara. ‘Can you check?’

  Within seconds the jogger nodded to confirm she was right. ‘Let’s get going. If you’re OK with the chest compressions, I’ll do the mouth to mouth.’

  ‘Yes . . . tell them it’s the Marlborough Lane entrance,’ Lara shouted at the blonde on the phone.

  ‘Is he dead, miss?’ Two young boys on skateboards had arrived.

  ‘No he’s not dead. Could you go to the Marlborough Lane entrance and tell the ambulance driver where to find us? Thanks.’ As the boys scooted off to do as she asked, Lara knelt beside James. Keeping her arms straight and her fingers laced together, she press-press-pressed down on to his sternum then leaned back on her heels while the doctor tipped James’s head back to ensure a clear airway and breathed air into his lungs.

  ‘Good. You’re doing well.’ His voice was reassuring. ‘Done this before?’

  ‘Only on plastic dummies.’ Press press press.

  ‘Is this your father?’

  There was that question again. Lara shook her head. ‘No, he’s not my dad.’

  They carried on working away. It was like being trapped in a disaster movie with no director around to call Cut. How could it be happening? This was meant to be one of the best days of her life. When was James going to open his eyes, sit himself up and say, ‘Dear me, so sorry about that, how embarrassing . . .’

  ‘We told the ambulance people where you are.’ The skateboarding boys were back, out of breath and exhilarated by their involvement in the drama. ‘They’re coming now!’

  Flynn saw her sitting on the steps outside A&E, white-faced and immobile with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. When he’d taken her call, she’d asked him to come, saying only in a voice that was barely recognisable, ‘It’s James, something awful’s happened.’

  He pulled up away from the ambulances, and jumped out of the car. Lara rose to her feet and made her way woodenly acro
ss the tarmac towards him.

  ‘He’s dead.’ She was dry-eyed, too shocked to cry. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe it. James is gone. He just . . . died.’

  Flynn took her in his arms. James might have turned out not to be her father but getting to know him had meant the world to Lara. The connection between the two of them had been instantaneous. His heart went out to her.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ He gently led Lara back to the car; she was walking like an automaton.

  ‘The table’s booked at the restaurant.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘We’re all supposed to be meeting there at eight.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort that out.’ Flynn helped her into the passenger seat. ‘I’ll take care of everything.’

  ‘Sorry. Being a nuisance again.’

  Only someone in such a state of shock could come out with a statement like that. Bending down, he kissed the top of her head. ‘Put your seat belt on.’

  ‘Oh God, and James’s car. It’s still there outside the park. We only paid for two hours.’ Lara turned to him, her tone fretful. ‘He’ll have got a ticket by now. What happens if it’s towed away?’

  ‘It’s all right. Leave it to me. Have his next of kin been informed?’

  ‘The police are doing that now.’ She was twisting her fingers together in her lap. ‘We were having such a nice time. We went to see Janice and Joan, gave them the DNA results. Then in the park afterwards we were just walking and talking about . . . well, loads of different things. I’d been making him laugh, telling him about the time Gigi thought her new Spiderman pyjamas gave her superpowers and she jumped out of a tree. Then, a minute or so later, he collapsed. Without even any warning. He was just lying in the leaves and I couldn’t find a pulse and this jogger came along who was a doctor, so we were trying to get his heart going again, keep him alive . . . then the ambulance arrived and they used defibrillators and injections and everything they could. It went on for ages but nothing worked. He’d gone.’ Lara took a couple of deep shuddery breaths. ‘And we hadn’t been walking up steep hills or anything, so it wasn’t that. I just keep thinking it must have been me that caused it, making him laugh.’

  It hadn’t been her fault, needless to say. Lara knew that now. The post-mortem had revealed a catastrophic brain haemorrhage as a result of an aneurysm, a weakened blood vessel, bursting inside his head. The berry-shaped aneurysm had been there for years evidently, lurking like a time bomb; it could have happened at any moment. Telling James funny stories, the doctor had assured her, definitely hadn’t caused the haemorrhage.

  ‘Making people laugh is a good thing,’ he’d added. ‘I can’t think of a nicer way to go.’

  Looking up as Don returned from his trip to the post office, Lara saw him let himself back into the shop unaware of the two lads directly behind him. The next moment they jostled him through the doorway, pulled Halloween masks out of their pockets and crammed them on to their faces.

  ‘OK, don’t move, this is a stick-up, right?’ slurred Dracula.

  ‘Give us all your stuff!’ yelled Zombie Head.

  ‘Oh Jesus, oh God, no. . .’ Don clutched his chest and tottered over to one of the mulberry upholstered chairs.

  ‘Make up your mind then.’ Lara pressed the panic button beneath the counter and gave the boys a hard stare; she’d seen them earlier, hanging around outside the shop and swigging Stella from cans. They couldn’t be more than sixteen and from the sound of it weren’t accustomed to strong drink.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Dracula, the taller of the two, swayed on his feet.

  ‘You told me not to move,’ said Lara. ‘But you also want me to give you all our stuff. I can’t do both, can I?’

  ‘OK.’ Zombie Head nodded in bleary agreement. ‘Give us all your stuff. But do it slowly, yeah? No funny business.’

  ‘Fine. Do you have a bag?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To put all the stuff in,’ Lara patiently explained.

  ‘Haven’t you got one?’

  ‘Well, no, because why would I need one? Look, let me just check he’s OK.’ She went over to Don, who was hyperventilating and trembling, and checked his pulse. ‘It’s all right, they won’t hurt you.’ Turning back to Zombie Head, Lara added, ‘He has heart problems, you know. I can’t believe you’d do this to a man who isn’t well. What kind of weapon do you have, anyway? A knife? A gun?’

  ‘Both.’ As if belatedly realising it was meant to be an armed robbery, Zombie Head stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and made pistol fingers at her through the thin material. ‘I got a . . . gun. He’s got a knife.’

  Dracula swayed and said, ‘Yeah, I have.’

  ‘Well, look, why don’t you give me your hat and we can put everything in that? I’ll start with some gold bracelets, shall I? The masks are great, by the way. Where did you get them from?’

  ‘Phil bought them from that party shop place.’ Dracula took off his beanie hat and handed it to her, revealing spikily gelled blond hair. ‘You know, the one that does all the fancy dress and stuff.’

  ‘Ah yes, I’ve been there. It’s a brilliant shop. Now, let’s get this cabinet unlocked . . . oops, better just make sure we aren’t disturbed by any other customers . . .’ Lara crossed to the door, opened it and said, ‘It’s OK, just boys, they’re unarmed.’

  ‘Eh?’ Dracula looked bemused.

  ‘What’s going on?’ slurred Zombie Head.

  Lara stood aside and let the police in to arrest them. Honestly, some people, they didn’t have a clue. She said to Don, ‘OK now? I’ll put the kettle on and make us a nice cup of tea.’

  Having sobered up fast, Dracula started to sob as the two policemen handcuffed him, whisked off his mask and patted him down. ‘Oh no, my mum’s gonna go mental when she hears about this.’

  The police took statements from Lara and Don, then carted the boys away for a fun-free afternoon down at the station.

  ‘You treated the whole thing like a joke.’ Don was fretful, refusing to calm down.

  ‘That’s because it was a joke. They were schoolboys on half-term break, so drunk they didn’t know what they were doing.’

  ‘They could have had guns!’

  Lara said patiently, ‘Don, stop worrying about it. They didn’t.’

  ‘But what if it happens again tomorrow with robbers who do?’ He mopped his brow and shook his head. ‘I’m going to keep thinking that now.’

  ‘You won’t. You’ll be fine. Go home and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  ‘Rest? With my neighbours? Ha.’

  He looked so upset. The racket next door had shown no sign of abating and the family had now acquired a cat that liked to sit on the wall each night yowling at the moon. When he’d attempted to protest, the charming mother had said, ‘Oh but Don, how can we stop them? They’re cats, bless them. It’s what they do!’

  Lara’s heart went out to him. To add insult to injury they had already cheerily informed Don that on Sunday afternoon and evening they’d be holding a party.

  ‘Look, come over to us on Sunday. I’m going to do a big lunch. How about that?’

  ‘Really?’ Don, whose idea of a Sunday roast was the kind you bought frozen on a cardboard plate and cooked in the microwave, looked tempted but wary. ‘Didn’t you say your aunt’s coming down for the weekend?’

  ‘Nettie? She is. That’s why we’re having a proper lunch.’

  ‘I don’t know. She sounds a bit scary.’ He’d heard the stories from Lara about no-nonsense salt-of-the-earth Nettie.

  ‘But in a nice way.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Don was still looking doubtful; he’d been intimidated by the tale of the escaped bull Nettie had once stopped in its tracks when it had gone on the rampage outside the local infants’ school in Keswick.

  ‘Stop it, she’s great. You’ll like her,’ said Lara. ‘I promise.’

  Lara, lifting the blackberry crumble out of the oven, listened to the chatter and laughter carrying on in
the living room. It was both strange and wonderful having Nettie back amongst them. Finally persuaded to leave her beloved animals in the care of Fred Milton, she had driven down yesterday morning and would be heading back up to Keswick tonight. Keeping in touch via phone calls over the past couple of months had been fine in its own way, but actually having her here was so much better. For the first time she had seen the house. Even more significantly, she’d met Flynn and they’d hit it off instantly.

  ‘Come on then, tell us,’ Lara heard Gigi saying now, ‘what’s been the thing you’ve missed about us the most?’

  ‘Goodness me, how can I choose? Your singing, perhaps?’ Nettie sounded amused. ‘The splurts of toothpaste in the bathroom sink? The not-quite-empty Coke cans left in unexpected places?’

  ‘Oh no, you haven’t missed us at all! I bet you’re loving having the place to yourself! Hmm.’ Gigi’s tone turned speculative. ‘So how are things going between you and Fred?’

  Smiling to herself, Lara returned to the living room with the crumble just in time to witness the give-nothing-away expression on Nettie’s face. It was the kind of look you’d see on a politician being ruthlessly interrogated on Question Time.

  ‘Fred’s very well. Finished harvesting his potatoes. I gave him a hand with his ewes last week. All dipped and clipped, they are, ready for tupping.’

  Don frowned. ‘Tupping? What’s that?’

  ‘Mating.’ Nettie, who always enjoyed shocking townies, kept a straight face. ‘That’s why the tail area needs to be clipped.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘No need to blush, darling. All perfectly normal. It’s just sex.’

  His flush deepening, Don swallowed and said, ‘Right.’

  After a long lunch, during which the story of Don’s neighbours came out, Nettie said, ‘Come on then, shall we get this thing sorted out?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Don glanced up, belatedly realising she was addressing him.

  ‘That noisy crew next door to you, the ones making your life a misery. I reckon they need a good talking-to.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to them.’ He looked alarmed.