by Frances Vick
‘Where is she? Where is she then?’ His voice hadn’t changed much either – still that peevish whine that years of smoking hadn’t touched. ‘I know she’s here ’cause she told me, and I’ve got my lawyer on speed dial!’ He turned around in a wavering circle. He seemed lost, bewildered by the number of wards and his dim eyes blinked stupidly. It would have been comical if it had been anyone else.
Kirsty sped up, managed to get in front of him. She, the ward sister and the porter blocked his way. ‘You can’t be here now, it’s not visiting hours.’
He turned his rheumy eyes on Kirsty, and, amazingly, looked away again with no recognition.
A dull, animal rage was beginning to flare in those empty, doll-like eyes. ‘You can’t stop me from seeing my daughter! I’ve got my lawyer on speed dial!’ Sour waves of old lager flowed from his mouth, his skin, his clothes.
‘Your daughter’s not here,’ the ward sister told him. ‘This is a geriatric ward.’
‘Her arm’s broke, she said! She’s here!’
‘There. Is. No. Girl. Here,’ the sister told him again, in a voice that would make any raging beast quail, and this was the wrong tack to take with Bryan: like a lot of men with almost no impulse control, he was unfailingly enraged by women in authority. Kirsty could see the situation getting out of hand fast, and the last thing she or the hospital needed was an angry Bryan circling the building like a shark.
‘I’ve got rights!’ bleated Bryan.
It was strange, seeing him now, how unafraid she was. He was just a sad little man, out of shape, peevish, petulant; nothing to be scared of. There was something almost delicious about seeing him in this state. He had no power over her. He couldn’t frighten her. She wanted to prolong this epiphany.
‘Let me handle this,’ she murmured to the ward sister.
‘No,’ the sister replied. ‘I’ll call security.’
‘He’s going to calm down, aren’t you, Bryan?’
The use of his name confused him, short-circuited his anger. ‘How’d you know my name?’ he asked dully.
Kirsty took a deep breath. She might as well tell him. If he went crazy, like in the old days, there were witnesses, people who would step in to help her.
‘I knew you when I was small. Kirsty. I knew Lisa.’
Now recognition filled his rheumy eyes, and, incredibly, he smiled. He smiled as if they were old friends, as if this was a social event.
‘Oh! Look at you! Kirsty!’
Kirsty registered the wide-eyed amusement of the ward sister, knew that this would go down as yet another of Kirsty Cooper’s Little Workplace Miracles. She ushered him away to the lifts – mindful that there was CCTV in them, in case Bryan got nasty. But at each floor Bryan recovered his loquacity and not his anger. All the way through the casualty waiting rooms and to the Spice of Life, Bryan kept up his plaintive, practically verbless monologue:
‘I do my best, anything she wants I… Calls? Calls! Night and day. Used to. Got her that phone. Special, well you do, don’t you? Kids? Ninety quid at CeX and why? Can’t call her own dad? Hurt she was, crying, help, well of course. Who wouldn’t? Not me! Yes, milk, three sugars. Kirsty? You a nurse then?’
‘Not a nurse, no,’ Kirsty told him. ‘A social worker.’
Bryan’s small eyes seemed to retreat even further into his skin, and he sat like a big, broken doll, staring at his hand lying loosely on the table top.
‘Why’s she need a social worker?’ he asked eventually. ‘Everything she wants I get her? Mona’s got that prevention order out on me but—’
‘Wait, what?’ Kirsty frowned, blinked. ‘You know Mona?’
‘My ex. It’s her birthday. Laini’s. My daughter. She called me. Said she’d bust her arm or something. And, yeah, there’s this order out on me, but I had to come, didn’t I? Had to? Not fair to get the social workers on me, is it? Just being a father? I mean—’
‘I’m not Mona’s social worker. Or Laini’s,’ Kirsty said sharply. ‘I didn’t even know you were related to them.’
‘Huh!’ Bryan was all smiles again. ‘Reunion then? Old friends then? Funny coincidence, isn’t it?’
Kirsty stared at him. He really didn’t seem to remember the torture he’d put her through. He really did seem to believe that they were old friends, that they were friends still.
An old friend. An old friend is the key.
Kirsty closed her eyes for just a moment, but in that moment, the world spun. Her thoughts flurried and settled like snow in a paperweight. Of course. Of course.
Kirsty take care take care take care.
Bryan was talking now, and quickly, as if to make up for all that silence before.
‘They put words in your mouth. The papers. They… it’s all fake news. Like the stuff I said about you? I never said that, hand on heart I never. I never said you knew anything about… or… or that you lied or anything—’
‘I don’t remember the article saying that.’ Kirsty, strangely, felt like laughing. This was typical, vintage Bryan – furious, needless denials that only served to incriminate himself further. It was like that time he strenuously denied robbing the corner shop before anyone knew it’d been robbed. Except the old Bryan would have punctuated his denials with violence, whereas this Bryan was just a soft lump of pathos, wiped clean, apparently, of complex memories. ‘It said that the police should have spoken to me earlier, that’s all.’
Bryan nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right! You’re right! They should’ve. But newspapers don’t print the truth, do they? You should call them – put the record straight. Compensation.’
Kirsty opened her mouth, was about to remind him that that was exactly what the article had said, but decided against it. Bryan, it appeared, was still a master of circular logic, but at least he did it with a smile nowadays.
‘You see he’s appealing? Again? That bastard?’
‘I know.’
‘He comes back here, I’ll have his balls.’
‘He’s not likely to come back here.’
‘Oman should have him. He’d probably get beheaded out there. That’s what they do out there. I’ve seen it on YouTube.’ Bryan sighed heavily. ‘Justice. And I’m here? Birthday? Then I get this call: “Dad, Dad! My arm’s bust, come and get me!” Well, what am I supposed to do? Let her die? By… by the side of the road?’
Quite how Bryan had lurched from Tokki to Laini’s mythical broken arm to a dead body by the side of the road was beyond Kirsty.
‘Her arm wasn’t broken. She wasn’t even hurt, don’t worry. She scratched her finger, that’s all,’ Kirsty told him. ‘She’s probably at home now.’
‘Can’t go there. Order out on me. Had to come here. Got her a present, too. Look…’
Bryan dug around in his pocket, brought out a small box. ‘Look.’ An oily, smug smile seeped onto his face. ‘Sterling silver ring, that is. One of a kind. Girls like jewellery, don’t they?’
One of a kind. It was probably from Argos.
‘They do, yes.’
‘Look!’ Bryan was opening the box now, with blunt, dirty fingers. Kirsty realised she was bracing herself for the phrase, ‘It’s got real rubies for eyes!’
Kirsty take care take care take care.
Nestling in velveteen, held in place by plastic, was a ring fashioned into the shape of… a fairy. Not a snake! Thank god, it wasn’t a snake! But the relief was short-lived.
Bryan was still talking. ‘Specially made. Angel. Like her. She’s my angel.’
‘What? What did you say?’ All the tensions came back like a scummy tide. ‘Angel?’
‘When she was little? I used to say that her auntie Lisa was an angel in heaven watching over her, and that she was— you all right?’
‘I… I probably need to eat something, that’s all. I didn’t realise Laini was… that you and Mona were…’
‘We’re not.’ Bryan looked peevish. ‘Worst mistake I ever made, getting with Mona, I tell you, she’s… and Mum? Mum’s on Mona’s
side, that’s all. Women. Thick as thieves.’ Bryan’s face was now covered with a sheen of sweat. ‘And now she’s got the Poles in… Can’t even go home to my old mum, given away my room!’
You’re forty-six, for god’s sake, thought Kirsty.
‘Still, it’s company for her,’ she said.
‘Well, they’re hard-working, the Poles,’ Bryan said with great largesse. ‘Got nothing against the Poles. It’s the niggers you’ve got to watch.’
‘Bryan—’
‘I’m just saying what everyone thinks.’
‘Everyone doesn’t think that, Bryan.’
Bryan fairly beamed with dim smugness. ‘You’re a good lass, Kirsty. Always were. But you’re too PC. You know what they’re like – you of all people should know. Muslims. It’s in their blood.’
Kirsty began to feel a little bit sick. Talking – or rather listening – to Bryan was better than being threatened by him, but it was still like swimming in a canal of pus.
‘I’ve got to get back to work now, Bryan. It… it was nice to see you again.’
‘Nicetoseeyoutoo,’ Bryan told her. ‘Stayintouch? Goforabeer?’
He was patting down his pockets for a cigarette, glancing at the door, rising from his chair.
‘Don’t leave your ring!’ Kirsty gestured to the open box. She didn’t want to touch it. Neither, apparently, did Bryan. He leaned against the table.
‘Favour?’
‘What?’
‘The ring? Give it to her? Mona’s got this prevention order out on me. Can’t breach it. Just slip it to her? Laini? When she comes to see her nana?’
‘I can’t do that, Bryan. I really can’t get involved in that.’
‘Favour? Old friend?’
She almost laughed. Old friend? Bryan’s memory was a miracle of selectivity.
‘I could lose my job if I did that, Bryan.’
And so he swept it up and shoved it back into his pocket, nodded to her and walked towards the doors, back slightly bent, neck extended, a toothless old shark swimming against shoals of passing patients.
An old friend is the key.
Twenty-One
Kirsty made sure she was safely in her office before she let herself start shaking. Sweat poured down her sides and her cheeks pulsed with heat. She could almost feel Lisa in her small office, almost smell that long-forgotten familiar scent of orange lip balm, apple shampoo, sugary dirt. She was here, she was here and she was telling her something… Lisa wanted her here, had brought her here. This child, thirty years dead, needed her.
Her gaze fell on the notes, and her shock began to fade, turned into a kind of fury. All these years, she’d run. All these years she’d resisted Lisa’s call because she was afraid, because people had made her afraid. She was afraid for her own sanity, her own equilibrium. Bryan had made her scared of her own home town, Vic had made her scared of being superfluous, Lee had made her scared of her own past, and now this person – whoever it was – was trying to scare her into running away again.
She looked at the notes with a sneer. They were no longer threatening but spiteful, desperate. You shouldn’t have come back. Really? Well I am back, and I’m staying. You can’t make me run away again. I’m not a little girl any more.
‘They’re scared of me,’ Kirsty said to herself. ‘Whoever’s sending these notes, they’re scared of me.’ And she felt an unfamiliar pride then, a pride with its roots in revenge. If they were scared of her now, they’d be terrified soon, because she was going to find out what happened to Lisa.
‘The truth will set me free,’ she muttered to herself, and shoved the notes back into her desk drawer. Then she set her out-of-office message, quickly gathered her bag and coat. She would go and see Sylvia. Between them they’d work out what to do next. She made her way back down to the main exit, so preoccupied that she didn’t notice Lee, walking towards her through reception, cradling a huge bunch of flowers. He had to grab her arm as she passed.
‘What’re you doing here?’ she asked dazedly.
‘Well, I was going to meet my girlfriend, but then I thought, “Why not visit the old ball and chain?” We had a date, remember?’ He thrust the flowers at her. ‘Flores para los muertos.’
‘Jesus, Lee, you’re in a hospital! Don’t be tasteless.’
Lee looked around. ‘I don’t see many Spanish speakers. Or Tennessee Williams fans. But, OK, yes, point taken.’ He peered at her. ‘You all right? You look terrible.’
‘Thanks. Yes. Hard day.’ Kirsty nodded at the flowers. ‘Where’d you get them?’
‘Oh, they were tied to a lamp-post by the motorway and I thought, “I’ll have them.”’ He winced. ‘OK, even I know that was dark.’
‘Let me get you out of here before you get lynched. Can you take them though? I’ve got my hands full here.’ Kirsty hitched her bag up on her shoulder, took his arm.
‘You’re sure you’re OK?’
For a moment she considered telling him about Bryan, about the notes, about Lisa getting closer. Then she came to her senses.
‘Just a hard day, that’s all.’ There was no way she could call Sylvia now, no way they could talk over what had just happened… For the first time in her life, Kirsty wished Lee wasn’t with her. ‘Where’d you park?’
‘Slow down, will you!’ Lee grabbed her arm now. ‘You look like you’re fleeing a burning building. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I’m just… I just want to get out of here. Where’s the car?’
‘The van, my lady. I drove straight up from sunny Stevenage. I’m parked just up there.’
They turned the corner towards the street, and there, just over the road, was Bryan, lurching out of a pub, heading unsteadily to the cashpoint next door.
‘Shit. Turn round!’ Kirsty hissed at Lee.
‘What?’ Lee was too loud. ‘Why?’
‘Just turn round!’
But Bryan had already seen them. He lurched forward, into the road. A car had to stop, the driver screamed at him; Bryan ignored it all with the serenity of a mad monarch.
‘There she is!’ he called, grinning.
‘Hey, Bryan,’ Kirsty said through tight lips, and turned her back, tugging at a suddenly immobile Lee, but Bryan wasn’t to be shaken off so easily. He hurried along, caught up with them.
‘Called her? Tried to? Can’t even give her a present.’ Bryan was lachrymose. ‘Terrible, that. Isn’t it? To use the child against the father? As a weapon? Not a crime is it? See my little girl?’
Kirsty turned. ‘Go home, Bryan,’ she told him severely. ‘You’re going to get yourself into trouble. Mona’s probably coming back for visiting and if she sees you—’
‘Give her the ring though, Kirsty? Come on? Present…’
‘No, Bryan.’ Kirsty reached behind her for Lee’s arm; she could do with a bit of back-up now, but he wasn’t there any more, he was a few metres away, lingering at a bus stop, almost as if he was trying to merge with the crowd. Of all the times to hang back! She made an irritable gesture at him, watched him walk, slowly, his face averted, back towards her. Bryan also watched him, with increasing joy.
‘You’re that Lee kid! We used to knock about, didn’t we?’
‘No,’ Lee told him, and instantly, Kirsty knew he was lying. ‘No, sorry, mate.’
Bryan snapped his fingers. ‘No, it’s you! You used to come round to ours, remember? ’84? ’85? With that other lad, what’s-his-name… Dale? Remember?’ He pushed his face closer, a repellent ripple spreading over his face, like a cousin to a smile. ‘What happened to Dale then? He’s still knocking about here?’
Kirsty stared at Lee. Dale Bradley had been best man at their wedding, he’d known Lee since he was small – their fathers served in the same army unit together, For three years they’d lived on the same barracks, gone to the same school. Dale was the first of Lee’s friends Kirsty had ever met; ten years ago, they’d gone to his son’s christening, and Lee had been a pallbearer at Dale’s funeral the year afte
r that. And Bryan had known Dale, and knew Lee? Lee had had some connection – tenuous though it might be – to Lisa? To her own past?
‘Sorry, mate,’ Lee said again, and his own smile was ghastly now too. ‘You’ve got the wrong person, mate.’
‘No. I’m good with names. And faces,’ Bryan was saying happily. ‘I’ve got that kind of memory. I’ve been tested.’ He punched Lee’s shoulder gently. ‘How’re you doing?’
Finally, Lee shook off his torpor, took Kirsty’s arm and fairly dragged her away. Behind them Bryan bellowed, ‘Mate? Mate!’ until he was drowned out by an ambulance siren.
* * *
Kirsty and Lee drove back to her flat in silence. The grind and squeak of the old tumblers in the lock as she put in her key and turned seemed very loud and the unstirred air smelled dusty. Lee sat down heavily on one of the stiff little Ikea chairs left by the previous tenant and sighed. An ambulance drove past, and Kirsty could hear the metal shutters of the florist’s below being pulled down.
‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ she asked eventually.
‘I… have no plans.’ Lee looked miserably at his loosely folded hands.
‘I’ve told you about Bryan! I told you what he used to do to me! I don’t understand how—’
‘I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘How about the truth, or do I have to go to Bryan for that? You knew him? You and Dale knew him? And you didn’t think to tell me? In all these years? Did you just forget? Or—’
‘Of course I didn’t forget. I never forgot. Kirsty, it was… the longer it went on the harder it was to… come clean.’
‘You were friends with him! With Bryan!’
‘I was never “friends” with him—’
‘With the bastard who used to follow me, and spit at me, and blame me for what happened to Lisa? —’
‘I wanted to!’ Lee’s face was frozen into rivulets of pain. ‘We’d only just met, you told me about all of that stuff right at the beginning, when we were in that pub, remember? I wanted to tell you and I almost did, and then I went outside, called Dale, and he made me see that that’d be the worst thing I could do. I mean, what was I supposed to tell you? Oh yeah, funny story, I knocked around with the bloke who scared the shit out of you? A bloke who was a nut-job Nazi by the way? Dale said you’d walk out on me right there if I said anything; and he was right, wasn’t he? Would you have gone out with me again if I’d come clean?’