Gurtha searched in his wallet to pay for lunch.
“It can go either way – deepen or fall apart.”
♥
As Cornelia and Gurtha opened the door to leave Pizza Express, they failed to see Laura with her head bowed, pretending to read her book. She watched from the window and saw Cornelia hold Gurtha’s hand as they crossed the road. She watched as she threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek, the blonde plait falling onto her shoulder. As she left him, she scurried towards The Holiday Inn, twisting the plait with her fingers, glancing over her shoulder to the left as Gurtha opened the door of his BMW. She waved at him, but he didn’t see her.
DAY 17
TUESDAY 27TH AUGUST 2013
“WE COME SPINNING OUT OF NOTHINGNESS, SCATTERING STARS LIKE DUST.”
J RUMI
GURTHA LAY in bed in the Holiday Inn. It was his favourite moment of the day, when he opened his eyes and the world flowered into being. He pulled the crisp linen sheets up to his lips and turned his head to the right. It was a large room with white wallpapered walls. There was a painting on the wall –a beige, grey background with a swirl of granite red into a broken circle. It had the sense of a Zen painting – simple, emphasising emptiness – the brush strokes thick and strong – one stroke or maybe two at the most – nothing to be changed or improved – everything perfect as it is.
He turned onto his stomach, pulled the pillow down and lay on the mattress with his hands on the pillow like two sleeping tarantulas. He breathed deeply. His legs were tingling with vibratory energy. His stomach lay heavy against the mattress. His face burning as though with fever. He looked at the alarm clock. Seven o’clock. Cornelia would be down at breakfast. He pushed his head into the pillow. He couldn’t face her this morning. She would have reserved a breakfast table for two, looking at the entrance to the dining area to see him approach.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the white ceiling. He looked left towards the windows – white curtains. It felt as if he was in an institution designed to deprive him of sensory stimuli. Maybe it was meant to be restful – in keeping with the Zen painting. A blank screen. A state of not thinking, not imaging, not … desiring. Dropping into that big void – the circle in the middle of that blood red painting.
♥
What had happened on that last holiday when the three of them were together? Henry had gone to bed as he typically did around eleven. It was Easter 2012. They were staying in a small boutique hotel called La Quinta de Los Cedros in a suburb of Madrid. They sat at their table in the garden, surrounded by white rose beds and pink bougainvillea. A waiter came to crumb the table with a silver dustpan and brush. He bowed over the white cotton table cloth, his tight glossy black curls catching the light from the moon. They waited in silence for him to finish. He raised his head and smiled at them. His crisp white shirt impeccable after an evening’s work. It still had creases along each arm, not a smudge of anything spilt on the black waistcoat or tie. Gurtha placed his napkin over three drops of lobster soup beside his hand. The waiter asked, “Would you like a ‘chupita’ on the house?”
Cornelia answered for both of them, as she had the habit of doing, “Two gin and tonics please.” She smiled at him. The waiter responded with another curtsy. Gurtha looked deeply at Cornelia. She seemed to know he was looking and didn’t return his gaze. Instead she let it linger. She wore a long blue, sleeveless silk dress. Her arms were so thin that she was able to wear a golden bracelet above her elbow. She had tied a ribbon with artificial daisies around her forehead. She crossed her legs and slowly moved her hand across the table, stopping short of touching his. She allowed the silence to grow between them like a harmonic into which they both vibrated. It was only when the waiter returned with drinks, settled them onto the table and left, that she spoke.
Gurtha’s formal black suit, white shirt and bow tie felt exaggerated to him. He loosened the bow tie and let it fall onto the shirt like misplaced priest’s Stole. He closed his eyes briefly as Cornelia began to whisper, as though she was afraid that what she was about to say would be heard by the people still dining at the tables to their right and left.
“You know that love is not an emotion – don’t you?”
Gurtha opened his eyes. He responded.
“You’ve talked about this many times before. Why are you saying it again? It’s becoming quite boring to hear it repeated.”
The crickets sang wildly around them with a steady loud hum, like a generator. The pine needles which lay scattered on the ground, smouldered their fragrance-like incense. He breathed in deeply. He knew that Cornelia would continue with her obsession.
“It’s an election. Love is a choice. Emotions are irrelevant.”
She sipped on her gin and tonic and gazed at the stars.
“What tiny brains and arrogance we have to think that we know.”
Gurtha watched her move her hand in a sweeping gesture around the garden. He coughed gently.
“If you forgive me - it sounds as if you think that you do know.”
She leaned her chin on her hand, propping it up a few degrees, and moistened her lips.
“Do I indeed? You’re calling me a hypocrite?”
Gurtha sipped on his gin and tonic, listening to the woman sitting at the table to his right break into a loud cackle of laughter before she leant forward and kissed her partner on the lips.
“I’m not calling you anything. I feel sorry for Henry. Whether love is or isn’t an emotion can be debated. I think that wisdom without compassion is an act of cruelty. You seem to be dispassionate with Henry. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes.”
Cornelia searched in her handbag for a cigarette.
“There is no emotional quality to my relationship with Henry. I do not need to explain or apologise to you for the fact that I feel neither pleasure nor pain with him. Henry doesn’t complain.”
Gurtha dabbed at beads of sweat on his forehead with the napkin.
“And you call that love?”
Cornelia’s face reddened. Her face flushed into purplish blotches. She pushed her gin and tonic to one side, slid the chair back on the patio floor, stood up and said in a low voice, “How dare you. Who do you think you are?”
She lifted her hand as though slap Gurtha but instead dropped it to her side, pulled a rose from the vase on the table, stomped across the garden patio, swung through the French doors, waving to a waiter who ran after her and, dismissing him, she turned right to climb the oak stairway to Henry’s room.
When she was gone from sight, Gurtha whispered to himself in a soft voice, heard by those who had fallen silent at the surrounding tables.
“Love isn’t a choice. It just is.”
♥
In the Holiday Inn, Gurtha decided that he was definitely not going to meet Cornelia for breakfast even if that meant completely missing breakfast. He pulled himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs onto the wooden floor. He spied the kettle on the formica table. A Nescafe would be fine. He boiled water in the kettle and was pouring it into the black ceramic mug when his mobile rang.
“Gurtha?” A woman’s voice shook slightly at the other end. It was Maggie from the Milthorn.
“Yes, Maggie. What’s wrong?”
Maggie, coughed before she replied, “It’s your father – Paddy. There is no other way than to say this but, he’s gone - escaped. We don’t know where he is.”
“How, Maggie?” Gurtha’s stomach shrivelled.
“I’m so sorry, Gurtha. We don’t know how. We have called the Police. We will find him. It would be helpful if you could bring some photos of him to help the police with their search.”
Maggie continued, “We are having our audit today.” He could hear her breathing deeply.
“I know that’s not important.” There was a clinking sound. He realised that she was drinking.
He breathed deeply. He closed his eyes. For a second or two he said nothing.
“Maggie, I will be
with you within the hour.”
Maggie kept talking, as if to herself, “Last night at 9.00 pm he had his cup of tea and a digestive biscuit. He asked for a second biscuit. He smiled when Anne, his care taker, gave him two more. She said that she would return to help him get into his pyjamas at 9.30 pm. When she returned, he was gone.” She hesitated. “Elizabeth is also gone. We believe that they have flown the nest together.”
♥
Paddy had finished his third digestive biscuit when Elizabeth opened the door of his bedroom and plonked herself down on the visitor’s chair. Her hair had been set in neat curls and brushed into Judge-wig perfection. She wore a navy pleated skirt, shiny tan tights and patent black brogues. She had buttoned up her tweed blue and white jacket and placed a navy silk scarf on her head, tying it in a knot under her chin. She lifted a black paten handbag onto her lap, opened it and removed a packet of cigarettes which she offered to Paddy.
“Time to go home. Do you want a ciggie first?”
Paddy reached his hand to take a Lucky Strike. They sat for a few moments looking at one another before each putting an unlit cigarette between their lips. Paddy got to his feet. He looked for his shoes. They were under Elizabeth’s chair. He pointed at them. Elizabeth removed the cigarette from her mouth, placed Paddy’s shoes at his feet and, clutching her handbag in her left hand, whispered.
“Put a jacket on. It’s cold out there.”
Paddy slipped his feet into the shoes, shuffled towards the wardrobe, found the North Face walking jacket which Gurtha had bought him, pulled his cap from the shelf and headed for the door. Elizabeth followed. They walked along the corridor, Elizabeth linking his arm with hers. As they approached the exit door, it swung open and a burly man with dark black hair and a grey moustache, grunted heavily as he held the door open for them to leave.
“Do you know which room Tommy McNeil is in? He’s dying. I can’t find anyone in reception. That man gave me the code but I don’t know the room.”
He pointed at the revolving front door where a man was spiralling around into the car park.
Paddy smiled at him, nodded and pointed down the corridor.
“He’s in room 11. He will be alright. He’s not too bad. I’ve seen him worse.” Elizabeth patted the visitor on the shoulder. “He will be so glad to see you.”
The visitor sighed with relief.
“Thank you. That’s a relief I can tell you.”
Paddy shook his hand and together they continued through the revolving door into the car park.
“Where are we going?” Paddy asked, as Elizabeth picked up a bit of pace in her walking.
“We’re going home. Where do you think we would be going after all this time? Don’t you want your dinner on the table?”
“What are you making for dinner?”
Elizabeth smiled and squeezed his arm.
“Your favourite. Irish stew.”
Paddy shook his head.
“I like steak and onions.”
Elizabeth winked at him.
“You’ll eat what’s put in front of you. None of your cheek now.”
It was dark outside; the road was busy with taxis hurtling in and out of the City. Paddy sniffed at the evening air. He smelt grass which had been cut hours earlier. There was a hint of drizzle against his face. He felt the pressure of Elizabeth balancing herself on his arm. He held his arm straight, like a bannister for her to hold onto. With the other arm he hailed a taxi which screeched to a halt beside them.
♥
Cornelia lay in bed in the Holiday Inn. She wakened with her heart racing and watched the second hand on the alarm clock click forward, rhythmically, with purpose; she attempted to settle her breathing into a steady pace. She felt that Gurtha was drifting away from her. She was standing on the shore watching him untie his boat from a mooring and navigate out to sea without saying goodbye. It was as if he knew the truth about her. But he couldn’t know. That would be impossible. Unless Nuala had revealed more than Gurtha had admitted. But Nuala didn’t know the truth before that day – Gurtha’s birthday. If Gurtha was to love her, she would have to tell him the truth. Yet if she did that – how would he ever love her? It was an impossible situation. The only way to be with him seemed to be to continue to lie. But she didn’t want to lie any more. The lies in her life were razors edges – peeling her into nothingness. A life of lies was a life not worth living.
She took special care with her hair, brushing it slowly into the bob style of her youth. When she placed the rouge lipstick on her lips, it felt as though her face was gently coming alive again. She pulled on a cerise pink long jersey dress, cream leather shoes with a strap and buckles and opened the door to search for Gurtha.
She knocked at first gently on the door of room 412. There was no reply. She pressed her ear against the door. No sound. It was 7.30 am. He had to be inside. She had checked the breakfast restaurant and he wasn’t there. After the first soft knocking, she hammered the door with her fist, shouting,
“Gurtha. I know that you are in there. Please open the door.”
A waiter approached carrying a tray for someone requesting room service. For a moment her heart lightened. Maybe it was for Gurtha. However, he walked past Gurtha’s door giving her a curious look out of the corner of his eye and murmuring, “Good morning.”
She pressed her forehead against the door and tapped it once more, lightly. Silence. She turned around, retraced her steps back to the lift and back to the breakfast room. She would wait for him.
♥
Gurtha ordered a taxi at reception in the Holiday Inn and asked to be taken to the Milthorn Residential home. It was 7.30 am. It was a gloomy day with rain falling and a chilly breeze encouraging those walking to work to bury their heads into their chins and hide beneath black umbrellas. He wondered where Paddy was now. It would soon be twelve hours since he and Elizabeth had gone missing. Where would they have slept? He looked into each doorway on either side of the street as the taxi moved slowly through the morning traffic.
Arriving at the Milthorn, he quickly paid the taxi driver as Maggie waited for him at the front door. She had dark rings under her eyes and her cream linen suit was wrinkled. She shook Gurtha’s hand and weakly smiled at him.
“I received a call from the Police five minutes ago. They’ve found them. They’re on their way here.”
Gurtha breathed deeply as he followed Maggie towards the Reception room.
“Where were they?”
“They were standing at the entrance of the Titanic Visitor Centre. A member of staff had arrived early, realised that there was a problem and called the Police.
♥
The night before, as Paddy hailed a taxi, Elizabeth held his hand. The palm felt solid and smooth and the top, hairy and coarse. It reminded her of her cat, Snoopy. His coat was like that - smooth and coarse at the same time. She watched Paddy intently. He was staring straight ahead, saying nothing. There was no response to her touch. She squeezed his hand a little and continued to watch him.
“Where are you going?” The taxi driver asked looking over his shoulder.
Elizabeth answered,
“22 Limestone Road. The house on the corner.”
Paddy turned to look at her.
“Are we not going to the Crumlin Road?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Not tonight. We’ll go there tomorrow. I have steak and onions in the house for you already cooked.”
Paddy looked ahead again.
“I thought you said Irish stew.”
“Why would I have said that when I know you like steak and onions? It’s good to be going home isn’t it?” Elizabeth squeezed his hand again. “I’m glad we’re going home. I didn’t like that place. I think they’re all crackers in there. What did you think?”
Paddy touched the peak of his cap with his free hand.
“I think there are some good people in there. Wee Tommy’s nice.”
Elizabeth shook her head,
“Tommy’s dead?” Paddy looked at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth nodded.
“Yes. I was getting my hair done for coming home and they told me. He mightn’t have died if he had smoked these.”
Elizabeth pulled a cigarette from the packet and started to light up.
The taxi driver, in a soft voice, said, “This is a non-smoking taxi. If you don’t mind.”
Elizabeth snapped the lighter shut. She leant forward.
“If you’re not careful you’ll end up dead, like Tommy. He didn’t smoke.” She sat back, resting her head on Paddy’s shoulder. “What do you think Paddy?”
Paddy nodded.
The taxi stopped outside 22 Limestone Road. It was a small end of terrace house. Paddy reached into his pocket to pay. Elizabeth smiled at him.
“You’re a hardworking man who isn’t afraid to bring the money in, thanks be to God.”
“Good night.” The taxi driver handed Paddy his change and watched them slowly ease their way out of the car.
Elizabeth walked quickly ahead, opening her handbag and peering inside as they neared the front door.
“I don’t think that I have my key. Do you have it?” She looked at Paddy, now beside her. He began to search his pockets. Apart from the roll of ten pound notes and a few coins, there were only the sodden remains of a paper handkerchief.
“I must have left them on the mantelpiece. Will there be anyone at home?”
Elizabeth snapped closed her handbag and pressed the doorbell.
“Jimmy might be in.”
Paddy rubbed his nose with the disintegrating handkerchief.
“Who’s Jimmy?”
Elizabeth gave him a caustic look.
The Secret Wound Page 21