by Máire Fisher
Gabriel puts down the phone. Relieved, glad of the chance of seeing his sister, but worried. He hadn’t expected her to sound so formal. Maybe it’s because it’s all so new and Harriet isn’t quite ready to start a relationship with her long-lost, newly found brother.
He’s back at their home the next Saturday afternoon, only this time Gavin answers the door and says he wants to speak to Gabriel on his own. He leads Gabriel through to the sitting room.
He’s done some digging, Gavin says, and the thing is, Gabriel, I’m not so sure …
Gabriel’s stomach tightens then drops.
Some digging? he says slowly.
Yes. It wasn’t difficult. Your surname, you see. Your name. Gabriel. Harriet’s. Your mother’s.
Martha.
Yes, says Gavin. Martha Felix.
And the fire, says Gabriel.
Yes. Gavin’s face is sympathetic. Look, Gabriel. The thing is, in the papers it says that the fire was set, but it never says by whom. Well, of course, they would say that. The records would have been sealed. You were only nine at the time, right?
Gabriel thinks of the frail care unit where they are taking such good care of his mother. He imagines guiding Harriet into her room and saying, Look, Mum, here’s Harry come to see you, and maybe, in a flash of lucidity, his mother will recognise her and say her name.
Yes, he answers. I was only nine at the time.
Kids, hey? says Gavin and Gabriel manages a smile.
The only thing though, says Gavin, is the aftershock. You know. When they discovered—
Yes, says Gabriel. The old man.
Edward Felix, says Gavin. Dead before anyone could get to him. That’s a bit much to cope with, Gabriel.
It is. Gabriel feels like his mouth has been stuffed with cotton wool, blurring his words.
And then, there’s your mother.
Our mother, says Gabriel. Harriet’s and mine.
Yes, well. From what you’ve said, and from what I’ve learnt, it sounds like she’s pretty unstable.
Gabriel nods. His mother is unstable. No getting away from that.
And your father.
I know. Gabriel nods. A small-time cardsharp, got into debt, over his head.
Large debt, from what I can gather, Gavin says. Look, I’m not trying … He spreads his hands. But, you know …
It’s all stacked up against him. Gabriel gets to his feet.
Thank you, Gavin. I’m still glad I had the chance to meet Harriet.
You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you, Gabriel?
Yes, yes of course. You want to protect your family. I completely understand.
But what if I don’t want protection? Harriet’s standing in the doorway and her eyes are pools of green fire.
Harriet. Darling, we spoke about this.
You spoke, Harriet says. You spoke and I listened.
I thought we’d agreed.
Gabriel sees the worry on Gavin’s face. All this man wants, and he’s a good man, is to keep his family safe.
Really, says Gabriel, it’s fine.
Really, says Harriet, it’s not. She turns to her husband. Don’t you see, Gavin? He’s my brother. The only one I’ve got.
There’s also Mum, Gabriel says quietly. He’s not going to give up that fight easily.
Harriet frowns. That’s true, she says. There’s her, too. You’ll have to give me some time on that one, Gabriel.
She’ll come around, he hopes, once she’s heard the full story, but now it’s time to reveal the next part of his life. Get it out in the open before it all becomes more complicated.
Actually, he says, I’m not called Gabriel, not any more. I changed my name years ago. I decided to use my old one in case you recognised it. I’m Dominic now, Dominic Groome.
Gavin’s mouth falls open. Dominic Groome? You wouldn’t by any chance be—
Probably, Dominic says. That’s if you’re talking about Goodson, Stander & Groome. That’s me.
216.
14:54
Juliet turns on the radio and Bon Jovi rocks through the car. Noah winces, leans forward and switches it off.
‘No noise,’ he says. They have to listen to Mrs G. That’s what Dad calls her, the bossy lady who tells you when to turn and how far to drive down certain streets. Who says ‘recalculate’ every time you make a mistake, who pings if you turn into the wrong road. He’s keyed in the address for Silver Oaks, and now it’s up to Mrs Garmin to do the work.
When Dad first got the gps, Noah was fascinated. Mrs Garmin knew so much about where to go and how to get there. Nothing made her excited, nothing upset her. Once, when they passed a 4-car pile-up on the freeway, he was sure she would react, but no. Mrs G simply said, ‘Ping-ping-ping’ as his father changed lanes and took the next off-ramp. Ping-ping-ping, and suddenly there they were again, their purple car beetling along the blue roads that appeared in front of it. ‘We’ll have to head back a bit,’ his father said, but Mrs Garmin was way ahead of him. She knew how to get them to their destination safe and sound and in the shortest time possible. That’s what Noah wants now, a safe and sound arrival in the shortest time possible.
‘Remember, they can track this car,’ he says. ‘Mom will alert the security company and tell them her car’s missing.’
‘She’ll tell them we’re missing, too,’ Maddie says, ‘but don’t worry Noah, I’ll say I wanted to come, that wild horses couldn’t stop me.’
They’re on the freeway now and Juliet’s shifting gears, moving carefully between lanes. Noah glances at the speedometer: ‘100 km an hour here.’ Mrs G agrees with his caution and chimes sympathetically. As he speaks, a raindrop lands on the windscreen and then another. Noah opens his window and the air rushes in. He leans back against the headrest. The air’s fresh, cooling his face and he can feel his pulse steadying. He calls on his senses to feel the rain, smell it, taste it. Soon it will bucket down and he’ll hear it and see it. He’ll drink it in, with all 5 of his senses.
217.
Gabriel walks up the shallow flight of steps and into the offices of Home Affairs. He joins the queue at the information counter and when it is his turn, he asks the woman sitting there, bored and bloated in a shapeless yellow dress, what he has to do to change his name. He thinks it will be easy, but he soon learns that it is not. He cannot take on a completely new name, she tells him. The best she can do for him is give him the forms that allow him to change his forename, and the ones that allow him to take his mother’s surname.
Gabriel stands there and thinks. That will have to do. He has all the necessary papers. They gave them to him when he left the home, the registry details of his birth, his parents’ marriage certificate. You may not want them now, his caseworker said, pressing the envelope into Gabriel’s hands. But don’t be rash. You might need them down the line. She was right. He doesn’t have a single detail about Harry, though. All he has of her is a small black and white photograph of a little boy and a pretty woman holding a bundle in her arms. Mum and Harry and Gabriel, before. Before.
Gabriel opens the envelope and hands the lady his birth certificate. She shows him what to fill in, and where, doesn’t notice Gabriel adding an e to the end of his mother’s maiden name. She simply tells him how long it will take, and when he can come back to collect his new papers.
Nine weeks later, Dominic Groome walks down the steps of the Home Affairs offices, leaving the boy who was once Gabriel Felix in a folder in a metal filing cabinet.
218.
14:59
There are six cars ahead of them, all slowing because the rain is falling faster now, but Juliet still hasn’t turned on the windscreen wipers. Maybe she should. Noah doesn’t want to tell her to, because for all her nonchalance in the driveway, she’s gripping the steering wheel really tight and he doesn’t know what will happen if she lets go – with one hand (5 digits) and only has one hand left (the other 5 digits) to control the car.
His mother likes her new(-ish) car
. It’s not fancy, nothing like her Audi, but it’s nippy, not like his father’s 4×4, which she says is a monster to drive. But right now, even her small car feels really, really lethal.
219.
What was Dominic hiding from? Ancient history covered layers deep in lies, that’s what. The lies that have made him into who he is now. Looking back to the boy he was then is like falling down the rabbit hole, into a place where nothing is familiar.
Once he breathed, slept and ate in a different life, he followed different rules, he answered to different masters.
When he looks in the mirror now, he can’t see any trace of the person he was then. That boy has been dead for years and Dominic’s finding it difficult to resurrect him. Gabriel Felix, spliced from his old roots, transplanted, watered, allowed to grow and to build a new history.
That’s what he tells Harriet and Gavin: the story of his life after they were separated that night. A muscle works in his jaw. This is who he has been for so many years, he says to Harriet. Dominic Groome. Father deceased and, until recently, no mother, no siblings. Just him, making his way through the world, holding in his secrets, holding back the truth.
Harriet is so angry, she can barely speak. How could she do that to you? she wants to know. Why didn’t she come for you? I mean, I know, or at least I can understand, why she might have decided not to look for me. I was adopted. I landed luckily and happily, they found me a good family. But you? All those years in that place?
I couldn’t understand that either, Dominic (who is Gabriel when he talks to his sister) says. I was angry with her too, for a long time. And then, Harry, I found her. Or Sebastian Crown did. A tall, skinny lady in a bed in a state psychiatric hospital.
They were kind to her, in their fashion, Dominic tells her. They called her ‘The Great Escaper’ in her early days there. Each time she tried to get away, it was because she was looking for her son and daughter. They’d find her on the streets, talking to strangers.
Do you know my son, she’d be asking. Have you seen my daughter? I’m looking for Gabriel. He’s got Harry. He’s looking after Harry. He’s my Little Man.
The nurses would approach her quietly, but she’d always spot them and start running, her long legs pumping in baggy tracksuit pants, bare feet hitting city pavements.
She never got away though, Dominic tells Harry.
As she grew older, she gave up trying. Instead, each time a new patient was admitted she’d make a beeline for them. Have you seen my son? Do you know my daughter?
Harry’s crying now. Gabriel puts his arm around her shoulder and hugs her tightly.
She did care about us, Harry.
When he got to her, he continues, she had a small box under her bed, filled with her precious bits. A photograph, similar to the one Gabriel had found in his envelope, the edge of a baby’s blanket, and letters. So many letters, scrawled on scraps of paper. Their contents were heartbreaking: My darlings, Mum’s coming. Dearest Gaby-Baby, Where are you, my little man? Look after Harriet for Mummy and Daddy.
They kept her quite heavily medicated, Gabriel tells Harriet, and most of the time she was placid enough. You don’t remember her, Harry, but our mum was gentle. And kind. When I spoke to the doctors and the ward staff, they said the only times she became agitated, aggressive even, were when someone tried to take her box away. She took to carrying it around with her. She’d show the other patients the photo of three of us, but I was so little and you, Harry, well, you were just a baby wrapped in a blanket. Nobody would have recognised us, but she never stopped trying.
One of the nurses, Nurse Daniels, did her best to help. She had retired by the time I found Mum, but the hospital gave me her address.
She was living in a place called Silver Oaks and she was delighted to meet me. She remembered Mum so fondly, Harry. She found out what had happened to me, went to the children’s home, asked to see me, to tell me that Mum was trying her best to get me back. She wanted to let me know that Mum cared, that she hadn’t given up on us. They never let her see me, though. She wasn’t a family member, they said. Mum wasn’t of sound mind, she’d never be well enough to look after me. Why make things worse than they were? They had to be cruel to be kind, that’s what they told her. Nurse Daniels gave in; she never told Mum that she’d tracked me down. Instead, the day after she found me, she picked her a small posy. Lavender and rosemary and some bright red poppies. Oh, she gave me the sweetest smile, Nurse Daniels said, and as she spoke, I remembered Mum smiling, laughing even. I wish you’d known her, Harry. Before.
Gabriel’s holding Harry’s hand now, pressing it gently.
Most days she knows who I am, Harry. She gets tired and confused, can’t hang on to what happened a few hours ago very well, but she knows me. And if you come with me, and they tell her who you are … It’s not too late. I’ve been visiting her every Sunday for the last few months, and I go to see Nurse Daniels, too. She’s convinced it would do Mum the world of good to see you. And it might be good for you, too.
220.
15:10
‘Oh … My … God … this place.’
They’re at Silver Oaks and Juliet’s looking at row after row of houses as they approach. Small, neat blocks of pale pink trimmed in white, like God’s been playing with a little girl’s Lego. All exactly the same size, all with exactly the same path, leading to identical doors.
Noah likes it. He likes the way the houses are joined by a common wall, 2 + 2 + 2 = 6, and then a break, and then 2 + 2 + 2 = 6. Further along, the houses become bigger, 2 + 2 = 4, and then a break, and 2 + 2 = 4.
They come to a long, low building. It’s the same colour as all the houses and faces a large parking lot. ‘This must be it,’ says Juliet. ‘This is where the guy at the gate said to go.’ She looks at the dashboard. ‘It’s three twenty,’ she says. ‘We made really good time.’
She gets out of the car, stretches and looks around, but quickly, because the rain’s coming down hard and they’re getting wet.
Juliet looks at Noah: ‘Okay?’
He nods. He’s okay to be here, doing what has to be done, 1 000 000 miles outside his comfort zone.
It’ll take even more than that to get back there.
It’s the first time Noah’s heard anything since he shouted at it in the car, and it sounds peeved.
It’s going to take some serious work for you and your 5s.
‘Cosy … Very cosy.’ Juliet interrupts the whinging and the Dark draws back, huddles petulantly out of sight.
Maddie’s run ahead and is talking to the lady at reception. Skinny, with a long narrow face, she looks like she’d welcome a lump of sugar or a carrot offered in an open palm. She smiles as Maddie says, ‘My name’s Maddie Groome. This is my brother Noah and our friend, Juliet. We’re here to see Mrs Felix but we can’t remember which room she’s in.’
‘Lovely, my dear, lovely. She’s in Room 24, down that corridor and to your right.’
The carpet under their feet is thick and soft. All along the corridor are framed prints, fields and cows, and more fields and more cows. And barns, all in gentle colours. Nothing to leap out and demand your attention.
‘Why don’t they just call this place Happy Pastures,’ says Juliet and Maddie giggles.
5 paintings on one wall, and 5 on the other, so that’s good. Noah runs his left hand along the wall, no corners to stop at, but he can count each step he takes. In the right-hand pocket of his jeans are his pebbles, 1 2 3 4 5 of them, there to keep him calm.
Room after room, the doors open onto neatly made beds, little rectangular containers holding little old people, all clean and ready for visitors.
‘Okay, Noah?’ Juliet knows to check. Maddie looks back at him and smiles encouragingly. The door of Room 24 is open and Maddie steps back to let him in first.
The soft carpet gives way to tiles, shining under a long fluorescent light. The curtains are blue, so are the cushions on the chair in the corner, and the blanket folded at the foot of the
bed, all the colours melting into the pale blue walls and the misty grey-blue of the sky outside the window.
There’s a body in the bed.
1.Long, thin limbs.
2.A small head, thin wisps of hair.
3.Skin tight over nose and cheeks.
4.A sunken mouth.
5.Eyes hiding in a bag of wrinkles.
Noah steps closer. The body doesn’t move.
All this way. And for what?
Juliet moves in behind him. ‘Shit,’ she says. Her voice blocks out the Dark’s shrill glee. ‘Is she alive, Noah?’
They’re next to the bed now, and still the body hasn’t moved. The arms are outside the blankets, the hands folded together.
There’s no smell in the room. Nothing to say there’s an old body in here and it’s not moving.
On the bedside table there’s a battered cardboard box, held together with with parcel tape. Close to that a jug and 2 glasses, 1 with teeth grinning inside. That’s probably why the mouth has collapsed, no lips showing, just a folded-in hole.
Maddie notices them too. ‘She must be alive,’ she says in a whisper. ‘Her teeth. And look here.’
Under the bed, is a pair of slippers, and hanging on the back of the door, a blue dressing gown.
Noah doesn’t know what to do next. Should he lean closer and try to hear breathing? Should he touch 1 of those hands? If he does, will the skin move under his fingers? Will a skinny claw grab his wrist and never let him go?
On top of all this, there’s the gloating.
Oh, my, my, what have we here? What big ears she has …
And she does. Her ears are large flaps, scarcely covered by curly wisps of silver hair.
All the better to hear you with …
The Dark is a cartoon wolf peering up at him from under a lacy cap, a slurping red tongue in its wide-open mouth.
Maddie leans forward, listening. ‘She’s breathing,’ she says, and strokes a thin shoulder under the nightgown. Then she gently strokes it again.