Magic Sometimes Happens

by Margaret James

  ‘Do you still have that video?’

  ‘No, I told you – it was on my phone.’

  ‘I mean, you didn’t send it to a friend, to Gmail?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t send it to friend. I never thought of sending it to Gmail. Yes, I know I should have done it, but I didn’t, and it’s too late now. Pat, I played and played it, half a dozen times a day. But I never told my mum and dad about it.’

  ‘So they never saw it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I can understand why you’re upset, to lose something so precious. Perhaps your parents should have seen it?’

  ‘I didn’t know if I should show them or not show them, if seeing it would help them or destroy them, and I still don’t know.’

  PATRICK

  I held her while she cried.

  ‘You’re not to blame,’ I said, once, twice, a dozen times. ‘Your sister, she was an adult. She should have checked out what she was eating. You didn’t have to be your sister’s keeper.’

  ‘But if I had only—’

  ‘Rosie, honey, life’s full of if-onlys.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She grabbed a box of Kleenex. ‘If Tess had gone to New York City or Los Angeles for her American adventure, I’d never have met you.’

  ‘You would not have known a genuine knuckle-dragging, Neolithic throwback.’ She managed a small, tearful smile at that. But still her eyes were sad and, as I gazed into those wide, grey eyes, I found I wanted more than anything to heal the hurt I saw there. ‘Most everybody has regrets,’ I added. ‘Most everybody’s done bad things. Or they believe they’ve done bad things. You did nothing wrong. You and your sister – it was just bad luck, a cruel stroke of fate.’

  ‘I killed Charlie, Pat.’

  ‘You did not kill Charlie. You know you tried to save a life, not take it.’

  ‘But I’m still no better than my sister’s murderer, her executioner.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘I know only too well.’

  ‘You only think you do.’

  I never shared the truth with anyone – not with Alexis, not with Ben.

  Of course, Ben’s wormed a few details out of me and no doubt guessed the rest. He loves to needle people, poke, prod, pry – loves getting a reaction. It’s why he mentioned gasoline when we were having dinner that first time. He wanted me to ask him what he meant – to challenge him. Of course, I didn’t. I would not have given him the satisfaction, not in company, not any time.

  If I told Rosie, would she hate me? But if she did hate me, would it matter, if it helped her to forgive herself and if it helped her mend? I owed her, didn’t I? Okay, I thought, here goes – confession time.

  ‘One time, I tried to kill a man,’ I said.

  ‘You did what?’ She stared then shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Who was this man?’

  ‘My father.’

  ‘Why, whatever happened?’

  ‘Where to start?’ I shrugged. ‘As you might have heard from Tess or Ben, I was raised in Recovery, Missouri – a dirt-poor town which by some quirk of fate had one good public high school. I had teachers who inspired me, worked with me, encouraged me. So I got an excellent education, in spite of coming from a home which didn’t have a single book in it and where the television was always tuned to trash.

  ‘While I was growing up, my mother had a bunch of jobs. She cleaned and did the laundry in other people’s houses and apartments, did menial stuff for those few people who were better off than most, the doctor and the lawyer and the judge, their wives and widows. She waited tables in the local diner, worked the register in grocery stores. But it hadn’t always been like that for Mom. When she graduated high school, she became a college student in St Louis.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘She met with a rodeo rider at a county fair. She fell in love. So she dropped out of college, married Dad. But he was from the wrong side of the tracks. She found her parents didn’t want to know her anymore.

  ‘She didn’t care. She was in love. She had a little money of her own and put down a deposit on a house. But while my mother worked her fingers to the bone, Dad stayed home and drank.’

  ‘He didn’t work at all?’

  ‘Sometimes he did casual labour on construction projects, pouring concrete, hauling rocks or lumber. But he was usually too drunk to work. The only reason he got out of bed most mornings was to raid my mother’s purse and head out to the liquor store. When he had the energy, he beat and kicked my mother and took a strap to me.’

  ‘Oh – like in Ben’s book?’

  ‘Yeah, just like that. One time, after he’d beat up on my mother bad, so bad she couldn’t go to work, so bad that she was in the county hospital for weeks, I thought, I’m going to kill him.

  ‘I was eight or nine years old. So although I was a kid, I knew what I was doing. While he was asleep one afternoon and Mom had started back at work, cleaning some old lady’s house downtown, I found the can of gasoline he kept in the garage and poured a slug of it into his bourbon.’

  ‘But, Pat – you only meant to make him ill? You didn’t really want to kill him, did you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did.’

  ‘Why did you think he’d die?’

  ‘My class had done a project on combustion engines. We all wrote reports on how they worked. Miss Ellie warned us gasoline was very flammable and not to mess with it. I’d watched big kids spilling lighter fuel in puddles, setting it on fire so that the water seemed to burn.

  ‘One day as I was heading home from school I thought, if Daddy drank some gasoline then lit a cigarette, it would be like – kaboom! He would be lit on fire and he would die and how great that would be.’

  ‘So when you poured the petrol in his whiskey—’

  ‘He realised straight away. He took a mouthful but he didn’t swallow. He spit it out and then accused my mother, who’d just walked in the door, of trying to poison him. He got her by the throat. She was choking, crying, pleading, didn’t know what he meant, her eyes were bulging in her head, she looked like she would die. So I fessed up.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He beat up on me so bad that I passed out. So then he had to take me to the hospital. He told them I was climbing out a window on the second floor and fallen on the concrete in the yard.

  ‘While I was in the hospital the nurses made a pet of me. They gave me treats and candy. They told me I’d been hurt real bad but I was going to mend. I had to be a little soldier for my daddy’s sake because he was so worried about me.

  ‘I was afraid he’d punish Mom for giving birth to me, and I was right – he did. Today, she has almost no hearing and she can’t see out of her left eye. The tears I’ve cried for Mama, Rosie! All the grief I’ve felt for my poor mother – more than any kid should have to do.

  ‘So there you have it. If you want to see a real-life murderer, a real-life executioner, or would-be executioner, all you need to do is look at me.’

  So Rosie looked.

  ‘All I can see is somebody who got a life and made himself a big success in spite of everything. Anyway,’ she added, ‘what you did as a child would surely not be murder or attempted murder, even if your father had drunk the poisoned bourbon, even if he’d died?’

  ‘What’s your definition of attempted murder, Rosie?’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it.’

  ‘So think about it now?’

  ‘There has to be intention. There needs to be a plan?’

  ‘You got it, more or less. I looked it up a year or two ago. I’m not sorry, Rosie. If I’d killed the bastard, I would have run round singing. When I hear he’s dead – one day he has to be – I’ll make a point of dancing on his grave.’

  ‘Where is your father these days?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure because he left when I was twelve and headed off down south. Last time I heard, he was in
jail someplace in Alabama – got ten years without parole.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He robbed a store. He sprayed the clerk with Mace and blinded him. But he’ll have suffered worse than blindness while he’s been in jail. Trash like him, they have it hard in prisons in the USA, and that makes me glad. You think I’m wicked?’

  ‘No! You were a child who was afraid a cruel man would kill your mother and I’m not surprised you hate him. But one day you might decide you’ve hated long enough? Maybe you could let the wounds inside you heal, like the ones you got from beatings did? Maybe you could make your peace with him?’

  ‘It’s never been about what Daddy did to me. But while my mother lives and while I watch her startle when a drunk walks down the street and while she still gets blackouts because he hit her far too many times, I never shall make peace with him.’

  ‘What if he contacted you and asked for your forgiveness?’

  ‘I would not enter into dialogue.’

  ‘When he dies?’

  ‘It’s like I said – I’ll go dance on his grave.’

  ‘You won’t. You’ll wish you’d seen him one last time. You’ll wish you’d made your peace. My sister died. Pat, it matters when a person dies.’

  ‘You loved your sister – that’s what matters. You’re beating yourself up for failing Charlie. But that’s not the problem, because deep in your heart you know you didn’t fail your sister. You’re sad because a person you loved very much is dead. I think you should forgive yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll try. Pat, do you feel better now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I do.’ It was the truth, I did. It was like a burden had been lifted. I kissed her on the forehead. ‘Thank you for hearing my confession.’

  ‘It’s no problem. Thank you very much for hearing mine.’ Rosie looked at me. ‘I expect you’re hungry now? If you give me your mobile, I’ll phone up for a pizza.’

  ‘Let’s get pizza later. Let’s track down your cell. We might not have much time.’

  ROSIE

  ‘You’re going to need a magic spell,’ I told him.

  ‘So let’s find one, then.’

  It took him twenty seconds flat to find and then download an application which he said could send commands to my lost phone and get it to respond. ‘I don’t see how,’ I muttered. ‘It sounds like something out of Harry Potter. Accio phone – that sort of thing? You command, my phone obeys?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s certainly the plan,’ he told me, tapping on his keypad. ‘So now you keep your fingers crossed, you knock on wood, you stroke your lucky rabbit’s foot and you believe in magic.’

  As I watched him tapping, I thought about the gasoline. I thought about the frightened little child, the one who wanted more than anything to help his mother, who confessed to save his mother, knowing he’d be beaten half to death as a result. I understood that this was courage. I also understood I should be kinder to my mother. If and when I got my phone back, she’d be the first person I would ring, and from now on I would be nice to Mum, however much she patronised and irritated me and told me how to live my life.

  I would not forget that she’d lost someone precious, too.

  ‘How’s it going, Pat?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re almost done.’ He tapped more keys, looked up at me. ‘Okay, I guess it’s sorted.’

  ‘You mean you’ve tracked it down?’ I stared at him, astonished. ‘You’ve really found my mobile?’

  ‘No, not yet, it’s going to take a while. So now we wait. Why don’t you go put the kettle on?’

  The first email arrived five minutes later as we were drinking coffee, followed by another message, then another, then three more. Then—

  ‘Gotcha!’ Pat exclaimed and punched the air.

  ‘You’ve found it?’

  ‘Yeah, I found it.’

  ‘You really can do magic!’

  ‘Well – magic sometimes happens.’

  ‘You are amazing, you know that?’ I was so excited I spilled coffee on my lap. ‘Where is it, then?’

  ‘You had the good news, here’s the bad.’ He glanced up from the screen to look at me, his brown eyes serious and kind. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. If we’re to believe the GPS, looks like your cell will be impossible to find.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘See here.’

  He turned the screen to show me and I could have wept. The GPS had pinpointed a London landfill site. ‘But how on earth did it get there?’ I wailed.

  ‘Maybe someone stole it from your bag or pocket while you rode the subway, saw it was an older model, threw it in the trash?’

  ‘No.’ I cursed myself. ‘I bought some sandwiches for lunch and ate them walking down the road. I stuffed the empty wrapper in my bag, but then I pulled it out again and chucked it as I passed a bin. I must have thrown my phone away as well. Oh, I’m such an idiot!’

  ‘Anybody could have done it, sweetheart. Do you want me to erase the card?’

  ‘Yes, if you could?’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘It will take a minute, couple minutes. I’ll need to—’

  ‘No.’ I grabbed his hand. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ I couldn’t bear to think of Charlie being lost, erased. I thought that maybe one day someone working on the landfill site might find my phone, might even fire it up and track me down.

  Magic sometimes happens, after all.

  As we lay in bed later that night, I made a wish. I made three wishes, actually. I wished a university in the UK would offer Pat a job he didn’t feel he could refuse. I wished his wife and children would also come to live in the UK with Lexie’s bloke. Then – if Pat and Lexie should decide to try again, if they renewed their vows, if they divorced, whatever – I might still get to see him now and then.

  So much for unrealistic expectations.

  I wished he’d stay another week or two, which would not be unrealistic, would it? Or too greedy? Yes, it would.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he promised, as I sniffed and rubbed my eyes. ‘Rosie, darling, please don’t break your heart? I’m not worth it, surely?’

  ‘You’re worth everything to me!’

  But I knew he had to go and, two days after he had found my phone, he flew back home to Minnesota.

  July

  PATRICK

  My work at London University was done. My flight was booked and, two days after Rosie lost her phone, I flew back to Minneapolis, where I was congratulated by the dean and told I’d been a great ambassador for JQA.

  So I did one thing right.

  While I was on the plane, I thought about that video on Rosie’s phone. She’d told me to erase the card, then said not to erase it. I wouldn’t have erased it anyway, even if she’d said to wipe it, just in case she’d changed her mind again. I didn’t want to break her heart.

  I was sure there had to be a way to get that video back. So all I had to do was find the way. When I was home again, I scrolled through all my contacts, looking for the numbers of people who might help me, and finally I found the very one.

  I called a friend who had connections with the CIA.

  ‘Yeah, it might be possible,’ he told me, after I explained. ‘I might know a guy who knows a guy. But a private contract – it would cost a bunch of money. We’re talking big bucks here.’

  ‘What, thousands, millions?’

  ‘It would be ten thousand dollars minimum, and in cash.’

  ‘If you let me have some contact details, I’ll go on from there.’

  ‘No, I’ll meet you for a beer some time. I don’t want to put this stuff in emails or tell you on the phone. You never know who’s listening.’

  ‘Maybe we could meet later today?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while. So tell me – you mislaid the secret of eternal life?’

  ‘I want this data found.’

  ‘Okay, okay, but listen up – before you give your
money to this guy, you need to know that he won’t offer any guarantees. Also, if he manages to track your data down, he could take his time to hand it over – might be months or even years. The fact is, he might never hand it over, but don’t even start to think you’ll get your money back.’

  ‘I’m prepared to take the risk.’

  ‘You’re prepared to take a reckless gamble and very likely lose. These spooks play by their own rules, not by yours.’

  Lexie and my children were still living with the British tosser in his mansion on Grand Avenue. Joe was full of what was going down in its backyard. ‘There are a bunch of foxes, Dad,’ he told me. ‘We got squirrels, too. One time Polly said she saw a snake.’

  ‘What colour was it, green?’

  ‘I guess. Or it could have been magenta? Polly wasn’t sure. When I told Mom about the snake, it freaked her out. She said she’s going to call the pest exterminator guy. She wants him to come by and deal with all the vermin.’

  Awesome, I decided. Maybe he could deal with Mr Wonderful as well?

  ‘Dad, she’s going to have the foxes killed!’

  ‘You don’t need to worry, Joseph. Foxes are real smart and so are squirrels. When the pest exterminator’s truck shows up, they won’t stick around to be exterminated.’

  ‘What about the snake?’

  ‘The snake will slither off into the grass.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Did you ever get to hear from Rosie, Dad?’

  ‘She emailed me this morning, asked after you and Polly and sends you lots of love.’

  ‘When will we see Rosie?’

  ‘I don’t know, little buddy. Rosie lives in Britain and we live in America, four thousand miles apart.’

  ‘When we are on vacation, perhaps we could go visit Britain again?’

  ‘Yeah, perhaps we could.’ I changed the subject. It can’t be good for little boys to see their fathers cry.

  A few days after I came home, Lexie called to ask if we could meet.