Go Not Gently

by Cath Staincliffe

  ‘I ran out and found a man walking his dog. He called an ambulance. I still don’t know how Goulden is. They took him to intensive care in Chester.’

  Sheila swallowed and Ray was quiet, lost for words. I couldn’t deal with their shock as well as my own.

  I pushed back my chair and got up. ‘I must have a bath.’

  I pushed Blu-Tack into the overflow and filled the bath, dripped in some geranium and rose oils. I found one of my old Marvin Gaye tapes and put it on. My face was a mess, nose still swollen and mottled, lips cracked, eyes bleary and bruised. The ridiculous lattice of seri-strips contrasted vividly with the bruised plum background.

  Marvin sang about injustice and love and loss. The bathroom filled with steam, which condensed on the mirror and the walls and dribbled down the tiles.

  Drops leaked down my face too but they were salty and of my own making.

  I had barely half an hour before the children would be home. I craved sleep but wanted to see Maddie first, reassure her all was well. I’d already agreed with Ray and Sheila that as far as the kids were concerned we should say I’d been hit by a baddie and the police were going to put him in jail.

  ‘Are they?’ Sheila had asked. ‘If he’s all right?’

  ‘Bloody hope so. I don’t know what the charges will be, aggravated assault, conspiracy, abduction, maybe even manslaughter as far as the deaths of some of those patients go. They can take their pick.’

  I wrapped my big old coat round me and sat outside in the garden while I waited. There was a watery sun reflecting softly off the drops on the leaves and grass. Everything was damp and a bit grey round the edges but there were a few signs of the summer to come: shiny curled shoots on the clematis round the back door, buds and bright new leaves on the aubretia. I felt melancholy. The violence had made its mark inside as well as on the surface. I felt weepy and burdened down. Recognised once again the huge gap between the world I wanted and the one I was living in. I’d failed Agnes and Lily. There was little consolation in the knowledge that I’d been able to stop Goulden killing us.

  I needn’t have worried about Maddie. Once she’d established that I wasn’t dying and had enjoyed a good tour of my injuries she lost interest. I enquired about school. It was boring.

  ‘What’s boring?’

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She was growing impatient.

  I could remember the same inquisition from my own mother, though at a later age. I’d always fobbed her off with the details of the school dinner menu, not an option if you took packed lunches as Maddie did. I could never comprehend why she had any interest in what I did in those long tedious lessons. Why then, if I could remember what it was like, did I persist in asking Maddie the same questions?

  ‘You must have done something.’

  ‘Fish,’ she said enigmatically. And that was the end of the matter.

  The phone rang. It was one of the police officers to tell me that Goulden was out of the woods and the prognosis was good. They’d found ropes, drugs and weights in his car, plenty to substantiate our belief that he intended to murder us. His wife would be helping them with their enquiries, as would her brother. They were looking for Matthew Simcock. I thanked him profusely for letting me know. I’d worked on cases before where getting any such information was like drawing teeth. There was no obligation to tell victims what was happening to villains. I asked him to make sure Agnes knew too.

  The relief made me dizzy. I’d been frightened silly that Goulden would die, that I’d have a man’s life on my conscience. I sat on the bottom stair. I felt a flare of anger then. Searing hot, in my guts, up my spine, pricking my eyes. Rage at what Goulden had done to me, to Agnes, to Lily. A blaze of fury that I hadn’t dared to allow whilst his life hung in the balance. It felt good, burning up some of the guilt and the self-blame. Slowly it ebbed away. I was too drained to sustain it. Ray found me gazing into the middle distance.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I will.’ I said good night to the children. Hugged them both tight.

  ‘You’re going to bed before me!’ Maddie was delighted.

  ‘I know. I’m so tired. If I don’t get some sleep I’m going to fall over.’

  ‘You’re not,’ she scoffed. ‘I know! I can put you to bed.’

  I allowed her to burble round me while I got myself undressed and into bed. I took some more paracetamol and wriggled under the duvet. ‘Night-night.’ I leant out of the side to kiss her on the head. ‘I love you, Maddie.’

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My nose is a bit sore too, on the inside. You can’t see it on mine.’

  ‘Well, there’s not a lot you can do about that, Maddie.’

  ‘A plaster might help.’

  ‘Not on the inside.’

  ‘No, outside.’

  ‘Fine.’ All I wanted to do was sleep. ‘They’re in the kitchen. Tell Ray I said you could have one. Night-night.’

  ‘And cream.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I might need two plasters, you know.’

  Irritation rose like bile, but I tried to keep it from my voice. ‘Fine.’ You can use the whole bloody box as long as you let me sleep.

  I awoke aching and disoriented at midnight. My throat was parched, my head thumped with pain, my nose was blocked. I didn’t dare blow it. I crept downstairs and made tea and toast with lashings of honey. Sat in my old armchair in the kitchen to eat it. Digger padded over and laid his head on my foot. Nice gesture, spoilt a bit by the drool. I gently pushed him away.

  Matthew Simcock committed suicide. He was found that morning in his car, up near Snake Pass. There’s a viewing point where you can see right across the tops. ‘He’d attached a tube to the exhaust. It’s a beautiful spot, the bright grass of the peaks and the white limestone walls. His death made the late editions. There was no mention then of the background, just the bald facts.

  The jury found Bill Sherwin not guilty of murdering Tina Achebe. The case had received quite a lot of local coverage but all the evidence was circumstantial, there was no witness, no forensic or other proof that Mr Sherwin had even been to Levenshulme that morning. The prosecution claimed that Tina had tried to end the relationship and that the murder had been the act of jilted lover. The jury weren’t convinced. The judge made acerbic comments about excessive zeal and inadequate preparation of the prosecution case.

  Diane’s exhibition was a big success. The haircuts were out in force. Shortly after it closed she took me with her on a shopping expedition. She was going to treat herself to a real fire, she’d had the chimney opened up and now needed a proper fire surround. She was after an antique, something with painted tiles.

  Parking near the antique hypermarket was difficult. I found a space in a side street close to the road where the Achebes had lived. There was a yard halfway down, a dairy, busy with lorries and floats, a public phone box opposite. I parked nearby. As we got out I heard the familiar squawk of a Tannoy above the roar of a truck.

  And my heart stood still.