“That someone… would be my father, so the next time he comes to see you, perhaps you’ll tell him how lucky he is.” She replied, as she pushed another pillow behind him. “Now don’t move. I said I’d go find sister when you woke up, there’s something she has to discuss with you by all accounts.”
“What about going to the toilet? Can I do that or do I need permission? Tell you what, I’ll wait until you get back and then you can help me?” He said with a boyish grin, which she’d not seen before but which made her go weak at the knees.
“If you’re not careful I’ll get them to put a catheter in and let me tell you, that’s an experience you’ll never forget.”
After floating back to the surface of consciousness, the rest of his physical recuperation had taken another six slow weeks. In total, he’d spent nearly two months in hospital and in all that time, after being questioned repeatedly by the police and cajoled by Martha, he had remembered nothing… nothing that is up to the point at which he’d stumbled into the hotel. Everything before that moment had remained locked away in some deep inaccessible recess of his memory.
The consultant had given him the medical all clear but had agreed that he wouldn’t be discharged until they’d found him some place to complete his mental rehabilitation. The hospital wanted his bed but the medical team also knew that sending him out into the big wide world in his current mental state, would be as good as abandoning him… and they’d put too much effort and hard work into keeping him alive to do that.
On the third day after he’d been given the medical green light, the ward sister had some further good news.
“There’s a recuperation centre in Cardiff that has a free bed. It specialises in head traumas and their aftereffects, such as amnesia. You’ll be in the best of hands and it will give you every opportunity to regain your memory at a pace that will suit you.” She told him in a very matter of fact sort of way, as if she was ordering more bandages. It wasn’t that she meant to sound uncaring, it was that there was no other option.
“But I won’t know anyone there.” He said rather disconsolately, the boyish grin had been replaced by a look of blind panic.
“Unfortunately or maybe fortunately… you don’t know anyone full stop.” The sister added using her well-practiced, caring bedside manner. “Anyway whether you know anyone or not is irrelevant, the centre is your best… is your only chance of making a full recovery.” She looked across the bed at Martha for support… the staff had come to rely on her blossoming relationship with their patient, who seemed to be more at ease when she was around. Using her eyes like two semaphore flags, the nurse tried to cajole Martha into making him see sense. But instead of agreeing with the sister, Martha had plans of her own.
“Father says he must come and stay with us.” She lied unconvincingly. “We have a huge house with enough space for ten patients and he would be with people he knew…” The sister threw Martha a black look from across the other side of the bed. “… Ok, so we’ve only known him a few weeks but that’s more than anyone else that’s come visiting and I did find him.” She said before realising how ridiculous she must have sounded.
Actually her father had been dead against any such move when they’d discussed the possibility over dinner the previous evening. They didn’t know the man and he wasn’t their responsibility and who would look after him? Dr Monroe had come up with a thousand and one arguments to counter his daughter’s enthusiasm. All of them made sense but Martha had held the trump card.
“If he has to move to Cardiff father… I’ll move there as well.” She’d responded like a small child stamping its feet. “He shouldn’t have to go somewhere where he knows no one… I mean, how would you like it… if you were here all by yourself?”
Dr Monroe knew his daughter could be stubborn… like her mother before her she didn’t dig her heels in very often but when she did, he knew he’d lost the battle and he’d rather lose the battle than his daughter.
“Mrs Henderson won’t like it.” He’d tried one last counterpunch.
“Mrs Henderson father, will have to lump it then.”
“I’d like that very much.” The man said breaking the strangled stare that seemed to have gripped the two women stood either side of the bed. He looked at one and then the other as he spoke so as not to show any favouritism. “That is if it’s alright with the doctor and yourself sister, I’d prefer to recuperate with Martha and her father… I mean what better hands could I be in?” As he spoke, his left hand sought out Martha’s and with a gentleness born out of affection, held it tight. The sister knew she’d been outflanked, but in her heart she couldn’t fault the logic.
“Well it’s not up to me, but I’ll have a word with the doctor and if he agrees then you can leave as soon as you’re ready. We’ve done all we can for you.” She walked to the door, stopped and turned round to see the pair still holding hands. “And you say your father is fully in agreement with you, Martha? He’s got no reservations, no objections?”
“Definitely, he thought it was an excellent idea, told me that he’d been thinking along very similar lines himself... You can ask him if you wish but he’ll only tell you what I have. I think it must be because he’s part of what you call… the caring, sharing profession.” Her ability to taunt came unnaturally easy for someone who’d never had a bad word to say about anyone until the man had stumbled her life.
With the sister off to find the doctor and seek his professional guidance for the discharge, Martha was suddenly aware that the two of them had been left holding hands, and like a couple of teenagers caught by their parents on the sofa, they let go and silently drifted apart.
“Of course the big question is what are we going to call you?” Martha asked a little nervously, as she stared out of the hospital window to the hills in the far distance. “We could continue calling you John Smith in the same way as the medical staff have, but whilst it might be fine for a corpse, I think we could be slightly more imaginative. After all… the world’s your oyster now.”
“I don’t know, what do you think? Do I remind you of anyone?”
“Well, I used to have a rabbit called Donald, a goldfish that we named Cedric and a black Scottie dog that my mother called Hamish after her brother. Take your pick.” Martha teased, as she continued to look out across the countryside and wondered just what her mother would have said, had she still been alive.
“Not much of a choice is it? A rabbit, dog or goldfish. Haven’t you any famous ancestors, with heroic sounding names?” He implored.
“Sorry no. Anyway you certainly have the memory of a goldfish but can you swim? As for Hamish, he was a flea-bitten old pooch who left horrible smells of stewed sprouts wherever he went. Of course Donald was my own personal favourite because he was soft and cuddly and had big floppy ears… now he was never any trouble because we kept him in a cage at the bottom of the garden.”
“What happened to Donald?” The man asked nervously.
“He died. I’d let him out of his cage and forgot about him… we think it must have been a Golden Eagle or maybe a Sea Eagle, we get both occasionally… anyway all I found was some fur and a patch of blood. I was distraught for weeks afterwards.” Martha said as sorrowfully as possible.
“What about The other two?”
“Cedric got a bad case of white spot and we had to flush him down the toilet, whilst we couldn’t stand Hamish’s smells any longer and the vet put him to sleep… but he was fifteen and well, that’s old for a dog.”
“Didn’t you have a pet that lived a happy fulfilled life and who died of old age in their sleep?” He asked more out of hope than expectation.
“Only if you want to be called Wilfred or Willy as we shortened it to… he was…”
“Enough, let’s settle on Donald and I’ll just be careful to keep one eye looking upwards when I’m out in the garden.”
When Martha had given her father the good news about Donald’s imminent homecoming, he momentarily forgot about her
threat to leave home. It had nothing to do with breaking his word but more about the call he’d had from the sister at the hospital, who’d been astounded that he’d agreed to such a move, when they didn’t know anything about the man and Martha was obviously so… so naïve.
“It’s not that I don’t want him here Martha but you’re too young to…” He’d tried to protest and make one final effort to persuade his daughter against such a move.
“Too young to what father… look after another man? Let’s not forget that I’ve been looking after you since mother died. Anyway Donald… by the way that’s his adopted name… is going to earn his keep whilst he’s recuperating, so he won’t be too much of a burden on your pocket, if that’s what your worried about.” Martha saw the look of bewilderment cross her father’s face. “Of course he can’t remember what he used to do for a living, so he’s no idea if he’ll be any good at anything but the doctor at the hospital said that any form of work would help his recuperation. He said that his senses needed to be constantly stimulated, so I thought he could work as your handyman and gardener. Mrs Henderson will still be coming in everyday to cook, clean and stick her nose where it’s not wanted, so you won’t be starved of attention or gossip.” Martha finally stopped talking, drew breath and left her father to his own thoughts.
Dr Monroe could only stand and wonder at the change in his daughter, as she flounced away down the hall into the kitchen. She was certainly more self-assured… if not a little bossy. He looked up at the front parlour’s ceiling and wondered what Isla would have made of it all, had she still been alive…
“It will be fine William.” He heard her voice gently whispering in his head. “Martha needs to find her own feet and live her own life. Imagine what you’d have been like had she gone off to university in Edinburgh or London… just let her blossom. Your job is to nurture her, not nip her new shoots off as soon as they appear.”
Dr Monroe shook his head and smiled at the thought of his wife’s spiritual rebuke… Isla did always like her garden and she knew her daughter better than he did.
“So it would seem you’ve thought of everything.” Her father announced, as he walked into the kitchen. He knew the olive branch would have been Isla’s way forward under the circumstances. “And I don’t suppose that anything I say will change your mind or make any difference to him coming here, will it.” He added begrudgingly, in one final bid to impose his masculinity in his own house. But his evocation was only half-heated, deep down he’d already conceded defeat and anyway he’d always thought some help around the house would be useful and another male voice might balance the status quo.
The only nagging doubt he now had about the whole affair was that he couldn’t shake the dark thought that for all anyone knew, the stranger could be a convicted rapist or murderer … even the police had drawn a complete blank in their investigations and that in itself was cause for concern. Who but someone with a past they wanted to hide, disappears without a trace or without anyone trying to find them?
“Now father, you know I always listen to you and consider everything you say but I’ve thought this through and Donald is moving in with us and that is the end of the matter. I’ll hear no more about it.” Martha stroked her father’s cheek in the way she’d always done when she wanted anything.
“And you say we’re going to call him Donald? Didn’t you have a rabbit called Donald when you were younger? As I recollect, we buried him out in the flowerbed? I’m sure the vet said it was fitting that a rabbit that had lived such a long time should die peacefully in its sleep. That’s right… you adored and loved that rabbit, didn’t you?” Her father asked, rather mystified at the coincidence.
“I did father but don’t tell our new house guest that… we don’t want to give him the wrong impression do we?”
~~~~~
The idea had just popped into Rachel’s head one morning, whilst she’d been out walking along the coastal footpath. She’d stopped for a rest at one of the many benches, which dotted the trail and offered casual tourists and ardent hikers alike a wonderful panoramic snapshot of the rugged coastline and the dramatic Atlantic Ocean that stretched away towards the horizon, and her thoughts had somewhat surprisingly lingered on Tom and what could have happened to him and what might happen in the future with Henri… when the awkward truth had suddenly dawned on her…
Right at that moment, she was in limbo land. She wasn’t a widower and she couldn’t marry. The house had been in Tom’s name alone and until he was declared dead or they were divorced, she couldn’t dispose of their or his assets. As for his life insurance, without proof of his death, the insurance company were more than happy to sit on his policy and point to their strict terms and conditions.
As for Henri, they were happy of course but she had no rights as such. If he wanted to kick her out of the place tomorrow, he could do so without any comebacks. She didn’t contribute anything and Henri hadn’t asked her to… as far as she was concerned, she was no more than an invited guest, who fulfilled all her obligations by sleeping with the man.
No, she mused as she watched a pair of seagulls dive, twist and turn in some type of aerial dog-fight, what she really needed was Tom dead and then for her to marry Henri.
It had been a simple thought, and one that would be harder to achieve than it had been to think of … but it was one that was to occupy her every waking thought for the next few of days.
Helen Fitzgerald had finally handed Rachel the means to achieve her goal over coffee the week after her cliff top walk to ‘Damascus’.
“We’re off to South America next week Rachel.” She’d announced excitedly from the comfort of one of the large armchairs that dotted the lounge of the Atlantic View Hotel. “Patrick says we ought to try and have a break before they start the work on the new Manor House…”
“The Manor House?” Rachel interrupted her new best friend. “I thought you’d decided to build a brand new house, as the old farm house was in such a state of disrepair?”
“We did but Patrick thought we should call the new building the Manor House, after all it will certainly be grand enough and the old place really does need demolishing.” Helen declared in a manner that rubbed Rachel up the wrong way. It could have been the fact that she’d not got a single cent to her name right at that moment or it might have been Helen’s smug look, but whatever it was Rachel decided Helen would need to be brought down a peg or two… if not now, then certainly at some point.
“Sounds as though you two are getting ideas of grandeur?” Rachel mocked.
“Why not, if we can afford it, which by the way and if you were wondering… we can.” Helen clawed and spat back, like some cat whose fur had been ruffled. Rachel withdrew her claws, she needed all the friends she could get right now and rubbing the smarmy bitch up the wrong way, wasn’t the best way to keep a friendship.
“And I’m very pleased for the both of you… you both deserve everything you get and I know that once you’ve added your own touch of class to the Manor House it will be a fitting tribute.” Rachel smiled sweetly as she spoke and sipped her coffee. Helen took a moment to reflect on Rachel’s gracious comments… at least she thought they were gracious.
“Anyway Patrick says that once they start it will be all hands to the pumps until the project is finished. So he’s booked a three week cruise, starting in Fort Lauderdale and finishing in Lima… that’s in Peru, if you didn’t know. He’s even hinted that we might stay on board until the boat docks in Acapulco but that will depend upon his work and if there are any problems at the hotels.”
“South America sounds exotic and a cruise thrown in… but why go all that way, why not cruise round the Med?” Rachel asked in a manner that unfortunately sounded too much like a bad case of sour grapes.
“Well Patrick says if we want to get away from the usual crowds and tattoos, then South America is a great place to lose yourself.”
Rachel sat spellbound and mute by Helen’s news. But it wasn’t envy tha
t had finally rendered her speechless, more the idea that you could lose yourself in South America… that was the means to free herself from the shackles that still bound her to Tom. What would happen, she wondered, if for the sake of argument, Tom had skipped town and fled to South America where he’d met an unfortunate end and been killed in some terrible accident?
The raw idea was a good start but she knew that if she was going to confound the police, the coroner and the insurance company, then the germ of an idea would need thinking about and planning in much more detail. She’d need to think like someone running away, to have the answers ready for all the questions that would be asked by all the doubters and sceptics.
“Why did he run away?”
“How did he get out of the country?”
“Didn’t you suspect anything Mrs Cox? I mean how could your husband have just disappeared without you knowing anything about it?”
But it might work… it could work…with Helen’s help.
“You must be so excited Helen.” Rachel said through gritted teeth and a broad grin. “You won’t believe me but it’s the one place I’ve always wanted to visit but I know I never will. You’re so lucky, I hope you have a fantastic time and let’s face it if anyone deserves to get away and relax it’s you two. I was only saying to Henri the other night that I don’t think I’ve seen a happier couple.”
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