A Risk Worth Taking

by Robin Pilcher

  “For heaven’s sakes,” Dan muttered.

  “The specialist said that it was early days and there was no way of knowing how fast the disease would develop. However, taking Patrick’s age into account, he said that it was more likely to be the progressive form of the disease rather than the relapsing remitting form, especially as he had already experienced some numbness in his limbs. Having said that, he felt that Patrick would have periods of remission at this stage and saw no reason why he shouldn’t just keep on working as normal. That, of course, came as music to Patrick’s ears. After that, he kept going harder than ever. I never tried to stop him, because I knew it was his release.”

  “How did it affect him?”

  “Once he was in remission, it didn’t at all, except that he would be exhausted at the end of a working day, but I was never sure whether that was a symptom of the disease or just because he was going at it all hours.”

  “Has he had a relapse?”

  “Yes, one about three months after the initial bout. That lasted for about three weeks, but again it didn’t seem to leave any permanent damage, so he just kept going on as normal. Then there was this brilliantly long period of remission when we almost forgot that he had the wretched disease.”

  “And that came to an end?”

  Katie nodded. “About five months ago, and this time, I’m afraid, he was left with acute weakness in both legs.”

  “Is there any chance that that’ll improve?”

  “The specialist didn’t say anything to Patrick, but he told me that I should expect that to be the norm from now on.”

  “Is he still working?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s nothing wrong with his brain. It’s just his body that doesn’t work too well. He has had to delegate a lot more work now, but I still take him into the office about three times a week, depending on how he’s feeling. But at other times”—she pointed over to the table in the window—“that’s where he works.”

  “Is there no treatment he can get?”

  Katie smiled. “Yes, but it’s all fairly unorthodox. He is in constant contact with this strange little lady who lives up near Spean Bridge. She’s a faith healer. The funny thing is that Patrick was such a sceptic before all this happened, but now he dotes on her every word.” Her smile faded. “Also, one of the boys from the factory drives him up to Inverness every fortnight where he goes into a hyperbaric chamber for about an hour.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s like a diving bell. I’m not entirely sure how it all works, but I know that it’s pressurized to a certain depth and then pure oxygen is pumped into it, and Patrick sits there like a goldfish, getting extremely bored.” She pushed herself away from the towel rail. “In fact, that’s where he’s been this morning. He feels absolutely knackered when it’s all over, so, more often than not, he goes to bed when he gets home. That’s why I went upstairs when we arrived. He gave me strict instructions to wake him at two o’clock.”

  Dan blew out a long breath. “What a hell of a pressure you must have on you at the moment.”

  “Well, life is certainly not as easy as it was. I’ve had to juggle my time as best I can, keeping Vagabonds going and trying to look after Patrick and getting the children to and from school. But it really wasn’t working, and that’s why I decided to sell my business. And then, of course, Patrick is a completely different person.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, he can be morose, insufferably bad-tempered, and he gets extremely frustrated at his inability to carry out even the simplest tasks. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Of course,” Dan replied, wishing that he hadn’t asked such a blatantly stupid question. He glanced across at Sooty on her sofa. “What about the children? How have they reacted to it all?”

  “Max, I think, understands that Patrick is quite ill. He hasn’t really changed in any way towards his father, which is a good thing, but he has become very tactile and loving towards me. I think he’s just trying to lend his support in the best way that he can.”

  “And Sooty?”

  “I don’t think that she’s really taken it in. The innocence of youth, no doubt. She just calls her father Mr. Wibbly Wobbly.”

  “It’s that bad, is it?”

  Katie walked towards the door that led to the stairs. “You’ll soon see for yourself.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  Katie smiled back at him as she opened the door. “No thanks. We’ve got a good routine going.”

  12

  Jackie stood, suitcase in hand, on the pavement outside the house in Haleridge Road and watched until the taxi had reached the bottom of the avenue, turned the corner, and disappeared from sight. She turned her gaze to the house and let out a deep sigh. She couldn’t remember feeling this way since the days when she had had to go back to boarding school after a long, carefree holiday. The journey back from Paris had been wonderful, but the stone of foreboding had been sitting heavily in her stomach from the moment that she had got out of bed that morning. And now she was here. Back to reality.

  She took in a nervous breath and opened the gate, and taking the house key from her pocket as she walked up the short path, she pushed it into the lock and opened the door. She was relieved that the house seemed quiet. She didn’t bother to call out, but dropped her suitcase in the hall and walked along the passage to the kitchen.

  Battersea Gran was standing at the sink when she entered, scrubbing away at a pot with a Brillo pad, unaware of Jackie’s presence. The dogs, however, caught sight of her and Biggles let out a deep throaty bark before sidling over to greet her. The pot clattered into the sink and Battersea Gran turned quickly, a look of fright on her face. She clasped a pink rubber-gloved hand to her bosom. “Oh, Jackie, it’s you! What a terrible shock that dog gave me!”

  Jackie shot her the thinnest of smiles. “Are you all right?”

  Battersea Gran leaned a hand against the sink. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Just set the old ticker thumping a bit.”

  “Why not have a seat for a moment?”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she replied, returning to her cleaning duties on the pot. “I’ll just get this all cleared away for you.”

  Jackie took off her coat and dropped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  “So, how was Paris?” Battersea Gran asked.

  Jackie immediately felt the guilt well up from some hidden place in her subconscious and prickle at her cheeks. She turned and pretended to sift through some unopened letters on the table. “Fine.”

  “That’s nice, then,” her mother-in-law replied, bending with a degree of effort to put the pot away in the cupboard below the sink.

  Jackie brought herself under control. “Is Dan not here?”

  “No, dear, he’s away at the minute.”

  Jackie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘away’?”

  “He’s in Scotland, dear,” Battersea Gran replied, pulling off her rubber gloves. “He went up there last night.”

  “Scotland? What on earth is he doing in Scotland?”

  “I’ve no idea. He just rang me on Sunday night and asked if I could come over and look after the kids because he had to go to Scotland.”

  “But he doesn’t know anybody in Scotland.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, dear, but he must have gone up there for some good reason.” She cast a quick glance around the kitchen before walking through to the hallway.

  “When is he going to be back?” Jackie called after her.

  “Tomorrow, or maybe the next day. He wasn’t very sure.”

  Letting out a sigh of incomprehension, Jackie leaned her bottom against the kitchen table and folded her arms. Battersea Gran came back into the kitchen, tucking in a scarf at the neck of her pink raincoat.

  “Where are you going?” Jackie asked.

  “Home, dear.” She took a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. “I’ve made a nice steak pie for the girls, a
nd—”

  “But you can’t go home yet,” Jackie cut in, her voice rising in agitation.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean, what about tomorrow?”

  “Well, you’re back from your travels now. You’ll surely be able to look after the place now.”

  “But I can’t! I’ve got to go to work.”

  Battersea Gran gave her a broad smile. “Oh, I’m sure you can phone in to say you’re going to be a little bit late.”

  “Gran, I cannot afford to be late,” Jackie snapped at her. “This is probably the busiest time of the year for me. You simply cannot go.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry, dear, but I am going.”

  “But . . . what about the dogs?”

  Battersea Gran eyed the two dogs, both of whom had skulked away to their baskets the moment that Jackie had raised her voice. “Ah, yes. I can see that they might be a bit of a problem. Well, never mind”— she reached up and gave Jackie a peck on the cheek— “I’m sure that you’ll be able to work something out.” She turned and made her way towards the door, only to have her exit blocked by Jackie.

  “Please, Gran, you can’t go.”

  “But I must, dear. I have to make tea for a residents’ meeting tonight.”

  Jackie stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her mother-in-law bustle along the passage to the hall. “Did Dan put you up to this?”

  Battersea Gran turned, a questioning frown on her brow. “Now, what could you mean by that?”

  “It was Dan, wasn’t it? He said to you that I would be home tonight and that I would be able to look after the kids.”

  “No, that’s not right, dear. I don’t think you told him when you were going to be home.”

  “I did tell him!”

  “Well, in that case, he never told me.” There was more than a sense of finality in Battersea Gran’s reply. She picked up her handbag from the hall table, opened the front door, and left the house.

  Still standing with arms folded, Jackie leaned her head against the doorframe and closed her eyes. “You bastard, Dan Porter. You damned bastard!”

  She turned and walked back into the kitchen, and the dogs cringed when she glowered in their direction. She went over to the fridge, tugged open the door, and took out the cellophane-wrapped steak pie of Battersea Gran’s making. As she thrust it into the oven and turned on the dial, the telephone rang. She sprang to it and picked it up.

  “Hullo?” she asked irately. She moderated her tone as soon as she heard the voice. “Oh, hi, it’s you. . . . Yes, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been left up the creek without a paddle by my mother-in-law. . . . Because Dan’s gone off to Scotland for some reason and I’ve been left to deal with the kids and the dogs. . . . No, I can’t. Millie and Nina will be back at any minute. . . . I know, I would like that too. . . . It was great. I really enjoyed myself. Thank you for everything, Stephen.”

  She put down the telephone, and for the first time since entering the house, a broad smile spread across her face.

  13

  He entered the kitchen slowly, his weight resting heavily on two walking sticks. He shuffled painstakingly past Katie, who stood holding the door open for him, and drew his arm sharply away from the touch of her outstretched hand. Dan could tell by the look on her face that it had always intended to be more a caring gesture than a supportive grip. He was a couple of inches shorter than Dan, but built as powerfully as a rugby prop forward, and the rolled-up sleeves of his checked shirt showed off muscles that bulged at the effort of keeping himself on his legs. His features were pallid, but bore signs of having been, at one time, healthily weather-beaten, and although his unbrushed mop of brown hair was thinning on the crown, Dan could not detect one hint of it going grey.

  It was his eyes, however, that struck Dan as fascinating. There was an incredible brightness about them, and he could read in them a spirit of adventure, a sparkle of wicked humour, and a wildness at the injustice of being struck down in his prime by such a disabling disease.

  Katie moved between them. “Patrick, this is Dan Porter from London.”

  “All right, just hang on a minute. Let me just get myself organized before I say hullo.” It came out as an irascible retort, making Dan turn instinctively to watch for Katie’s reaction. But she never broke her gaze away from her husband, and Dan could read only love and concern in her expression.

  Patrick moved slowly over to the window seat and leaned heavily on the table while he hooked the sticks onto the back of a wooden chair. He edged himself round and sat down heavily. Blowing out with the effort, he ran his fingers through his hair and smiled up at Dan.

  “Nice to meet you, Dan,” he said, offering a hand. “Sorry about the delay in introductions.”

  Dan stepped forward and shook his hand, and immediately noticed that the zip on his faded yellow corduroy trousers was undone.

  “Good to meet you too, Patrick.” He shook the hand as gently as he could without it seeming that he was making allowances for the man’s condition. “Maybe I should tell you confidentially that your shop’s open.”

  Patrick glanced down into his lap and let out a disparaging guffaw. “Oh, bugger, I’m always doing that.” He began to struggle with the zip. “It’s a damned good thing that I don’t get out of the house much nowadays. No doubt living in this bloody politically correct country of ours, I’d have been arrested for public indecency about eight times by now.” He seemed to be making no headway with the zip. “Oh, bloody hell, Kate, can you do it?”

  Katie stepped forward and slid up the zip. “Watch the language, Patrick,” she murmured quietly, her face inches away from his. “Sooty’s over there on the sofa.”

  “Oops! Never saw her,” he said, smirking like a naughty schoolboy. “Hi, Soots, how’ve you been? Feeling any better?”

  Sooty ended her afternoon’s television watching with a long stretch. “Yes, fanks.” She climbed off the sofa and came over to her father and began to climb onto his knee.

  “Can you cope?” Katie asked her husband.

  “Of course we can, can’t we, Soots? As long as you don’t start bouncing.”

  Sooty leaned her curly black head against her father’s chest. “Have you been diving today, Wibbly?”

  “I certainly have. All the way down to forty feet, my girl. We’re only a stone’s throw from that wreck now, so it won’t be long before I bring up all that treasure and we’ll all be multimillionaires.”

  Patrick tickled his daughter’s tummy and she squealed with laughter. “Can we make Dan a multimillionaire too?” she asked her father.

  Patrick pushed Sooty gently off his knee. He looked up at Dan, a smiling glint in his eye. “Of course not! We don’t know him nearly well enough.”

  “Oh, please, Wibbly!”

  “Okay, well, let me interrogate him first and see if he’s a trustworthy sort of a bloke.” He pointed to the other side of the curved window bench. “Have a seat, Dan. I don’t like people standing in front of me. It makes me feel inferior.”

  “Come on, Sooty,” Katie said as Dan slid onto the bench. “Let’s put the kettle on.”

  Patrick shifted awkwardly around on his bottom and rested his elbows on the table. “So, I hear that your trip up here has been a bit abortive.”

  “You could say that. It was my fault entirely, though.”

  “Well, from what Kate says, it doesn’t sound like it. I think it’s high time that she had her ears syringed.” Katie turned from filling the kettle at the sink and stuck out her tongue at her husband, to which he reciprocated in similar fashion. “So, you worked in the City, then?”

  “Yes, for about twenty years.”

  “So you were there through the Big Bang.”

  “I certainly was. That’s when everything took off.”

  “And were you one of the infamous Dagenham boys that took the trading floor by storm?”

  Dan grinned. He liked the directness of this man. “No. I was from Tottenham Hale, but I
suppose my background was pretty similar to theirs.”

  Patrick seemed impressed. “Good for you. Nothing like taking the bull by the horns.”

  “We were lucky to be given the opportunity. I could quite easily have ended up working with my father in a north London metal works.”

  “But you didn’t, did you.”

  “No.”

  Patrick used both hands to shift a leg to a more comfortable position. “I’ve always thought that it must have been a pretty hairy business, trading on the floor. I mean, you must have been fairly young at the time, weren’t you?”

  “Early twenties.” Dan paused. “I suppose the best way I could describe it is like having one huge but permanent adrenaline rush. We worked hard and played hard. Well, most of the other guys did. I was more concerned with making as much money as I could and keeping hold of it so that I’d never have to return to Tottenham Hale again.”

  “If you enjoyed it that much, why give it up, then?”

  “Well, I never really gave it up. It gave me up. I was made redundant about fourteen months ago.”

  “But surely, with your experience, you could have got another job?”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  Patrick cocked his head to the side, waiting for Dan to continue. “So? Why not?”