Maker of Footprints

by Sheila Turner Johnston

  “I didn’t say that. And why wouldn’t I see you again?”

  He didn’t blink as he replied. “Because I’d be dead, instead of waiting to die.”

  “Why?”

  A small white dog appeared from behind him and snuffled past, trotting between them. Paul watched it go, thinking. Then he stood and held out a hand to pull Jenna to her feet. He put his arms round her waist and held her loosely in front of him.

  “Let’s both be selfish, shall we? You tell me exactly what you feel – like you just did – and I’ll tell you how I feel.”

  “That’ll be a first.”

  He bit her nose lightly. “Yes, another one.” He turned round and started walking along the side of the lake, keeping his arm round her. Their feet crunched over the empty husks of beechnuts.

  “When Luther left that night, I decided to kill myself.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  He raised a finger to silence her. “I went up to the north coast and found a cliff. I sat on that cliff-top watching the breakers crashing over the rocks below. It was so high there were gulls below me the size of my thumbnail. I stayed there all night. I knew it could all be over very quickly. The scariest bit would be falling. Once I hit the rocks I wouldn’t feel anything more.”

  He stopped talking, waiting for her to say something. A flotilla of brown speckled ducks was following them, close to the bank. Small wakes fanned out on the water from their tails and overlapped. Their honking was surprisingly deep for such small birds.

  “Why didn’t you do it?”

  “I thought about it for days. I washed in streams and cafés. I was put out of the last one because I was looking like a tramp. I went to Gortin and lost myself in the forest.”

  They reached the end of the lake where there was a small bridge and stopped in the centre of it. The island in the centre of the lake was dense with trees and bushes. Birds preened and slept and foraged along the fringes by the water.

  “Did you go to Rossnowlagh again?”

  He gave her waist a little squeeze. “No. I don’t want to go there again without you.”

  She looked up at him. “Then we’ll go.”

  “Yes. Soon.”

  She was frightened to think what he meant by that. On an impulse she said, “How about staying in the hotel?”

  His nose crinkled as he smiled. “So you don’t want me to go away again then?” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Finally I decided to commit one last huge selfish act. A prize-winning selfish act. If it didn’t work, then I’d go back up north and jump.”

  She turned round to face him. “Did it work?”

  He took her face between his hands and tilted her head up. His eyes were almost black against the white of his sunken cheek, piercing her own with deep intensity. “Oh yes,” he breathed. “Oh yes.”

  There on the little bridge he kissed her. The new feelings stirred easily inside her and she reached up to pull him closer, moulding into his body with an instinct now loosened from its hiding place.

  When he broke away he kept her face close to his. “Luke was going to recover and I had made a bargain with some god or other. I said I’d trade my life for his. I’d accept what was going to happen to me if Luke recovered. I’d stop fighting.”

  “Oh, Paul…”

  “So when I met you in the car park at the hospital and you told me that Luke was going to be OK, it was like my death sentence all over again. And from your mouth.” She remembered that well, how he had reacted to the news. “And when Luther told me that Dianne had destroyed my baby, there was nothing left. He had taken the last of me. The very last of me.”

  She shook her head. “There was me.”

  “I knew that. But I didn’t want to do this to you. To do what I’m doing now; making you cry.” He hugged her and rested his chin on her head. “I went away to be noble and came back just as selfish as I’ve always been. I didn’t want your pity. I couldn’t stand that, Jenna.”

  She chuckled into his neck. “Don’t worry. I’m pitying myself more than you.”

  “So I decided to see if you loved me for who I was and not because of what will happen to me.” He pulled away and touched his forehead to hers. “You didn’t let me down. You don’t have to love me, but you do. I’ve made it as a human being.”

  She smiled gently, all her previous anger dissipated. “I’ve always known you weren’t an easy person to know. But I didn’t realise how complicated you are.”

  He pulled her close again. “Right now I’m not complicated at all.” His hand strayed down her back to stroke the curve of her thigh. He brought his lips close to her ear. “Let’s go home.”

  Outside the bay window, the street was dark now. Cars lined the kerb and light from the street lamps glinted on chrome and metal. On the other side of the road, a door opened and a woman was silhouetted as she stooped to put an empty milk bottle on her step. The small chink of the glass was loud in the empty dark. Several doors further up, a cat was sniffing at a car tyre. A gust of wind rattled a crisp wrapper along the footpath to trap it in a drain.

  Jenna was sitting on the floor of her sitting room, her back against the wall at one side of the bay window, her eyes above the level of the sill. In her hand was the wilted head of the daffodil. She had found it lying on the sofa. One petal had dipped in blood.

  She had left Paul asleep, sprawled over the whole of the bed. Fitting in around him was physically wonderful but not the best way to sound sleep.

  She flicked the limp flower in her fingers. Making love in the afternoon was rather different from drinking coffee in the coffee bar or studying in the library. Her world had moved; moved into a different plane, a new orbit. Every tree, every building, her home, her family, her friends, would always and forever be seen across the great gushing river of these days. Two nights ago she had stepped out from tradition, hesitation, principle. She had entered a new reality, a swirling vortex of freedom in which she had to find a new rudder, a new compass to navigate to a landfall that she did not wish to find.

  It was too late to retreat. Much too late.

  She dropped her head back and watched the cat stroll past the window. It sniffed a dandelion beside the lamp post and sneezed. It glanced round and saw Jenna at the window. For a moment its yellow stare fixed on her before it turned and padded across the street, tail flicking low.

  In sleep, Paul looked fragile and vulnerable. Had he always had this air of transience? It was hard to tell, hard to remember without the bias of new knowledge. But was it ever possible to imagine Paul as an old man? He burned a trail through life, unconstrained and pulsating with vitality. Such a desire for life could not be sustained. It had to burn out.

  In her imagination, the rain beat again on the roof of the old hut behind the manse as Paul looked bleakly through the dilapidated window at the rain sheeting across the field. It’s not all right not to know, he had said. Not all right at all.

  The door opened quietly and Paul came to her side. He had pulled on his black jeans. Above them his body was pale and smooth in the dusky light. Briefly he touched her head and then sat on the floor opposite her, back to the wall. He pulled up his knees and touched his bare feet to hers. She wriggled her toes against his and he smiled.

  “Hungry?”

  She patted her stomach. “Starving. But it’s too late to go out. I’ll raid the kitchen.”

  “What’s that?” He nodded at her fingers.

  She held up the daffodil. “A memory of last night. It’s got your blood on it.”

  “Keep it. It’ll be worth thousands when I’m dead.”

  She was silent for a moment, stroking the flower. “You said once it wasn’t all right not to know. When did you know for certain?”

  He rubbed his shoulder and left arm. “Christmas. I knew I would meet the doctor at the Butler’s house and I didn’t want to go. But you said I should, so I did.”

  A car started up across the street and headlights lit up the columns of parked v
ehicles. The car swung out and swept light and shadow across the room before it straightened to roar crazily away.

  “Don’t you have a doctor here?”

  “No.”

  “But how can you still be on the books of a doctor in London?” He opened and closed the fingers of his left hand. “He’s a friend.”

  “Is that who Toby is?”

  He nodded. “He’s a good guy.” He stopped fiddling with his hand and picked at the wall beneath the windowsill. “I refused to see him after they got the results of my tests back. He tried to talk to me but I didn’t…” he took a deep breath “… I didn’t want to know. He wouldn’t tell anyone else. He’s an honourable doctor.”

  “But he told you at Christmas?”

  He kneaded his upper arm again and tangled his toes with hers, watching but not really seeing them. “Do you remember when you were going to school? How hard it was to get up in the morning?” She nodded. “I remember it so well. I would think: I know I have to get up, but right now, I’m still in bed, warm and snug. Right now, in this instant of time, I’m not running for the bus, I’m not realising I forgot to do my Maths homework. I’d close my eyes tight and think: one more minute, even for one more minute, it’s not happening. And it was worth it.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “When Toby told me I wouldn’t see thirty, I froze. Then I closed my eyes tight and I said: one more month, two more months. Right now, I’m alive. I’m not in pain. Right now, it’s not happening.” Swiftly his legs curled under him and he was beside her, hugging her to him desperately. “Jenna, Jenna. Now I’m all grown up and I want to stay awake, not go back to sleep.”

  Both his arms were round her and his face was buried in her hair. He murmured, “I can’t do this alone. I can’t.” He kissed her hair. “And the worst of it is, I’ve found the best reason in the world for wanting to grow old. I want to grow old with you.”

  Locked together with him, Jenna realised that tonight he had opened all the doors; tonight she was at the centre, the very centre of his heart.

  34

  THE SILVER AND emerald of the long drapes formed a graceful frame to the high, narrow windows. Seated behind the desk, Toby’s neat figure was outlined against the light; he was leaning slightly forward, arms resting on the rich mahogany, hands clasped, and his gaze calm and neutral. Dianne slid into the leather armchair opposite him, one of two angled in front of the desk. She had known this room, this tall elegant building, for many years. As a child, she had marvelled at the high reaches of the ceiling and the curling, wandering flower mouldings round the lights and cornices. It was a room that, just like Toby himself, radiated wealth and care, ease and knowledge. Bad news and good news also. She held her Dior bag across her knees and placed her feet together.

  Toby inclined his head slightly. “Thank you for coming.”

  Dianne’s chin rose a fraction. “Why didn’t you call at the house? I would have seen you there.”

  “I would have been honoured. But alas, I have other people to see today also.”

  She caught his tone. “You’re cross with me, aren’t you?”

  “That’s irrelevant. I’m your doctor.”

  “So have you the results?”

  Toby placed a hand flat on a folder beside him on the desk. “I have.”

  Her heart, already beating harder than usual, began to thunder. “And?”

  Toby clasped his hands again and regarded her levelly. “I was very surprised you asked for this. I thought you were sure.”

  “I was. I am. It’s just… routine. Isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not routine at all. Are you sure you want this, Dianne? Have you thought it though?”

  “I asked for the test, didn’t I?” Then she faltered. “I need to know. It’s…” She looked down and fingered the strap of her bag. “It’s more that…” she looked up, “… I couldn’t live with not knowing for the rest of my life.”

  Still holding her gaze, Toby reached across and slid the folder to him, flicked it open.

  “Very well.” He would know the contents of the file very well, but ran his fingers across lines, which she could not read upside down. Two pigeons bickered on the windowsill behind him. He kept his eyes downcast as he read. “The child – the foetus – was female. And the father was the man from whom the samples of hair were taken.” His eyes swivelled up to her. “Luther Chevalier.”

  Almost white. One of the pigeons was almost white. It must be something to do with – genes. Toby’s fingers were now folded beneath his chin, thumbs stroking his beard at the jaw line. She could not read his expression. She realised she was staring at him, gathered herself and stood.

  “Thank you, Toby. I don’t think there’s anything else.” The room seemed smaller, stuffier. She turned towards the door, her head light.

  “Will you tell him?”

  Without turning back, she asked, “Who?”

  “Paul thinks you robbed him of his child. A much wanted child.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  She took a further step and was reaching for the door handle when Toby’s hand gripped her shoulder and swung her round. “Tell him!”

  Shocked at his sudden nearness and the change in his tone from clinical neutrality to a harsh insistence, she reacted angrily. “That’s my decision! Maybe I’ll tell him some day. When it doesn’t matter any more.”

  Toby took a deep breath and visibly controlled his features. “It matters now. Speaking as a friend, I ask you to tell him.”

  “And what about Luther?” Dianne’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so worried about Paul?” Toby’s eyes flickered momentarily. Dianne gave a sudden hoot of realisation. “You’ve still got a crush on him, haven’t you?” She wagged a finger. “He wouldn’t have you, would he? He told you to go to hell. But yes, he’s a hard man to forget.” She patted his cheek. He recoiled, his brows knitting into a silver line as she continued. “Lots of women have discovered that.”

  Toby walked back behind his desk and rested on his knuckles. “The decision is yours alone. I regret my lapse.” His chin dipped. “Good day, Mrs Shepherd.”

  Dianne swung on her heel to leave. Just as she closed the door behind her, Toby’s words slithered through the gap: “But now you have to live with knowing, all your life.”

  Jenna was in her dressing gown, rinsing breakfast dishes when the doorbell rang. On the step was a stack of cartons with a pair of legs in ripped jeans beneath them. The legs walked in and all the cartons fell in an untidy heap to cover the floor of the hall.

  “Max!”

  He swept his hair from his eyes. “You wanted boxes? Found these in a skip at the back of the shop near me.”

  She didn’t need them now, but she couldn’t deflate his obvious pleasure in having found them. “Thanks. That’s great. Did you carry them all the way here?”

  “Yeah. Lucky it’s not windy.” He swung one tattered trainer over the other and leaned casually against the wall. “So how’ve you been? How’s your brother?”

  “OK…”

  Max glanced up to fix on something beyond her right shoulder. He pushed himself upright, mouth hanging open. Paul was standing at the bottom of the stairs, beaming at Max. He was dressed only in a towel that hung low on his hips, his hair wet and drops of water glistening on his naked chest. He waved a hand at Max brightly.

  “Hi! Max, I believe? I’m Ignatius O’Malley.” He dropped down the last stair in bare feet and delicately picked a path through the boxes to Max, arm out to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  To Max’s credit, he took the hand offered. “Ig…?”

  “…natius,” beamed Paul. He turned to Jenna who was holding her breath. He wouldn’t! He did. He whipped the towel from his waist and began to dry his hair as he strolled to the sitting room and paused in the doorway. “Hope there’s plenty of water, old girl. Cormac’s in the shower now. Knowing him, there’ll be none left for Alexander.” He faced the front door again and flung the towel round his neck cheer
fully. Jenna couldn’t look at Max. “But then,” Paul went on, “Alex’s still asleep. I don’t blame him.” One eye crinkled into a deep wink at Jenna. “Quite a night, eh?”

  With that he swivelled his slim hips and shimmied into the sitting room.

  Max retrieved his eyebrows. “Who… what…?”

  Jenna opened the street door wide, keeping her face straight with difficulty. “Ignatius O’Malley. Anyway, thanks for the boxes; they’ll be most useful. Sorry I can’t ask you in.”

  Max hopped down the steps. “Yeah. I can see you’re busy.” He bestowed a glance of admiration on her. “Does your Dad know about this?”

  “Heavens no! It’s a big secret.”

  Max nodded knowingly and scuffed slowly away.

  Jenna leapt over the boxes and flung herself after Paul. “You menace!” she yelled.

  He held up the towel by one edge, knuckles shaking, and pretended to cower behind it. She snatched at it wildly. He made a bolt past her for the door, his laughter deep and throaty as he wrapped the towel round himself on the run. There was the sound of empty cartons being kicked out of the way as he fled through the hall and a sudden yell as his bare foot hit the box full of books by the wall.

  “Serves you right!” Jenna raced after him. His steps halted suddenly.

  He was falling, folding, sinking, almost gracefully, slumped sideways against the wall. His legs crumpled and Jenna thrust out her arms in alarm. She was in time to ease him down amongst the tangle of cartons and save his head from the full force of the floor.

  “Paul!” It was a call more than a scream, a cry from a depth of fright that had been hollowed in her silently, unknown, but awash with dread. His eyes were closed. She tossed boxes out of the way to lay him more comfortably. She grabbed his coat from the hooks on the wall and wrapped it round him. She put her own coat, with its fur trimming, gently under his head.

  When his eyes flicked open, relief made her head light. “What the hell happened?” His voice was stronger than she expected.