by Dan Proops
Edmund took Adam up to his cloister and adjusted the gold and white cloth that covered the table; he made some tea. Adam heard the kettle boil, and after some Earl Grey was poured into some china cups, Edmund settled opposite him and asked him if he could recall some past events that might dilute his rage towards his father. Adam looked back through the black gauze of deception to more positive memories: the way Darius had supported him when Sarah first went missing, and the love he was given as a young boy growing up. His father had always done his best to encourage him in any pursuits he saw fit to follow, until the harrowing days when Darius watched his wife’s body atrophy from cancer.
Edmund listened with pristine attention, and an almost imperceptible smile formed in the corner of his mouth. After a sip of tea, he said Adam should try and focus on these things when the vitriol invaded his mind. And then he spoke about the nature of time and his voice rolled over the cliché of its healing properties, and that he should concentrate on his artwork and enjoy the relationship with Eva.
As usual, Adam felt better after seeing his friend. He’d make some attempts at the suggestions offered him. They spoke of other things including Edmund’s childhood, brought up by kindly parents that lived deep in the countryside; he’d spent his youth chasing butterflies with a net, flying kites, and playing with friends near a lake.
Eva was doing well with her flute and her teacher was pleased with her progress. She was planning to stay in London permanently. She encouraged Adam to get out of bed earlier, and some days he was able to be at the window with his coffee and toast by eleven. It took her a while but, with persistence, she encouraged him to go to the studio. Slowly, and with reluctance, Adam returned to his work.
The days at the studio were fruitless at first, but as time drew on they became more productive and he was able to create some work he was proud of. He began an ambitious project: he bought a large block of wood, and inside the block, waiting to be born was the Garden of Eden. The first thing that took shape was a tree: the tree of knowledge.
Nigel came round to the council flat on Wednesday afternoons to play chess and they’d sit for hours discussing and analysing their games. One afternoon he arrived with more toothpaste. Adam laughed.
‘Nigel, I have enough toothpaste. Doesn’t it have a sell by date?’
‘A man can’t have enough toothpaste.’
‘I think you’ve repaid me a thousand times regarding toothpaste.’
‘Okay. I found a new book by some Russian master. It’s all about the early game; we can learn tons from it.’
‘Looks interesting, Nigel.’
‘It is. Look at this sacrifice move; it’s awesome.’
Nigel showed him the heavy book, turned to a page, showed Adam a complex diagram and asked some questions about the move. They set up the pieces and, as afternoon sunlight streamed in from the window, the pawns, kings and bishops cast long shadows across the board. Nigel attempted a joke about three donkeys and a dustman. He’d fallen into the habit of telling absurd jokes during the games; as his play improved his humour became worse. Nigel was in a jovial mood as he’d found work at a bank in the city.
‘Darius misses you. Are you going to call him?’
‘Not for a while. Not at the moment.’
‘He’d be thrilled to get a call from you. He’s very depressed. It’s hard to get him to go for his walks.’
One afternoon Adam made a trip to the Soldier’s Arms to read, and to ponder the predicament regarding his father. And images of Sarah appeared as if he were looking through a viewfinder: seeing her walking in Prospect Park, hand-in-hand with Oliver on one side and Maddie on the other, and they were laughing together under a setting sun. As he opened his book to escape, Mr and Mrs Smith approached. Mrs Smith had bought Adam a new present: a lamb to go with the sheep; she was especially pleased as her gift had both eyes and would keep the sheep company. Mr Smith sighed as his wife handed Adam the present.
‘He doesn’t need these little animals,’ Mr Smith said.
‘Nonsense, he liked the sheep. You liked it, didn’t you, Adam?’
‘Yes, and I like the lamb too. I keep the sheep next to my bed on a side table.’
‘I’m so glad, Adam. I’m pleased my presents mean something to you.’
Mrs Smith was smiling, and she rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder.
‘They mean a lot to me, your presents. Thank you.’
The Smiths hovered for a while, then said goodbye and left the Soldier’s Arms. Adam read for a while and, after finishing some whiskies, he made his way back to his flat.
Edmund had been right about the time issue and over the following months Adam’s resentment towards his father had softened. He made another visit to Edmund and they smoked and drank tea. They entered his cloister with the unlit fire and the old pictures of Earl’s Court. Adam went into greater detail about the trips to New York and his grovelling visits to Brooklyn, chasing phantoms created by Darius.
‘Do you think he did it to be cruel?’ asked Edmund.
‘No. But it felt like it. But you were right about the time thing. I don’t feel as angry as I did.’
‘That’s great. Maybe you’re a little closer to making up with him.’
‘I don’t hate him anymore, to be honest. I feel sorry for him.’
‘Sounds like you’re beginning to forgive him.’
‘Maybe. Thanks for being such a wonderful person and a good friend.’
‘Pleasure’s all mine, Adam.’
Adam left the church, uplifted. He tried to envisage a meeting with Darius, how he’d feel when he laid eyes on him, and wondered if the resentment would remain hidden or if it would reappear when they met. He thought of Edmund’s kindness as he made his way back to his council flat.
The next morning, Adam went to the hospital; he’d spent some time in the florist choosing a flower he thought Cassandra would appreciate: a white orchid with a bright green stem. The silent television displayed flowing fields, the sun low and pale on the horizon. He walked past it and approached the desk. A nurse was typing, her neck craned as she peered at her monitor. And another was writing some notes. Adam cleared his throat. The nurse who’d been writing looked up to him, her face serious, and then she smiled weakly.
‘Hello, Adam.’
‘Morning. Can I see her now?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘I’ll go to the waiting room then, thanks.’
The nurse stood up and took Adam’s hand. He was becoming impatient and then he noticed the sadness in the nurse’s eyes. He withdrew his hand and repeated his request to see Cassandra. The nurse asked him to follow her. She led him into a small room with a desk and a chair. He sat down. And he knew. He knew because her eyes looked plaintive and she’d not been so serious before. And he knew because she’d brought him to this insignificant little room. He was certain about it before she spoke, and he wished he could stop her from speaking. The plastic around the orchid was caught in a breeze from a window.
‘I’m sorry, Adam. She died last night. In her sleep.’
Finding it difficult to find words, he asked her if she wanted to keep the orchid. She said it was very beautiful, then said, ‘Cassandra meant a lot to you.’ He nodded and held out the orchid and the nurse took it and said it would brighten up her desk. She said there were people he could talk to; people that might help him deal with the loss. He said he didn’t want help. He left the room and averted his eyes when he passed Cassandra’s old room.
Adam went to the funeral with Eva by his side. He cried, overlooking the coffin as it was lowered, as he thought of her corpse, and the life it had breathed before she’d been taken from him. It was a warm afternoon, and the field of stone was drenched in sunshine. After the mourners left and the last words from the priest were uttered, he stood near the grave holding a bouquet of blue flowers wrapped in paper. Eva was silent and waited. Adam felt the warmth of her hand. He knelt down and placed the flowers beside the grave.<
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‘Rest, my dearest friend. I don’t know where He took you, but you’ll always live in me.’
He wiped the earth from his trouser leg, and his mind was on the past. Eva was quiet, but rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist, and he was safe there, held steady by the touch of her arm.
‘Eva, it’s time to go, isn’t it?’
‘If you feel ready.’
‘I’m ready.’
They walked through the graveyard, with tombs decorated with columns and lintels and stone angels. The wind blew gently though tall oaks that lined the tarmac paths threading through to a wider path. It led to a busy road, where they found a café. Adam’s face lacked emotion, as did his voice, as he asked her what she wanted to drink.
‘I’ll have a whisky,’ she said.
‘Good. I’ll have one too.’
As Eva spoke of a challenging lesson with Mr Schmidt, Adam thought of Cassandra and their meeting in the library when he’d fallen for her. He thought of them walking on hazy summer afternoons through the tall grasses of Richmond Park, and her intelligence, compassion and generosity. Her face appeared vividly in his mind, then faded. Eva’s voice cut through his thoughts.
‘Adam, you seem a million miles away.’
‘Sorry. I was thinking of Cassandra. The funeral upset me.’
‘C’mon, let’s get out of here. We can relax at your place with some magazines and kisses.’
So they left, and Adam tried to encourage Eva regarding her lesson with Mr Schmidt. She said she was improving but her teacher was a hard taskmaster. Then, as the afternoon sunshine caught the side of her face, she smiled and nestled her head on Adam’s shoulder as they walked.
The next morning they were lying in bed. Adam was lying on his back, his arms crossed behind his neck, gazing at the ceiling. Eva went to make coffee.
‘I’m going to call Darius. I’m going to meet him.’
‘Good on you, Adam. That news has cheered me up so much I’m going to play my flute for a while.’
Adam left the flat and, as he made his way through the roads of the estate, a cornucopia of emotions fought within him, and they were eclipsed by a strong feeling of apprehension. As he made his way to the Underground, a sharp pain appeared in the back of his neck. He arrived in Earl’s Court and his stomach was flushed with nausea as he made his way past the mansion blocks to Darius’s flat. Adam was sitting with his father in the front room. Nigel had left discreetly. For weeks Darius had been walking every day and had been supported by Nigel, who’d been kind and compassionate.
When Adam sat opposite his father, he noticed the wet glimmer on the rims of Darius’s eyes. He was wearing a stained shirt, some old trousers, and his long coat was wrapped around him. A dull light from the window drifted through the net curtains. Darius was silent as he looked at the floor, avoiding his son’s eyes. His face was solemn. The clock’s second hand could be heard, and Darius’s breathing was wheezy and broken. He looked up to his son.
‘Adam, the last few months have been torture. I was burdened by guilt when she went missing. And now I have new guilt, as I hurt you. I became obsessed with it all—the letters, keeping everything together, making sure you believed she was alive. I did it out of love at first, and I ... ’
‘I do love you Dad, and I think I always have. I don’t think you meant to be cruel, but that’s how it felt when I found out, that it was cruel.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be cruel, I promise. Sometimes I had my doubts about what I was doing, but I was in too deep by then. After I wrote the first letters I couldn’t turn back: I was too frightened you’d find out. And then madness overtook me, as I started believing that she was alive. I wanted her back as much as you did.’
Darius looked at his son. There was a weak smile and a pleading in his eyes as he looked for forgiveness. Then a tear dropped, then another, and he took his stick and prodded the carpet, slowly, and then again, with more force. The blows came faster, his face contorted, his black eyes on the stick; then came another collision and a crack as the cane fractured. Darius threw the broken stick into a corner.
He stood up, holding the top of the chair for balance, unsteady on his feet.
‘Oh God, Adam, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling son. The pain and guilt will never leave me. Please love me. Please tell me you do. I can’t lose another child. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I just can’t –’
‘Dad, I do love you, but you caused me a lot of pain.’
‘I was an idiot to think I could make things better. I’m a ruined man. There’s nothing left in me. I want to die; I want to die Adam.’
Darius fell back into the chair and his face fell low, almost to his chest. He was pulling at his hair slowly. Adam went to him, knelt, and laid his head in his father’s lap. Darius rested his hand on his son’s head.
‘Dad, I want you to stop it. Don’t destroy yourself.’
‘Why would you want a pathetic wretch like me?’
Adam returned to his chair and crossed his legs. He leant forward a little. His emotions were now conflicted and twisted like a mass of metal wires. The feelings of resentment welled up but were quelled by the love he had for Darius. Adam cleared his throat and said:
‘My only wish is for you to forget all about this thing you’ve done. Do that for me. It’s my only request.’
‘I don’t know how. I’d take a razor to my wrists if I had one. I’d like to see my blood flow.’
Darius’s face was wet from tears. With a sleeve he wiped saliva from his mouth. His head was tremulous, shaking, his attempted affection rushing in the flood of self-recrimination.
Adam lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. He didn’t know what to say or how to act or how to feel. His efforts to console his father were abortive, as Darius seemed determined to blame himself. Adam inhaled, then exhaled with a sigh; how could he help a man who was determined to turn to self-blame, to crack the whip across his back? Darius was adept at self-harm, using the many facets of guilt to achieve it. He was slumped back in his chair, his face no longer showing anger, but defeat. His arms were loose, hanging down beside the arms of the chair. He gazed with dull eyes at the floor and his glasses reflected the grey light from the window. It was raining, and the wind was loud against the window, the wood shuddering in its frame.
‘Dad, I can’t help you if you’re determined to torment yourself with guilt and all that shit.’
‘How can I stop hating myself?’
‘By seeing the truth. By seeing things as they are. You did something without thinking it through and got drawn into it.’
‘I suppose I’ve done something right, as you’re such a kind person. I’m grateful for your words and maybe, in time, I could let it all go. And I’ve been walking every day.’
The shadows left Darius and looking down at the carpet, he allowed himself a smile, then he looked back up to his son. He said he was walking two hours a day, sometimes with Nigel, sometimes alone. He’d found independence and had left the security of his bed.
‘It’s good I go for those walks, isn’t it? I like Nigel being around, and I make all my own food now. That’s good too, isn’t it?’
‘It’s great. C’mon, no more self-pity. Will you try?’
‘Yes, Adam, I will. You can move back in here anytime you want.’
‘I’m going to stay in my council flat, but I’ll come round a lot. Eva’s been very supportive. I want to make more artwork. I want to be successful.’
‘I’m sorry about Cassandra.’
‘Let’s not talk about that.’
Darius went to his son and sat next to him. He said how lucky he was to have someone like him in his life and promised to try and stop the self-blame. He said he was proud to have a son with the determination to succeed with his work. Adam stood up and said he had to go. He said Darius would play a part in his future if he was able to forget the past. This was met with an agreement. Adam kissed his father on
the forehead, and then left.
On his way back to his flat there was some release from the toxicity that had racked his mind and body, but he’d have to accept that the wounds Darius caused may never heal. But as he made his way home, he remembered Edmund’s words, and thought there may be some truth to his comments about the healing passage of time. As he turned into his estate, he lit a cigarette, and as the smoke rose, he looked up to the seventeenth floor and thought of Eva and the support she’d offered him. As he pushed the button of the lift he extinguished the cigarette, then leant down, made sure it was cold, then imitating Edmund’s actions, put the stub in his pocket to avoid littering the estate.
A week later he was lazing next to Eva, reading the Sunday papers. She asked if she could play a new piece for him, and he nodded and said, ‘I’d love to hear it.’ Wearing a white bathrobe she went to the window and looked out across London. She turned to him and played and the music filled the room, and Adam saw the concentration on her face as she tried to play as best she could. Her standards were high and she was only satisfied if she played brilliantly. Adam was at peace: he was working hard at the studio and now, resting in the warm bed, he had Eva, her beauty, music and lovemaking. She stopped playing when his mobile went.
‘Hello, is this Adam Barnes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Dunno whether you remember me—my name’s Walker. I worked on Sarah’s case but I’m retired. I wondered if I could come round?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Let’s speak when I come. Are you around this afternoon?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘What’s a good time, Adam?’
He gave his address, arranged a time, then hung up. His heart plummeted and his other internal organs followed as if the force of gravity had become stronger. He gazed out across London and saw the late sunshine behind some distant buildings, and some others gilded in the glow it produced.
Adam bit his lip until he drew blood, and wiped it away with the back of his hand. He sighed, a long protracted sigh. His hands were clenched by his sides and he felt the tension in his knuckles, and the nails pushing into palms. And then heat rose up the back of his spine and engulfed his neck and face. He unfurled his hands and, as the last of the sun fell to a hazy horizon, he lit a cigarette, and was glad for the comfort of the smoke as he inhaled. A pain formed in his throat, and then he felt a swelling in his oesophagus like a growth, and he cleared his throat to try and rid himself of it. London fell into twilight, and Adam watched as lights appeared in a thousand windows; a handful of stars could be seen in a night sky. Then fear erupted and fled though him, and the end of the cigarette burnt his fingers as it withered down to a stub. He placed a palm on the cool glass, and then he was caught with the urge to punch his hand through the window. He pushed his lower lip into his mouth, bit down hard and tasted the sweet-sour taste of his blood. He took his palm from the cold pane of glass, and as more stars appeared Sarah’s face floated to the surface of his mind in perfect clarity; and he looked back to the night she’d left him in the restaurant wearing her red coat. And he wished he’d stopped her leaving, or had accompanied her, or had done anything that would have changed things.