‘I’m going to be late,’ said Walter, down the phone to his colleague Mark in the Department of Education in Bangor.
‘How late?’ Mark asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Walter.
‘That’s late. And it’ll also be two days in a row.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—’
‘No need to explain. Sixty-three per cent of people in Northern Ireland are employed by the Civil Service; they’re not going to miss Walter North for a couple of days. Besides, that’s what flexitime’s for.’
‘What about my work?’
‘Done.’
‘You did it for me?’
‘No, Walter, I moved it from the in-tray to the out-tray. Haven’t heard a complaint yet.’
‘Well, whatever you’re doing, thank you.’
‘No problem. How’s Carrot Cake Kate?’
‘It’s Margaret. And she’s still, you know …’ Walter trailed off. He was standing at a payphone in a hospital corridor. He hadn’t washed or shaved for three days. Margaret was in a private room - they were all private, of course, this being the Psyclops Surgeries, the most exclusive private hospital in Belfast - and hadn’t batted an eyelid yet.
‘I thought they found the culprit. I thought a carrot cake was arrested at the scene of the crime.’
‘They did. And they didn’t. Turns out she’s allergic to coconut carrot cake, which was responsible for half of the symptoms. The other half, and by far the most serious, were caused by a poison, a toxin with some very complicated name which somehow found itself embedded in the coconut carrot cake. A combination of things, really. Plus they say her cholesterol is quite high.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Yes, I am.’
Mark sighed. ‘Mate - what are you doing there? You hardly know her.’
‘I know. It’s just … hard to explain.’
‘What about her husband?’
‘They’re separated.’
‘Well, what does he say?’
‘Billy blows hot and cold. He loves her. And he hates her. He’s not too fond of me either.’
‘Why, has he said anything?’
‘No. But he scratched Fruit on my car.’
‘You’re sure it was him?’
‘Yeah. I think.’
‘Because pretty much anyone could have done that. It’s the popular opinion.’
‘You’re funny.’
‘Walter - he’s still her husband. Is it really helping to have you hanging around as well?’
‘I’m not hanging around. Not exactly. And even if I was, there’s hardly anyone else coming to see her. Billy comes twice a day, at visiting time, just after lunch and just after dinner. He’s an accountant, Mark, he sticks to the rules. Rest of the time I have her to myself.’
‘You have her to yourself? Have you heard yourself lately?’
‘I don’t mean it like that. I’m just trying to help. The nurses don’t mind. When Billy’s here I make myself scarce. I just sit with her. Read her the paper. Vogue. Did I tell you she’s a fashion designer?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘And the swelling is starting to go down. And her colour’s a lot better.’
‘But she hasn’t woken up.’
‘No. But the body’s a wonderful thing, apparently. It’s healing itself.’
‘Anything to stop it waking up and healing itself?’
‘I don’t know, Mark.’ Walter sighed. ‘I know this is crazy.’
‘I didn’t say you were crazy.’
‘It’s just like - you know sometimes late at night, and you start watching a movie, and you’re knackered, and you just want to go to bed, but you have to know what happens in the end, so you have to stay up, and even though the movie’s really, really bad, and you can guess what’s going to happen, you still have to stay up? Do you know that feeling?’
‘Yes, Walter. You know what I would do in that situation?’
‘No.’
‘I’d set the video. You know, find out in the morning.’
‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep for thinking about her. And at least part of me would think that they’d somehow change the ending of the movie if they knew I wasn’t watching. To something sad.’
‘Let me take that back. You are crazy. But I think that if I was in a coma, I would be pleased to learn later that you’d kept watch over me.’
They were both silent for half a minute.
Then Walter said, ‘If you were in a coma, I wouldn’t bother.’
Walter was dozing next to Margaret’s bed when there was a gentle knock on the door and a man in an impressive-looking uniform appeared. He looked like he belonged to a branch of the armed services that hadn’t been invented yet. Walter thought he might have come to throw him out, that they had twigged to the fact that he had only ever stood next to someone who was the next-of-kin.
‘Sorry to disturb,’ said the man. ‘Are you Billy?’
Walter shook his head.
The man extended his hand. ‘Name’s Kawolski. I work with Margaret.’
‘Walter. Come on in.’
Kawolski edged into the room. He had a big bunch of flowers and a card with him. ‘I’ll just set these …’ And then he looked at Margaret for the first time. ‘Oh dear God,’ he said.
‘She’s actually looking a lot better,’ said Walter.
Kawolski shook his head. ‘No one at work knew what happened. We were very worried.’
‘She’s getting better now.’
‘That’s good. Place isn’t the same without her. She’s a bit of a live wire. First thought I had when I heard she was in hospital, was that it was that Millie who done it.’
‘Millie?’
‘Aye, she got thumped by some Millie, caught her shoplifting. Her eye all swole up. Thought maybe it was concussion or something, delayed reaction.’
Walter shook his head. ‘It was a carrot cake.’
‘Aye. So I heard.’
They sat quietly for a few minutes.
‘Happen often, does it?’ Walter asked after a while. ‘Getting thumped?’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘Not something you associate with - you know, fashion.’
‘Everywhere, these days.’
‘Suppose.’
They lapsed into silence again. After five minutes Kawolski glanced at his watch, then stood up. ‘I should be off.’
Walter nodded.
Kawolski looked at the flowers, sitting on the end of the bed. ‘Should I … ?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort them out.’
‘Cheers, Walter. You’ll let her know, if she … when she … ?’
‘No problem.’
Kawolski smiled, then slipped out of the room, gently closing the door after him. Walter got up and lifted the flowers. He’d ask the nurse for a vase. He took the Get Well Soon card out of the envelope and went to set it on the locker beside Margaret. He opened it up so it could stand, and read the inscription: Margaret, thinking of you, get well soon, from all your colleagues at Primark Security.
Walter’s brow furrowed.
20
Nuns with Fashion Sense
The cafe in Psyclops Surgeries served fresh Italian breads and cream-filled scones and steaks with delicious pepper sauces. There were linen tablecloths that were changed after every meal. The maitre d’ was French with a slight Irish accent, or Irish with a slight French accent, depending on his energy levels and his commitment to the fraud. Walter spent most of his time by Margaret’s bed, but even though he was dog tired and had little appetite, he knew he had to eat something. He was a connoisseur of plain food, and this place was a little too rich for him, but he had no choice but to dine at the Ristorante Piccoli. It was either that or the McDonald’s franchise in the Children’s Wing, but the security there was overbearing, and it was a little too far away from Margaret’s room.
He was halfway through his first course when Billy arrived, scanned the res
taurant and spotted him. For one terrifying moment, Walter feared that Billy had come to tell him that something awful had happened to Margaret, but then, after the briefest moment when their eyes met, Billy continued to scan the rest of the room. But the cafe was packed and there were no other seats. He came up and stood by the chair opposite Walter.
‘Is this free?’ he asked.
Walter nodded. As Billy sat, Walter said, ‘Better the devil you know, eh?’
Billy stared blankly at him and lifted a menu.
‘How is she?’ Walter asked.
‘Don’t know, haven’t been down yet.’
Walter checked his watch. Normally Billy arrived dead on the start of visiting time, and left on the first ring to signal it was over. ‘You’re early.’
‘Traffic was unusually light.’
A waiter approached, and Billy ordered a small bowl of pasta and an exotic-sounding dessert.
‘Ah yes,’ said the waiter. ‘The carrot cake.’
As he hurried away, Walter said, ‘I hope they make it here.’
‘Why?’ asked Billy.
‘Well - you know what happened to Margaret.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Walter continued eating. Billy looked everywhere but across the table. His pasta and then his carrot cake arrived quickly, and the dessert then became the focus of his attention. Walter would have been quite happy to leave the unsmiling accountant to his own devices, but there were things he needed to know about Margaret. He set his knife and fork down. He dabbed his lips on a linen napkin, which had an embroidered eye in the corner. ‘So,’ he began quite nonchalantly, ‘Margaret works in Primark.’
‘Uhuh.’
‘In security.’
‘Yeah.’
‘She enjoy that?’
Billy shrugged. He cut another forkful of carrot cake, but then paused. He looked up at Walter. ‘She didn’t tell me she was working there. One Saturday afternoon I was in buying some new gunks, and she suddenly shouts behind me, “Freeze! Put down the pants and raise your hands!” and I nearly had a heart-attack. Why would you embarrass anyone like that? And then when I was leaving the shop she gave out over the tannoy, “Missing you already”. Everyone was looking at me.’
Walter studied Billy’s face. He was still angry about it.
‘Perhaps she was just having a laugh,’ said Walter.
‘More like making a show of me.’
Walter wondered how they had ever got together in the first place, and for a brief moment he considered asking. But when he thought about it, he realised that although he did want to know, he didn’t want Billy’s take on it, for it would surely be suffused with anger and bitterness. He would much prefer to hear it from Margaret herself.
‘I had thought she was a fashion designer,’ said Walter.
‘Aye - in her dreams.’ It was heavy with sarcasm. ‘I’ve seen nuns with better fashion sense.’
‘I happened to see some of her designs.’
‘Yeah? So what?’
‘They looked quite good.’
‘Yeah. Right. Listen - when I’m drunk, I get up and do a bit of karaoke Rod. I don’t think I am Rod. I know who I am. Get the difference?’
‘Well, you know - a bit of encouragement mightn’t have gone amiss.’
Billy jabbed his fork at Walter. ‘She’s not your friggin’ wife, right?’
‘And she’s not yours either.’ He snapped it back almost without thinking.
Billy glared across at him. The pulse in the side of his head was visibly throbbing. His elbow was on the table, the fork still clutched in his left hand, but he raised one of his fingers and said, ‘See that? See that wedding ring? Long as that’s on there, she’s still my wife.’
‘I’m not sure if it works like that.’
‘You bet your sweet life it does. Put it this way: if she dies, it’ll be me carrying the coffin, not you, right?’
‘That’s nice.’
Billy shook his head. ‘You know something? First time I clocked you, I thought you were a big fat speccy clown. Now I know you are. And I don’t like you sucking round her. She probably hasn’t a clue who you are.’
Walter, mindful of the fact that Billy occasionally worked for gangsters and paramilitaries and was thus in Belfast street parlance ‘connected’, tried to calm the situation. Also, most of the other diners were watching them.
‘Look, we’re both tired …’ he began.
‘I’m not tired!’
‘Well, we’re stressed, concerned and worried, then.’
Billy finally put down the fork. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stood up. ‘Don’t you friggin’ tell me what I am, you speccy git. She’s my wife, you leave her alone.’ Then he threw his napkin down and strode away across the cafe.
As he reached the entrance, Walter shouted suddenly, ‘Billy!’
Billy stopped in the doorway and looked back. ‘What?!’
‘Missing you already.’
The man looked stunned. But just for a moment. Then his eyes blazed and he silently mouthed a series of expletives at Walter and gave him the fingers. Walter waved.
When Billy stormed out, Walter decided that he wasn’t really frightened of him. He wasn’t even convinced that he was ‘connected’. Billy was hurt and angry and bitter about his breakup with Margaret, but even though he tried to act tough, Walter believed that, like himself, inside every tough guy there was an accountant fighting to get out. It must have made it doubly hard if you actually were an accountant already. You’d have to act really tough …
21
The Quick and the Dead
Given the furious manner in which Billy had stormed out of the hospital cafe, Walter thought it was better to linger at his table for a while. He had only picked at his food. He put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his palm. He had barely slept for two nights, and it was dark again outside already. He closed his eyes. He imagined Margaret in her sickbed, surrounded by monitors, and her husband glaring down at her.
‘Put it this way: if she dies, it’ll be me carrying the coffin, not you, right?’
How could anyone say that? And especially about someone you professed to love.
‘Excuse me, do you mind if I sit down?’
Walter jerked upright. ‘Mmmm - what?’
A young nurse smiled down at him. ‘Is there anyone sitting here?’
‘No.’ Walter glanced quickly around the restaurant. It was considerably less busy than when he’d arrived, and there were a number of empty tables. The nurse looked vaguely familiar.
‘Food in here’s great, isn’t it?’
Walter nodded, aware of the half-eaten meal before him.
‘I just wanted a wee word.’ She gave a little laugh then. ‘It’s nothing to be worried about. You’re very devoted to her.’
Walter shrugged.
‘Not like that obnoxious bag of weeds down there now.’
Walter managed a smile. ‘He’s an accountant.’
The waiter smiled familiarly as he put a cappuccino down before her. ‘Cheers, Pepe,’ she said. He blushed, then lifted Walter’s plate and turned away. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘Sort of.’
‘We met the first day she was brought in. You said you weren’t next-of-kin, so I couldn’t let you in to see her. Then, when I came back on duty there you were, in with her, so I presumed the Sister had okayed it. But then just this afternoon she asked me who you were and if I’d checked you out.’
‘So here you are.’ Walter glanced around him. It was never going to be a case of making a dash for the exits. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault if their vetting procedures were lax. And he wasn’t entirely sure if the stalking laws applied if the subject of the stalking was in a coma. But still.
‘I’m not here to chase you away,’ she added gently.
‘You’re not?’
‘Nope. Wish I had a boyfriend like that. I just th
ought - you’ve been here three days straight, you can’t have slept much, you must be knackered. You know, it’s okay for you to go home. Get cleaned up.’
‘I’m starting to smell, you mean.’
‘No! I mean, you could just do with a … you know. Shower, and stuff.’
‘I am starting to smell.’
‘You just look a bit crumpled and homeless and they don’t really like to encourage that here. If you wanted to pop home, that would be all right - with her, I mean. She won’t mind. She won’t know.’
‘I’ll know.’
‘Well - give me your number, and I’ll phone if there’s any change.’
‘Look, I know I probably am a bit whiffy. But I just … can’t.’
The nurse smiled sympathetically. She reached out and patted his hand. ‘You must love her very much.’
Walter didn’t quite know how to react to that one. So he looked down at the table. The nurse got up - then sat down again. ‘Tell you what - if you’re absolutely determined to stay, you could have a shave and a shower here. I can slip your clothes into the laundry, it would only take an hour. Do you the world of good.’
This didn’t seem a bad idea at all. Except. ‘I don’t have a spare ...’
‘You don’t need a change of clothes, we’re coming down with pyjamas and dressing-gowns. Pop them on till yours are done. You’ll look just like one of our own. How about it? Might even get a free dinner out of it. What about that, eh?’
‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble at all, love.’
Walter’s clothes were taken to the laundry while he had a shave and shower. He returned to the corridor outside Margaret’s room, wearing his hospital-issue pyjamas, with an embroidered eye on the jacket pocket, a dressing-gown, with a large eye on the back, and the slippers, with an eye on either foot, and sneaked a peek through the glass panel in the door. Billy was standing at the foot of her bed, and even though Walter couldn’t see his face, he was sure he was glaring down at her, just as he had imagined earlier.
Walter thought that Billy probably just needed somebody to give him a bit of affection. A hug and an ice cream. But walking around with a face-ache like that was hardly going to attract anyone. Neither was accountancy, no matter how intriguing he managed to make it sound.
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