by Kit Eyre
We sat in silence for a few minutes, cold air bubbling through my tracksuit bottoms into my thigh while he passed the stick back and forth between his hands. A couple of nurses walked past, heading to the main gate for a cigarette, then a fresh gust of wind made me shudder. Dad spotted it and urged me back into the chair. He began wheeling me inside, though he hesitated on the threshold.
‘I’ll talk your mum round on one condition.’
I strained to look at him. ‘What?’
‘You ask for help when you need it. I know it’s not like you, love, but you can’t be that stubborn anymore. Do you hear?’
Chapter 41
July 2011
The B&B near Newark was nothing special.
Jude paid for both rooms then we huddled up in the lounge with a coffee each and an oak table between us. Sat amongst a collection of the world’s most boring teapots, it was surreal to think what had happened a few hours ago with Radison. Talking about it here was safe, even if the owner did keep shooting us furtive looks from behind her copy of The Daily Mail.
‘Do you think Lenora was right?’ Jude questioned abruptly.
I glanced up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Punishment,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Deserving it because I . . . Not because of us, but because of how I went about it. You were right the other night, when you called it harassment. Ironic, I know, given . . .’
‘No, listen, I was lashing out. I wanted it, Jude. You know I wanted it. You were a few steps ahead of me and I never really caught up, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t want it as much as you did. It was obvious, wasn’t it?’
A shy smile flitted across her face. ‘Yeah.’
I picked up my coffee, reclining in the lumpy red armchair. It was strange; seeing her like this. As AR Supervisor, she’d been friendly but aloof; when she was HR Manager, she’d been friendly then frosty after she’d figured out how she felt. The affair had been strictly on her terms, and, while I’d seen her at her most vulnerable, it struck me I’d rarely seen her relaxed. By rights, neither of us should be relaxed right now, but I couldn’t help it.
‘What?’ she queried and I realised I’d been staring.
I cleared my throat. ‘It wasn’t down to you, any of it. All you did was send a letter. You’ve done it hundreds of times, so have I. Harriet did exactly what she was meant to do when it was escalated. We weren’t at the home; we didn’t know what was going on. Lenora tried to cover her own back. It was down to her, Radison and Knight.’
‘Knight . . .’ Jude repeated. ‘If he’d turned up like he was meant to, none of this would’ve happened.’
‘You reckon Radison was telling the truth then? About him being on his way to Spain?’
She nodded. ‘It explains why, doesn’t it? We could never work out why he suddenly decided to let us go. This fits.’
‘We can’t prove any of it, though,’ I pointed out.
‘Not the neglect,’ she conceded.
‘It’s the reason why. That’s the bit that matters.’
Jude reached for her coffee, resting the mug between her palms. Her eyes flicked across the row of teapots to our left, all flowery porcelain that wouldn’t look out of place in a Gerbera home. We latched onto the same idea at the same time and glanced around for a familiar daisy. It was red, not orange, but it glistened underneath the spotlights fixed above the shelves. I looked back to Jude and she met my eye.
‘Maybe there’s something else that matters to Vincent Knight,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
She licked a bit of froth from her lips. ‘Vincent Knight.’
Every time I turned over, the mattress swallowed me up into another crater.
It was barely ten o’clock, but I’d exhausted conversation with Jude hours ago. A trip to the nearest pub for some chargrilled burgers and fries had given us a bit more to talk about, then we’d been stuck in the lounge with silence stretching between us and the other guests peering over their Scrabble board. I’d finally made my excuses and drifted up to my bedroom, only to find out that my mind wouldn’t shut off when my head hit the pillow.
If it wasn’t Radison, it was Jude. I went from shuddering at the memory of his blood seeping onto the wall to feeling her tongue toying with mine as she pressed me up against that tree. Vying with that was the recollection of snuggling up with Gemma just last night and Harriet’s insistence this morning that I stopped messing her around. It already felt like a lifetime ago, not twelve hours, and the whole day hurtled in a loop through my mind.
On the street outside, a car roared past. I sighed and twisted onto my back, staring at the pockets of gloom on the ceiling. My leg throbbed, but it was the ache higher up that prompted me to roll out of bed. The carpet prickled the soles of my feet as I limped across to the chair. I grasped my stick and edged to the door without turning the light on.
The landing was illuminated by two bulbs nestled in patterned shades. They cast shadowy webs onto the walls that swayed as I shuffled along the corridor. I hesitated when I reached the door and I hesitated ready to knock, but two short raps and Jude tugged it open.
She was dressed in those same lime green pyjamas from Stirling, although this time they made me smile. I struggled to suppress it, even as she rolled her eyes and let me past. The door clicked shut and I found myself hovering in the middle of a room exactly like mine, down to the crooked elephant picture beside the window.
‘The pyjamas looked good on the hanger,’ she explained, crossing her arms.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
She motioned in the vague direction of the beige armchair. ‘Sit down.’
I stared at it for a moment then limped towards the bed instead. It was as narrow as mine, although it didn’t have the same dip in the middle. I propped my stick up against the bedside table and slipped on top of the rumpled duvet. My leg caught on the edge of the mattress, bringing out an involuntary hiss. Jude stepped towards me then halted.
‘What sort of pain are you in?’ she asked.
‘If I keep up with my physio, it’s not too bad.’
‘And how are you doing with that?’
‘Not great,’ I admitted.
She took another step forwards and, when I didn’t protest, slipped onto the bed beside me. It was a squeeze, but she we fit snugly side by side. Ahead of us, the wallpaper rippled under the dim lights. I concentrated on that, mainly to stop myself wondering about the implications of her right leg being pressed up against my left.
‘I should feel guilty,’ I said finally.
Her eyes drifted over to me.
‘Whether or not I caused it, I was still there, wasn’t I? I – I watched him fall, I saw the second that he wasn’t there anymore. I should feel guilty. And I don’t. It’s like there’s this switch inside and I can’t feel anything. He’s lying in that house, and I don’t feel anything. What’s wrong with me?’
Jude swallowed before resting a hand on my leg. ‘I’ve often thought I was lucky. Apart from the pictures and what was in the papers, I didn’t see any of it. All I remember was being in the car park one minute then waking up in hospital. You were out there, you saw it.’
I nodded.
‘Have you ever talked about it?’
‘A little, not much. I mean, I went for counselling, went through the motions. Told them the bare minimum. Sat in a – in a little office with a complete stranger . . . Harriet could’ve taken hearing about it, but she didn’t deserve it on top of everything else. And Gemma and my parents . . .’
‘Go on, it’s okay,’ said Jude.
I let out a shuddering breath. ‘Gill was – she was a kid. All that time ahead of her, everything that she should’ve done and I –’
‘Tried,’ Jude cut in.
‘What if he was right?’ I questioned after a moment. ‘What if I did know?’
Her fingers tightened around my thigh. ‘You didn’t.’
‘You believed it,’ I pointed out.
She trailed off and I covered her hand with my own. At first, she tensed then she rolled her wrist and entwined our fingers, her clammy palm moulding into mine. I kept my eyes on her fingertips instead of looking at her properly.
Finally, she continued, ‘I pushed you into it, didn’t I? There’s no way in hell you would’ve come after me, I know that. Learning you were gay, though . . . It set something off. It hadn’t clicked for me either, not until then. Yeah, I liked being around you and we got on, but it wasn’t more than that.’
‘There’s something I don’t get. If you knew that you liked women –’
‘Why did I marry Michael?’ she interjected.
‘Well, why did you?’
‘He was there, he asked. We could’ve been happy together – we were for a long time. You know, most people . . . They don’t find something better. It’s expected that you get married or live with someone and you just get on with it. That’s life.’
I paused, running my thumb over the smooth skin on the back of her hand. ‘What I was gonna ask was, if you’d managed to put a lid on it before, why couldn’t you just do that again? Instead of coming after me.’
‘I couldn’t not.’
Her voice was stretched thin. I raised my eyes and found her lips pinched together. I reached across with my free hand and cupped her cheek, urging her to continue. Her tongue flicked out, sending a sharp spurt of heat through my body, but I battled to keep my face clear and she eventually carried on. Every word was measured, as though she’d spent months forming them.
‘Love . . . It’s messy, Danni. You don’t meet the person you’re meant to be with when it’s easiest. Not in your twenties when you’re thinking about settling down and there’s this lovely guy who’s promising to make you happy. A lot of people kid themselves they’ve found it, and that’s fine – until it hits them properly. I could pretend it didn’t matter till you because I hadn’t fallen in love before then.’
‘Jude –’
She swallowed. ‘Let me finish. I – I need to.’
‘Okay,’ I murmured.
‘Michael adored me. I never wanted for anything, I was happy at Gerbera. I mean, you’d worked there for years and I’d barely noticed you, no offence.’
‘None taken,’ I said, squeezing her fingers.
‘Getting out from under Caroline was long overdue, but you were the one in the firing line then. I felt like helping, I knew what she’d be like. She’d learned she couldn’t boss me around without me kicking up a stink. That was all it was, Danni, I swear. I didn’t set out to do anything else other than help. But . . . God, when it clicked, it was all I could think about. And I hated myself for it. I couldn’t hurt Michael; I could talk myself out of it. That’s what I kept on telling myself. I pushed you away till you threatened to leave then I knew I couldn’t anymore. I had to know. I’m sorry.’
I untangled my fingers from hers, feeling her resistance then the little pop as we parted. Her leg began juddering before I manoeuvred myself around to face her. Every muscle in her body was tensed, though her eyes were flitting all over the place. All at once, they latched onto mine and heat flooded through my body. I lifted my hand and caught a few strands of hair around my thumb, watching as her tongue twitched across her lips. Her arm inched around my hips, snagging on the waistband of my pyjamas.
She jolted back. ‘I didn’t mean to –’
I grasped her hand, sliding it deep inside my pyjama bottoms. We both gasped when her fingers grazed flesh then I let out an outright moan at the awe in her eyes as she delved deeper. Her hand stilled and I growled, searching her face for an explanation.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
Somehow, I melted further. I leaned forward and captured her lips, feeling her groan ripple into my mouth. Her fingers were suddenly moving again, probing inside of me until all I could feel was her.
Chapter 42
June 2010
The knocking turned persistent pretty quickly. I winced and dragged myself up, limping to the door with the help of the stick my dad had made me. It hadn’t had many outings, a few trips to the physio and back, but it got me to the door eventually.
‘Who is it?’ I called.
‘Let me in,’ Gemma demanded. ‘If you don’t, I’ll break the door down.’
It rattled in its frame as a warning. I didn’t have much choice but to twist the key and let her barrel inside. She stormed past me in the direction of the living room, leaving me no option but to slam the door till it rattled again and hobble after her.
‘Come in, why don’t you?’ I muttered.
She twisted around, cheeks flushed. ‘What the hell have you been doing? I’ve left you eleven messages, I’ve been round twice.’
‘I would’ve got back to you.’
‘Oh, yeah? And what about your parents? Your mum’s in bits, trying to get hold of you. She wants to be down here looking after you, you’re lucky she’s not already. I made a promise to her, Dan, and you’re damn well letting me keep it.’
I slumped back onto the sofa and chucked my stick onto the floor. ‘I don’t need this, Gem.’
‘No, you need to listen to me. What about help? You promised to get nurses in and you haven’t.’
‘Look, I tried,’ I snapped.
‘How? Tell me how.’
I lowered my chin. ‘Leave it.’
She sighed, stepping over plates of mouldy beans and Coke cans to land beside me on the sofa. Until her arm wrapped around my shoulders, I was managing to hold it in, then she tightened her grip and I burst into tears.
‘Oh, Dan . . .’
‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
I shook my head, spraying her with tears. She snorted and I giggled, burrowing further into her arms. By the time I’d cried myself out, she was singing Spice Girls songs under her breath to make me laugh. I pulled away finally and groped around for the piece of kitchen roll I’d cleaned up a coffee spillage with this morning.
She grimaced as I blew my nose. ‘That’s gross.’
‘I know,’ I returned.
‘So, come on,’ she said after a moment, ‘tell me what’s been going on. What happened with the nurses?’
I shrugged. ‘They look at me like they expect me to blow them up any minute. Same with the physios and everyone else. It’s like they read the papers and that’s it. What’s the bloody point?’
‘You’ve got a future ahead of you. If you get well –’
‘Then what? I go out for running in the Olympics? I can’t – I can’t go back into an office, no one’ll want me. I’m living on my parents’ charity – and yours – till this stupid compensation comes through. That I don’t even want, by the way. I don’t want money for – for – for not dying. That’s what it is.’
My voice had dried into a croak and Gemma took the opportunity to begin singing quietly again. This time it wasn’t the Spice Girls. It was more like a lullaby, something my mum used to sing when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. I tilted my head to look at her.
‘She sang it to you in hospital,’ Gemma explained with a soft smile. ‘It was something her dad had sung to her, she said, and you always liked it.’
‘I did,’ I murmured.
‘You can’t do this to her, Dan,’ said Gemma, stroking my arm. ‘I understand why you feel like there’s nothing to look forward to, but there is. They’re not going anywhere, neither am I. Can’t you focus on that?’
It was like watching her as a persuasive teenager, except back then she was trying to coax me into staying out late and having some fun in the old quarry near her house. I was never much up for it, but I always liked the grin that lit up her face when she won an argument.
‘Okay,’ I said.
She squeezed my arm. ‘So let’s get this place tidied up then.’
<
br /> For the next couple of hours, she babysat me.
I was to get the nurses back in and make a proper effort with my physiotherapy. She went as far as making the calls for me then sticking me on the line to confirm crucial details. Then I endured a twenty minute four-way conversation between us and my parents that just about stopped them getting on a train. Mum sounded distraught, but it was Dad who affected me more, quiet and broken. It was as though I’d managed to suck the life right out of him in the last few months.
Afterwards, Gemma went to the shops and came back laden with cupboard supplies. She cooked spaghetti bolognaise while bopping around the kitchen to The Bangles and we settled at the counter in much the same way as we used to. She took the window side, the breeze catching the highlights in her hair, and I stared out through the glass at the rooftops and garages in the distance. More than once, I had to physically shake myself to stop my mind drifting. If Gemma noticed, she didn’t mention it.
It was after nine when she left.
As soon as the door closed, I switched off the television and let the silence wash over me. Thanks to Gemma’s efforts at cleaning, the whole flat looked more familiar than it had before. Underneath the piles of rubbish and dirty clothes, it’d seemed like someone else’s home and I was just squatting there. Now, though, the rooms reeked of Jude.
To distract myself, I limped to the kitchen to get another cup of tea, but I hesitated in the doorway. The memory of Jude forcing my hand inside her crashed over me and I stumbled, jarring my leg against the counter. I bit down on my lip, drawing blood, then staggered to the cupboard where my pain meds were. The bottle slipped out of my hand and skidded across the floor, rolling to a halt in the fluff at the foot of the washing machine.
I clenched my jaw and filled a large glass of water, placing it on top of the machine before lowering myself to the cold floor. My leg splayed out to the side, the fabric in my tracksuit bottoms pinching at my skin. I managed to retrieve the pills and water to take some then rested with my head lodged against the control panel. The scent of dried detergent filled my nostrils and my stomach heaved. I let my eyes flutter closed until I felt like I could get back to my feet without falling. Instead, I made it an inch off the ground then wobbled. My stick gave way and I crashed back against the washer, shrieking as my left leg was crushed underneath my right. The spasm of pain brought black spots in front of my eyes that only cleared when hot tears washed them away.