by AB Morgan
His mother was another matter. She was well-meaning, but needy. He’d been putting off her visit for months, years in fact, but now he had to tolerate her being unleashed into his quiet and orderly world.
Barney and Annette, who had ensured places on bar stools at the far end of the pub, had the best vantage point for people watching. They waved slowly and sympathetically at Rory as he stepped onto the flagstone flooring and faced the inevitable gushing emotion-laden greeting.
‘There he is. Rory, where have you been? I thought you said you’d be finished work by six at the latest.’ Felicity Norton swished towards her son and hugged him with her head at chest height. ‘Come on, the delicious Rob will pour you a pint of your choosing while I show you my room upstairs. It’s so quaint. There’s chintz everywhere!’
As she grabbed him by the hand, Rory made an apologetic grimace in Rob’s direction, ‘Sorry, she gets a bit over-excited.’
‘No need to apologise, she’s a very handsome woman. There are no complaints from me, son.’ A lecherous grin appeared; the strange facial contortion made for a comical sight.
Rory rolled his eyes towards the ceiling inches above his head.
‘You’ll get no help in that direction. Although apparently God loves a trier,’ laughed Barney.
‘I’ll be back before my pint gets warm. Save me a seat against the wall,’ Rory pleaded.
‘No chance, you have a table specially allocated. Isn’t that sweet. Just you and Mummy.’ Barney motioned to a round wooden table with a reserved sign placed in the middle. It was not far from where he and Annette were sitting, their ample buttocks spreading over the sides of the stools like well-risen dough.
Ducking under the doorway marked “Residents Only”, Rory flicked an indelicate finger in Barney’s direction and he heard Rob’s assessment of his new customer.
‘She’s a heck of a good-looking woman. I think she’s taken to me. What say you two?’
‘You never know. Play your cards right and that cellar could see more than just a few barrels rolling around in it.’
‘Barney! That’s Rory’s mother you’re referring to,’ Annette scolded.
* * *
Once in the calm of the double room, his mother sat on the edge of the bed as Rory soaked up the view from the leaded-light windows that overlooked the garden at the back of the inn.
‘The locals appear friendly. You seem to have made a good life for yourself here.’
‘Yes. I have. I told you to stop fretting. Nice room this, Barney said you’d be comfortable here. Much better than staying with me … Shall we go and get something to eat?’ Not wanting to stay too long in the interrogation zone, Rory hoped to entice his mother back down into the pub before she began her cross-examination. She had other ideas.
‘Can I at least visit the cottage? It’s going to appear unusual if I don’t. Gail, the lovely barmaid, has already queried why I’m not staying with you in your spare room.’
Rory was fiddling with the edge of a curtain as he spoke. ‘I told you how to explain that. My neighbours are well known for their antisocial behaviour and no one will question why it’s better for you to be here, if you tell them that. Besides, it’s a long walk to the village shop from the cottage. No one needs to know the real reason.’
Felicity Norton rubbed her knees with both hands, removing perspiration from her palms. ‘You haven’t told any of your new friends about Sara, have you?’
A flash of dark anger from Rory’s eyes gave fair warning that she had strayed into unacceptable subject matter. ‘I don’t talk about it to anyone. That includes family. You know that. I’m happy here so be careful what you say. You don’t want your first visit to be your last - I mean it.’
He moved away from the window and towards his mother. Stooping over her and talking in low monotone, he said, ‘I will never invite you back if you spoil it for me. If you do, things will be the same as they have been for the last three years. I will see you at Christmas and Easter and you will phone me every bloody day like you always do, but you will not come here again if you blow it.’ Rory stood up straight and purposefully headed across the room. ‘Lets go and enjoy the evening, shall we?’ He held the door open for his mother.
Felicity Norton’s cheerful persona had melted away with each statement from her son. She gazed across at him with tears in her eyes and blotted them with a tissue before gathering herself and standing up from the bed. ‘As you wish. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t want to be hurtful, Mum, but you know more than anyone, I can’t tolerate these discussions about the past and most of all I don’t want people judging me. They take me as I am here. That’s important to me and I go to great lengths to preserve the status quo. Now then, cheer up. Let’s have a drink.’
By the time they reappeared through the low doorway, Felicity Norton had resumed her chirpy banter about the village and how picturesque it was. She made a beeline for Rob to collect her glass of Prosecco and to continue her flirtation. Rory headed for the sanctuary of a recess by the window where Barney and Annette sat waiting for him.
‘You look remarkably underwhelmed to see your own mother,’ Annette said without expecting a reply.
‘She’s too fond of attention. I’m the opposite. It doesn’t make for a comfortable relationship.’
Barney took a long, slow, steady mouthful of beer while peering over the rim of the glass at Rob and Felicity teasing and making subtle advances to each other. ‘We’d better pour some ice down their underpants otherwise Rob could become your step-dad. Perish the thought.’
‘It’s great for my diet,’ Annette announced chirpily. ‘It’s put me right off the idea of dinner.’
Rory could take no more.
‘Gail, can we see a menu please? Do you have those delicious steaks on tonight? Mum, shall we sit down?’
* * *
Although stilted at times, the evening with his mother had passed without incident. Rory coped because Barney and Annette were not far away, willing to intervene if necessary and he left with them at around ten thirty, early for a Friday night by anyone’s standards in Lower Marton.
Arm in arm the threesome weaved their way from the pub to the service station where they parted ways. The conversation during the walk home had revolved around Anna Chamberlain and the assault on Brenda.
‘The vicar dropped by to fill up on his way back from the hospital this afternoon with the news that Brenda’s got a sore head and a broken pelvis but her tongue remains in excellent working order, so he was desperate for information on Anna. I meant to ask how you got on with dopey Doctor Dalby. Any luck?’
‘Oh bugger, I should have said. Anna didn’t show up for her CBT. I rang the GP practice last thing before going home and they hadn’t heard a peep from mental health services.’
‘Should they have?’ Annette asked.
‘I would have expected them to phone to ask her to be part of a Mental Health Act assessment. The GP is usually the first port of call. I’ll see what I can find out from the crisis services.’
Standing under the last street light between the garage and home, Rory looked at his watch.
‘Too late to call them now. Too many beers. I’ll chase it up tomorrow if the old dear will give me a few minutes peace.’
20
Saturday Morning. Rory Takes up the Challenge
When he arrived back at The Valiant, mid-morning, to accompany his mother to his cottage for the first time, Rory could tell by the atmosphere and exchange of silly grins between her and the landlord that their evening had extended well beyond closing time. Barney’s prophetic words about Rob becoming his stepfather resounded in Rory’s head.
‘See you later, Robbie,’ Felicity Norton said, with a voice like warm butterscotch, as she followed her son outside.
‘Oh God, Mum, did you have to?’
‘Did I have to what? If you mean did I have to share some affection with a kind and thoughtful human being, then yes. I did. I’m a single w
oman. He’s a single man. Where’s the harm?’ There was a short absence of words and movement when Felicity finally noticed that her son was holding out a motorcycle helmet for her to put on. ‘I’m not wearing that. It’ll ruin my hair,’ she protested.
‘Well it’s either that or I leave the bike here and we walk the mile or so to the cottage. Have you packed any sensible shoes?’
Felicity gasped. ‘Sensible shoes? Don’t be ridiculous. You know me far better than that.’ She looked again at the motorbike and sidecar parked on the gravel, shrugged and snatched the helmet from her son. ‘Go on then, how I get in?’
‘Not so fast. First of all you admire this vintage beauty. Not only did I spend hours restoring her but I am allowing you to be the first person to ride in the sidecar.’ Rory stood proudly beside the black and ivory combination of bike and sidecar that he’d spent months carefully refurbishing.
‘What the hell is it I’m supposed to admire exactly?’
The reply came from the doorway. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that is a BMW R80 with a Garrard Grand Prix Sidecar. Late 1970s and she’s an absolute minter. Bloody hell, Rory, you’ve got yourself a pension plan there.’ Rob’s eyes were gleaming with delight as he rubbed his hands together in appreciation. ‘The handlebars are a new addition, aren’t they?’
Rory and Rob were threatening to begin a rambling conversation about a bike restoration project until Felicity pranced delicately into the sidecar announcing her impatience to see her son’s home for the first time. The two men agreed to continue the chat on Rory’s return. ‘Listen, when you get back, I’ll show you something in the barn that may surprise you,’ Rob announced as Rory adjusted the strap on his crash helmet and the engine was started up on the BMW.
‘It’s a date.’
Once back at the cottage, he could tell from the set of her head that his mother was not in favour of his choice of residence. Her ability to criticise was legendary and Rory prepared for an onslaught of seismic proportions as Felicity stood at the front door waiting to be let in.
‘You never said you lived next door to a stinking scrapyard.’
‘Please keep your opinions to yourself until we get inside. I’d rather not upset the neighbours, if you don’t mind.’ Rory ushered his mother in to the hallway and took her helmet. He waited, as she teetered around the ground floor in her high-heeled court shoes. Barely holding on to his irritation that she hadn’t offered to remove her footwear at the door, Rory hissed through his teeth. His mother’s voice wafted back to him as she gave a running review of each room.
‘You should at least put a few house plants around the place.’
He headed for the kitchen to make a cup of coffee where Felicity met him and took time examining his appliances. ‘Did you replace the cooker straight away, I can’t remember? You said it was a gas one before, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. This one’s quite good, now I’ve got used to it. It has sensors and gizmos to switch off the hotplates on the hob if I forget. No disasters so far.’
Felicity moved to the fridge and opened the door. ‘Good. Still sticking to your obsession with use-by dates I see.’ She nodded her approval, ‘so clean and fresh everywhere. Proper OCD.’
‘Mum, please don’t insult people with OCD, you know it has nothing to do with that.’
Felicity aimed her left ear toward the doorway leading to the lounge. ‘What’s that noise? That scratching.’
Rory recounted his own exploration of the mystery sounds and together they went to the far end of the lounge to listen to the unusual noises emanating through the walls. ‘If they’re not moving building materials around then you’ve got a problem with some supersized rats. Any scurrying noises?’
‘I’ve always got those. It’s an old house. Listen again, it sounds like furniture or timber being moved. It only happens every so often. It had stopped earlier this morning.’
All attempts to hear the subtle sounds through the adjoining wall were drowned out by an ear-piercing whistle and a rumbling of a giant metal roller. Rory dashed upstairs and was not entirely surprised to see a traction engine clattering its way slowly across the cluttered compound of Fewtrell’s Yard.
* * *
Felicity made use of the downstairs shower room toilet while Rory tried yet another telephone number. He could hear her singing ‘young at heart …’ as he dialled Hollberry Hospital switchboard and asked for ‘The Mental Health Crisis Team, please.’
‘Is it urgent?’
Rory huffed. ‘It’s a crisis team. I’m enquiring about a mental health crisis.’
‘I’ll put you through, but they may be dealing with a crisis, so you’ll have to leave a message and they’ll get back to you.’
‘What, even if I’m in a crisis?’
‘If it’s urgent then you can go to A&E.’
Rory ended the call before the beep sounded inviting him to leave a message.
* * *
‘We’re sorry; we may not be able to deal with your call at this time. If you are calling Monday to Friday between the hours of nine to five, an administrator will call you within the next thirty minutes. If you are calling at the weekend, or after five p.m. on a weekday, we may be unable to return your call if we are busy. Our service is not available after nine p.m. Please access the accident and emergency department at your nearest hospital or leave a message after the tone.’
* * *
‘That’s a joke. Why would I leave a message if nobody is going to return my call?’ Rory gasped, staring at his phone, flummoxed. ‘Mum, can I take you back to The Valiant? I need to take a trip into town.’
Felicity emerged from the shower room, smiling. ‘Of course. I’ll have lunch and see you later.’ As this reply was out of character, Rory found himself justifying his request, although he didn’t need to. ‘I wouldn’t normally leave you to your own devices, it’s just that I need to see someone at the hospital and it’s too far to expect you to travel in the sidecar.’
‘Honestly it’s fine. You can drop me at the garage. I’ll grab a newspaper and have a chat to those nice friends of yours.’
Rory’s heart sank as he prepared to drive off in the direction of Lensham, heading for the hospital in Hollberry - a good forty-minute drive from the village. His mother could be seen inside the shop, deep in conversation with Annette Ribble, June who worked there part time, and another customer, heads back, laughing.
Barney had been in the workshop making adjustments to Tinkerbell’s engine when Rory had pulled up and released his mother from the sidecar.
Barney’s tractor needed to be in full readiness for the rally in Swandale.
‘There’s a vintage tractor winner’s rosette waiting for us this year, my boy. I can feel it in me water.’
‘I thought the rally was tomorrow?’
‘It officially opens this afternoon and I’m running late. Still, there’s no panic as long as I get there before twelve, otherwise I’ll be refused entry. Most of them arrive at least a day early. Especially the steam engines. People will be coming from miles around; it’s a great craic. Bring your mother along if you can drag her away from old Rob. The best day is Sunday, for the judging. We can have a few beers. That’s the joy of a Bank Holiday Weekend.’ Barney took a step back. ‘You should ’ave entered that bike, she’s a beauty.’
Rory made his excuses and prepared to leave before getting caught behind Leo Fewtrell’s steamroller. ‘My new best friend Mad Leo is on his way down the lane on a massive great machine,’ he warned Barney.
‘He’s never your friend. He cares much more about engines than he ever will about another human being. Be warned. Don’t trust that evil twat for a minute.’ Barney checked up and down the road. ‘I take it Anna Chamberlain is safely tucked away in a ward somewhere? She’s not in her usual place.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping to find out.’
Rory made good time through the Saturday morning shoppers and parked outside A&E, a reasonable distance from the entrance. T
he sidecar had hampered his usual ease in sourcing a parking space and it looked at first as if it hadn’t been worth all the effort. Fifteen minutes after walking through the entrance doors he returned and sat astride his bike, feeling at a loss. The waiting room had been rammed and Rory could only assume the people there had no alternative. They may even have left a message on the answerphone for the mental health crisis team and given up all hope, he decided.
He sweet-talked the A&E reception team but, try as he might, confidentiality restricted his attempts to confirm whether Anna had been seen, assessed or detained. He was none the wiser. Where the bloody hell was she?
After a short phone call, he set off again in the direction of the main hospital to find the ward where Brenda Chamberlain was being cared for.
‘I appreciate you coming to see me, young man. Now, can you tell me how Anna is?’
Being honest with Brenda Chamberlain was the wisest course of action and Rory was a fine judge of character. The vociferous defiant lady, who he had met only a few days earlier, now appeared frail and defenceless as she lay in her hospital bed, propped up on pillows and wincing in pain when she moved. She remained oddly silent as he told her of his ongoing efforts to seek help for her daughter-in-law.
‘I don’t suppose you could see if she’s at her home address, could you?’ Brenda volunteered, pleading with Rory not to give up his quest. ‘I’m sure her parents are due to visit from Spain any day now and maybe she’s with them at home, safe and sound.’