Barefoot in the Dark (27 page)

Jack talked to him anyway. He didn’t know what else to do. He was reminded of being with his mother when she’d died. How his dad had just sat there, hour upon hour, and talked to her, softly and entirely unselfconsciously, about the weather, the news, sundry anecdotes about Ollie. A ceaseless monologue about all the minutiae of their lives. Jack had only been able to look on, paralysed with embarrassment.

But there’d been one time, when his father had gone to speak with the doctor, when Jack had been left alone with her. He’d tried to talk. Don’t worry, Mum. We’re here. Don’t worry. But the words, proper words, proper thoughts wouldn’t flow. Then a nurse had come up.

‘Why don’t you tidy up her hair for her, lovely?’ She’d handed him a comb and slipped silently away.

The nurse couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two, and Jack, at the time, had so resented the ease with which she dealt with death. But she’d been right. He had combed his mother’s hair, and it had helped.

He combed his father’s hair now, and wiped his mouth with a tissue. Then took another and cleared the small plug of mucus that was lodged in his nose. It wasn’t difficult now. He was practised at death beds. He could clean and wipe and stroke and pat. There was still an ever-present part of him that wanted to pluck his father from his sheet-shroud and scream ‘I love you! I need you! Dad, you can’t leave me yet!’ but he could suppress it; just as long as he kept doing these little things for him. Just as long as he didn’t give himself enough space to think.

There were new cards since yesterday. Someone called Brian, from his father’s bowls club, and a short letter from the woman who used to come and do his ironing after Jack’s mother had died. He read these to his father slowly, enunciating carefully, peppering them with anecdotes and comments of his own. Then he pinned them to the cork board that was fixed on the wall for the purpose, knowing even as he did it that these cards, which he himself would take down and take away with him, would soon be consigned to a box somewhere and never seen again. Their purpose was not to be cried over in perpetuity, but simple connection. The paper chain of his father’s roots.

A nurse came up. Placed a cool hand on his shoulder.

‘Trolley’s coming,’ she said. ‘Shall I get you some tea?’

Jack smiled and nodded. It was something to do, this strange ritual. He’d accept it and get up and walk across to her station and they’d talk in hushed voices about the weather and the telly, and she’d mention some aspect of his show she’d enjoyed. They’d laugh, even. It didn’t feel wrong. It was all right to laugh a little. It would make his Dad smile.

Ollie was smiling when Jack went out to meet him and Lydia. She, however, was looking pinched and uncomfortable, as if ill-at-ease with her new status. That this was something she no longer had a right to share.

He watched his son re-configure his expression as he approached, and it saddened him. He’d spent altogether too little time here with Ollie. Insufficient for them to feel easy together with it. But the loss of a grandparent, however painful it might be, was a world away from the loss of a parent. And however much he’d like to have been able to share his grief with Ollie, it wouldn’t have been fair on him.

He met Ollie’s frown with a wide smile and a hug.

‘Three nil!’

‘Three nil!’

Jack raised his hand. ‘Gimme five!’

Ollie did. The moment was righted again.

‘You coming in for a while?’ he asked Lydia. She nodded.

‘If I may,’ she said quietly. ‘You know –’ Her voice wobbled. ‘To… well, you know, to say my goodbyes.’

She had, and it had been gruesome to watch. Lydia had never been the quiet stoical type, but Jack, for some reason, had thought that today she would hold herself together. That was all he asked of her. For Ollie’s sake. For his sake, even, damn it. But she hadn’t. She’d sobbed, spilling enough self-indulgent tears for the three of them. He knew he was being hard on her (well, tough – he wasn’t feeling charitable right now) and he also knew she did care for his father. Did, in some ways, have a right to be here. But he also knew how much of her distress wasn’t actually about that. It was really about guilt and remorse and forgiveness,
Jack’s
forgiveness more than anything else. She’d clutched at him, before making her grand exit, and whispered, ‘I’m here for you, Jack, you do know that, don’t you?’ and so agitated was she, so desperate for absolution, that he relented and accepted her hugs. He had more than enough guilt to carry through life with him. The least he could do was acknowledge hers.

By the time Lydia had gone, Oliver was ashen, and, anxious to lighten the load that was etched so clearly on his son’s face, Jack got the paper out and had Ollie read out the football scores for his Grandad. He did the premier league, the first division, the second division and the Scottish premier league too, then Jack had him read out the
Times’
sports column from yesterday. That always made his dad laugh.

Then he told his father all about how Ollie had scored a magnificent goal yesterday morning, and how the Cougars, as a result, were now second in the league.

‘We can win it, you know,’ he told Ollie.

‘We can,’ agreed Ollie, managing a smile. ‘And we will. Hear that Grandad? We will!’

A whole two hours had passed somehow, and when the nurse came over to let them know she was going off shift, Jack could feel his joints creaking.

‘And I need to get you home, mate,’ he told Ollie. ‘School in the morning.’

He stood up and stretched. His muscles ached, too. He leaned across and gave his father a kiss on his forehead. Ollie stood, and, following his lead, gave his grandad a kiss also and spoke a whispered goodbye. Jack’s throat tightened. Would this really be the last time?

The nurse touched his arm.

‘Why don’t you get off home as well,’ she said softly. ‘You look dreadful. We can call you if we need to.’ She glanced over at the tissue-filled waste bin and grimaced. ‘And frankly, we can do without your germs.’

He should go home. Of course he should. Except here was his father and here his only child. His only real home, right now, was where they were.

Ollie was silent as they made their way through the hospice to the car park, and Jack felt such a powerful need to clasp his son to him that he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to stop himself. It wasn’t that they weren’t still physical with each other, but, out here, with visitors and nurses scurrying around, he knew he mustn’t. He could so keenly recapture the fifteen-year-old him. Ollie’s pride, his composure, would be all.

‘A bit grim, eh?’ he said as they climbed into the car.

Ollie nodded, his face pale. ‘I can’t believe Grandad’s going to die.’

Jack pushed the key into the ignition but didn’t switch on the engine. He rested the back of his head against the headrest.

‘Nor can I, son,’ he said. It was the truth.

‘That tube. The one in his wrist. What goes in there, then?’

‘Morphine.’

‘Oh.’

‘He’s not in pain, Ollie. It’ll be just like going to sleep.’

‘Only forever.’

Jack nodded. ‘I know. But he’s had a good life. And a long one. If he were sitting here now he’d be waggling his finger in our faces and telling us just that.’

He turned to face his son, and could see him fighting tears. His eyes were brimming and his chin was quivering, and he looked, right then, just as he’d done as a toddler if he got into trouble or grazed his knee. Jack hadn’t seen Ollie cry for years. Not even on the day he and Lydia had told him about the divorce. He’d just sat, nodding minutely, as if being given instructions. Looking old and sagacious and calm.

For a moment, Jack thought he’d say nothing. Do nothing. Let Ollie get a hold of himself and hang on to his dignity. But there was so much love inside him that he felt he might burst.

Ollie sniffed and brushed angrily at his eyes. ‘I don’t want you to die, Dad. I don’t think I could bear it.’

‘I’m not going to, Ollie. Not for a long, long time. Don’t think about that.’

‘But how can
you
bear it?’

Jack twisted in his seat so he could meet his son’s eye. ‘I can’t. But I have to. We all have to one day.’ Ollie’s chin was still trembling. Jack could see he couldn’t speak now.

‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right to cry, son.’

He reached over and took him in his arms.

* * *

There’d been lots of painful times in Jack’s life. There’d be lots more ahead. But dropping Ollie back at his mother’s that evening the pain hit him suddenly, physically and completely unexpectedly. Watching his son’s hunched form, his teenage swaggering-but-self-conscious gait as he headed up the path, made Jack feel so sad he could almost taste it on his tongue. He waited till Ollie had let himself in, then drove off into the night, fighting tears. He let them flow for a moment, then shook himself mentally. This was not useful.

One thing, all at once, became blindingly obvious. He could no more take the producer’s job Graham had offered him, than he could contemplate taking a job on the moon. Apart from his Junior league round-up – no more than an hour or two’s writing – he could take no job that interfered with his weekends. He should not and would not. Forget his career. He’d find a new one, a better one. There were plenty out there for someone with his skills. You just had to look. Perhaps go the way of Lydia and train for a different one. Would there ever be a better time to do it? In the meantime, he still had plenty of freelance work. He still had his columns. Still had all sorts of sports one-offs coming up. He could manage. Sure he’d be poorer. He could forget Cardiff Bay. But life would be so very much poorer if he lost his precious time with Ollie every week. That was finite and irreplaceable. The most important gift he could give him.

Having made the decision, Jack felt better. Mainly, he knew, because it had at last sunk in that what mattered in his life was not, after all, being some cheesy TV star or sports pundit, but being a father. Ollie’s father. That was who he was.

He was feeling much better by the time he’d got home. There was still the dead weight of the expectation of getting
that
phone call, but, that ordeal notwithstanding, he felt as in control as he’d felt about anything in the last two years. And it still wasn’t late. He could even still see Hope, maybe.

Everything about her manner when they’d spoken seemed to be signalling that he should not be without hope, and, whatever doubts had been simmering about commitment, they too, like the job, now felt far less important than going with his instincts and following his heart. He rolled his eyes at his reflection in the car window as he locked it. Following his
heart
? Was he hearing himself right?

He was certainly hearing his answer-phone right. There was a message from Hope, in response to his own one. ‘
No problem
,’ she’d trilled in a rather spiky falsetto. ‘
I know you’re a busy man, Jack, so call me whenever. No rush. Goodbye
.’ And that – bloody hell, bloody
hell
– had been that.

Jack had winced at the ‘Jack’. It sounded so cold. Couldn’t have felt more so if she’d just said ‘you bastard’. He picked up the phone and dialled her number from memory. It rang eleven times and then a woman’s voice kicked in. But it wasn’t Hope’s voice. It was the telecom woman. He didn’t leave a message this time.

Chapter 28

She was getting good, Hope decided, at dealing with disappointment. Good at things not working out. It wasn’t your successes that defined you as a person, it was the way you dealt with life’s blows. Well, she’d certainly had lots of practice on the blows front over the years. And life was just one big series of them right now, so perhaps when things eased up and something good happened she’d appreciate it all the more. She looked around carefully at the fun run people surrounding her. Here recognising a face, there a whole family. Many of them here, she reminded herself sternly, had altogether less mundane tales than her own. Tales of disappointment, and heartbreak, and loss. She was no big deal, with her small time heartache and her insignificant longings. Just another human being, serving time.

She mounted the podium to scan the field again. She was, at least, proud of all they’d achieved here today. It was no small thing they’d done. She could take her disappointment and tuck it somewhere less visible. She was all right before she’d met him, she’d be all right once she got over him. What did she expect? To have it all laid out on a plate for her? Love and happiness and bloody roses round the door?

More to the point though, where
was
he?

The start point, now demarcated by means of a large pink banner, was a little to the north of the field. Thanks to the unexpected clemency of the weather, the turn-out was staggering. Even now there were crocodiles of enthusiastic runners, lycra-clad and sinewy, waiting to get their numbers, their limbs fluid. All anxious to make their mark. To achieve their own personal nirvana today.

‘Well over a thousand is my guess,’ said Mr Babbage. Hope decided, having never really thought about it before, that she was really rather fond of Mr Babbage. He was here. He’d been persuaded out of running, but he’d still made the effort. He wasn’t just after publicity. No-one important knew he was here. His logo was already in place on all the banners, his firm’s name above the number on everyone’s front. And yet he’d come anyway. Yes, he was a fine man.

Madeleine flipped her sunglasses down from hairdo to nose. ‘One thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight,’ she said. ‘WOW. Can you believe it?’

Madeleine wasn’t running, either. Her back, she explained, with a wink and a grin. Hope was pleased for her. Two months and counting with this one. Perhaps she’d hang up her lucky thong at long last. But Simon had shown up and was down with the front runners, bobbing from foot to foot and cycling his arms. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a baseball cap. Hope felt a stab of relief to see him. She had so expected him not to come. She looked at the start clock. Five forty-two. Where
was
Jack? He surely wouldn’t let them down now.

Patti, who had pitched in at the last minute to help with the warm-up, was now jogging across the grass towards them. She’d gone back to her car to try to get Jack on her mobile.

‘Has he showed yet?’ she asked.

Hope shook her head.

‘Well, I’ve tried his mobile again. It’s still on divert.’

‘We’ll give it five minutes,’ Madeleine decided. ‘And then we’ll go with plan B.’

She turned to Hope. ‘You’d better get down there, hadn’t you?’ Hope had difficulty hearing her above the noise of the PA. She shook her head.

‘There’s no rush. I’ll stay here a bit longer.’

‘There’s a thought,’ said Madeleine. ‘Can you stick around too, Patti? If Jack doesn’t show would you mind starting the race for us?’

Patti shrugged. ‘Sure. If you’d like me to. Hey – result! Does this mean I get to get out of the race?’ Hope was still scanning the sea of heads anxiously. He couldn’t let them down. He couldn’t.

‘Did you try the office again?’ she asked her. ‘I mean he might have had trouble getting through here. What with the noise and everything.’

Patti looked at her watch.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll run across and get my bag. If I’m not running I might as well anyway. Not running, hurrah!’ And she was off.

When she came back she was waving her arms. She climbed up to the podium.

‘He’s not coming.’ She waggled the mobile. ‘He’s left a message on my voicemail.’

Hope felt her stomach hit her boots. ‘What did he say?’

‘Not a lot. Just that he was sorry but that something had come up and he wouldn’t be able to make it.’ She opened a bottle of water and drank from it.

‘That was all?’

‘That was all.’

Madeleine, by now, was in full flow at the microphone, trying to chivvy the massed runners into some sort of order. Hope passed the news on and turned back to Patti.

‘D’you know where he was calling from?’

‘Well, his mobile, of course.’ She frowned. ‘He sounded a bit odd. I hope he’s OK.’ She looked genuinely concerned.

‘OK?’ asked Hope, anxious now. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’

Patti looked at her for a good long moment, then upturned the Evian bottle to her lips again. Then she frowned. ‘Well, you know. What with the job and everything.’

‘The job in London?’

‘London?’

‘The job he was going to see about today.’

Patti looked confused.

‘Job? What job was that?’

Hope shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I thought he was going to see someone about a job in London.’

Patti shook her head. ‘Oh, you mean the ‘Five Live’ thing? Oh, I get you. I thought you meant a job
in
London. No, that’s just an OB thing he’s doing for the European Cup. No, I mean the show.’

‘What,
his
show?’

Patti was studying her more carefully now. She looked cagey all of a sudden. ‘Look, I’m not sure it’s my place to… Look, I’m sure he’d have made it if he could.’

Hope placed her hand on Patti’s arm. ‘No, please tell me. What about his show? Is this something to do with the television thing? He told me about a television thing. Is it something to do with that?’

‘You mean the HTV thing?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that he told me about something in the pipeline to do with a television show. What happened?’

Patti looked at Hope quizzically. Then she narrowed her eyes and grinned.

‘Oh, I get it,’ she said smoothly. ‘Well, well, well. He’s a dark horse, and then some. Are you two, like –’

She raised her eyebrows in enquiry.

‘No. Not… Well, maybe.’ Hope could feel herself colouring. ‘Well… but what’s happened about his show?’

Patti seemed to consider for a moment. ‘Well, I guess it’s going to be common knowledge any time now anyway,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s been axed, that’s all. And I –’

‘Axed? You mean they’re not going to do it any more?’ It suddenly felt as if she’d been felled by a punch.

‘Well, not as such. I mean there’s still going to be a show. It’s just that Jack won’t be presenting it any more –‘

‘But that’s awful!’

Patti narrowed her eyes.

‘Hey, not
so
awful. It’s kind of par for the course. It’s been running four years now, you know. Which is a pretty good innings. It’s not like it wasn’t on the cards or anything.’

‘Oh, but poor Jack! Was he very upset?’

Patti shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Yes, I’m sure he was. I mean, I don’t think it was any kind of surprise, you know? It’s just that he’s had such a shit year, what with the divorce and everything, and what with the HTV thing not happening… he was so excited about that.’ She stopped speaking and seemed suddenly lost in thought. ‘And I feel bad, of course. I mean I know it’s not like I pushed him out or anything, but we’re mates, you know? I’m sure it must have been hard for him to swallow.’

Hope blinked at her. ‘You mean
you’re
the one who’s taking over?’

Patti nodded. Then she sighed.

‘So it’s kind of tough on him, you know?’ She spread her hands. ‘But what can I do? I have a career to think about too. And you know what it’s like. These opportunities don’t come up that often.’

Hope didn’t, but she also didn’t doubt that was true. Poor Jack. No wonder he’d seemed so irritable and tired. But Patti was right. ‘I know,’ she agreed.

‘I mean, that’s life, isn’t it? When an opportunity like that comes up, you don’t sit around thinking about it too long, you know? You just have to go out there and grab it with both hands. One life. No read-throughs. You know?’

Hope rather thought Patti might have been saying that to herself a lot just lately. But she was probably right. It
was
too good an opportunity to miss. But poor Jack.

‘Poor Jack,’ she said. Patti agreed. Then suddenly slapped the palm of her hand against her forehead and groaned.

‘Shit. I just had a thought!’

‘What?’

‘Of course! Oh, shit. His father!’

‘What about his father?’

‘God – of
course
. That might be it. I bet that’s it. I remember him telling Hil about it the other day.’

‘
What?
’

‘That they’d had to move him to the hospice. Perhaps his Dad’s –’ Her brows creased. ‘Shit, now that would be a bitch. On top of everything else.’

Hope touched her arm. ‘Hospice? Which hospice?’

‘Christ, don’t ask me. He doesn’t tell me stuff like that.’

Madeleine was waving from the podium at them. Hope looked up at the time clock. Only a couple of minutes to six now.

Patti waved back at her and started moving towards the podium.‘I’d better get up there and strut my stuff, eh?’

‘But who
would
know?’

Patti said she didn’t know. Hope mounted the steps with her.

‘But someone must.’

Patti looked down at her, obviously bemused at her insistence. ‘Hadn’t you better get down to the start line?’

‘
Someone
must,’ she persisted. Patti thought a moment.

‘I guess Danny might.’

‘Danny?’ That name again.

‘His mate. He’s –’

‘Do you have his number?’

‘Yeah, but –’

Madeleine was introducing Patti over the loudspeaker now. Hope could hear the words ‘Valentine’s Day’ booming out of the speaker behind her. Poor Jack. What a day
he
was having. What a life he was having. Decided, and exhilarated, she grabbed Patti’s arm.

‘Look. Can I borrow your phone a minute?’

‘Sure, but –’

‘So I can get the number.’ Madeleine was beckoning Patti to come across to the microphone now, while the runners bobbed and cheered beneath. ‘In here, right? What’s his surname?’

Patti smiled. ‘You’ll find him under D. For “dickhead”. Bless.’

‘Hi Pats, how’s it hanging?’

Hope had walked a little way from the speakers, but the noise was still deafening, and the voice at the other end of the phone was low.

She explained who she was, and why she was calling on Patti’s phone, pressing the flat of her hand against her ear.

‘It’s just that Jack was supposed to be here starting the race, and no-one can get hold of him and Patti said she thought he might have had to go to the hospice?’

‘Shit, what a bitch,’ he said. She heard him sigh. ‘Yes. She’s probably right. I know things were pretty bad yesterday. Who did you say this was again?’

‘Hope,’ she said. ‘Hope Shepherd.’

‘
Ah
,’ he said slowly. ‘Got you.’

Another telling tone of voice. She didn’t care. She ignored it. ‘And she thought you might know which one it was.’

There was a short exhalation. ‘Look, I hardly think he’s going to be thrilled to be bothered by you guys right now, you know?’

‘No, no,’ said Hope quickly. ‘I’ve no intention of bothering him. I just wanted to… well… just ring and make sure he’s OK. Let him know we’re thinking of him.’ She felt a complete fool, but the rush of exhilaration was still moving through her limbs.

‘Well, OK, I guess. It’s the – damn, what was it called? Something Court. In Penarth. That’s it. It’s –’

‘Holly Court?’

‘You got it. I’m sure it’s in the phone book. It’s –’

‘That’s OK, thanks. I know the one.’

Knowing all the hospices was, of course, all part of the service. Hope had them in a box on her desk. But that wasn’t much use right now. She called directory enquiries and had them text their number to Patti’s phone. It took only seconds, and within a few more the phone was ringing. Yes, he was there, they said, and did she want them to go and fetch him?

‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t worry. Could you just give him a message? Let him know that we’re all thinking of him? That’s all.’

It wasn’t all, of course. It was very far from all.

She’d just disconnected when Patti and Madeleine came down from the podium. The race was underway. She could make out the front runners as a mass of primary colours and bobbing heads, streaming, as one, beneath the start line banner.

‘I can’t believe it!’ said Maddie. ‘All that training and you’re not even running! What’s happened, Shepherd? You worried Simon’ll put you to shame?’

Hope shook her head and handed the phone back to Patti.

‘Thanks for that.’ She felt liberated. Energised. Alive.

‘Any joy?’

She nodded. No. Not liberated exactly. Just like a new her had finally surfaced from the dark. Someone else, someone braver, was in the driving seat now.

Patti picked up her backpack and slipped the phone back inside. ‘I’d better go and get changed,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘Before someone spots me and drags me along for the ride. Look, if you do manage to get through to him, will you give him my love?’

Hope agreed that she would, and Patti jogged off once again across the grass.

‘Right then,’ said Madeleine, who was looking at her more carefully now. ‘Get through to who exactly? Jack?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But not get through to exactly. Look, Maddie, I need to ask you a really big favour.’

‘That sounds ominous,’ said Madeleine.

She told Maddie about the show and the TV thing and Jack’s father, and how she’d left such a cool message on his answer machine, and that ridiculous and mad though it probably sounded, she wanted to drive down to the hospice right now and see Jack face to face.

‘What,
now
? Like it’s that urgent?’

‘I know, I know. But I was thinking about what Patti said about opportunities. I’m all done with sitting around thinking about this one while it flies out of the window without me. I’ve got to
go
there. I mean I’ll come straight back, if, you know, if there’s nothing I can do. But I’ve got to go there. We’re all sorted here, aren’t we? There’s plenty of volunteers to help with the goody bags and everything, and I already fixed up where the photographer needs to be, and –’