Broken Places (23 page)

‘And I’d run a mile from mine,’ Doug grimaced, ‘if I only had the chance.’

‘You don’t make friends in here, anyway,’ Stewart remarked, with a touch of bitterness. ‘You come in on your own and you leave on your own.’

Like children’s homes, thought Eric, aware that during his peripatetic
boyhood the prospect of having a best mate had to remain in the realm of fantasy, as either he, or one of the other kids he’d just dared to get to know, was moved on yet again. Besides, when you lived in an institution, there was a sense of not belonging, which clearly Stewart felt as well. Indeed, Stewart was the only man he recognized from the previous meeting in January, so, if even book club members changed so radically, no wonder the guy felt adrift. The librarians provided an anchor, of course, as did Linda herself, who brought to the group her experience and expertise as a university lecturer. She also served as an important link with the wider world outside – as
he
did, too, in fact – a reassurance to these men that they hadn’t been forgotten by that world.

‘What
I
didn’t like,’ Jake observed, returning to the subject of the book, ‘was the humour. I just don’t find the subject funny. I mean, we’re not in here for a petty bit of shoplifting, or dealing a few Es, you know. However much we’ve fucked things up, we have to live with what we’ve done and that’s no laughing matter. OK, we did the crime, we’ll do the time, but prison’s not exactly Butlins – right?’

Eric glanced across at him – a harmless-looking bloke, dressed not in the usual grey tracksuit, but in smart brown trousers and sweater. Whatever Jake had done, he would never dream of judging him – nor any prisoner, come to that – without knowing what had driven him to crime. After all, he himself might well have murdered Uncle Frank, had the abuse gone on much longer. And, as a boy, he had nicked a lot of stuff and also done his share of drugs – usually pressurized by older kids, or even used as a decoy. Growing up in care, you had to submit to the bullies in order to survive, and, if it involved law-breaking and a few bad trips, well, that was just the system. The fact he’d escaped both serious addiction
and
a prison-sentence was due more to chance than to any virtue on his part. And many of these men could have suffered childhoods far more gruelling than his, and then sought revenge through violence, or oblivion through drugs, so who was he to take the moral high line?

Simon was expounding on comedy, seemingly unfazed by Jake and Xavier’s criticisms. Keen to redress the balance, however, Eric weighed in with some praises; glad now of his ‘revision’ on the common, since he could quote specific details. Anyway, quite apart from his fiction, Simon deserved an accolade, having turned up well on time, gone to obvious trouble with his talk and been endearingly good-natured and self-deprecating throughout the whole proceedings. Not all authors were so amenable, alas.
Some of those he’d invited to speak at library events had been late, or rude, or woefully unprepared.

He just wished the numbers were higher. A mere seven men were here this evening, despite the fact this was one of the biggest gaols in Europe. He’d also welcome the chance to be more involved with the group; to arrange regular author-visits, or maybe bring in a performance-poet or set up drama workshops, but, with all his other library work, he had neither the time nor the funding.

‘What interests me,’ said Linda, flicking back her hair, ‘is that your amateur detectives are both female, unlike Holmes and Watson. I’ve noticed you often write about women, especially in your radio series.’

‘I find it easier,’ Simon confessed. ‘For one thing, women talk about their feelings more than men, which gives readers more idea of who they are.’

‘Your female characters all seem very strong,’ she went on. ‘Did you have strong women in your own life?’

‘My mother was extremely strong –
and
extremely difficult! My wife is strong but less difficult. My daughter is strong and not difficult at all. My granddaughter is the strongest of the lot, although whether she’ll turn out difficult still remains to be seen.’

Another burst of laughter. Eric was surprised to find himself joining in, when the day had begun in such despondent mode. And, although he felt a twinge of envy for all those women in Simon’s life, he reminded himself, with uncharacteristic optimism, that
he
could have a new wife, new daughter and even, eventually, a granddaughter, if things worked out with Mandy. In fact, he had made a decision, at last – and made it this very minute. He would go round to her flat tomorrow and tell her the
unvarnished
truth; admit his fears in full, but stress the point that they were only
part
of him and he could compensate in other ways – through loyalty, fidelity, unwavering support for her, and constant hands-on help with the baby. Many people who’d grown up in institutions found it difficult in adult life to show any sort of affection to their kids, but he had already proved, with Erica, that he wasn’t one of them. He’d been determined to give his daughter the very things he himself had lacked: kisses, cuddles bedtime stories, an involved and active parent. Tragically, and due to the divorce, all that had broken apart, but at least now he had the chance to start again, with Mandy.

All at once, the prison alarm drowned out Simon’s voice – clearly some emergency, because, as well as the shrilling siren, there was the sound of
pounding feet, tearing up and down the walkways underneath the library. Then, suddenly, a group of prison officers burst into the room, adding to the uproar with their jangling keys, tramping boots and crackling radios. Having checked on the small group of men, they raced out again, slamming the door and shouting to each other. Next, screams from some hapless inmate began echoing from below, curdled with the ever-frantic screech of the alarm.

‘I wonder which dickhead wants to get out of Education early,’ Rashid joked, raising his voice above the hideous noise.

‘Poor bastard,’ Stewart countered. ‘I wouldn’t want to be bent up by
that
lot.’

‘Bent up?’ Simon was clearly unfamiliar with the term.

‘Three of them grab hold of you at once and pin you down, so you can’t move.’

‘Yeah, but the idiot doesn’t need to scream blue murder. Anyway, if he’d kept his head down, no one would have picked on him, so he’s only got himself to blame.’

‘Come off it, Doug,’ Xavier jeered. ‘You’re no better yourself – always having a go at the screws, then moaning when you’re down the seg, in front of the governor.’

‘Down the seg?’ Again, Simon queried the phrase.

‘It’s where all the fucking idiots are held,’ said the pale and hitherto silent man, finally speaking up, ‘if they’ve been nicked for, like, making hooch in their cell.’

‘Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Bill?’

‘Piss off!’

Eric gripped the arms of his chair. The meeting was disrupted; the men no longer on their best behaviour, but distracted, even fractious; all
concentration
lost. Worse – chaos had erupted the very minute he’d dared entertain a hope about his personal life. Wasn’t that a warning to him that such
optimism
was recklessly ill-founded?

Yes, that ominous alarm was shrieking on and on, seeming to underline the point that just as his youth had been subject to peril, so would be his future.

‘So you see, Mandy,’ Eric concluded in a rush; palms sweaty from the strain of his confession, ‘I’m
not
the hero you think. In fact, I doubt if you’ve ever met someone so utterly pathetic – at least when it comes to flying.’

Mandy suddenly burst out laughing; the laughter sounding
uncomfortably
close to derision.

‘It’s not funny,’ he retorted, stung by her reaction. ‘Just because you’re so cool and calm, you don’t realize quite how badly fear can screw a person up.’

‘Darling …’ She got up from the table and kissed him on the lips. ‘I’m not laughing
at
you; I’m laughing with relief. You see, I’ve known
something
was wrong for at least the last three weeks. You’ve been so stressed and snappy, which is not like you at all. And you didn’t seem to want to see me – kept saying you were busy, even on your days off. So naturally I
imagined
it was something to do with me – maybe you didn’t want the baby, or were having second thoughts about our whole relationship.’

He stared at her, appalled. ‘For heaven’s sakes, Mandy, I adore you! And, of course, I want the baby. OK, I admit I had some qualms at first, but only because I feared you might go off me, once you realized what a coward I am – hate the thought of the father of your child being such a loser.’

She shook her head so vehemently, her auburn curls bobbed and jounced in protest. ‘You’re
not
a loser. Thousands of people are scared of flying – it’s one of the most common fears. I’m lucky in that I actually enjoy it. I was bitten by the travel bug very early on and I’d jet off anywhere and
everywhere
without the slightest qualm. So, if it would help in any way, I’d be happy to come with you to Seattle.’

‘C … come
with
me?’

‘Why not? I’ve no job to tie me down. I just won’t take on any new cake
orders for the time we’ll be away and, as for the café, Barbara will have to cope without me. I’m only there on a casual basis, anyway.’

‘But you can’t fly if you’re pregnant.’

‘’Course you can. Everybody does – well, except for the last month, maybe, when it might be a bit dodgy. In fact, I’d enjoy the trip immensely. I’ve been to Boston and New York and Philadelphia, but never to the West Coast.’

He put his spoon down, having spent a good ten minutes trying to finish his dessert. In fact, he had done scant justice to any of the meal. His
coq-au-vin
had been seasoned with dread; his pavlova garnished with terror. Mandy couldn’t take away that fear (nobody and nothing could, short of a total brain-transplant), but if she were with him on the flight – her
experience
and confidence steering him through the whole ordeal – he might just be able to cope.

‘In any case, you’ve been saying how important it was for me to meet your daughter, and if she’s not coming over here, well, I’d better make her acquaintance in America.’ Having collected up the dirty plates, Mandy went into the kitchen to make coffee.

Would Erica object, he wondered, with a twinge of apprehension; perhaps want him all to herself? And what about Christine’s reaction if he turned up with a girlfriend in tow – and a pregnant girlfriend at that? So what? He would only see her for one short evening, before she and Dwight departed for Hong Kong. And, as for Erica, the two of them could still do things on their own, while Mandy went off sightseeing.

‘To be honest, darling,’ Mandy said, returning with a pot of coffee, ‘the only thing that worries me is the cost. I haven’t told you yet, but yesterday I took myself to Top Shop and blew two weeks’ rent on maternity clothes. I just got carried away!’

Although jolted by such extravagance, he didn’t begrudge her anything. After all, she’d just become his personal “Beat Your Fear of Flying” course, and none of those came cheap.
‘I’ll
pay your fare – that goes without saying. I wouldn’t dream of you coughing up yourself, when you’re doing me a favour.’ He did some calculations in his head. He’d managed to get a reasonable price for the flight, but doubling it would still prove a major strain. Yet, if he had to go cap in hand to Bill Gates himself and beg a personal loan, he would do it gladly to have Mandy as his sky-marshal. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but we won’t be flying direct. We have to change at Minneapolis.’

He had made the booking suddenly, impulsively – and probably quite irrationally – after days and days of dithering. True, flying via Minneapolis was cheaper, but also longer, less convenient and,
indubitably
, more frightening, with two take-offs and two landings. He sincerely hoped that neither of the planes would be Boeing 777s, which, according to the headlines last week (Friday the thirteenth, of course), all had a fatal engine-flaw and were thus liable to crash. And he just couldn’t forget the atrocities Jeremy had listed. All that gruesome detail had stopped him sleeping last night, and been preying on his mind all day at work. Was it wrong, indeed immoral, to inflict such danger on Mandy? ‘D’you object to two flights?’ he asked her, wishing they could simply opt for a day-trip to Southend.

‘’Course not. In fact, I’d like to see Minneapolis.’

‘I’m afraid we won’t see much of it – just three hours hanging about, waiting for our connection.’

‘That’s OK. I love airports – all those gorgeous shops!’

‘Talking of shopping, promise me you won’t go to any expense as far as the flight’s concerned. I insist on buying all the stuff you need.’

‘What stuff?’

‘You know, special gear for flying – lightweight cases with swivelling wheels and security locks, and crease-proof clothes to travel in, and—’

She laughed. ‘You don’t need any of that. I always travel in ordinary jeans and take my old battered suitcase.’

‘I don’t even own a case. Christine took them all. And somehow I’ve put off buying one. I suppose I’m trying to pretend this whole thing isn’t happening.’

‘I’ll lend you one, don’t worry. What I
am
concerned about is whether you’ll manage to get me a seat – next to yours, I mean. With only a week to go, both flights may be full by now.’

The thought sent shudders down his spine. But even if it took him the whole seven days to secure seats side by side, he must and would succeed. ‘I’ll sort it out, I promise,’ he said, feigning a breezy confidence. ‘So put the twenty-seventh in your diary. Oh, and by the way, is your passport up to date?’

‘Yes, I renewed it last year.’

‘Mine’s only just arrived – literally this morning!’ It had been an
extraordinary
moment, holding in his hands a document he’d assumed he would never own. In fact, it had seemed like a rite of passage joining him to the
normal, adult world. ‘I’ve been shitting bricks imagining it wouldn’t come in time.’

‘Eric, you must stop all this worry! Even your concerns about being a father are totally unjustified. You’ll be great – I know you will. You’re the kind of guy who doesn’t mind mussed clothes or sticky fingers, and who’ll happily teach a kid to read and write, and mend its toys and bandage knees and stuff. Some men are just so vain and self-absorbed, all they care about is their clothes, or their career, or their progress in the gym.’

He all but purred as Mandy praised his attributes as dad – a welcome change from Christine’s gripes about his ‘uselessness’, because he couldn’t drive Erica to school or even take her for a swim.

‘Hey!’ Mandy gripped his arm. ‘I’ve just had an idea – about the baby. Why don’t we ask Violet to be godmother – not as a religious thing, but as someone who’d be close to it and take a special interest and—’

‘But I’ve already asked Stella, and in exactly that same sense. I told you, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, but can’t we have
two
godmothers?’

‘Mm, bit tricky. Stella was so pleased to be involved, I wouldn’t want to steal her thunder, especially as she’s rather down at the moment.’

‘Well, perhaps Violet can be a sort of stand-in grandma – almost a
relation
on
your
side, if you like, to make up for my huge family.’

‘Brilliant! Let’s ring her tomorrow and find out how she feels.’

‘Pity you’re working all weekend, or we could have gone to see her in person. It’s been ages since – hold on – is that my mobile? Damn! I left it in the kitchen.’

He could hear her through the open door; caught the words ‘Oh,
Oliver
, how nice!’ Oliver? Why the hell was the bloke ringing her so late – indeed, ringing her at all?

He jumped up from the table, hating the thought of eavesdropping, but driven by sheer jealousy to try to listen in. Although what he heard was far from reassuring: flirtatious giggles on Mandy’s part and a worryingly
intimate
tone, as if they knew each other well. And then she closed the kitchen door, which was even more suspicious. What could she be saying that he wasn’t meant to hear? Maybe they were planning an assignation – not lunch, this time, but a cosy little evening together. No, that was downright stupid. If she was pregnant with his child, she’d hardly be pursuing another man. Did he have to be so insecure, especially when she’d just been singing his praises? Except that made it more upsetting, in a way. Why couldn’t she
come back in and continue the conversation, rather than linger in the kitchen with some upstart?

He waited in a fever of impatience. Her sitting-room, normally so colourful and comfortable, now seemed dark and menacing. He took his coffee over to the sofa, only to push the cup away. It tasted bitter, tainted; the dregs gritty in his mouth.

‘Who was that?’ he asked, the minute she did return – what seemed like centuries later.

‘Oh, just a friend.’

‘I heard you say “Oliver”.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘You mean the Oliver at Mayday Hospital? How long has
he
been a friend?’

‘Oh …’ She flushed. ‘He was so helpful when I went there, we’ve become quite pally since.’

Pally? Sleazy images began flooding through his mind: Oliver peeling off her clothes; fondling her breasts; giving her so wild a time, his own performance paled into insignificance. Yet if she did abscond with Oliver – or anyone else, for that matter – it would be entirely his own fault. This last month, his behaviour had been inexcusable. Not only had he invented
deadlines
in order not to see her, he had also kept her in the dark; hadn’t so much as mentioned his summons to America, the whole business of the flight, or the nerve-racking wait for his passport. Instead, he’d flared up at the slightest thing; snapped and even shouted; been totally obnoxious, in short. No wonder she’d assumed he had doubts about their relationship and didn’t want the baby.

All at once, he knew he had to act – resolutely, instantly – or he might lose her
and
their child. He fell to one knee on the carpet; gazing up at her face. ‘Mandy, will you … will you marry me?’

The mantel-clock seemed to tick out every second with a cruel and mocking torpor. Why hadn’t she replied? Was she trying to find the words to say she wasn’t sure; that what she felt for Oliver could no longer be denied and that she needed time to sort out her emotions?

He became increasingly aware of the crick in his neck; the hardness of the floor beneath his knee. How ludicrous he must look to any outside observer. Indeed, if she turned down his proposal, he would have made himself a laughing stock.

Then, suddenly, she whispered, ‘Yes, Eric, darling, I will.’

He catapulted to his feet; hugged her, kissed her, waltzed her round the room. To hell with that stupid prison-alarm! To hell with air-disasters! Jeremy had been exceptionally unlucky, whereas
he
would be exceptionally lucky – in fact, the luckiest guy in the whole wide world, now that Mandy had agreed to be his wife.

‘I wanted to buy you a ring,’ he said, stopping his mad dance, at last, if only to pause for breath. ‘But I didn’t dare to go ahead until I knew what your feelings were. You see, I was terrified you wouldn’t want to hitch
yourself
to such a pathetic waste of space.’

She led him to the sofa and clasped both his hands in hers. ‘Don’t call yourself a waste of space. It’s demeaning and untrue, darling. OK, you may be more prone to fear than other people, but that’s completely
understandable
in light of what you’ve been through. How could anyone survive those constant moves from pillar to post, without feeling insecure? You had no real settled home, remember – never even knew who your parents were. And maybe the circumstances of your actual birth affected you, in some way. Your mother must have been scared stiff, going into labour all alone, and perhaps you picked up on that instinctively, even in the womb. I know
I’d
panic if I had to cope on my own – most women would, I’m sure. Eric, listen – I’m telling you now, I want
you
there at the birth, as well as all the midwives they can spare!’

‘I’ll be there – you can count on it.’ He was determined not to miss this baby’s arrival in the world, as he’d had to miss Erica’s, to his deep and lasting regret. As a foundling, he lacked the vital details of his own birth – the time, the place, the circumstances – and thus felt a deep desire to witness the delivery of any child he fathered.

‘Christine had a Caesarean,’ he told her, ‘so I was marched out of the labour-ward and made to sit in some dreary waiting-room. She was a special case, though. She’d already had three miscarriages and had to take enormous care all through the pregnancy. That’s why I can’t help worrying. I mean, are you absolutely positive it’s safe for you to fly? I don’t want you taking the slightest risk.’

‘Stop fussing, darling! I’m as fit as a fiddle – never been ill in my life. And Prue told me just the other day I’d probably sail through my labour because of what she calls my “child-bearing hips”. Actually, I suspect she was just saying I was fat.’

‘Of course you’re not fat. Your hips are incredibly sexy – rounded and voluptuous and—’ He unzipped her jeans; eased them down, and began
kissing those voluptuous hips; letting his mouth move gradually lower and lower.