Falling For You (13 page)

I
looked at
Marco suspiciously for a moment. Was he alone? Was he there to take me in, there was some reward attached to my capture - was that what this was about? I managed what must pass for a thin smile.

‘What possessed me? You have to ask?’

Even from where I stood I could see that he was trembling. He looked fuck-awful. Like he hadn’t slept any more than I had. Had he really been out looking for me all this time?

‘I always knew ...’ I watched him take a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and he offered me one. I didn’t smoke. He knew this. Perhaps he felt this’d be a good time for me to start?

‘I always knew you were one edgy guy, Lozza. But even I never figured you’d take things this far.
Why
, man?’ he shook his head, clearly distressed.

But we’d already covered that one.

‘Who’s been helping you? You can’t have avoided the fuzz this long without help.’

I shook my head. I had avoided them. There’d been no one to help. Marco looked perplexed.

‘They’ll be out to get you, you know that. You … you can hide out here a couple of days - a week, at the most, but they’ll still get you in the end.’

‘They won’t catch me.’  I didn’t know what was making me say it, but right at that moment I got a shot of clarity brighter than I’d ever had in my life. The police weren’t going to catch me. I knew it, deep in my bones, even if it defied logic to explain why.

Marco didn’t know that, yet, though. He didn’t have the clarity that I had.

‘They’ll catch up with you, Lozza. Bound to. It’s not the sort of minor misdemeanour they’re likely to let slip now, is it?’

‘He isn’t dead,’ I said, and I felt a kind of wonder at it. I never went in there intending to kill him and yet … after what happened, the hope that I might have finished him seemed my only salvation; it would have meant that I hadn’t thrown away my own life for nothing.

‘That’s amazing.’

 Marco’s eyes narrowed as he took a drag on his wet ciggie before throwing it into the undergrowth. I folded my arms and let him run on with what he’d got to say. He seemed determined to say it, anyway.

‘Why don’t you just … face it, man?’ He stuck out his chin at me.

‘I can’t.’

‘You can’t,
you can’t
?’ He kicked at the undergrowth and I could see my apparent calmness was upsetting him.

‘No. They’ll put me in jail.’ 

He shrugged his shoulders, simultaneously opening out his arms. He didn’t get it, that was the thing. I could face a pit full of venomous snakes sooner than I’d face being banged up. I could face an eternity and a half in hell.

‘You’ve never been in the clink,’ he soothed. ‘Not as bad as you think. Specially not for one as young as you.’ No, he didn’t understand.

‘I can’t.’

 ‘If you leave now you’re never coming back, Loz. Ever in your life. Think about it.’ He was doing his best to persuade me, to keep the logic and the good sound common sense coming but I could tell from his voice he knew he wasn’t getting through.

‘I know. My father must have the luck of the devil though, I swear. I thought I’d killed him, Marco. ‘

‘Your father …?’

Marco made a strange sound in his throat then, leaned forward. For a moment I thought he was going to punch me out. He could do it. He was three types of karate expert and it wouldn’t cause him too much strain. Maybe he was thinking, as my friend, he’d got to turn me in because that’s what would be best for me. That I’d see the sense and thank him for it eventually.

 ‘He deserves nothing less,’ he said at last. ‘I know what you’ve had to suffer, believe me. But Lozza - that man you hurt two nights ago ...’ He pulled me in towards him, and for one long moment hugged me close instead, whispered into my ear;

‘That man wasn’t your father.’

I don’t know who he was: I never found out what happened to him in the end. I bite into the
dosa
Arjuna bought me as the checkpoint guard decides to wave us on after all and my companion heaves a quiet sigh of relief. He won’t relax till he sees me out of the country, I know. He thinks that then I’ll be safe. But getting on the plane back to England holds no such promise for me.

By the time my international flight - transiting Abu Dhabi - touches down on a snow-sprinkled runway at Heathrow I realise I have been travelling a good fourteen hours since we parted company. Due to the time-difference it is still mid-morning though - it is nudging 10.30 am on a dank winter’s morning in England, and it is already the following day; Christmas Eve. 

As I step out of the terminal, hoping to hitch myself a ride that will take me into Kent, that man - that nameless man, who wasn’t my father – he comes back into my mind once more, and the memory makes me cringe. It isn’t just what I did to him that troubles me. It was five years ago, but I must surely still be wanted in Merry Ditton because of it? I’ll need to keep my head low, keep out of sight while I’m there. I don’t want to get arrested, but ... I can’t help the feeling that, by returning to Kent - even after all this time - I am somehow sealing my own fate.

‘I want to help you, Rose.’ The light in the woodshed is dim. A mean, forty-watt bulb hangs naked from the ceiling and I can’t properly see my uncle’s face. I’m standing stock still. Having tentatively reprised the topic of what happens to Dad if I go to Uni, I’m watching Ty fill up the wicker basket with logs waiting for his answer.

‘I do want to help you but I need to be certain of the best way to do that before I jump to any conclusions …’

What conclusions? I feel my heart sink. I only want him to tell me if they will help me or not. Everything rides on his answer.
Everything.

‘What do you mean?’ I drop a handful of smaller bits of wood into the wicker basket at my feet, keeping it casual but right now my stomach is one tight knot. 

‘I
mean
, I’d need to know about the level of commitment I’d be getting the family into,’ he says candidly, ‘And how best to execute that. You wouldn’t want me to promise something I couldn’t deliver, would you?’

‘Well, no,’ I swallow.

‘All I’m saying is; if we’re to get involved in his care I’d need my brother’s case to be reviewed by a specialist team.’

‘Why?’ I look at him painfully.

‘ …people who might be able to give us a better prognosis than he’s had up till now.’

I sigh quietly. He thinks we haven’t been through all these medical
h
oops and obstacles already? I know where he’s coming from but he’s wasting his time. This’ll just mean more tests, more hours for Dad spent being hooked up to scanners, more interminable waits in consultants’ waiting rooms.

‘What would be the point?’ I ask my uncle. Is he thinking medical science might have moved on, that there might be more options available now than there were five years ago? It’s possible, of course, but I can’t help noticing that Ty still hasn’t answered my question. If Dad’s prognosis were to remain exactly as it is - would the rest of the Clares be willing to help us out?

‘When was Jack’s last review done?’ Ty insists.  I take the handle on the other side of the basket and I see him let out a long, mist-filled breath.

‘Dad gets seen regularly,’ I stall. I don’t remember when the last actual review was. 

‘I’d still like to get an independent review done for Jack. With your permission?’

‘You’ll need
his
permission,’ I point out.

‘Naturally.’

He won’t want to give it, I don’t bother to add. Dad’s sick to the back teeth with hospitals, but it looks as if Ty’s not committing himself till he knows quite a bit more about his brother’s condition. Fair dos.

‘That’s settled then. We’ll talk about this more later, I promise, Rose.’

No!
I think, a feeling of panic rising up in my chest now, galvanising me into action. I step in front of him by the open door, blocking his way and he looks at me in surprise. It isn’t settled. Nothing is settled. Only that he’d like Dad to be seen by more specialists; that’s it. But it’s not enough.
What does all that mean for me? What does it mean for all my hopes and dreams?
I need more of an answer than that …    

 ‘If you don’t help me,’ I blurt out suddenly, ‘I’m never, ever going to get away from here. You know that, don’t you?’

‘That isn’t one hundred per cent true …’ Ty has stopped in his tracks, is looking at me intently. He’s standing beside me at the open door now, ready to go. All around him a thin settlement of snow and ice are lining the door lintel; at his feet, our boot-tracks, made so recently, have frozen into solid ice. I think; he’s already made up his mind, hasn’t he?

‘You still have choices, Rose.’

‘What choices?’ I mutter. Ty looks at the ground now, choosing his words carefully as if he’s well aware that what he’s about to say next won’t go down well.

‘Jack may actually be better off living in nursing accommodation than in a family home. Have you ever thought of that?’

‘
No
.’ I frown.

‘I’m not saying that it’s so,’ he says gently. ‘I’m just saying that I need to be sure and if that is the case …’

I kick at the door of the log shed as we go through it, mad at him, frustrated that he won’t just say yes, yes I’ll take my brother in and make sure that he’s cared for and looked after properly. I wanted him to say that. I needed him to say it. The fact that he won’t makes me feel heartsick. Trapped. Angry.

I don’t want to talk about the possibility that ‘Dad’s interests might best be served in a home’. They won’t. I know him better than anyone so I think I’d know that much. I’m not even going to go there.

‘I am looking out for my brother’s best interests,’ Ty pulls at the sleeve of my coat before I can walk on out onto the snow-lined path ahead of him. ‘You have to believe that.’

‘Sure,’ I dredge out. I keep my head down not wanting to even look at him as I answer. Right now I’m just desperate to hide my feelings. He’s clearly reluctant to get too involved but he’s still the best bet I’ve got right now.

‘We’d better get back with the wood,’ I say.

‘Yes.’ He hesitates, ‘Look … thanks for not bringing up this subject in front of the others. I’ll broach it with Carlotta later but she’s upset enough about things at the minute - now wouldn’t have been a good time, you understand?’

‘That’s okay,’ I say sadly.

‘Rose … I want to look out for you, too,’ he swallows. ‘I’ve got to do my best by everyone concerned. You understand that, don’t you?’ The tone of his voice makes me turn round.

‘Of course,’ I say, watching his eyes carefully. He does
care
, I can see that. He’s just got a lot of difficult balancing to do when it comes to the people he cares about in his life. His own family take precedence, naturally. I just don’t know if me and Dad are going to weigh heavily enough in his concern for him to want to make any difference to us.

I was hoping he’d have some kind of answer for me; that he’d asked me out here so he could throw some kind of life-line to me but I’m still none the wiser and the heaviness I feel inside has not been lifted.    

‘You might want to lock up the log shed before you go,’ my uncle turns and indicates the door behind him as we step out into the snow. ‘We heard on the radio coming up here, that the police are looking for someone.’

‘Oh?’

 ‘They were warning people to check that their sheds and outbuildings are kept locked. Just a precaution. Samantha was laughing about it on the way up but now we’re stuck here - well …’ he looks at me sheepishly.

‘I don’t think we need worry
too
much,’ I say dully. We’re pretty remote up here. I can’t see anyone would bother to trek up this far unless they had a purpose to. I go back and click the shed lock in place though, just to please him.

‘Thanks Rose. There’s one other thing.’ He hesitates, ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, and it wasn’t something I wanted to bring up in front of the others ...’

My eyes open slightly; what now?

‘Given that we’re marooned, at least for the night - would you have any objection if we took over the spare downstairs room for our own use? Just until the weather breaks …?’

No.
No
; that room isn’t a spare room. He knows that.

‘Why do you even ask me?’ I
say
painfully. ‘Carlotta won’t want to sleep in there anyway. It’s full of Mum’s things,’ I remind him.

‘We’ll help you move them. It’s just … three extra people in a two-bed farmhouse is going to be a tight squeeze if we don’t use every available bit of space,’ he warns.

I don’t want to move all Mum’s things. I don’t want Carlotta sleeping in that room. We wouldn’t be able to shift everything out of there and I know even though she’ll be scared Carlotta is the curious type; she won’t be able to resist poking about in every drawer and then coming out later with passing comments on whatever she finds …

And yet - it seems such a very small thing for him to ask, in view of what I’m asking them to do for me. I’m going to have to give in on this one. He’s right; it’s a huge
request
to ask me, but I don’t want to antagonise them so I can’t be rigid about it.

‘We’ll have to ask Dad,’ I say cautiously.

‘I asked him earlier,’ he confesses. ‘He’s okay with it.’ He hangs his head a little to one side. ‘But … I wanted to make sure you were, too?’

 
Dad’s okay with it, is he?
I feel a small stab of betrayal that Dad told his brother it was okay without consulting with me. He
should
have run it past me first. 

‘That’s all right then,’ I say with a false cheerfulness I do not feel. They are going to go in and use Mum’s room. The space that was hers, that’s been closed up for so long … it’s stupid, I know, but for such a long time I’ve been consoled by the thought that the air in there will have been last breathed in and out by her; the surfaces, last touched by her fingers. I had this silly idea that if it stayed unused then something small might still be retained of her, in there; some part of her that we could keep, even though all the rest had gone.

Only she hadn’t been in there when I went in to make that spell yesterday, had she? The room had been musty and stale, fair enough, but there’d been no sense of
her
. Still …  

I take in a deep breath.

‘As long as … As long as everyone’s careful with all of Mum’s stuff.’

‘Naturally, we will be.’

‘It’s just that … I’ve never had time to go through all Mum’s belongings yet.’ I pause.  Five years is a long time. He’s never going to buy that one. And Mrs P has offered a dozen times to give me a hand if I ever wanted to go through Mum’s things. ‘I mean, I’ve never really felt up to it, Uncle Ty.’

 ‘We’re in your debt, Rose.’ He rubs the side of my wet coat consolingly, appreciatively, and I get a momentary reprise of all the feelings I was experiencing before when I was blubbing against his expensive jumper; that it’s okay to feel sad that they’re opening up Mum’s room; that it’s okay to admit that I’ve avoided going through her all her belongings this long because part of me couldn’t bear it. But he knows all this. I can see it in the way his eyes are crinkling up at the sides in compassion and kindness. He looks … he looks so much like my dad that he makes me heart ache, because I’ve lost my dad too, in so many senses of the word. I’ve lost the one person I had left who was still looking out for me.

Who still
could.
       

‘We’ll help you with packing it all up,’ my uncle Ty is saying ‘My girls are very good at that - organising things …’