Love and Devotion (53 page)

After depositing the children in the children’s section at Novel Ways, with the promise of a milkshake and a chocolate-chip cookie from the coffee shop to follow, Harriet went to find the latest Alan Titchmarsh gardening book for her father and the new Delia for her mother.

When she’d found the books and queued for ten minutes to pay for them, she asked the teenage girl behind the counter if Miles was around. She was told he was upstairs with a customer in the Mind, Body and Spirit section. How apt, she thought as she went to find him.

‘Got anything to improve my mind?’ she said when the customer he’d been helping went to pay for a copy of
Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.

‘Harriet!’ he said. ‘How ... how are you?’ There was no disguising his awkwardness. Which made her feel even guiltier. There he’d been, silently grieving for the woman he loved, and she’d come along and metaphorically kicked him in the teeth. How could she have been so insensitive? Again she was reminded that she never seemed to be quite in step with everyone else. Perhaps Dominic was right and she really was incapable of genuine affection. And hadn’t she proved that already by using Will? Realising that Miles was waiting for her to speak, she said, ‘I think I must be suffering from a severe case of jingle-bells madness to be out shopping on the last Saturday before Christmas. How are you? The shop seems manically busy.’

‘It’s been like it for days. As if that wasn’t enough, I’m organising an event here for the writing group I belong to.’

Thinking that this was something else he’d kept quiet about, she said, ‘Is that a recent thing? The writing group?’

‘Not really. It’s just a case of lights and bushels.’

She smiled, wanting him to relax. It pained her that he was so ill at ease in her company. ‘What kind of event are you putting on?’

‘Poetry and short story readings. It’s on Monday evening. I ...’ His voice broke off and he fiddled with the pen behind his ear. ‘I don’t suppose I can interest you in a ticket?’

She smiled again, filled with relief that a bridge was forming between them. ‘Why not? And how about a drink afterwards? Or will you be luvving it up with your fellow writers?’

 

He viewed her sceptically for a brief moment, his expression tense and unsure.

‘I’d really appreciate talking with you, Miles,’ she said, pressing the point. ‘There’s something we need to discuss, isn’t there? And I think we’ll both feel a lot better once we’ve got it over and done with.’

The tension disappeared from his face. ‘A drink would be great. But you’ll have to hang around after the event while I tidy the shop and lock up.’

‘No problem. I can give you a hand if you like. What time does it start?’

‘Kick off’s at eight o’clock and tickets are available on the door.’

A sudden burst of schmaltzy Christmas music had Miles cursing. ‘I’ve told them no boy bands or Americanised crap with sleigh bells, only traditional carols. But will they listen? You’ll have to excuse me while I commit some festive genocide amongst the Saturday staff.’ He put a hand on her arm, kissed her cheek — sealing an end to their estrangement — and hurried away. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘Dominic’s coming home for Christmas. Latest estimated time of arrival is some time on Monday. But who knows with my brother? He might grace us with his presence on Boxing Day, or with any luck, not bother to show up at all.’

Harriet went downstairs to round up the children for their promised milkshake, hoping that Dominic’s impending visit wouldn’t cast a shadow over Christmas.

She knew of one person, though, who would be delighted at the news: Carrie.

 

 

 

 

Will opened the plastic box Harriet had delivered earlier that morning, and without looking at the foil packages he put them straight in the bin. As he’d done with all the others. He wished he could feel more grateful for what his neighbours were doing, but he couldn’t. Gratitude was beyond him. His feelings were centred on the one agonising and inescapable truth that would haunt him for the rest of his life: he’d failed Suzie. He knew in every fibre of his being that if he’d only acted differently that night, his daughter would still be alive.

Every day, over and over, he replayed the sequences of that dreadful night in his mind.

If only he hadn’t insisted on taking Harriet out for dinner.

If only he and Harriet hadn’t thought it would be better to go directly to the hospital.

If only he had gone straight to his mother’s.

Jarvis, Marty and his mother kept telling him on the phone that it was futile to think this way, that Suzie’s death had occurred after events that no one could have foreseen. As though it would make him feel better, his mother had pointed out that Maxine’s guilt was far worse than his. Apparently, when Ruby had let herself in with Gemma’s key, she had found Maxine lying comatose on the sofa.

But he didn’t care a damn that Maxine had to live with the knowledge that she’d been so drunk she’d been oblivious to the constant ringing of the phone. That was her problem. She’d have to find her own way of dealing with it.

The post-mortem had revealed, as the medical staff at the hospital had suspected it would, that the cause of Suzie’s death had been a ruptured aneurysm - a subarachnoid haemorrhage — on the right side of her brain. There had been a fatal loss of blood and severe damage. Time, they had been told, was of the essence if there had been any chance of saving Suzie. The wheels of an official enquiry had been put into motion, and while Maxine was determined to fight tooth and nail to sue the ambulance service, Will knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Suzie was dead. No amount of legal wrangling would bring her back. Somehow he would have to learn to live with the incalculable weight of his grief. A grief that went far deeper than mere tears and words. His heart and soul had been crushed. He was regularly consumed by the need to lay waste to anything that got in his way. To tear out his own insides. To roar and howl. The gut-wrenching anguish he felt at times left him in a state of catatonic numbness when he could think of nothing but the futility of carrying on.

He raked his hands through his unwashed hair and, feeling sick to his stomach, filled the kettle to make some coffee. But when he plugged in the kettle, he remembered he’d run out of coffee. It was just about all he was surviving on. That and toast. After checking the breadbin and finding just a pair of crusts left in the bag, he knew he had to summon the energy to go to the shops. He couldn’t face going into town — all those cheery-faced shoppers preparing to celebrate Christmas with their loved ones — but thought he could manage the short walk to Edna Gannet’s. He searched the mess on the work surface for his wallet and keys, pulled on his coat in the hall and locked the door after him.

It was a while before he noticed how cold it was and that a heavy stillness had settled on the day. The light was fading, drawing the afternoon to an early close. Snow had begun to fall. A delicate flake landed on his nose: it melted instantly, prompting a memory that made his eyes sting with tears. Suzie had been two years old when she’d first seen snow. She’d stood at the open kitchen door, a red-booted foot hovering cautiously on the brink of exploring the magical whiteness, but only when she’d taken his hand had she plucked up the courage to venture forth. Before long she’d been giddy with excited wonder and had helped him make a snowman, patting the snow with her tiny gloved hands and refusing to go inside even though her nose was turning as red as her boots.

Edna Gannet’s was empty when he pushed open the door, and completely quiet. He felt a wave of gratitude towards Edna for not filling the shop with piped carols or the meaningless chunterings of a local radio station. From where she was restocking a shelf of Christmas cards and wrapping paper, her infamous steely gaze fell on him as he ducked behind a shelf to find some coffee. He picked up two of the largest jars so that there was no danger of him running out and having to make another trek to the shops, and went to look for some bread. Then, picking up a packet of butter, half a dozen eggs and bacon - who knows, he might get around to eating it - he put his purchases on the counter, behind which Edna was now standing. He knew that she would know about Suzie; it had been front-page news in local paper:
‘Young Girl Dies Because of Ambulance Blunder.’

Avoiding any eye-contact with Edna, he opened his wallet while she rang up his bill. To his annoyance, he found that it was empty, save for a twenty-pence piece and a petrol receipt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the bank or the cash machine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t seem to have any money with me. Will you take a credit card?’ Without meaning to, his eyes had found hers and he flinched when he felt the full force of her scrutiny.

‘I’ll have to add on a charge if you pay that way.’

‘So be it.’

‘Cheaper not to. Why don’t you pay me another day?’

Will had lived in Maple Drive long enough to know that this was an unheard-of proposition: Edna Gannet never put anything on a tab. ‘No, really, I’d rather pay now.’

‘It’s a one per cent charge.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Any time you’re passing.’

‘I don’t plan to be passing for some time,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘Please, just take my card and charge me whatever you want.’ He pushed it across the counter. If he didn’t get out soon, he’d end up doing or saying something he’d regret.

‘Suit yourself.’

Back out on the street, it had stopped snowing; it was almost as if he’d imagined it. If only the last week could vanish as easily, he thought as he walked home, his head down so as not to attract any more eye-contact with passers-by. He’d had enough of that from Edna. He recalled Harriet telling him how Edna had once tried to be nice to her and the children because of her sister’s death. ‘It’s too much of a shock to the system if people you rely upon to behave brutally suddenly act out of character,’ Harriet had said. ‘Unexpected acts of kindness should be outlawed.’

She was right. Just as she’d been right to end things between them. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking of to get involved with her. Perhaps he’d been trying to prove something to himself. He wasn’t sure what, but it no longer mattered. Harriet was in the past. As was any semblance of a normal life. His mother and Jarvis had been on at him since the funeral that he should get back to work. ‘Laddie, you need something else to think about,’ Jarvis had said during one of his many phone calls. ‘Just do a few half days to begin with.’

‘I’ll give it some thought,’ Will had said, instantly putting it far from his mind. How could anyone expect him to work when it was as much as he could do to get up of a morning? Sometimes it was hard to breathe for the pain. This trip to Edna’s had been a major expedition. It was also his first step beyond his front door since the day of the funeral. If it hadn’t been for Jarvis and Marty he didn’t know how he’d have got through the service; they’d sat either side of him in church, literally propping him up.

Outwardly he’d looked calm enough, so Marty had said, but inwardly as he’d stared at his daughter’s coffin and at the pitifully small one next to it — containing the grandson he would never know - he’d been howling like a madman. He had no recollection of anyone else at the funeral. Not until afterwards, when everybody had assembled at Maxine and Steve’s. By this stage Maxine had disappeared. Later he was told she’d gone to bed, too traumatised to talk to anyone. It had been down to Steve and Ruby to dole out drink and food. To Will’s eternal shame, Steve had been the one who’d taken charge of organising the funeral. Despite the cold, Will had wanted to spend most of the time outside in the garden. But Marty, still not a hundred per cent from his operation and now embarking on a course of radiotherapy, had forced him to come inside for a drink. It was a mistake, because once he’d started to drink he couldn’t stop and he began bludgeoning himself with snapshot memories of Suzie, in particular the day he’d driven her to the abortion clinic and she’d asked him to sing ‘Scarlet Ribbons’ to her. He didn’t think he’d ever forget that day.

He’d been drinking solidly for some time when he’d caught sight of a group of youngsters - friends of Suzie’s from school and university, Gemma had said.

‘Who’s the lad all done up in the suit and tie?’ he’d asked, curious. He stood out, being the only boy in the group of girls.

‘His name’s Richard,’ Gemma had said. ‘He used to go out with Sinead, Suzie’s closest friend at university.’

Through the blur of whisky and grief, something nagged at him, but it wasn’t until people started drifting away - Suzie’s friends had been the first to leave - that he realised what it was. Seized with a fury he didn’t know he possessed, he had wanted to chase after the lad and beat the shit out of him. ‘You’re the reason my daughter’s dead!’ he wanted to scream. ‘If you’d kept your hands off her, she wouldn’t have got pregnant and she’d still be alive!’

But he didn’t. He let the murderous sense of outrage pass. Blaming his daugther’s death on anyone but himself wouldn’t wash. She’d been his responsibility, no one else’s.

When he let himself in there was a message on the answer phone from his mother. She phoned him every day. He wished she wouldn’t. Her need to care for him, to make sure he was eating and sleeping properly, only added to his self-pitying guilt.

Now that he’d been out, the house was making Will feel claustrophobic, and after drinking a mug of coffee and managing half a slice of toast, he put on his walking boots and warmest fleece and went down to the end of the garden to walk along the canal. Perhaps it would have a restorative effect. Nothing else did.

He’d been walking for no more than a few minutes when he saw Harriet’s father coming towards him with Toby lagging behind. If it had been possible, Will would have turned round and gone back home, but Bob had seen him and so an exchange was unavoidable. So long as it was mercifully brief, Will thought he’d survive. So long as there were no cloying words of sympathy, he’d be okay.