‘The telephone’s ringing, Mr Liberty, can’t you hear it?’
He looked about him, confused - his brain was still in the chemist’s searching the shelves for the elusive items. ‘Oh, so it is.’ He crossed the kitchen, went out into the hall to where the phone was ringing. He picked up the receiver, glad of the diversion.
‘Hello, Dad, it’s me, Jonah. I’m just nipping to the supermarket and I wondered if you needed anything. I noticed you were getting low on cereal the last time I was there. Anything in particular you fancy?’
Thank God for Jonah, thought Gabriel, five minutes later, when he had explained that the Costellos were staying with him again and he had offloaded - after a few false starts - the task that had been thrust upon him.
Jonah was still smiling to himself as he worked his way methodically round the supermarket, which was busy with early evening shoppers.
Weaving a path through the stop-start traffic of trolleys, he didn’t know what amused him more: his father’s excruciating embarrassment as he mumbled into the phone, trying to avoid the unmentionable T and ST words, or the fact that Miss Costello was back, albeit under the weather with flu and ‘female malaise’.
Arriving at Mermaid House, and parking alongside the Costello campervan he thought of how, only the other night, he had wished for its owner to return to Deaconsbridge so that she could wave her magic wand over his father. Well, amazingly, the first part of that wish had come true. Now it was a matter of getting her back on her feet so that she could fulfil the rest. As to any pleasurable hopes he might have secretly harboured for himself, time would tell on that score.
He opened the boot of his car and lifted out two carrier-bags. One contained everyday bits and bobs for his father, and the other everything necessary to get the patient on the road to recovery.
His father met him at the door. He looked anxious. ‘Did you get everything?’
‘Everything,’ Jonah reassured him, and stepped into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Ned. Nice to see you again. How’re you doing? Hope you’re not going to come down with flu. You ought to be careful too, Dad.’
Ned got down from the chair by the Aga where he had been
reading a book and came over. ‘Have you brought some medicine to make Mummy better?’
‘That’s right, lots of medicine. We’ll soon have her well enough to chase you round the garden.’ He passed one of the bags to Gabriel.
‘Do you want to take it up?’
His father’s face coloured. ‘Er … no, I was just about to start cooking some supper. You do it.’
‘Okay, but why don’t you hang fire on the cooking and let me do that for you?’
He realised when he was climbing the stairs that he hadn’t asked his father which bedroom had been turned into a sick room. But the sound of coughing directed him towards Val’s old room. He knocked on the partially open door. A croaky voice answered, ‘It’s okay, I’m as decent as I’ll ever be, you can come in. Oh, it’s you.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
She blew her nose. ‘I haven’t the strength to be disappointed. You can come closer, if you want. I promise not to breathe over you.
What have you got there?’
He handed her the plastic bag, hovered awkwardly at her side, then sat in the chair next to the bed. At once he felt history repeating itself: how many times had he sat here in this chair chatting to Val when she was ill? ‘I was going shopping anyway and Dad enlisted my help.’
Despite her discomfort, she smiled knowingly. He could see now just how ill she was. Her complexion was flushed, and beneath her eyes, puffy dark arcs bruised the skin. Her breathing was shallow and echoed with a trace of a wheeze that made him want to clear his throat. ‘Your poor father,’ she said hoarsely, ‘I’ve never seen anyone dissolve into such a heap of toe-curling embarrassment.’
Jonah smiled too. ‘Not his scene, I’m afraid. Womanly matters were always taboo in this household. He would much rather you were suffering from something less indelicate, something dignified with backbone. Bubonic plague, for instance.’ Lowering his eyes to the plastic bag, he said, ‘I’ve tried to cover every eventuality, but if I’ve forgotten something or got the wrong thing, just say, and I’ll make another trip. The supermarket stays open until eight tonight.’
She rummaged through the bag. He could see the relief in her face.
‘Good heavens,’ she said hoarsely, ‘I’m looking at a small chemist’s shop. You’re a real life-saver, Master Liberty. You’ve thought of everything. Super-strength painkillers and a selection of feminine hygiene to suit every occasion. I can even go swimming now.’ She coughed, then reached for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘That’s if the mood takes me, of course. Mind if I make a timely exit?’
He rose quickly to his feet. ‘Shall I bring up a drink so you can take the painkillers?’
‘Tea would be great. Though don’t make it as strong as your father does. With the amount I’m getting through, I don’t want to risk sprouting chest hairs.’
She was back in bed when he knocked on the door again. He
noticed she had brushed her hair and sprayed on something pleasant.
She took the mug from him and said, ‘Maybe this is the moment to say that you can call me Clara, seeing as we’ve been so intimately thrown together.’
‘I’ll call you Clara if you stop calling me Master Liberty.’
‘Agreed. So - and given your stunted upbringing at the hands of a father like yours - where did you pick up such a wonderful understanding of female needs? How come you’re not so bashful?’
‘No big deal. My last girlfriend suffered badly every month. She found yoga helped. Shall I pop out the pills for you?’
She nodded, then settled back into the pillows and sipped her tea.
Suddenly she looked doubly tired, as though just talking to him was taking it out of her. ‘You’re too much, Jonah, you really are.’ She sighed. ‘Emily was a fool to let a saint in human form slip through her fingers.’
He put the tablets into her outstretched hand. ‘How did you know her name was Emily?’
Her eyes wavered away from his, looked out of the window at the distant crest of Kinder Scout bathed in the soft early-evening sunshine. ‘Your father must have told me,’ she said. ‘How else would I have known?’
It seemed unlikely that his father would have discussed something as personal as his younger son’s love-life, but Jonah let it go. She started to cough again, her shoulders jerking violently. He took the mug from her and put it on the bedside table next to the box of tissues. From the carrier-bag that was now at the end of the bed he pulled out a bottle of cough mixture. He read the instructions on the box. ‘You’re not pregnant or asthmatic, are you?’
‘Not asthmatic, and certainly not pregnant. Not unless this is a contagious bout of immaculate conception I’m suffering from.’
He unscrewed the metal top of the bottle, measured the specified dose into the plastic cap provided, and gave it to her. ‘Every four hours, it says.’ He checked his watch. ‘So the next dose will be at eleven.’
She gave him a limp salute. ‘Yes, Doctor.’
I
‘I’m on cooking duty next. Any special requests?
She shook her head weakly. ‘No, I’m not hungry.’
‘Not even a boiled egg? Everyone likes a boiled egg when they’re not well.’ Smiling, he added, ‘Perhaps I could rustle up a soldier or two.’
‘Sorry, but uniforms have never done it for me.’
He emptied some of the contents of the bag on to the dressing table behind him, lining up the packets of Lemsip, throat lozenges, vitamin supplements, and the extra soft tissues. He caught her eye in the mirror as she watched what he was doing. Thinking that she had probably had enough of his company, he folded the bag, and said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Shout if you change your mind about something to eat. And don’t worry about Ned. Dad and I will take good care of him.’
He was across the room and standing by the door when she said, ‘Thank you for the tea, Jonah, and …’
‘And?’
‘And for everything else. Give yourself a gold star and go straight to the top of the class.’
‘I guess it’s the least I can do, given the amount you did here for Dad.’
A burst of coughing rattled her chest and when she had recovered, she said, in a voice laden with sleep, ‘You need to talk to him, Jonah.
There’s something he wants to say to you, something he needs to say.
Help him to seize the moment. He’s not brave enough to do it on his own.’
Puzzled, Jonah went downstairs. He could hear the animated sound of his father’s voice in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. By the Aga, sitting on Gabriel’s lap, Ned was enthralled with the story that was being read to him with relish and enthusiasm.
How perfect they looked together. It seemed a shame to disturb them.
The vote was carried by a unanimous show of hands that Jonah should cook cheese-and-ham omelettes and Ned’s favourite vegetable, sweetcorn. He was a happy and remarkably trusting little boy, who appeared to take everything in his stride - a trait he had probably inherited from his mother, thought Jonah. Though moderately concerned that she should soon be well, he wasn’t put out by her absence. It was only when he started to yawn and Gabriel announced that it was his bedtime and that he ought not to share a bed with his mother that night that he became anxious. ‘But where will I sleep? In Winnie on my own? What if I have a bad dream?’
Jonah stepped in quickly. ‘You could have my old room if you like. It’s next door to your mother’s. Let’s go and have a look at it, shall we?’
It was a dreary sight in the dim light cast from the low-wattage bulb hanging from the ceiling rose. There were several boxes on the double bed, but when these had been removed and the bed made up with a clean sheet and Ned’s own pillow and stripy blue and white duvet, he seemed happy enough with the arrangements. Especially when he found a collection of Jonah’s long-forgotten books in a chest at the foot of the bed. There were ancient Rupert Bear books that Val had given him at Christmas, as well as an old Blue Peter annual. Despite their age, they were in pristine condition, but Jonah had always been careful with his things.
‘Will you check my teeth for me?’ Ned said to Jonah, when he had changed into his pyjamas and stood poised with his toothbrush in the bathroom, his chin level with the basin. ‘Mummy always does that. I have to do them first, then she brushes them again to make sure I’ve done them properly.’
This duty carried out, Ned then asked if he could see if his mother was awake to give him a goodnight kiss.
‘Okay, but be sure to be very quiet, just in case she’s asleep.’ Jonah waited for him outside the door, not wanting to intrude. Seconds later, Ned reappeared, disappointed.
‘She is asleep. But I climbed up on to the bed anyway and gave her a kiss.’
As he walked Ned to his bedroom, Jonah was surprised when the youngster slipped a small hand into his and said, ‘Will you tell me a bedtime story, please? A made-up one? I like those. They’re fun.’ A winning toothy smile appeared on his face.
He was hard to resist, so after Ned had settled himself beneath the duvet, Jonah sat on the edge of the bed and started his tale. He soon realised that he was cheating and was giving Ned a jumbled-up version of The Selfish Giant. Deciding that there were too many deaths in it for a four-year-old, he improvised and gave the tale a different spin so that everyone lived happily ever after.
His eyes glazed with sleep, Ned said, ‘Why didn’t the giant like the children who came to play in his garden?’
‘Because he thought they were noisy and might spoil his garden.’
‘But they didn’t, did they? They made it nice for him. The flowers grew and the sun shone.’
‘And he was jolly lucky to realise that before it was too late,’ said a gruff voice at the door. Ned lifted his head from the pillow and Jonah turned round. How long had his father been standing there?
He came into the room. ‘Do I get a goodnight kiss from my favourite house guest, then?’
Jonah patted Ned’s shoulder affectionately. ‘I’ll leave you to it.
Goodnight.’
‘Will you be here tomorrow?’
‘I’m at school during the day, but maybe I’ll pop in and see you in the evening. Sleep well.’
While he waited for his father to join him in the kitchen, Jonah decided to take Clara at her word. Help him to seize the moment. Well, perhaps that moment had come.
But what if the consequences were as devastating as the last time he had tried to talk to his father?
Driving home later that night, Jonah brought his car to a sudden stop. For a long moment he sat and stared at his hands as they gripped the steering wheel in front of him. Then, in a swift, decisive movement, he switched off the engine and got out of the car.
Breathing hard, he went and leaned against the drystone wall alongside which he had parked. He gazed across the darkened landscape, back towards Mermaid House. He saw that his hands were shaking. It was shock. .
What had just passed between him and his father had gone well beyond anything he had thought might come of a heart-to-heart chat. To hear his father asking him for his forgiveness had been unbearably painful. It had been the culmination of a lifetime of confused guilt and regret. A lifetime of wondering how things might have been for his father, and for his brother and sister, if he had never been born … if their mother had lived.
‘Forgive me, Jonah. Please.’
He had never thought to hear those words. Never imagined such a moment when his father would lay a hand on his shoulder and say that he was sorry. Almost too choked to speak, he had mumbled something about it being okay, that there was nothing to forgive.
That it was all in the past.
‘It’ll never be in the past,’ his father had said, ‘not until I know you forgive me.’
They were standing in the library, symbolically beneath the portrait that Jonah had made countless wishes upon as a child: Make my father happy… Make him notice me … Make Caspar and Damson like me. Caspar had once caught him staring up at the painting and had taunted him cruelly. ‘You killed her, you know that, don’t you? If it hadn’t been for you, she’d still be alive.’