What Remains (8 page)

“It’s just him, O’Neil. We’ve got the wife out here. Bring him down.”

Great. Rupert didn’t fancy the task of laying the dead man at his wife’s feet. Hopefully, there’d be an ambulance waiting so she wouldn’t know until Rupert had slunk away. Heartless? Not really. Rupert had done his fair share of breaking bad news.

He carried the man out. A lone paramedic greeted him—no ambulance, just a bike with blues and twos. Rupert laid the man on the pavement. The paramedic pronounced him dead and covered him with a blanket. The wife’s distraught wail should’ve gutted him. Should’ve torn him in two and etched itself in the part of his soul that never got over the death and destruction he witnessed time and time again.

It didn’t.

He pulled his breathing apparatus off and went to the rear of the rig to clean down. Radio chatter told him the fire was out and the block of flats had been cleared of all residents. Their job was nearly done. An hour or so, and they’d be back at the station, showering and hanging around for another call.

“O’Neil?” Briggs, the watch manager, stood behind Rupert. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.”

“Sure?”

“Yup.” Rupert kept his gaze on the task at hand. Briggs was a good man—a friend—and he’d gone above and beyond for Rupert since Jodi’s accident, but Rupert wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart. Not today.

Shame Briggs couldn’t read minds. “Come and see me when we get back. ’Bout time we touched base.”

Rupert sighed as Briggs walked away. Not a day seemed to go by without some well-meaning soul trying to persuade him to pour his heart out to them. When were they going to realise that no amount of tea and chatter would change a bloody thing?

The next hour passed in a haze of soot and grime as they made the flat safe for fire investigators. Rupert was the last man out. On his way, he passed a London Fire Brigade home-safety poster pinned up in the entrance hall. The cruel irony hit him hard. His crew spent much of their time out in the community, trying to prevent fires happening in the first place—smoke alarms, fire blankets, escape routes. Their message had clearly never reached this family.

Outside, he watched the grieving wife being coaxed into a police car, finally persuaded to leave the scene. Until a few months ago, Rupert would’ve perhaps gone with her, supported her until a family liaison officer arrived. Not now. Fuck that. It had been a while since he’d had the energy to counsel someone through what were often the hardest and most distressing moments of their life. A while since he’d had the stomach to meet the haunted gaze of a soul who’d lost everything they’d ever known in the blink of an eye.

Back at the station, he dodged Briggs and ducked into the showers. Whatever kind of job he’d been on, there was always something satisfying about watching hours of soot and grime disappear down the plughole, and he lingered under the hot spray as long as he dared. The coast was clear when he got out, or so he thought, until he got to his bunk and found Briggs waiting for him.

“Not hiding from me, are ya, O’Neil?”

Rupert sighed and tossed his damp towel on the bed. “No point with you fecking stalking me, is there?”

“S’pose not.” If Briggs was offended, he didn’t show it. He glanced around. “How’s Jodi?”

Rupert looked around too, checking that they had relative privacy, though he didn’t know why. His personal life wasn’t much of a secret. “Pretty much the same.”

“Still having seizures?”

“Not this week. They’re hoping it was just a phase of his recovery.” And dear God, so was Rupert. He’d spent the beginning of the last month dreading the moment the doctors decided Jodi was well enough to leave the hospital, but it hadn’t happened. Instead, Jodi had been plagued by a run of terrifying seizures, and Rupert had regressed into fearing nothing but that damn-fucking shadow on Jodi’s brain.

“And how are you bearing up? It’s gotta be hard, Rupert. Two jobs and caring for Jodi. Don’t know how you do it.”

I don’t
, Rupert wanted to say. He’d handed his notice in at the club, and it had been a long time since he’d felt like he’d done anything properly, but he held his tongue. Briggs had waved the possibility of promotion to crew manager under Rupert’s nose the day before Jodi’s accident. He hadn’t mentioned it since, and it was probably just as well. The bump in salary would’ve cleared the last of Rupert’s postdivorce debts and allowed him to treat Jodi and Indie the way they deserved, but if—
when
Jodi came home, chances were Rupert would have to cut his hours to care for him.

And pay the mortgage with magic beans.

Briggs shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Rupert turned his back on him under the guise of pulling a wrinkled T-shirt—his clothes were missing Jodi’s attention—over his head, counting down to the question he knew would come next.

“Don’t suppose he’s, er, talking yet, is he?”

“No, not yet.” Rupert closed his eyes against the image of Jodi convulsing on the hospital floor, his dark gaze blank, and his mouth clamped shut, not uttering a sound. Was it wrong that Rupert longed for him to cry out? Even in pain? Anything to prove there was a scrap of Jodi left behind that hollow stare?

Briggs slapped Rupert on the back. “Chin up, mate. Never know, tonight might be the night you walk into that hospital and get yer boy back.”

It wasn’t. Rupert clocked out around midnight and jogged the short distance to hospital. The night sister met him at the nurses’ station and ushered him to the quiet corner of the ward where Jodi had his bed. Rupert squeezed her hand in thanks. The ward managers had been incredibly tolerant of his fluctuating shift pattern, and let him in to see Jodi whenever he liked, providing he didn’t disturb the other patients, which was unlikely considering his visits to Jodi were mostly spent in silence.

And tonight would be no different. Jodi was fast asleep, curled on his side, his good hand tucked under his chin.

“He didn’t eat much dinner,” the sister said. “I tried to tempt him with some of Caz’s birthday cake earlier, but he wasn’t interested.”

Rupert’s bones ached with sadness. Before the accident, Jodi’s sweet tooth had been legendary. “Thank you.”

The sister left him to it. Rupert adjusted the soft grey blanket he’d brought from home so it covered Jodi properly, then took a seat. “Hey, beautiful.”

And beautiful Jodi still was, despite the purple smudges under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. His inky hair had grown a little, and Rupert had become addicted to the sensation of his thicker beard against his fingers. He scratched the wiry scruff now and squeezed Jodi’s hand. “Sweet dreams, boyo. Be safe. I love you.”

April 26, 2010

Jodi hopped off the bus in Harringay and took in the shabby buildings and monumental traffic congestion. Rupert was right. There really was nothing here but greengrocers with cabbages the size of small planets, Turkish/Cypriot cafés, and row upon row of scruffy bedsits.

“Welcome to bedshitland.”
Recalling Rupert’s gentle sarcasm made Jodi smile, and the address he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper was burning a hole in his back pocket, but he had work to do and another address to find before he paid Rupert a long overdue visit.

He found the run-down meze bar a few streets from the bus stop. The owner, a wizened man who couldn’t have been less than seventy, greeted him with a mug of coffee you could stand a spoon in. Jodi liked him—Spiros—straightaway. And the job was relatively simple too. Somehow, the old man had discovered the growing market for online takeaway ordering and wanted a functional website to help him offer the service. Jodi glanced around the tatty restaurant and considered his pricing. The old man likely couldn’t afford his going rate—and Jodi had to wonder how he’d found him in the first place—but despite the peeling paint and cracked tiles, the place was spotlessly clean, and it smelled
amazing
.

On cue, Spiros placed a plate of grilled halloumi, tomatoes, and herby fried eggs in front of him, complete with fresh sesame bread and a glass of what looked like grappa. The food was rustic, honest peasant fare, and oddly beautiful. Jodi’s stomach growled its approval. He took another glance around. The restaurant was clearly struggling, like any business that wasn’t a fucking Wetherspoons. Did he really want to feel responsible for another shit-hot family business going bust? Hell no. Jodi downed the grappa and quoted Spiros a price that should’ve made him weep.

A little while later, he emerged into the grey world of Harringay under a haze of garlic and grappa. Spiros had invited him back for dinner, but Jodi had places to be—and people to see—and he was already half-pissed.

And late. Oops. He pulled out the scrap of paper he’d scrawled Rupert’s address on. The bedsit was a five-minute walk from Spiros’s place, so Jodi turned east and set off, passing the time by planning the restaurant’s website. To fit in with its authenticity, the site couldn’t be too flashy, but it had to work, and work well, which demanded a certain amount of slickness. Trick was to balance the functionality with ambiance and personality, something that would probably have to involve photographing Spiros.
Unless I could fudge a graphic of him.

Hmm. Jodi couldn’t draw for shit, but the idea had weight. He filed it away for later. Right now, he had eyes only for Rupert, who was standing on the pavement ahead, his phone tucked under his chin, and clutching the hand of a seraphic little girl Jodi knew from photographs to be his daughter, Indie.

Jodi trailed to a stop. Rupert hadn’t said he’d have Indie with him today. Not that it mattered, to Jodi at least, but the lingering tickle of grappa in his belly gave him pause. Though his buzz had faded, it felt a little wrong to gatecrash a father-daughter day when he’d been drinking since breakfast time.

He considered slinking away, texting Rupert from the Tube to say his client meeting had run over and he had to get back to Tottenham, but as he warred between doing the right thing and indulging the craving need to see Rupert in any capacity he could, Rupert turned and saw him, and his window of escape was gone.

By Indie’s curious smile, she saw him too. Jodi swallowed a shot of nerves and dug around in his pocket for chewing gum. He didn’t have much experience with kids, especially girls, though he knew Indie was more into football than Barbies.

They met halfway, and it took Jodi a millisecond to see Rupert was as nervous as he was.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Rupert said. “Indie’s childminder is ill, so I’ve got her for the day. I’m sorry. I tried to let you know.”

“’S okay.” Jodi bent to Indie’s level and held out his hand. “I was coming past anyway. I’m Jodi. Nice to meet you. What’s that on your T-shirt? A fairy?”

Indie took Jodi’s hand and looked down at her T-shirt with the confusion of a child who’d put on whatever clothes they’d been told to that morning. “I think it’s a mouse-dancer.”

“A mouse-dancer, eh?” The cartoon character was more like a hippo to Jodi, but what did he know? “What are you two up to? Anything fun?”

“We’re going to the park,” Indie said. “You come too?”

Jodi glanced up at Rupert, who shrugged. “We’d love you to, but I won’t be offended if you have better things to do.”

“Erm, looks like I’m coming, then.” Jodi squeezed Indie’s tiny hand. “On one condition, though.”

“I already brushed my teeth and I didn’t make a mess.”

“Oh.” Jodi pretended to think hard and tried to ignore the faint shadow of guilt that darkened Rupert’s features. “In that case, you’ll have to push me on the swing instead. That cool?”

Indie giggled. “You too big for the swings.”

“That right? Oh well, you can give me a crunchy cuddle when I fall on my bum, then.”

“Cwunchy cuddle?”

“Yeah, one with tickles. We can practice on Daddy.” Jodi lifted Indie up onto his shoulders and caught Rupert’s surprised gaze. “Ready?”

“Erm, okay. Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t—”

“Shut it,” Jodi said. “I’m coming.”

A while later, Jodi found himself at the top of a steep slide with Indie on his lap. “It’s a long way down. Sure you don’t want Daddy to catch you at the bottom?”

“No! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Indie banged her fists on Jodi’s thighs.

Jodi laughed. Indie was a sweet girl, but her chubby cheeks and slender bones belied the rambunctious daredevil who’d been tearing around the park and run both him and Rupert ragged. He pushed off the slide and sent them zooming to the bottom where Rupert plucked Indie from Jodi’s lap and swung her over his head. His grin was a mile wide, and Jodi was transfixed by the pair of them, identical in all but eye colour. Had he ever seen anything as innocently beautiful?

Not that he could think of, and the sight of Rupert and Indie dancing around the park in the sun reminded him that he’d crashed their playdate. “I’m gonna chip off,” he said. “Call me later?”

Rupert set Indie on the roundabout. “Gotta get back, eh? Work to do?”

“Always. I’m home tonight, though, if you fancy a Skype chat?”

Rupert rolled his eyes. Jodi had been trying to persuade him to get Skype since they’d met, but he held firm. Apparently, technology was wasted on him. “I’ll call you. Indie? Jodi’s going now.”