October 2018

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 22

 

Elaine, James and I ate supper in peaceful silence, she occasionally glancing speculatively at our guest. “Will you be staying?” she asked. Normally, this would have earned a rebuke from me, but the gleam in Elaine’s eye was teasing and light.

“I’m not sure,” began James cautiously.

“Elaine, I think you should…” I interrupted heavily.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” James said, quite easy with my daughter’s probing; so, shooting her a warning glance, I ate quietly.

“I would rather you just treated me like anyone else.” James coughed and blinked. “I would prefer it.”

Elaine said, “Okay then, bro”, grinning broadly. “How come you’re here, anyway?”

“Well…” James waited. I put my hand over his sleeve.

“It’s okay, James, you don’t have to tell us.”

“But I want to,” he explained with quiet emphasis. “Now that I’m here, and now I know that Dad is –”

So like Arthur. I ached for the familiar words and cadences. Elaine was about to offer another of her not-so-amusing comments, when I flashed her a look.

“Mum and Dad have never really got on. They fight. And Dad, well, he just seems to let Mum get away with it. She hits him.” He flushed, whether in anger or embarrassment I didn’t know.

“He can’t stand up to her, feels guilty, maybe. But she is cruel, you know? Never lets him explain, or make it up to her. She remembers… Doesn’t want anyone to forget.”

We sat dumbly, all thoughts of eating forgotten.

“Anyway, Mum has just been diagnosed – cirrhosis – last week. I came up to tell Dad, but now he is in the hospital and, well…”

“What about your studies? Has the University given you leave?”

James nodded shortly, adopting the same silent, tucked in posture that Arthur used when he felt ashamed.

“Yes, I have a couple of weeks and then I really should be getting back. Stuff to get on with.”

“Well, until you decide, you can stay here.” I wanted to reassure him, but was wary of being too familiar. He didn’t need me to feel sorry for him, so I simply smiled and left the offer open.

“And now,” I said, in an effort to lighten the mood, “I’m going through to veg out and watch TV. Would you like a cup of tea?”

James turned his face up to me. “Would you mind if I went up to my room?”

“Of course not! How thoughtless of me. You must be tired. Come through.” He glanced up, gratitude shining in his eyes, a smile gently rounding his cheeks and I thought how lovely it was to have him staying.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 21

 

“Hello, Marian,” said Julia, a nurse who was becoming familiar with my routines. “He’s doing well today. We don’t usually allow two visitors at once, but I’ll see if it’s all right.” She tiptoed quietly ahead of me and came up nodding gently, “Yes, that’s fine…” She indicated a second chair by Arthur’s bed, and it was only then I realized a young man was sitting opposite with his head bent forward, the back of his neck exposed. He looked collapsed in on himself, but perhaps he was only resting. I went up and put my arm out over his shoulder.

“Hello,” I whispered, looking down at the seated figure. He startled awake, his eyes widening. I recognized his features, unmistakably those of his father, pale and angular. A face with the same dark eyes, a familiar, startled grin…

“James.”

“Yes,” he coughed. “Ah, yes, I’m James, Jamie.” he stumbled, caught out.

“Your father has talked about you often.” I soothed. As I sat, I let the silence hold us both.

We blurted together, “Your father–” “Dad–”

“I was trying – trying to telephone. I had something I needed to tell him, but there was no reply. The voicemail was full and I knew something was wrong. I just knew. I got the bus up. He wasn’t home, so eventually I started knocking on doors. A neighbour opposite told me that he’d been taken to hospital. I’ve been here a couple of hours…”

“Well, it is wonderful to meet you at last.” I considered. “If you need a place to stay for a while, I live next door to your dad…” I let the suggestion rest.

“You wouldn’t mind?” The tilt of his voice, the way it floated and then broke on the last syllable, threatened tears. I patted his knee.

“I would be delighted.” So easily, we fell into each other’s company, and by the time we left the hospital, it almost felt as if I’d known him for years. I could anticipate his moves, which surprised him, and delighted me.

“Could I stay, maybe, until I know more about….?”

“Yes, of course.” Perhaps I was too willing, too eager to please. But this young man had come a long way, and it would be foolish to be stand-offish.

“You can have the spare room. Look, we’d better get a move on, because Elaine – my daughter – will be home soon. Her father – my husband – was killed – two years ago.”

That hit me with a pang. Time was passing, life was moving on without my husband and my feelings could go either way. Grief, to be leaving him behind, relief to be living past the nightmare of loss, happiness to find something new to think about, new people to love. Mixed up emotions, threatening to paralyse or break out when I least expected.

The car skidded as my thoughts galloped away, and I had to slow, stop by the side of the road – quick! – before my vision was blinded by useless tears, by shaking anger and sorrow. Quick! I pulled up behind a wide delivery van, turned off the ignition and sat gazing sightlessly out of the window as a huge pain in my stomach threatened. I forgot the boy sitting quietly at my side, and tears just appeared from no-where and coursed down my cheeks as I clutched my sides, rocking painfully back and forth. God, it was so embarrassing, but I could not stop the tremors of emotion, the clench of my throat.

James handed me a handkerchief from his pocket, which I blew into gratefully. Crumpled cloth hankies, warm and slightly stained, always feel reassuring. Knowing that James understood, I stopped crying as suddenly as I had started. Calm again, I wiped my face, cleaned the salt from my glasses, and signalled to re-join the traffic.

In the companionable silence that followed, I recalled that James had something to tell his dad.

***

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