Crash, page 11
It was midnight and I was hungry. In the kitchen, I pulled down a packet of breakfast cereal and scooped the bits out with my hands, tipping oats and grains into my upturned mouth. In the fridge I found ham, which I ripped apart and ate with my fingers while I defrosted bread in the microwave. I padded down to the cellar in bare feet, treading lightly on each concrete step so that the cold wouldn’t seep into my toes. From the chilled wine cabinet, I chose two bottles at random so that I could escape quickly from beneath the sterile strip lights. My bare breasts chilled under my thin bathrobe as I tucked one bottle under each arm and climbed back up the steep stairs, dragging fabric behind me like a bridal train.
My fingers, greasy from the thick butter I’d spread onto hot bread, slid upon the wings of the corkscrew, as I tried to open the wine. I poured a glass, condensation frosting the sides and swallowed it in three deep gulps before tipping another into the glass. Licking my fingers, I placed the bread and wine on a tray and rummaged in the fridge for some cheese. In the family office, I sat in the glowing light from our shared computer, stuffing bread and cheese into my mouth while I tried to draft an email to my sister. Glass after glass of wine disappeared until the bottle lay upended on the tray, glistening with butter. My rambling email to Hazel about Tom and his future in Australia made little sense, but I pressed send anyway.
Checking my phone again, there was still nothing from Dan and I started on a second bottle of wine. My disappointment leached into hard, bitter self-pity. How could he choose not to text me, why couldn’t he hide away from his family just for a few minutes? Everyone except me had someone they could turn to, even Carl still had a mother. I held my breath. I had forgotten to tell Beatrice.
After two bottles of wine, it was hard enough to find the letters on my phone, never mind spell easy words, and I had to delete three attempts at a text. I felt her presence over my shoulder, standing behind me and scowling at my pathetic attempts to write coherently.
I have bad news. Carl is in hospital. You should come. Alice
Would she open it right away or put her phone down to read the message later? If she put it down, there was a chance it would never be seen.
FIFTEEN
FRIDAY 19TH SEPTEMBER
We drove to Carl’s hospital with a CD playing at full volume. I was too tired to speak, even to ask Tom to turn down the volume, but when we reached a Little Chef just before the hospital entrance, I parked and mouthed one word. ‘Lunch?’
The café was deserted but we were still asked to wait for a table. The décor was a washed-out throwback to the 1980s and the air hung with a smog of burnt fat. I wasn’t hungry so ordered coffee, but Tom wanted an all-day breakfast. The food took a long time to come and for a while it seemed as if the staff had abandoned the restaurant along with the customers. Tom fiddled with packets of sauce and I stared out of the window, watching lorry after lorry turn at the roundabout outside, like a children’s fairground ride. The smell of frying, stale fat and remnants of other people’s meals, made me want to gag. I swallowed mouthfuls of my coffee, wiped my mouth, and broke the silence.
‘I spoke to the hospital earlier and Dad is better today but he’s still very ill. You’ll find he looks thin and pale and he’s attached to a lot of wires and tubes. He gets tired very quickly.’
‘What’s the matter with him, I mean apart from being an addict?’
‘The methamphetamine… some people call it ice or crystal… has destroyed him. He’s taken it for about twenty years. Before that it was other stuff.’
‘Fuck…’
‘His whole body is affected, including his mind. He thinks things that aren’t true. He sees things that aren’t there, like insects crawling on his skin. It’s killing him.’
Tom’s food arrived. He fussed with sachets of ketchup then picked up a chip with his fingers, stabbing at the egg and mixing yolk, sauce and beans until his plate became an inedible jumble. He looked at me, tears running down his face, and wiped his nose, streaking his cheek with sauce.
‘What about you, are you dying too, I mean apart from your alcohol problem?’
‘Okay, okay,’ I blustered. ‘I know I overdid it last night.’ I tried to lift my voice to sound confident. ‘Of course I’m not going to die. I’m going to be fine. I need some treatment, that’s all.’
‘I want to stay at home. I can look after Dad, and you as well. I’ll catch up on schoolwork later or you can find me a tutor. I don’t need a job because I’ll take over from Dad. I can run the business, after he’s…’
The solitary waitress stopped wiping tables and stood by my elbow.
‘Is everything all right, do you need anything else?’ She looked at Tom’s food and then at his face. ‘Is the lad okay?’
‘Just some water, thanks. Yes, please take that away,’ I replied, gesturing towards Tom’s plate.
Tom went to the cloakroom to wash and I waited outside. When he swung out between the glass doors, I steered him to a low wall, where we sat with our feet surrounded by cigarette butts. He rested his head on my shoulder and I felt his shuddering breaths gradually slow.
‘Do I have to go?’ Tom asked, without looking at me. ‘I can’t stop thinking about how he looked when we found him. What do I say to him?’
‘We’ll check with the nurse. If he’s too poorly, you won’t be allowed in anyway. But if he’s well enough to see you, I think you should try. I’ll ring the hospital now and tell them we’ll be there soon.’
Carl’s hospital was at the end of a long drive, which wound through manicured parkland. Sometimes the hospital was visible from the road, its mock Georgian windows glinting in the afternoon sunshine, at other times it was hidden from view. I parked under a tree in a small copse, at some distance from the house.
‘Can we walk the rest of the way?’ I asked Tom, although it wasn’t a question. ‘I need to clear my head.’
He shook his head but didn’t protest and I guessed he was glad of the extra time to prepare. A breeze lifted at the hem of my cotton skirt, now horribly crushed, and I pulled a jacket from the back seat before locking the car. The drive crossed a stream before it swept up to the house and from the bridge we stopped to watch weeds sway in the water. I felt reassured by Tom’s presence, happy I wasn’t alone. I swung the strap of my bag over my shoulder and we left the road, striding across the grass. This year’s lambs, overgrown and adolescent, skittered away from us, bleating for mothers who lifted their heads, indifferent, then returned to grazing. I felt the prickle of sun on my bare legs and memories of what my surgeon had said returned in fragments. I wouldn’t be the same, not like this, for a long time.
We stepped from the bright heat of the day into the deep shade of the hospital reception and a smell of freshly made coffee. I approached the desk and told the receptionist we had come to see Carl Williams. Tom took a seat but I walked around the foyer where there was a display of photographs. The original owners, I read, built the estate in 1880 but it was already a nursing home for wounded officers by the end of the First World War. It became the flagship of The Haven private healthcare in 1978 and had been opened by Rt. Hon. Margaret Thatcher MP. The date seemed significant. Carl and I met in 1978, the same year the hospital was born. For Carl, this is where it might end.
Tom made room for me on a leather sofa and I sat next to him in front of a fake gas fire, flickering in the grate of an elaborate marble fireplace. On a coffee table, a bowl of lilies fell across a crisply folded Times, placed next to a new copy of Country Life. Carl’s designated nurse, Jack, appeared from the end of a corridor, dressed in white trousers and a white tunic, giving him a spectral appearance until he became solid and reassuring. Once a frequent visitor to our home as part of Carl’s care team but never in Tom’s presence, I introduced them and watched my son’s shoulders relax as Jack chatted about cricket and music. The leather of the sofa felt cool and solid against my bare arms and a welcome draught stroked my temples, easing the headache that drilled into my brain. I smelt the raw scent of the lilies and ran my fingers through its yellow pollen, sprinkled over the table.
‘How is Carl?’ I asked.
‘He’s much better, in fact he’s sitting up beside his bed.’
‘Is he well enough to see Tom?’
Jack turned towards Tom to include him. ‘Of course, I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you both.’
Tom acted as though there had never been any question of whether he should visit his father and pushed ahead as we walked the length of the corridor to Carl’s room.
Carl patted the edge of his hospital bed. ‘My boy, sit here.’
Jack carried a chair for me from the other side of the room and left, promising to return with tea. Carl’s chin suddenly fell to his chest and I thought he had fallen asleep. I was about to call for help when he lifted his head and focused his gaze on Tom.
‘So why aren’t you at school?’ Carl’s voice was soft but grating, as if he hadn’t spoken for a long time. ‘What are you doing here, visiting your old dad?’
I was about to jump in and protect Tom but he answered for himself.
‘I’m suspended from lessons, because of the drugs thing, so Mum let me come. You remember that letter I showed you last week, before all this happened.’ Tom’s eyes tracked the machinery in the room but didn’t settle on his father’s face. ‘I have to see the governors on Tuesday. I’ll be expelled but it’s okay, I want to be.’
Carl’s shoulders began to shake and he made small, choking sounds that I realised were laughter. ‘You’re impossible, Tom. Just like me, when I was–’
‘No he isn’t,’ I interrupted. ‘You were really quiet at school. Oliver says that no one even knew who you were until…’
‘Ah, Oliver.’ Carl sat up, his fingers plucking at his blanket. ‘Where is that lazy shit? I need to talk to him. Tell him to come and see me today… no, tomorrow. Where’s my mobile?’
Carl scanned the room. ‘They won’t allow me anything in this place. They try to keep me from my work. It’s control. No one wants me to work. They’re scared of my ideas. Don’t let anyone control you, Tom, stay in charge. Ask me anything… I’ll tell you how things really are.’
I pressed the buzzer. Carl’s eyes had become bright and his hands were scratching at his shoulders. Past experience told me that Tom should leave right now. A nurse entered immediately.
‘Call for Jack,’ I barked. ‘Mr Williams is distressed.’
Jack arrived, out of breath. ‘Please take Tom for something to eat. We’ll help my husband into bed.’
Alone with the nurse, we lifted Carl from his chair, and I smelled an odour from his body, like a decaying log. I recognised this, from when my mother was dying. He didn’t have long.
Once the nurse left, I tried again to speak to Carl. ‘We need to talk about Tom. We have to decide what to do. He wants to stay at home, but he can’t be around all this sickness. He needs normality as well as an education. I’m thinking of sending him away. I thought your mother might be persuaded to take him or he could go to my sister in Australia. Are you listening?’
Carl’s eyes were closed but he turned his head towards me and answered, ‘He’s not going to my mother, that old bitch. He’s not going to Australia. It’s a big house, designed for privacy. He’ll only see what we show him. Get him tutors. Ask Oliver to set it up. Tell him it’s an instruction.’
‘It’s not just the illness. I want him away from…’
‘Me?’
‘I want him away from drugs, right away. I think… I believe… it’s his only hope. He’s an addict, Carl, he just doesn’t know it yet. I can see the signs.’
Carl coughed and paused before speaking, his voice hoarse. ‘Send him away? With both of us ill? You’re worse than Beatrice.’
‘It will be so difficult for him at home. Ella and Fran will do what they can, but they have their own lives.’
Carl’s breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep. I listened to the noises of the room, one that had the pretence of an upmarket chain hotel, with its dressing table that elided into shelves, a wardrobe, and abstract prints in pastel shades on the walls. After several minutes he whispered, ‘You must plan for Tom… do what you like… sort it out with Oliver. I want to think about ideas. That’s all I’ve got time for.’
‘I can’t sort it out. Oliver says there’s no money.’
‘Sell a flat or something.’
‘I can’t, Carl. Everything belongs to the business and the business is in trouble. The flats, everything we own, probably belongs to some creditor. You gave power of attorney to Oliver, but not to me. Remember?’
Another silence. Instead of music from an in-built stereo, there was water bubbling through pipes, the slow whirr of a fan and the steady beep from a monitor attached to Carl’s arm.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Carl said at last, ‘about creating a mobile phone that converts thoughts to words and sends them as a text. The technology is almost there. You’d only need a headset. Imagine the potential in a place like this, with head injury patients. Tell Oliver I need to speak to him.’
I touched his brow, dry against my fingertips and sighed. This was pointless. ‘I think you’ll find Oliver is a little tied up. Fran and Ella are on their way. They’ll visit you this evening.’
‘Tell them not to waste their time or mine. I’ve got work to do.’
I collected Tom from Reception and we strode across the pasture, neither of us speaking. In the car, he stared straight ahead but his knee jiggled frantically, despite resting his hand there to keep it still.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked. ‘Did you manage to find something to eat in the coffee shop?’
‘Yup,’ Tom said, without a glance in my direction.
‘I’m sorry you had to leave,’ I said, guessing at the source of his hurt feelings. ‘I thought Dad was about to get angry. He was fine in the end, quite calm actually. He talked about his plans to create a device for converting brain signals to written text.’
Tom turned towards me, his words weighted with scorn. ‘I know what you’re trying to do. You think by telling me about his weird plans, you can make up for sending me out of the room, like I was a kid. You just don’t get it… I want to be included. I could have helped you. Okay?’
It crossed my mind to be grateful that my thoughts weren’t showing up in text. Thank goodness he didn’t know about my plan to send him away, the email to my sister sent only last night.
‘I understand, Tom,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I am listening to you but I don’t always hear what you say.’
After their hospital visit, Ella first dropped Fran at the station but then came home. Tom disappeared to his room after I had cooked for us all, but I stayed up late with my eldest child, sharing a bottle of wine.
Ella recounted her reaction to Carl’s latest idea. ‘Of course, I told him it was rubbish.’
‘Oh, that was a bit harsh.’
‘I know, he wouldn’t speak to me for ages.’ Ella tossed back her hair in a gesture that reminded me of Euan. I saw him mirrored in the way her eyes turned up at the corners whenever she laughed. ‘Fran disappeared for ages, so we had to sit there in silence.’
‘Fran disappeared? Where on earth did she go?’
‘She went off to smoke with Jack and she was more than a little flushed when she got back.’
‘No, not Fran and Jack…’
Ella arched her eyebrows and smirked. ‘I think there’s a definite attraction, unless I’m imagining things. You’ll be seeing more of Fran. Expect a sudden enthusiasm for hospital visiting.’
Our lightness of mood could only carry us so far and we both fell silent.
Ella raised her cheek from her fist and said, ‘It won’t be long, will it, Mum?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so, but no one can be sure. When do you have to leave?’
Ella glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better get off to bed. I’ve a shift tomorrow afternoon that lasts through to Monday morning. I’ll try to ring after Tom’s meeting and I’m definitely staying for your surgery and all of that weekend… more if I can get the time off.’
I wandered through the house, my beautiful child, my Ella, asleep in her childhood bedroom. I opened and closed cupboard doors and picked things up, only to put them down again, Honey trailing behind me, keen that I should sit down. I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate, tossing the newspaper aside.
The night she was born, there was a full moon and the earth glittered from a dusting of snow. Carl helped me down the steep staircase from our flat and sat next to me on each tread where I had to rest and breathe, his hand squeezing my knee. In the light from the streetlamp, flickering through the coloured glass in the front door, his face glowed white with fear.
The taxi dropped us outside the maternity unit, and we waited outside, hand in hand, before stepping through some gap in space or time to enter a humming place of glaring strip lights, bustling uniforms and women crying from behind closed doors like cows bellowing to be milked. It was another world and one we would not be allowed to leave without a child in our arms. When they slapped Ella down onto my belly, she studied me with a look I had seen many times across our kitchen table. I don’t think Carl saw but if he did, he pretended not to notice. This was Euan’s child.
SIXTEEN
MONDAY 22ND SEPTEMBER
Over the weekend, thunder clouds built and the temperature climbed further, the sky eventually collapsing into a deluge of hailstones and rain. Today, Dan was first in the car park, leaning against his car smoking one of the five cigarettes he allowed himself each day. My stomach tightened at the sight of him, still surprised that this man was waiting for me. He didn’t see me drive in, so I paused to watch him draw on his cigarette and blow the smoke to one side. I studied his face in profile, his hair still dark with only a feathering of grey, as if he had brushed against a newly painted door. He took a last draw on his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe, bending down to pick up the stub and put it in his pocket.
