‘Don’t let the way he looks bother you too much,’ the hushed tones of the nurse interrupted his train of thought, ‘there’s no cause for worry. It’s just that the stroke froze the muscles on the left side of his face which makes him look a little strange, but he’s not suffering, not in any pain.’
‘Well, that’s a relief George; I must say that’s a relief. Did you hear what the nice lady said? She said he’s not in any pain, dear.’ Even whispering Gladys’s voice had a tendency to sound like shards of cracking glass.
By what right did they stand there making asinine remarks, he thought irritably. Anyway, how the bloody hell did they know if he was in pain or not. He hadn’t spoken to anyone for over a day and then only to ask for a double scotch. Not that they had understood a word he was saying. He might as well have been talking to himself, which on reflection he obviously was, despite all the budding doctors hanging around dressed up in their fancy new white coats. A medical fashion show doing the rounds with consultants of this and that, pretending to examine him, squeezing and pinching like a bunch of hungry beach combing crabs while flirting with the nurses whenever they thought the hierarchy wasn’t watching. As it happened he wasn’t in pain, not that it would have mattered if he were. He could have been in agony all day but provided he didn’t make a fuss and disturb the ward no one would have bothered much. Mind you the man at the end of the ward had made such a racket a whole slew of them had hovered round his bed most of the night, so perhaps it did pay to cause a commotion. Then again they carted him off wrapped up in a sheet come morning so it probably didn’t.
He turned his attention back to George and Gladys, but they had gone. Some visit! Must be passed six. He could see them now easing their backsides on to bar stools in The Golden Nugget. Well Gladys anyway, her bottom spreading like a toadstool over the top. George would only be leaning on his too scared to take his feet off the ground for fear of losing his balance.
‘Anyone been to see Robert?’ Gladys’s voice would crackle round the bar like earth seeking static. ‘No?’ She would pause accusingly, effecting surprise before adding the punch line. ‘Well, never mind, not to worry, George and I went. Spent the whole afternoon with him as a matter of fact. And I’m glad to tell all those who have been too busy with their own affairs, that though still extremely poorly the poor man’s in no pain, no discomfort at all really, considering what he’s been through.’
Not that he blamed her; she was no different from the rest of them, including himself. Camaraderie, mood swings and trivial tantrums formed a necessary part of bar life. Along with the petty fibs and oaths of undying friendship or enmity whichever seemed the most appropriate come closing time. All of them individually different yet part of a common whole, a small clique, a microcosm of the swirling mass of humanity that went to make up the city. Most had a sense of loyalty to one another, deep and sincere as long as they remained within the confines of the bar. But once outside that snug and cosy little haven, steadfast promises swiftly evaporated in the face of reality, dissolving with the beer fumes in crisp cold air.
He had never really been a bar person, at least never considered himself one. As a young man he had joined in the usual office highlights, the birthday drinks, retirement drinks, hitting target drinks and the parties in the yearly run up to Christmas. But on the whole he only joined in because it was expected. Once getting blindingly drunk on purpose, satisfied even while retching his guts out in the gents he had earned his spurs at last and was now a true blue office wag who could drink with the best of them. But he had never enjoyed it, for the most part acting drunk as the rest of them, while accompanied by hoots of laughter he tottered unsteadily to the door before walking briskly home.
The nurse was back. He could feel her fingers fiddling around with the tubes in his side, at least he thought it was his side, to be honest he wasn’t sure anymore. Drugs he supposed. There was a veritable orchard of plastic drip bags hanging like huge overripe pears above his bed, their tentacle tubes snaking down hungrily to pierce the veins and other assorted parts of his body. The nurse straightened up, smoothed the sheets and with a final satisfied pat disappeared from view. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. When he was first admitted it had hurt like hell, making him grit his teeth in dread every time any of them even came near. Still, as they said practice makes perfect and they were certainly much better at it now.
The first time he had seen Jane was in The Golden Nugget. He could see her now as clearly as the day it happened. It was a summer evening and someone, he couldn’t remember who, was about to retire so the office had gathered for the obligatory rounds of farewell drinks. The Nugget had a small garden at the back, nothing fancy, just a few tables sporting sunshades on a badly kept lawn, but it made a pleasant change in the summer. He had noticed her the moment he stepped out on to the terrace and fallen in love with her before he reached the grass. It was one of those magical events he had read about but never expected to happen to someone like him. Yet there he was, totally smitten, a love crazed teenager at the sober age of thirty-four. He had always been shy with women and as a rule tried to avoid them when on his own, which made it even more surprising to find himself walking purposefully towards her. He didn’t know if she was attached to someone, or even married for that matter. He didn’t care. She was just the most beautiful, the most wonderful girl he had ever seen, and he had to talk to her whatever the cost.
‘Hello,’ he had exclaimed feeling ridiculous, ‘I’m Robert, and it would mean everything to me if you would join me for dinner.’ He had stood there awkwardly, staring into bottomless sea green eyes framed by a gleaming mass of tumbling raven hair, suddenly realising with horror he was standing stork like on one leg while rubbing his shoe on the back of the other. It was a nervous reaction, a throwback to long forgotten childhood and he could feel a hot flush of embarrassment burning his face. Rooted to the spot and unable to move he waited for what seemed like a hundred years as the beautiful eyes regarded him steadily, then suddenly the sun came out and she smiled.
‘Why thank you Robert,’ the voice was husky soft, sending shivers down his spine. ‘I’m Jane, and I would like to join you for dinner very much.’
They had been married six weeks later and filled with a new wonderment Robert realised for the first time what it meant to be alive. Never much interested in money and a long way short of a spendthrift, over the years he had paid most of his salary into a savings account. Now with Jane and the possibility of children to come he wanted to turn it all into a house, a home where they could all be happy and safe. Jane had agreed, so putting off the half planned exotic honeymoon to a later date, they had rented a cottage on the outskirts of a small village in the heart of Devon. There was a newsagent come general store, a pub, very little traffic and an occasional villager. Which was just fine, as the only people they wanted to see were each other. The garden was in dire need of attention and a grateful landlord happily gave Robert carte blanche to get it back into shape. They had stayed a full month while the Gods smiled and gave Devon the best recorded summer in twenty years. When the day came to return to the world they had paused at the wicker gate, looking back at the cottage that had brought them such idyllic joy. The garden now boasted a small but perfect lawn, two new flowerbeds and embryo climbing roses and wisteria that would one day cover the front of the house.
‘We must come back one day, see how it’s all grown together,’ he had said wistfully.
‘Yes darling, of course we must. Let’s make a promise to each other we’ll come back right now.” Jane had exclaimed, and laughing made them swear some childish oath there and then.
‘Feeling all right, old chap? Any new aches and pains?’ The voice jerked him back to reality. But it was only another doctor, a consultant this time judging from his greying hair.
‘Why don’t you piss off and leave me in peace,’ He didn’t mean to be rude, but he wanted to get back to the cottage and surely the man could find someone else to bother. For Heaven’s sakes, the ward was full of them.
‘Fine, you take it easy; old chap, just lie back and have a good rest.’ Ignoring the insult the doctor left his line of sight
He must remember to apologise when he returned. There was no reason to snap at him so rudely like that; the poor man was only trying to help. Now where was he? Where had he been? Oh God yes, the telephone. He could hear it ringing now, reaching forward eagerly to answer it, hoping it was Jane, expecting it to be Jane, she always called him at least four or five times a day. But it wasn’t Jane, it was the police saying there had been an accident and would he go to the hospital right away. They had taken him to the family room, later he had wondered if they realised the irony of the name, and told him his Jane was dead. Knocked down in the street by a hit and run lorry. They were very sorry they said, but there was nothing they could do, she had been pronounced dead on arrival. He had demanded to see her, said he had a right to see her, said it again and again. Until eventually the soft insistent voice of the nurse penetrated the mists of pain and despair, explaining how on occasions like this it really would be better to remember her the way she was. And finally he understood.
The world of love and colour had turned a gritty grey. He woke each morning and went to work, returning at day’s end to sleep, eating somewhere along the way without interest or appetite. His whole being consumed with a need to find the driver responsible and make him pay for what he had done. When his father died he had found an old army 38 revolver along with a small cardboard box of bullets in the attic, a relic left over from his grandfather’s days in Second World War. He had meant to turn it in to the police years ago, but something had come up and he had forgotten. Now it would come in handy. It had taken six years, several private detective agencies and most of the now useless mortgage money. But in the end he had found him.
Now that all the pieces had fallen into place he felt strangely at peace. The hatred had gone, replaced with the cold dispassionate determination of an executioner. As he drove north he reviewed the recent history of the man he had come to kill. Things hadn’t gone well he had been pleased to discover. After the hit and run the man had turned to drink losing first his job, then his wife and now lived by himself in a one room basement flat at the seedy end of a seedy town. Robert had his photograph and waited patiently in the car for the man to come home. Eventually he came, staggering drunk, half falling down the basement stairs, unaware of Robert standing behind him as he fumbled bemusedly with his door key. The moment the key turned Robert quickly pushed him in and slammed the door. The man stumbled forward to collapse in a filthy armchair. There was nowhere else to sit so Robert leaned against the wall facing his victim and took out the revolver.
‘Six years ago you ran over my wife without even bothering to stop and find out if she was badly injured,’ he paused for more words but couldn’t find any. ‘You hurt her so badly she died. I thought you should know that before I kill you,’ he ended lamely.
The man stared back, shaking his head, trying to focus. Then his vision cleared and he glared aggressively. ‘Well, if that’s what you’ve come for get the hell on with it for Christ’s sake. Don’t just stand there waving your gun in the air like a squash racquet, you dumb bastard. Either pull the bloody trigger or bugger off, either way I don’t give a shit anymore.’
‘You mean you don’t even care?’ He could feel the anger swelling as his finger tighten on the trigger.
‘Of course I care you stupid bugger,’ the man sighed wearily, ‘What the hell do you think I am, some nut case, a serial killer with notches on his steering wheel for every woman run down? Do you think I ran over her on purpose? Is that what you think? Because if that’s what you think you need help more than me mate. I’ve been caring as you call it for the last six bloody years. So kill me if you have to, but when you’re finished for God’s sake get a life. Better yet get yourself a job, try driving heavy lorries, if nothing else it might help you to understand. Realise how I didn’t know anything had even happened until I read about it in the paper next day. When you’re fourteen feet up in the cab of a bloody great forty ton twenty four wheeler you could hit an elephant and not know it. I never even caught a glimpse of her, so she must have tripped or stepped into the road for some reason at the very last minute. Even then I wasn’t sure, but I had been in the area that day so I checked the front of the vehicle just in case. There was a faint smear of blood and a torn piece of camel hair material on the left side bumper that was all, otherwise not even a dent. I rang the newspaper to check out the report and they told me the victim had been wearing a camel hair coat. Even then I couldn’t be certain, but deep down I knew, knew it was me.’
‘If you knew, why didn’t you come forward, go to the police?’
‘What good would it have done? The lady was dead, there was nothing I could do to change that and I had my own wife to consider. But I couldn’t get it out of my mind, night after night I would see that poor lady being hit by the wing with her coat caught in the bumper dragging her down under the wheels. I couldn’t get the picture out of my head so in the end I tried to blot it out, drink it away passing out every night and wound up losing my wife and my job as a result. For God’s sake man look at me, go on take a good long look. Can’t you see you’ve had your revenge, had it in spades. So do me a favour and pull your bloody trigger.’
And he had tried, God how he had tried, but something stopped him and he couldn’t do it. In the end he had left the bastard sitting in his rotten chair, staring blankly at the wall, surrounded by the stink of stale booze and urine. On the way back he had thrown the gun into a river. It had all happened over thirty-five years ago and yet it still seemed like yesterday. The rest of his life had been empty and uneventful. Though not gregarious by nature he still needed company from time to time and became an unofficial member of the Golden Nugget bar club, progressing to full membership as time went by and he was finally accepted as one of the group. Dropping in for an hour or two each evening to chat, reminisce and sometimes even laugh. There were also the memories of his first meeting with Jane. In the beginning he had worried about that in case they made him feel sad or upset. But it had proved quite the reverse, in fact he often had a strange feeling she was there laughing beside him.
‘Sleeping it away are you, old chap? That’s all right, you take your time, there’s no hurry.’
It was that doctor again. If he couldn’t leave a man in peace at least he might have the courtesy to come out from behind the curtain so he could see him, say whatever he had to say to his face. On the other hand if he just went away and bothered someone else that would be even better. A storm was gathering now, darkening the windows, reducing the light in the ward to late evening. Why on earth didn’t someone switch on the lights for God’s sake? Another hospital saving plan he supposed, no extra electricity allowed before the anointed hour. Not that he cared, night or day it was all the same to him. Dismissing the matter he retired back into himself. That was better, in fact it was more than better, it was bloody miraculous.
‘Nurse,’ the voice was very young, pitched high and shaky with suppressed emotion. ‘I think the gentleman’s dead!’ Eyes huge the student nurse turned to her senior.
‘Well, don’t just stand there making a fuss, Adelaide, go and tell Sister the good news. She has been crying out for beds all day.’
He was back in the country lane leading to the cottage. He could feel the sun warming his back; the hedgerows were clothed in brilliant summer green, cow parsley edging their borders with a delicate lacework of white. The air was filled with the scent of new mown hay while far off the call of a cuckoo drifted softly over the meadows from distant woods. The cottage lay just round the bend and he quickened his pace, marvelling at the fresh flood of new found strength surging through his limbs. Rounding the corner he paused for a moment at the wicker gate, savouring the sweet rush of happy long forgotten memories, gazing with pleasure at the flower beds he had worked so hard to build now ablaze with blooms.
The front door opened and there was Jane, looking just the way she had the day they met. Her slim figure topped by raven hair falling loosely to her shoulders, the sea green eyes squinting slightly in amusement as he stood there frozen, smitten, dumbstruck, the same way it had been all those years ago. ‘Well, are you coming in? Or are you planning to stay out there all day?’ She laughed, then he was running up the path towards her.