Stranded

Waking to another day in his makeshift quarters in the dining room, Bede blinked at a ray of sunlight through a chink in the curtain. The bedclothes had slipped and the beer stains on his cast brought it all back. He closed his eyes, wincing from the memory as much as his headache. A succession of people had come over to their table with comments ranging from sympathy and support to awkwardly pretending either his accident or the scene with Philip hadn’t happened. The show of friendship had been heartening and the music good, especially Elin’s singing, but the evening had been soured from the start and he’d spent the whole time drinking too much while wishing they could simply go home.

And now here he was, the quality of the light suggesting that almost a morning had passed in useless inactivity. Add to that the countless wasted hours and days since the accident. Brooding on how much of that time he’d spent sleeping, he reached for the note on the bedside table. Elin was in the greenhouse. He knew she had a lot to do at the shop, and wondered irritably why she hadn’t woken him sooner so she could get him sorted and be on her way. Taking a deep breath, he silently played through the frustration and criticism so he could get it out of his system and not upset her by voicing it. Maybe he could get away without disturbing her at all.

Thinking of the whole damn palaver of simple routines like shifting himself from the bed to the chair without overbalancing or struggling to get dressed, fill the kettle and make coffee with one hand, he gave in and picked up the phone.

A short while later, he was sitting at the breakfast table having packed Elin off to the shop, insisting as tactfully as he could that, now he was up, he could manage. The need to get out in the fresh air, clear his head, became overwhelming. A walk. A bloody trundle, he corrected himself. He wouldn’t have any muscles left by the time this was over.

However he managed to get there, the river was beckoning. He called Kip, who seemed to have forgiven him for turning into a whirring automaton, wasted a few more moments jabbing with a broom handle to dislodge the dog’s lead from a shoulder-level coat hook, and set off. Even pulling the door closed behind him was a major operation.

After fastening the lead to the arm of the chair, hoping Kip would remember what a well-trained, obedient dog he was, Bede set off. He soon saw that, although yesterday had been fine, the recent rain meant the gateway to their willow field was waterlogged, as was the track down the side. He may have devised mobility for himself, but an all-terrain model was a little ambitious. Not feeling sociable enough for Foxover, he turned in the opposite direction, making for the riverside picnic area down the Halbury lane. It was sure to be deserted on a grey Thursday morning.

From his unaccustomed perspective, the road seemed a maze of puddles and potholes to be dodged. Once safely past Kate’s drive, having noted gratefully the absence of parked cars outside the house, he took his fingers from the controls and halted. The brief pause in the irritating whine of the motor allowed the voice of the river to reach him. Bede let the dog loose and, hardly aware of the thin drizzle whipped up by the wind, gazed out across fields and hedgerows to the glimpse of dull pewter as the river reflected the flat grey sky above. The sun that had woken him earlier had vanished, but the wind in his hair and the call of the water were already working their magic.

Above the rushing of the river and hushing of the saturated wind, he became aware of another sound: the white noise of an approaching car’s tyres. Bede froze. He wanted to look round, but, as if held fast in the treacle fingers of a nightmare, couldn’t move. He saw a gateway up ahead; willed his thumb to press the drive button. It wouldn’t obey. He braced himself for the impact, rain-hunched shoulders brought even closer to his ears. He saw himself in the ditch, life and blood seeping from him. Finishing the job that had been started nearly two weeks ago.

The car swished past, slowing and skirting by him. He didn’t see a face, but thought he saw a movement on the passenger side. He wanted to wave back, but his white-knuckled hand still refused to obey. His heart thumped in terror as the car slowed and stopped, red brake lights giving way to white reversing lights as it bore down on him. He closed his eyes.

‘Are you OK?’

Angie’s voice. Feeling utterly stupid, he blinked and managed to stammer out something about going for a walk. It seemed to satisfy her and they went on their way.

Once they were gone, he managed somehow to reach the next bend, where the road widened to form a gravelly layby. His heart was pounding, his whole body shaking. He heard another vehicle, this time approaching from the Halbury direction. He tensed again, blackness clouding the edge of his vision. Kip came bounding up; Bede leaned forward and grabbed his collar, allowing the wind to drive his hair across his face, ashamed of the car’s occupants seeing the terror there as he waited for them to swerve and drive straight at him.

As the noise of the unseen car faded and his frayed nerves began to settle, he steeled himself against a growing headache. A van and another car passed and his irrational terror was no less. He felt like a wreck. A car crash, ha ha. Filled with self-loathing, he forced himself to admit that this…this shambolic outing bore no resemblance to the wild abandon and release of tension he got from striding out across the fields. Abandon. Yes, abandon the idea. With any luck he could get home before another vehicle came past. Or maybe the next really would be the one with his name on the bull bars.

He shook his head, scattering drops of drizzle, and manoeuvred the wheelchair round to face home. It caught in a rut and jolted; with a serious effort of balance, he managed to stay upright. He jabbed the controls desperately but it refused to move, forwards or backwards. The whirring stopped abruptly. With hollow despair, he realised he’d just discovered the range of the battery. He managed to manoeuvre himself upright and behind it, grab one handle and lean on the other with his plastered arm, to use it as a walking frame. He hopped. It almost tipped. The lane towards the house appeared endless. He collapsed back into the seat.

Cursing himself for not charging it last night, for failing to think about it before setting out…just cursing the whole fucking situation, he realised he’d have to disturb Elin – again. Even before his hand felt the emptiness of his pocket, he had a clear mental image of the mobile lying by the side of the bed. Please no. An increasingly frantic search through pockets and down the sides of the seat cushion only confirmed it.

In desperation, he sent Kip homeward. At first the dog ran in the right direction, but was soon distracted by an investigation of the roadside hedge.

‘Home! Fetch Elin!’

As Kip vanished out of sight round the bend, Bede had no illusions of his dog running to the village in some Lassie-style rescue, but at least Elin would see him alone in the yard when she got home and… When would she be home? The wind was gusting harder and the mildly uncomfortable drizzle was fast intensifying to proper rain. He remembered he wasn’t supposed to get the cast on his useless leg wet. He managed to extricate himself from his coat, covered the cast and settled in, shivering, to wait. The ache in his wrist and ankle, together with the headache, slowly worsened with the creeping cold, and he berated himself for his misplaced pride earlier when he’d thought that taking a painkiller was giving in.

He had no idea how much time had passed – maybe he’d done his amazing fall-asleep-anywhere thing – when he heard another vehicle approaching. The thought of welcome rescue outweighed the conviction that he was about to be rammed into the hedge, and he raised a hand to flag it down. As it rounded the bend, his heart jolted as he recognised, through the now driving rain, the jeep he’d seen more than once churning up the tracks around the pheasant pens in Holtwood.

It was a busy morning in the shop, but Elin found time to try ringing Bede a couple of times. He’d been feeling down that morning, hardly surprising given the amount he’d drunk the night before, and she just wanted to hear his voice. She was mildly surprised when his phone went to voicemail both times, and the second time she tried the house phone. No answer. There was an extension by his bench in the workshop and he wouldn’t be outside in rain like this. It was enough to send her home for lunch, despite the sandwich she’d left ready for him in the kitchen.

As she headed down the lane towards Alderleat, she was surprised to see smoke coming from the chimney. The summer rain lent a chill to the air, but she doubted it was cold enough indoors for Bede to light a fire. Even in his current condition he’d stubbornly pile on an extra blanket rather than waste fuel at this time of year. It was pointless arguing with him about the fine distinctions between waste, use and need at a time like this.

She called his name as she entered. Only Kip responded. She went through and saw Bede laid out on the sofa beneath a duvet, with pillows brought through from his bed. Elin glanced at the glow of the fire in the stove, the flames flickering in a way that indicated it had not been lit for very long. A faint smell of smoke tinged the air. Not wood smoke. Concerned by the pallor of his skin, she touched his forehead; he felt cold. She frowned – the hint of smoke was on him, too – said his name, shook him gently. He stirred.

‘Time is it?’

‘About one o’clock,’ she said.

‘Sorry. Didn’t sleep too well last night. Need to catch up.’

‘Stop apologising for resting.’ His hair was damp and there was a heap of wet clothes on the floor. ‘Have you been out?’

‘Tell you later.’

She quickly felt his hands, free foot and toes at the end of the cast. They felt cold but within reason. She adjusted the duvet, removed the damp pillow and replaced it with a towel-wrapped cushion. He waved her away.

‘Please. Stop fussing.’ He turned his head and frowned. ‘What’s going on? What’ve you lit the fire for? It’s not cold, it’s the start of bloody summer!’

‘It was already lit. I thought you—’

‘How d’you think I could’ve done that? Stop fussing over me.’

She flung the damp pillow down by the fire to dry and marched into the kitchen. Grabbing a glass of water and the lunch she’d made him earlier, she slammed them down on the coffee table next to him, only just restraining herself from sticking the dog’s nose in the sandwiches. Turning to go, she caught sight of the wheelchair across the room, out of his reach. However it had got there, let it stay. God forbid she should fuss.

‘See you this evening.’

‘Bye, love,’ he murmured. ‘Sorry.’

Sorry! She was almost out of the door when she saw the note by the kettle.

Hi Ellen,

Found Bede stranded at the side of the road!!

Seems OK, just tired. Says he wanted to get out. He can explain when he wakes. Sorry I couldn’t stay but had to get back to work – I’m in deep enough shit as it is.

Will try & call round this evening to see how u both are.

Silvan

She went back through to the living room.

‘What’s this about Silvan finding you at the side of the road?’ she said more gently.

‘What?’ He opened his eyes. ‘I went for a walk. Battery ran out. Did he bring the charger through from the workshop? We need to remember to charge it.’ He stirred. ‘I’m sorry Elin, I forgot – must’ve been him lit the fire. I shouldn’t have said that. About fussing. Come here. Sorry.’

He reached out. She knelt by the sofa and held him, allowing her annoyance to subside.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Forgot the phone. Can’t even get that right. Sorry again. You’d better get back. Thanks for…you know.’

On her way out, she fetched the phone from the side of the bed and put it alongside his lunch. He was already breathing to a sleeper’s rhythm, his face relaxed in the expression she found it impossible to stay angry with.

The doorbell rang. Elin sighed. She’d been hoping that ‘try and call round this evening’ was merely a stock phrase, and Silvan wouldn’t actually appear. It had been a long day.

‘Bede’s asleep, but come in for a couple of minutes anyway. Thanks for helping this morning.’

She hoped ‘couple of minutes’ would be a big enough hint, but Silvan produced a bottle of wine from the canvas satchel that was almost a part of him and plonked it on the kitchen table.

‘You look like you need this.’

‘No thanks. It’s sweet of you, but…’

‘Go on, you deserve it. Is he going to join us? I can give him a hand—’

‘I don’t want to wake him.’ Feeling churlish but determined, she sat at the table without fetching glasses or moving to open the bottle.

Silvan’s account of that morning’s rescue began similarly enough to Bede’s until he said, ‘You know what, Elin? He accused me of driving right at him. Honestly, he had this look on his face when I got out of the jeep, pushed me away and started yelling at me, what the fuck was I playing at, thought I was supposed to be his mate and all that. He calmed down eventually, but he was still shaking like crazy. Could’ve been the cold. I’m sure it was, partly – him sitting there without his coat, the nutter – but he really worried me. Did he say anything to you?’

Elin shook her head. ‘I’m sure it was nothing personal.’

Silvan traced the pattern on the label of the bottle with his finger. ‘I did the right thing, didn’t I? He seemed frozen through and I couldn’t just leave him without a fire. He was acting a bit weird at first, but I sorted him out and he seemed fine by the time I left. I haven’t got your number.’

‘Thanks for everything.’ She looked at him sternly. ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, though – I thought I could smell smoke. I’d rather you didn’t, in the house.’

Silvan smiled enigmatically. ‘Part of “sorting him out”. Medicinal.’

‘Oh, Jesus. Weed? His head’s messed up enough as it is at the moment.’

‘What? Don’t tell me you don’t approve? I wouldn’t have had you down—’

‘No, not normally, of course not. But right now—’

‘He seemed happy enough to me with nature’s painkiller. Brought a smile to his face and he was sleeping peacefully by the time I left.’

‘Maybe, but I’m still not keen.’

‘I offered to score some for him.’ He looked at her challengingly. ‘He seemed to like the idea. Honestly, it’s proven—’

‘I know all about the benefits.’ She sighed, doubting that Silvan’s interest was primarily medicinal. ‘I’ll talk to him about it. The way I feel right now, I might even join you.’

Silvan laughed. ‘Listen, I can imagine how hard it is for you both. If there’s anything – anything at all – you need, just give me a shout. I mean it.’

‘Thanks. We might well take you up on it.’ She looked at her watch. ‘But for now—’

‘Have you seen Tammy today?’

‘Not since last night. I’m not surprised; I know she’s still got a lot of revising to do.’

‘She texted me. We were supposed to be meeting again tonight but that sour old bitch has grounded her again, it seems. All to impress bloody Northcote, you can bet.’

‘That’s as may be, but I don’t remember going to the pub on a school night myself when I was her age.’

‘It was music night. Drinking orange juice, for fuck’s sake.’

‘She’s in the middle of her GCSEs, Silvan. It’s important.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Too much bloody pressure these days. Don’t you start laying into her as well.’

‘It’ll be too much pressure if she hasn’t done the work she needs to. Show her you care by giving her space. She’ll thank you for it in the long run.’

‘Bloody hell, Elin, you sound like her mother yourself sometimes.’ He waved away her protest. ‘I mean it, but in a nice way. You…care about people.’ He leaned back with an effortless ease that made the wooden dining chair look like a sumptuous armchair. ‘How come you and Bede haven’t got kids?’

Elin stared, momentarily speechless.

‘You’d make a wonderful mum.’ Silvan waved an arm languidly. ‘All this the pair of you’ve got here. It’s a kids’ paradise.’ He frowned and sat up straighter. ‘Sorry, hope I haven’t put my foot in it. Are you trying?’

She folded her arms.

‘If you don’t want to talk about it, just say.’

‘There’s nothing to say.’ She focused on her exasperation to stop herself from feeling exposed.

‘Everything’s all right, though, is it? Between you and Bede?’

‘For God’s sake, Silvan!’ She checked herself. Maybe she’d misunderstood, maybe he was simply showing friendly concern. ‘Of course we’re all right. Apart from the obvious.’

‘The obvious?’

‘Dealing with the consequences of a serious road accident.’

Silvan nodded. ‘He’s a lucky man.’

So she hadn’t misunderstood.

‘Works both ways. I’m lucky to have him, too.’ Before he could say anything else, she continued, ‘Anyway, what’s that you said in your note about being in the shit?’

‘Oh, you know Northcote. He—’

A knock on the door startled them both. Elin heard footsteps in the porch and Steve called out. She couldn’t remember ever being more pleased to hear his voice.

‘Come in.’

He entered, gave her a hug, then looked from one to the other of them in mild surprise. ‘Where’s the invalid?’

‘I know it’s early, but he’s in bed asleep. Long story. Have you met Silvan?’

‘Ah, the one and only. No, but I’ve heard all about you.’ He held out a hand.

‘Yeah? How come?’ Silvan shook it cautiously.

‘I work with Bede. We drove out to a job not long after he’d seen you playing in the pub. Guitar, isn’t it? Says you’re good.’

‘Cheers.’ He relaxed back into his kitchen-chair-as-armchair slouch.

‘I’m not stopping.’ Steve turned back to Elin. ‘Just called on my way home to pick up those figures. You got my message, didn’t you?’

‘They should be in the workshop. I’ll go and have a look in a mo.’

Silvan stood abruptly. ‘Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be off.’ He looked between her and Steve in a way she didn’t like. ‘Leave you to it.’

‘Sorry, I’ll be better company another time. I’m knackered tonight.’ Elin handed him the wine bottle. ‘Save this for later. Perhaps we can crack it open to celebrate the end of Tamsin’s exams, hey?’

‘Yeah, perhaps.’ He stowed it in his bag, raised a hand in farewell to Steve and turned back to her. ‘Pass on my best wishes to the man.’

He gave her another penetrating look and left.

28th May, 2001

Our Bede’s got himself a bit of a fan club. Whenever he turns up at Calsthorpe, Tig’s eldest, Jack, attaches himself to him. I’d have thought he’d be flattered, but he gets irritated, although he puts a tolerant face on it. He knows what it’s like to be the one left out, appreciates what it did for him going down that garage after school and at weekends.

So he’s there today, mending Steve’s clapped-out old van. I could see him dragging out his patience to give this boy what he’d needed himself. The difference is, young Jack wouldn’t know which way up to hold a hammer. He keeps passing Bede the wrong stuff, losing his tools and slowing him down because he doesn’t want the kid to hurt himself. And I had to smile because our Bede was at the end of his tether about to send him away once and for all, then Elin walks up and he’s suddenly all sweetness and light with the kid and even hands him a screwdriver.

I must give him a pep talk. Or maybe have a quiet word with her. She’s obviously interested in him but if he clams up every time she goes near, she’ll give up sooner or later. The fact that he’s never gone out with a girl (at his age!) was one of the least surprising things he’s told me.

Missed my chance for now, though. Had to open my big gob again about the eco-sabotage, didn’t I? They’ve started calling him Engineer and he wears it like a badge of honour. I tried again to tell him to back off a bit. He wasn’t so much angry like before, as this deep, sad disappointment.

‘I’d have thought you’d have been into it, Joe.’

You could argue with outright anger, but this? I gave up, left early and decided to visit Marjorie before coming home. I’ve been a few times since we met. She’s got this calm, common-sense way of seeing right through a situation. She’s also dropped a hint or two about problems with her son Philip in the past – too loyal to say anything outright, but there’s a tension there.

Anyway she sympathised about Bede, though I think she wished I hadn’t told her about the lawbreaking aspect. Definitely not her scene. Means she’s on my side of the argument, though. Didn’t come away with any solutions, but at least I’m reassured I was right to confront him.

But that wasn’t the big news. I still feel a bit overwhelmed, don’t know what I’m going to say to her. She’s got this cottage, just out of the village, part of the estate when her family still had an estate, and the old girl who lived there died recently. Marjorie’s son and daughter are trying to get her to sell it, but she tells me she doesn’t want to. Although I haven’t told her the details about me and Suzie, she knows I’m not exactly living in paradise. So – can you believe your bloody luck, Joe Sherwell? – she actually asked did I want to take a tenancy for next to nothing in return for living there and doing the place up?

She took me to see it. Alderleat, it’s called. Bloody hell. What estate agents call ‘ripe for renovation’. ‘Has potential’. Well, it does – on one level I love it, but live there?? I’m wondering how her old dear lasted that long – occupied one room while the rest fell apart around her. I’d say it’s doable with a hefty dose of hard work, but of course I’d need some way of making a living. I stopped at the village shop and bought the local paper. There’s a builder’s merchant a few miles away looking to take someone on. Menial compared to running my own shop, but I’ve been thinking a lot recently and I’m going to have to sell the business to give Suzie the clean break she’s demanding. It slays me to think of selling up after all I put into that shop, but it seems the house isn’t enough for her and she’s still insisting I stay away from the kids completely. It breaks my heart to lose them, but I’m hardly in a position to argue, am I? Push her too hard and she might start kicking off about the other business.

Maybe I need a clean break, too. Sell the shop, move to Foxover.

Midnight

I was just on my way to bed when the bell went. Our Bede. Said he had to call by, hated the idea of falling out with me. He’s not going to change his mind about the sabotage but he’ll be extra careful and he’s sorry for the way we argued, the things he said. Fair do’s.

To be honest I didn’t fancy stewing over a row, so instant forgiveness was the order of the day. And besides – I know I probably shouldn’t have said anything to him yet about Marjorie’s offer, but who else have I got to talk to? (Needless to say I told him nothing about Suzie and selling the business, that’s a decision I’ll have to make on my own.) He thinks I should go for it. That derelict wreck. Alderleat. He’ll come when he can and help me.