‘If that makes me sound like some sort of Angel, I promise you I’m not,’ I add, wanting to be truthful. ‘Things didn’t always go too well for the Patels. There were some pretty nasty thugs in their area,’ I paint her just enough of the picture. ‘I did what I could to protect them. I was pretty well-built for my age. I could kick a bit of ass if I was around when the lads came harassing but … I wasn’t always around.’
‘Your friends were being bothered?’ Her eyes looked pained. Bothered, yeah. I rub at my eyes, not wanting to remember that. I came to love that couple like I really was the grandkid we all used to pretend I was. Then one day, they stopped pretending.
‘In the end, they went away to live near their son in India. They said they’d have a better life. I’ve lost touc
h.
’ I look down, filled with remorse that I didn’t try harder to keep up with them, remembering that at the time I was too mad at them for leaving me, to want to. I was learning, though. Learning not to put too much store by people, not to expect too much. That’s why what Rose said before hit a chord with me.
I should just stop wanting
, she said. That’s what I’ve done pretty much. For some reason, when she said it, I didn’t want her to feel that way though. I
want
her to keep dreaming, to keep wanting. It’s what I want for Sunny, too. They’re important. They’ve got to know that.
‘After they left - I managed to get a grant to complete the first part of my paramedic training.’ I clear my throat because my voice has somehow gone hoarse. ‘Then as soon as the opportunity came, I took off abroad myself.’
‘You never thought of coming back …?’
S
he looks about her, at the place that surrounds us. She doesn’t quite say the word
Home
.
‘I never thought of coming back,’ I say. That comes out more sharply than I intend and her eyes widen. ‘I’m sorry, Rose.’ I’ve told her some of it and she can guess at the cruelty but she’s not to know everything. ‘There are some places you don’t want to revisit in your life, right? Besides, I told you, I’m no angel. I’ve got involved in some things I regret, too. I can’t tell you how much I regret …’ I look at her searchingly.
‘Rose …’ If I could only tell her and she’d understand. The thought lands heavy as a bird on my shoulders. If I could only tell
someone
, what a burden it is to me to have to carry the knowledge of what I did, carry it all alone with no other person beside me to share it with. But I can’t. I mustn’t.
I can’t let everything unravel now, not now when there’s still so much at stake.
‘There are some things I left behind that I didn’t want to be reminded of, Rose. I know - you won’t believe it, but I’ve got a temper. There have been times when it’s had the better of me.’
She doesn’t say anything, just keeps on waiting for me to fill in the rest. But I’m not going to give her all the rest! She doesn’t need to know it. I don’t need her to know it. It serves no purpose other than to open up old wounds and that’s not what I’m here to do. I stitch wounds up and I put plasters on them and I let them be, that’s what I do with wounds.
I move over to the brazier, push the end of another log onto the fire and wait patiently while it catches light. It’s damp and it takes a long time, burning only reluctantly, slowly. I get the feeling any moment now it’s going to go out altogether.
‘And... your father,’ she says after a while. He’s still on her mind. ‘What happened to him?’
I look at her in surprise. ‘What happened? Nothing. He’s still there. I haven’t been home since. There have been times in my life when I thought maybe I should go back and face him again but I’ve never been able to bring myself to do it
.
’
‘You shouldn’t have to,’ she says quietly. ‘Someone else should do that for you. The police, maybe? He should be made to pay for what he did to you and your brother, Lawrence. People shouldn’t be allowed to hurt other people and get away with it.’ Her eyes are shiny, suddenly. I see they are full of tears. For me?
‘No,’ I agree, my voice gruff. ‘They shouldn’t.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she gives an apologetic little laugh. ‘You’ll think I’m silly, crying like this ...’
‘No need to apologise, Rose.’
‘It just makes me feel so
sad
.’
I pull her in towards me suddenly, fiercely, protectively. Gently, I kiss the top of her head. I kiss her face. Then her mouth. ‘It’s over now. Long past, and I’m a big boy as you can see. I can look after myself now. Hey -
don’t cry
!’
W
ith my thumb I wipe away the tears from her cheeks. ‘I made the decision to lead a different life. I had to leave home to do that. You know about that, don’t you?’
‘I can’t lead a different life,’ she says softly now, so quietly that I can barely hear her. ‘It’s different for me.’
‘It’s never easy for anyone to fly the nest,’ I murmur. ‘If you’ve had a loving family, a good home, it’s even harder I’m guessing.’ But she’s already told me about all her plans and dreams. How she wants to leave Merry Ditton. How she plans to go to Uni. She’s dying to get out of here and make her mark on the world
;
I could tell that from the way she spoke yesterday.
She’s positioned herself so that she’s leaning back onto my chest, this beautiful girl. I’m cradling her in my arms. Oh, what would I not give to have her stay here? For us to be together. I had not thought such a thing would ever be possible; that any girl would make me feel like this, make me
want
this. But Rose makes me feel human again. I’m like a small boy who’s been trying to stretch his fingertips up high enough to touch the sky, like Sunny reaching for the moon. She’s come along and lowered my hands down, pushed them into the crumbling brown earth; reminded me of what is real. She seems sad, though.
‘You’re going to be
fine
, Rose.’
She doesn’t immediately answer and I pull her in safe, close to me. She feels warm in my arms, delicate as a bird that I long to protect and I recall that last night I dreamed of Sunny, too. I saw him walking -
walking
- on a sunlit pavement on the opposite side of the road to me, moving along in the crowd. He looked a little older than he is now and he had other young people his age with him. He was laughing and talking. I called out, but he didn’t hear me. It was as if I weren’t there, he couldn’t see me but it didn’t matter; he didn’t need me anymore. I felt a deep relief and gladness at that. I felt
peace.
When I kiss her once more, I feel it again.
‘Things are ... a little more complicated at home than I’ve let you know,’ she says. I feel her gaze settle on me now. I recall her mentioning that her father is not a well man, how she was concerned about him. She came up here to fetch some medication for him and I know they’ve had phone contact but she hasn’t really said much about him, has she?
‘Dad’s poorly,’ she confirms now. ‘I’d have to get his family to agree to help out with his care before I could leave myself. Right now the chances of that happening ...’ she looks at me ruefully
.
‘
T
hey seem a little slim.’
‘Have faith, Rose.’ I give her a little shake. ‘Things can change! Everything can change and even when you think there’s no way things can ever get better something good can come along - something joyful and wonderful just like ... like you coming into my life right now.’ Her face lights up in a smile when I say that.
‘For you,’ she says and she presents me with a tin-foil giraffe she’s managed to fashion out of three bits of bright foil paper.
‘Thank you.’ I take it from her, twirling it between my fingers. We both stare at it as it catches the light, shimmering and proud; it seems suddenly like a very precious thing. In this quiet, peaceful moment, devoid of all other distractions, it takes on the importance of a masterpiece in an art gallery.
‘Why a giraffe?’ I ask. ‘Have I been a pain in the neck?’ The sudden laugh coming from her throat is full of an unspoilt joy, and I think
; I would do anything to capture this moment
.
‘No. Because it’s so tall it can see what’s coming up next,’ she says immediately.
‘Like me?’ I lean in close to her, kissing her nose.
‘Like you’re going to need to be,’ she says without thinking. Then she blushes, lowers her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t trying to be Mystic Meg or anything. That just came out.’
Out from where, I wonder?
‘I guess I do need to have more faith,’ she runs on, clearly keen to cover up her last statement. ‘It’s just - you know how it is. Sometimes it’s difficult to see your way out of a rut.’
‘You really think the family
wouldn’t
be willing to step in and help you?’ I take her in curiously now. ‘How poorly is he? Is it a progressive illness?’
‘Not an illness, as such.’ She shifts in my arms, looks at me from under her long lashes and I sense she doesn’t like to talk about this.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t ...’ I begin, but she puts her hand on my arm, stopping me.
‘Of course I’ll tell you,’ she says softly. ‘After all the other things we’ve told each other over the last few hours, I hardly think you’ll be shocked.’ She pauses for a bit.
‘My dad was
injured
,’ she comes back eventually. ‘It happened five years ago ... not long after my mum passed away.’
‘I’m sorry, Rose.’ She blinks and I know that this is something else that must have hurt her deeply, a double blow coming in so short a space of time.
‘How did it happen?’ I ask because it seems to be important to her to talk about it. For myself, I don’t need to know, I am not curious. Her father was injured and I feel sorry. The world is full of people who are hurt and who are hurting, and I have been one of them myself for so long.
‘Someone hurt him,’ she says now, and I feel a flash of anger on her behalf. Whoever hurt him, hurt
her
, too. If I had been there, I could have helped them, protected her, maybe, but then - five years ago I was a desperate kid myself, running from my own troubles.
‘He’d gone over to try and reason with our neighbour,’ her eyes are hardened to pin-points of pain. ‘But something went wrong.
Badly
wrong.’ Her fingers are smoothing over and over another little foil wrapper left from this morning. She’s smoothed it out so insistently it’s begun to curl back on itself like a fish-tail.
Their neighbour. Someone close by, then? Someone not too far away and maybe even someone I know? Her tragedy shifts a little closer to the circle of my own life. Her words sink down like little lazy chunks of ice, drifting slowly into my space but I can’t feel the import of them yet. Not quite yet.
‘Five years,’ I say, stroking her hair. ‘That’s a long time.’ It’s felt like a lifetime to me, hasn’t it? The little piece of foil paper which she’s been smoothing in her hand tears suddenly and she stops and stares at it.
‘Dad had gone over to try and resolve an issue over some property,’ her voice sounds very disjointed. She doesn’t talk about this, I think. Ever. I recognise the signs. ‘But it was dark. He went over very late and they’d untied the dogs. He had to go into their barn to get away from them. He never meant to go in there.’