ASCENSION
122
There was Don, in uniform. Alone. Young, unbending, standing stiffly for the camera, unsmiling for fear of not being taken seriously. A man on a mission, with something to prove.
Then out of uniform, with his mates. All wearing the same ensemble of wide-lapelled jackets in shades of brown or oversized checks, huge-collared shirts and kipper ties, sporting the same overlong hair and Elvis sideburns, showing the same cocky smiles and glinting eyes. Thief takers and dandies, gods among men. Plenty of laughter at that.
Then him and Eileen. In a garden, at a barbecue, eating chicken legs, drinking beer. Looking happy. With everything ahead of them.
Eileen choked at that one. Recovered quickly.
Then the two of them with Phil as a small child. Hard to decide which of them looked happiest.
Then others, all variations on the same theme, all showing different aspects of the same man. Admirable aspects, strong, lovable. Over and over in a continuous loop.
A celebration of Don Brennan. His life in pictures.
And words. All around the room, sitting at tables, standing at the bar, stories were being told and retold, anecdotes shared. People laughing together, fighting off the darkness.
Marina looked round. Her heart heavy with grief but lightened by the fact that she had known the man, that he had been an important part of her life.
The service had been at the crematorium. Humanist. The speaker had come to see them days ago, asked about Don, his character, his likes and dislikes, any stories they wanted her to tell, any they wanted to avoid. Marina and Phil had done most of the talking, Eileen still too emotional.
The speaker had been excellent. Others had been asked to contribute. One of Don’s old colleagues had got up to say something. A big ex-copper, broken-nosed and red-faced, heavier than when he was in the job but still carrying himself with authority, had made his way to the podium, started to tell an anecdote about Don, stumbled over his words, burst into tears. Had to be led away.
Then it was Phil’s turn.
Marina had told him he didn’t have to do it if he didn’t want to. If he didn’t feel up to it. Or if he needed help getting to the lectern and back, she would assist. He refused all offers. He felt it was something he had to do alone and unaided.
It was over a week since Easter, since she had walked into his hospital room and held him and held him and held him. And never wanted to let him go.
He had been discharged from the hospital and was at home convalescing, on sick leave from work. His injuries hadn’t been as severe as had first been thought. He would be up and about, walking more or less unaided, in a few days. He had turned down the offer of a wheelchair and only reluctantly accepted a crutch. He was determined to get better. And he had been determined to speak at Don’s funeral.
He had squeezed Marina’s hand before getting up and she had looked into his eyes. Haunted and damaged, almost mirrors of her own. But eyes she loved. Eyes she never tired of looking into, where she found everything she hoped for being returned to her.
He had smiled, got slowly to his feet and, the crutch in his left hand, made his way to the lectern.
He spoke without notes. From his heart, his soul. He told everyone there that, in case they didn’t know, he had been adopted by Don and Eileen. He wasn’t their biological son. And they weren’t his biological parents. They were more than that. So much more.
He had gone on to talk of what Don had meant to him. How he owed his career, his attitude, everything he had to him. And how he would miss him. God, how he would miss him.
There was more. But Marina couldn’t remember it. She had been crying too much.
When he had finished, Phil had walked back to her side. Alone. Unaided.
And in that moment, she knew everything was going to be all right.
123
Marina had barely let Josephina out of her sight. Even in the hospital when they wanted to check her over she had insisted on being with her. She wouldn’t be parted for one second. And Josephina, clinging to her, felt exactly that same way.
Once they had returned home, there had been a week of sleepless nights. Josephina not wanting to close her eyes in case the scary woman was there. Marina had done everything she could to reassure the child, and she had gradually started to sleep. But the nights then became punctuated by nightmares, with Josephina waking up crying and screaming. They had moved her bed into their bedroom to have her near to them. Eventually they had just let her into their bed.
She hadn’t let go of Lady. Marina had tried to take the toy off her, wash it at least, but Josephina wouldn’t let her. So there it had stayed. Filthy dirty, ragged, but loved.
And that was OK.
One night after getting Josephina into bed, Marina and Phil had sat in their living room, trying to lead normal lives once more. Pretend they were ordinary again. Sharing a bottle of wine.
‘Only to be expected,’ Phil had said, ‘after what she’s been through.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Marina had replied.
‘Is she going to be … you know. Scarred by this for life.’
Marina had shrugged. ‘I hope not. You and I had much more traumatic childhoods and we did all right.’
‘We were lucky, though,’ said Phil. ‘We found ways out.’
‘True. We’ll just have to make sure that Josephina doesn’t need luck. Children are resilient and they can forget things. But trauma like this can do massive damage. Massive. Even if she buries it deep in her subconscious, under all the other layers of memory she’ll acquire. There’ll be some trace memory of it, some emotional unease.’
‘Should we be worried about that?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see. All we can do is be there for her. Make her feel safe. Loved. Yes, take her to a specialist if we need to, if things get worse and she needs professional help. But for now, let’s just see how it goes. Let’s help her to get over it.’
Phil said nothing.
‘We’re here,’ said Marina. ‘We’re alive. That’s the main thing. If we’re alive there’s always hope.’
‘And human beings forget things,’ said Phil. ‘Memories fade. Pain fades. It’s how we can carry on. All of us.’
She looked across at him. Wondered if the words hadn’t just been about their daughter but his father as well.
They had sat in silence.
124
In the upstairs room of the King’s Head, amidst the noise of the mourners and celebrants, with Don’s pictures on the wall behind them, Phil and Marina stood like a small island. The calm at the eye of the storm.
Franks looked over at them, nodded. But didn’t come any closer. Marina wasn’t surprised.
