probably came over as rude. Never mind. His father was more important right now.
He knocked on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” said his father. He sounded reassuringly buoyant.
Jamie went in and found him sitting fully dressed on the side of the bed.
“You’re here,” said his father. “Good.” He slapped his hands onto his knees in a ready-for-action kind of way.
“How are you?” asked Jamie.
“Changed my mind,” said his father.
“About what?”
“Really can’t come to the wedding.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Jamie.
“Now, I could go to a hotel,” said his father. “But, to be honest with you, I’ve had my fill of hotels recently.”
Jamie was not sure how to respond to this. His father looked and sounded completely sane. Except that he was clearly not.
“Obviously I can’t take the car because your mother is going to need that to get to the register office. And if I simply start walking from here I’m bound to be seen by someone who recognizes me.” His father slipped an Ordnance Survey map out from under the mattress. “But you have a car.” He unfolded the map and pointed to Folksworth. “If you were able to drop me somewhere round about here I could walk on footpaths for ten, fifteen miles without crossing a major road.”
“Right,” said Jamie.
“If you could put my big waterproof and a thermos of tea in the boot, that would be helpful.” His father refolded the Ordnance Survey map and slipped it back under the mattress. “Some biscuits would be good, too, if that were possible.”
“Some biscuits,” said Jamie.
“Something plain. Digestives. That kind of thing. Nothing too chocolatey.”
“Digestives.”
His father took hold of Jamie’s hand and held it. “Thank you. This makes me feel a lot better.”
“Good,” said Jamie.
“You’d better get downstairs and mingle,” said his father. “Don’t want anyone else getting wind of this, do we.”
“No,” said Jamie.
He stood up and went over to the door. He turned round briefly. His father was staring out of the window, rocking from one foot to the other.
Jamie went out onto the landing, closed the door behind him, ran downstairs, grabbed his mobile, shut himself in the toilet for a second time and rang the doctor’s surgery. He was put through to some kind of central weekend control room. He explained that his father was losing his mind. He explained about the scissors and the wedding and the escape plan and the weeping. They said a doctor would be at the house in the next forty-five minutes.
112
Jean found Ray in the marquee where he was supervising some last-minute rearrangements to the seating plan (one of their friends had tripped and broken his front teeth on a basin that morning).
“Ray?” she asked.
“What can I do you for?”
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” said Jean, “but I don’t know who else I can ask.”
“Go on,” said Ray.
“It’s George. I’m worried about him. He spoke to me about it this morning. He really didn’t seem himself.”
“I know,” said Ray.
“You know?”
“Jamie said he was off-color yesterday. Asked me to keep an eye on him.”
“He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Probably didn’t want to worry you,” said Ray. “Anyway, Jamie had a word with George this morning. Just to check.”
She could feel the relief spread through her body. “That’s very good of you.”
“Jamie’s the one you should thank.”
“You’re right,” said Jean. “I’ll do that.”
She got her opportunity several minutes later when she bumped into Jamie in the hallway as he emerged from the downstairs loo.
“You’re welcome,” said Jamie.
He seemed rather distracted.
113
George hung on to the rim of the toilet and moaned.
Jamie had been gone for twenty minutes now. Which was more than enough time to do tea and biscuits.
It began to dawn on George that his son was not going to help him.
He was swaying back and forth like the polar bears in that zoo they went to with the children once. Amsterdam. Or Madrid, maybe.
Was he scaring people away? He had tried to talk to Jean that morning but she had run off to iron a pair of trousers, or wipe someone’s bottom.
He bit his forearm hard, just above the wrist. The skin was surprisingly tough. He bit harder. His teeth went through the skin and through something else as well. He wasn’t quite sure what. It made a sound like celery.
He got to his feet.
He was going to have to do this himself.
114
The ginger twins had banished them from the kitchen so Katie and Sarah were standing in the marquee porch, Sarah turning to blow her cigarette smoke into the garden to avoid poisoning the bridal atmosphere.
A teenage boy was sweeping the dried-out floorboards. Bouquets were being stood in vases in curly cast-iron stands. A man was crouching down to check the alignment of the tables, as if he were preparing for a particularly difficult snooker shot.
“And Ray?” asked Sarah.
“He’s being brilliant, actually,” said Katie.
A woman was taking cutlery from a plastic crate and holding it up to the light before laying it.
“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.
“What for?”
“For thinking you might be making a mistake.”
“So you thought I was making a mistake?” said Katie.
