123
Jamie should have been heading back to the house by now. But what was the point? The wedding wasn’t going to happen without Dad. There was nothing to be late for.
He was standing on a muddy track in Washingley, having run like a headless chicken up and down every footpath just south of Folksworth. His trousers were covered in mud, he’d torn the sleeve of his jacket on barbed wire and he felt like shit.
He was the person his father had confided in. He was the person who had failed to stop his father doing precisely what his father had said he was going to do. He was the person who had fucked up his sister’s wedding.
He now realized what a stupid idea it was looking for his father like this. His father could have set off in any direction.
He had to explain to everyone what had happened. He had to inform the police. He had to apologize. He walked back to the car, put a plastic bag on the driver’s seat, got in and drove home.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he arrived. There were no cars. He parked and walked to the front door. It was locked. He rang the bell. There was no answer. He looked through the windows. The house was empty.
Maybe Ray had told them what had happened. Maybe they were all out looking for his father. Maybe they’d found him. Maybe everyone was at the hospital.
He tried not to think about these things.
He’d lost his mobile. He had to get into the house. If only to find a phone and some dry trousers. He tried the side gate. Eileen and Ronnie’s dog threw itself against the far side, barking and scraping the wood with its claws. He turned the handle. It was locked.
Oh well, his trousers were already knackered…
He grabbed hold of the post and put his foot into one of the grooves in the stone wall and hoisted himself up. He hadn’t done this kind of thing for many years and it took three attempts, but he finally got himself straddled uncomfortably over the top of the gate.
He was looking down on the other side, wondering best how to negotiate the long drop and the crazy dog when someone said, “Can I help you?”
He turned his head and found himself looking at an elderly man he vaguely recognized. The man was wearing a Shetland jumper and carrying a pair of garden shears.
“I’m fine, thanks,” said Jamie, though his presence on the top of the gate was driving the dog into a frenzy.
“Is it Jamie?” asked the man with the shears.
“It is,” said Jamie. His crotch was starting to hurt.
“I’m sorry,” said the man, “I didn’t recognize you. Haven’t seen you in a long time. Not since you were a teenager. I’m Derek West, from across the road.”
“Right,” said Jamie. He had to go for it, despite the risk of breaking an ankle, despite the risk of squashing his aunt’s dog or being eaten alive. He shifted his center of gravity a little.
“Aren’t you meant to be at the wedding?” asked the man.
“Yes,” said Jamie. The man was clearly an idiot.
“They left about five minutes ago.”
“What?”
“They left about five minutes ago.”
Jamie took a few seconds to process this information. “And they were going to the register office?”
“Where else would they be going?” asked the man.
The truth began to dawn. “With my father?”
“I presume so.”
“But did you actually see him?”
“I didn’t tick them off a list, as it were. No. Wait. I did see him. Because I remember him stumbling on the pavement a little. And your mother made him get into the passenger seat so she could drive. Which I did notice, because when they head off in the car together it’s nearly always your father who drives. Which made me wonder whether there was something wrong with him. Is there something wrong with him?”
“Fuck,” said Jamie.
Which shut Mr. West up.
He shifted his center of gravity back the other way and jumped down, ripping his jacket for a second time. He ran to the car, dropped his keys, picked up his keys, got into the car and drove away at high speed.
124
Jean felt awful.
Jamie was the final straw. Everything was out of kilter. George. Eileen and Ronnie. Alan and Barbara. It was Katie’s wedding day. It was meant to feel special. It was meant to run smoothly. It was meant to be romantic.
Then something happened in the car.
There were roadworks on the dual carriageway and they had come to a halt as the traffic funneled into a single lane. George said, “I’m afraid I’ve not been a terribly good husband.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jean.
George was looking straight ahead, out of the windscreen. There were drops of fine rain on the glass. “I’m a rather cold man. A rather stiff man. And I always have been. I can see that now.”
She had never heard him talk this way. Was it the madness coming back? She had no idea what to think.
She put the windscreen wipers on.
“And I realize that this coldness, this stiffness has been at the root of many of my recent problems.” George brushed some fluff off the door of the glove compartment.
The traffic ahead began to move again. Jean put the car into gear and pulled away.
George laid his hand over hers. This made changing gear a little difficult.
“I love you,” said George.
They had not said that word to one another for a long time. There was a lump in her throat.
She glanced sideways and saw that George was looking at her and smiling.
“I’ve made things terribly difficult for you recently.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” said Jean.
“But I’m going to change,” said George. “I’m tired of feeling frightened. I’m tired of feeling lonely.”
He put his hand on her thigh, leaned back and closed his eyes.
And she realized that her adventure was coming to an end. That she and David might never make love again. But it was all right.
Her life with George was not an exciting life. But wouldn’t life with David go the same way eventually?
Perhaps the secret was to stop looking for greener grass. Perhaps the secret was to make the best of what you had. If she and George talked a little more. If they went on a few more holidays…
The rain had stopped. Jean turned the wipers off and the register office came into sight on the right-hand side of the road.
She indicated and pulled into the car park.
125
