Crappily Ever After (7 page)

A lone picture hangs on the wall. His niece in London, Kirsty, has a daughter, Emma. She painted a picture of Harry’s old black and white collie, Laddie, from a photograph and sent it to him. Harry was thrilled to bits with the sixteen-year-old’s gesture. Good on the girl! Considering she had never met Harry, it was sweet of her. This was the main reason it seemed to touch Harry. Laddie had meant so much to him. He felt Emma must be a kindred soul. Harry talked proudly of her two letters to him; OK, so not much, but more than her mother did. She had passed nine GSCEs and wanted to study law. She spoke fondly to the elderly man she had never met, discussing her plans to visit her ‘heritage’ and travel around Scotland. She would definitely come and see him. The last time he had seen Kirsty had been at a family party twenty years ago.  

I hold the glass of water out toward Harry. He gently grasps my wrist with one hand as he removes the glass with the other and places it on the table. He opens my hand and looks intently at my palm. I hold still. Looking at the top of his grey tufty head, I think how much he looks like a baby seagull from this angle. Finally, he glances up, eyebrows raised.

‘Sit, Lucy.’ I sit down in the armchair opposite, leaning forward. Harry gazes intently into my palm, twisting the ring on my middle finger absent-mindedly.

‘Mum is very important,’ he says almost to himself. ’Dad is an enigma. This is why you have such an innocent… what’s the word I’m looking for? Almost, awe of men. That is your downfall, Lucy. Paul isn’t the one. You don’t need me to tell you that. The man you end up with will be the man you see as only him. Not some figment of your imagination of the perfect man – because
he
doesn’t exist. Don’t have idealistic views of us Lucy. We are just the same as women, only worse.’

Harry gives a small laugh. ‘You have a strong family bond, in life and in spirit. It’s where you find your strength. You are a good person. You do what you want, when you want, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. That is a good way to live.’

A knock on the door interrupts us. As if snapped out of a trance, Harry drops my hand.

‘Tea trolley.’ I hear the irate voice of my colleague. I was supposed to be doing tea after my drugs round.

‘Sorry Harry, I have to go help out.’ He nods graciously, with a small bow as I make my way to the door.            

I have now been dating Paul for three months. The opportunity to discuss the impromptu palm reading with Harry has never arisen again. What he said did have a lot of relevance, however. I kept it on board. Besides, as a distraction, there’s much dusting off of hats in the Care Home and mutterings of:

‘Perhaps she won’t be a maiden after all…’

A little premature. Well, quite a lot premature. I’m having the time of my life hanging out with old school friends and exploring the clubs of Edinburgh, even though Paul is everything I want in a man. Funny and charming, generous the week before pay day when I’m broke, and gracious the week after when I‘m, albeit temporarily, solvent.

We see each other almost every night and his cute pretend sulks when I make plans that don’t involve him, and elation when I reluctantly cancel them, don’t bother me at all. One Saturday night we head off to a club in the Grassmarket. My flatmates have hooked up with some of our old school friends and there’s a big weekend planned in the city. As we walk over the George IV Bridge through driving rain, Paul is quieter than usual.

‘Everything all right?’ I shout from under my umbrella.

‘Yep,’ his reply is barely audible. He has refused my offer of sharing the umbrella. We walk in silence. I’m trying to work out what I could have said or done to annoy him. I’m so looking forward to tonight. So many people I haven’t seen since school. I’m a little miffed at the wet blanket literally trailing behind me.

The music pulsates through our bodies as we walk into the club. I spot some of the girls on the dance floor. Jess, one of my flatmates, runs over and grabs us both, chatting twenty to the dozen.

‘Seb’s here – and Jase. Louisa and Donna are dying to see you! This is gonna be great,’ enthuses Jess. I can feel the cloud over Paul darken. I decide to ignore his mood and throw myself enthusiastically into the throng. So many hugs.

‘How have you been?’

‘I must
give you my number!’

‘Where are you living?’

I glance at Paul. He doesn’t have many friends. Certainly, I haven’t met any, only heard about them. Quite a few seem to be off travelling and a lot live out of town. I guess he feels left out. Despite his reluctance, I pull him by the hand and introduce him to everyone.

‘Kat, sat next to her in Geography.’

‘Stacey, bunked off many a gym class together. Same medical condition, out of control menstrual problems, strangely coincided with each other’s every time.’

‘Tom, High School boyfriend for a year, although we did no more than hold hands.’ Paul’s face clouds over with rage. He announces that he is going to the bar. I continue chatting, whilst out of the corner of my eye watching the bartender pour three tequila shots in front of him. Paul is talking animatedly and gesturing a lot at the barman, who throws me a cautious glance.

Tom saunters over smiling.

‘Luce, it is so good to see you, what are you doing now? Last I heard you were training to be a babysitter.’ I give him a jokey slap.

‘Oh, how dare you!’ I exclaim. It’s a bit more in depth than supervising a sleeping child I’ll have you know. I’m working in a Care Home now. I love it, old people can be so funny.’

 ‘Same old you,’ Tom laughs, ‘never one to do things by halves. From the youngest to the oldest in the space of two jobs.’ He leans in and plants a peck on my cheek. ‘It really is so great to see you, Lucy,’ he says. I cast a nervous glance in the direction of the bar. Paul silently fumes. The bartender is keeping a close eye on him over the top of the pint he is pouring. I try to ignore him and continue my conversation with Tom. I hear about the law practice he has opened with two other guys from our year, and about Jane, his live-in girlfriend who is definitely ‘the one’. No offence to me, he laughs. None taken. I give him an offended sniff, and laugh along. Jane hadn’t been able to make it this evening as she is a nurse and on night shift.

Tom glances around to make sure no-one is listening, and then he leans into me to whisper in my ear.

‘We just found out Jane is six weeks pregnant. I can’t wait to be a father. Keep it to yourself though, you know, first three months and all that.’ I squeal and squeeze Tom’s arm, oblivious to the fact that Paul is heading our way. Until I hear Jess mumble:

‘Uh-oh, trouble ahead,’ and turn in the direction of the bar.

With the sickening thud of knuckles on bone, Paul’s fist smashes into Tom.

‘You slag!’ screams Paul in my face. ‘Who the fuck
do you think you are? Showing me up with your ex-boyfriend,
ignoring
me!’ I stand there in stunned silence. Tom holds his hand over his nose, blood pouring through his fingers.

‘Listen,
mate,
’ begins Tom, through gritted teeth. I can tell he is struggling to control his temper, but doesn‘t want to retaliate. ‘I can assure you…’

Bang!

Tom wavers for a moment before crashing to the floor. The bouncer has Paul in a double arm lock and is thrusting him towards the door. All around us chaos breaks out. Tom lies unconscious on the floor, surrounded by broken glass from the pint he had been holding. I stare at him in horror. Silently willing him to wake up. Please don’t let Paul have just killed the father of an unborn baby.

‘Call an ambulance,’ someone screams.         

After four hours in Casualty at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary – and a hundred apologies later from me – Tom is released. Two black eyes and a severely bruised jaw for his troubles. He graciously declines the offer of a stay at my house and the experience of my very amateur nursing skills, and heads back to Seb’s in a cab.

Somewhere around 5am I crawl into bed, after cleaning up as much broken glass as I can. A brick has been thoughtfully thrown through my bedroom window. I fall into a restless sleep.

I dream that Harry walks into my bedroom.

‘Oh, you perv,’ I laugh. ‘I am not one of your wanton women!’

He chuckles heartily. ‘Oh, I know you’re not,’ he says. ‘If only you had been fifty years younger…’

‘Try sixty,’ I smile wryly.

‘Anyway, Luce, I only wanted to say that you deserve so much more.’

‘Yes, Harry. I know. He is so dumped first thing in the morning. I’d do it now if I had the energy.’

‘Lucy, you’re a good girl. Remember what I told you now, never settle for second best.’ Harry places a kiss gently on my forehead.

‘I’ll see you again, honey.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry. I’m on a late. Now let me sleep, you old git.’

 I drift off as Harry leaves my room, with a backwards glance and a smile.

I phone into work the next afternoon to say I’d be ten minutes late. Dashing into the kitchen, I almost run into Maisie.

‘You’re late,’ she observes astutely.

‘I know, I
know.’

‘There was an ambulance here last night. 2am. What do you know? Nobody tells us anything. Bloody night staff!’

‘Maisie, I’m sorry. I know nothing. I have to go to the handover meeting. Make me a coffee please – and I know you can, before you start.’

 I walk quickly to the office, saying hello to clients as I go. The group quietens as I enter.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ I begin. ‘I know it’s the second time this week I’ve been late, but…’

My senior, Ellie, stands up.

‘Lucy…’ She pauses, breathes deeply and closes her eyes: ‘Harry’s gone.’

I stare at Ellie, confused for a moment. A sea of concerned faces all around me. This isn’t real. Not my Harry. This can’t be happening. I run from the room and down the corridor, tripping over a discarded hoist and bump my forehead on the skirting board.

‘Lucy?’ shouts Maisie, from somewhere behind me. I pick myself up and keep running until I’m outside. I take in huge gulps of freezing, drizzle-soaked air.

 He came to say goodbye.  

                                   
          
Chapter Five          

It has been two weeks since Harry’s funeral. His only living relatives, the niece in London and her family, want his remaining money, but no personal items. This angers me so much. After hearing this, I walk out of the handover meeting at the beginning of my shift and storm along to Harry’s old room. I glower at the picture his great niece has done. Where are you now? Where are any of you? You will never know what you’ve missed. I hope you enjoy your money. I angrily punch Harry’s bed before sitting down and picking up his photograph; Jimmy and Harry, now together with people who really care. Ellie appears at the door, silhouetted against the bright light behind her, making it impossible to read her expression. I sigh wearily and ask her if I may have the photo? I hear a smile in her voice as she tells me it’s mine, I look down at it again and when I look up, she has gone. I rummage around in Harry’s bedside drawer and find a sticky bag of boiled sweets covered in fluff from being in his dressing gown pocket. I won’t eat them, of course, but it was just so Harry. He used to suck them in bed, even though the night staff confiscated many bags as it was a choking risk. Today we are having a clear-out of Harry’s things. There’s a lady moving in tomorrow. This is the last day I can sit here and feel like I’m totally with Harry. Come tomorrow, the new lady will be busying herself with turning the room into hers, and trying to get rid of the old man smell that so reminds me of Harry.

His niece didn’t attend the funeral. Only Care Home staff and a smattering of Harry’s old Navy friends, including one elderly lady nicknamed ‘Vera Lynn’. Fond of the Navy boys in her younger days, she had entertained the troops in a whole different way to the real ‘Forces Sweetheart.’

The organ played the opening bars of
Abide with Me
and the choir joined in. I stared sadly at the stained glass windows, my chest tight with the grief I wouldn’t let go, and thought how ridiculous it was that the closest I have got to my George Bailey was an eighty seven-year-old man. Albeit dirty-minded, but one who was charming, funny and kind. Harry wasn’t religious but the ceremony was, as he hadn’t stated what he wanted.