Guilt Edged (3 page)

Just now she was checking a list of people who might help out, and we were sending them texts and the pictures via the phone. She might have kept up a constant commentary, but her hands and brain worked regardless. The phone still in my hand, somehow I found myself heading back to the shop with her, telling Paul how she'd organized everything.

‘Once a teacher always a teacher,' he said with an affectionate smile.

‘Quite. Sometimes I can even remember how to be in two places at once,' she said. ‘But if Lina hadn't stepped in when the Bossingham Hall administrators sacked me—'

‘I still think you should have gone for unfair dismissal,' Paul growled.

‘Hard to do that when I was only a volunteer!'

They exchanged a look. It was as if he was asking her if she'd done something; hers in reply told him to shut up. All very clever. And they weren't even married yet.

The little silence held.

My mobile broke it. Mary and Paul melted out of the shop.

‘Hi, Lina. Lina? Are you OK?'

Morris! ‘I hardly recognized your voice.' It wasn't the warmest of greetings, but he sounded as if he was talking through cotton wool.

‘I just wanted to know how Griff is.'

Hadn't he read anything that I'd sent him? ‘He's in surgery now. Right now. At this moment.'

‘Never! I thought he was just having a spot of angina.' Morris wasn't telling the whole truth. Two days ago he'd been sufficiently worried about Griff to take him straight to A and E in Ashford's William Harvey hospital; he'd even seen him safe into the cardiac unit. But he'd not waited for me there, just left a note, saying he had to return to France for a vital meeting. It seemed he had time to talk to Europe's top policemen but not to his girlfriend. He'd told Griff he thought he'd got the flu coming on and didn't want to pass it on to me. Personally, at that moment I'd have swapped a kind hug for a few germs. One day I'd tell him that.

Not now.

‘I told you in my texts – and there are a couple of voicemail messages …'

‘Sorry – flat battery. Anyway, you can tell me now.'

‘The angina was so serious he needed immediate surgery. A triple bypass. I can phone at two to find out how he is.' As if he needed to know that. Or even wanted to.

He coughed and sneezed convincingly. Perhaps he did have the flu. ‘Jesus!' he croaked. ‘Let me know if I can do anything, won't you?' he said in the same tone as people who say, ‘We must do lunch sometime,' knowing you never will. ‘Got to fly – another bloody meeting.'

‘But … OK.' I cut the call. Why didn't I feel anything? Anything at all? I was sure I ought to.

I'm not sure how long I glared resentfully at the undeserving phone, but my reverie was interrupted by Mary and Paul, who looked as if they had continued their silent conversation out loud and weren't too happy with the result.

Coughing, Paul spoke first, punctuating what he said with sideways, challenging looks at Mary. ‘In the circumstances, with Griff … so … poorly …' He leant confidentially forward on to the counter, speaking in the sort of hushed voice people use in church and trailing to an embarrassed halt. Finally, he took a deep breath and continued, ‘Mary and I wonder if we should postpone the wedding.'

Postpone the wedding! If I showed how touched I was I'd burst into tears. But I mustn't Give Way, as Griff himself would have put it.

‘No need at all,' I declared briskly, probably as surprised as they were by my positive tone. ‘Griff's promised to lead Mary up the aisle, and lead her up the aisle he will.'

‘Yes, of course he will,' she declared. ‘Paul was just wondering how long he'd be convalescent, weren't you, dear?' She shot Paul a sideways look.

He nodded, but I had the feeling he wanted to say more. He did: ‘We'll leave you to be the judge of … If you think he needs a few extra weeks, that's all.'

I took a gulp of air. ‘If anything will speed his recovery, the thought of the wedding will. Not just the champagne, either.' But they were right to worry. How long would he be ill? Everything had happened so quickly that I'd simply no idea how long he'd be an invalid or what sort of care he'd need.

His long-term lover, Aidan, had enough money to throw squads of private nurses our way until he was fit enough to travel, and then would certainly want to whizz him off somewhere luxurious to recuperate. But my place was at his side, as long as he needed me there.

Mary patted my hand, and then pushed a tissue into the other one. I hadn't even realized I was crying. ‘It's all so sudden, isn't it?' she said, in her usual gossipy voice. ‘We realized this summer when he had all those tests that he had health problems. Of course, he wouldn't speak about them – as if ignoring them would make them go away, bless him. We knew it'd only end one way – with an operation, I mean,' she explained hastily. ‘I didn't say anything to you, Lina, not because I didn't want to but because – well, it wasn't my place to. And it was so much better for you to hear it from Griff. It made you closer than ever, didn't it? But now it's all happened in such a rush.' She did something she'd never done before – she put her arms round me and hugged me. She must have felt the sob rising. ‘Now, Lina, I really do think you should sit down and let me make us all a nice cup of tea. That's what Griff would want. And you should certainly eat: there are still plenty of scones, and I can't have Paul finishing them off – he'll never get into his wedding trousers.'

T
wo o'clock approached. I could hardly breathe. Literally. My God, what was Griff going through?

The phone rang. I pounced. An Asian voice asked me about our loft insulation. I snarled – shouldn't have done so really, since she was probably paid less than a pittance. And then it rang again. A phone survey. No thanks. And then I won a bloody holiday in Florida.

All I wanted was clear phone lines. Just in case the hospital wanted to call me. Please God, let it be two o'clock soon.

All the time this invisible band tightened round my chest. All I could think about was how I'd felt his pain when he'd had the bad attack that had kept him in hospital. Was this really
his
chest that was hurting?

The phone again.

‘Yes?' It came out halfway between a snarl and a gasp.

‘Only me!' sang a voice.

Big help, when I was almost deafened by the whooshing in my ears.

‘Just phoning about Griff—'

Robin, my clergyman friend. Last time I'd seen him he'd just given Communion to a man dying in the very hospital where Griff was being treated. And now – he'd phoned to break the news, hadn't he?

I started to sob, scream, whatever.

‘Is he still in hospital?' I heard at last.

‘You've not phoned to tell me he's dead? Please tell me you've not!'

‘I think the hospital would call you,' he said matter-of-factly. ‘Or get the police to come. No, I was just on my way to the maternity unit at Pembury to see Freya and thought I might drop in to see you. Why should Griff be dead?' he asked. ‘He's in hospital, for goodness' sake.'

‘So was that guy you gave Communion too. And he died.'

‘So you've been putting two and two together and making about forty-three. Oh, Lina.'

‘He's in the operating theatre right now. Robin, get off the line. I need to phone. They said I could at two.'

‘It's not mandatory. Five minutes won't hurt.'

‘It'll hurt me! I need to know the minute I can.'

‘Well, there's three minutes to go, if you're being literal. Perhaps it's not the time to ask, but I was wondering if I could tell Freya you might be dropping in to see her.'

He'd asked the same last time we'd met.

‘I told you then: if God brings Griff through safely, then maybe I'll forgive Freya.'

‘And I told you, God doesn't work like that.' For Robin, that was pretty stroppy. ‘You need to forgive because—'

‘Robin, it's bang on two, by my watch. I have to phone now, I really do.' End of call.

Time to call the hospital. Now.

Except I couldn't make my hands work. Fifty thousand euros' worth of china repair might be coming my way – and I couldn't dial. After half a dozen attempts, I nearly smashed the phone. Then I remembered the number was on speed dial. And I got through after two rings.

And then I couldn't manage the words. At last the woman at the other end must have worked out I was in a state, because she told me quite sharply to slow down and take a deep breath. At last we established who I was and who I wanted to ask about.

‘I'm afraid we only give information to patients' immediate families.'

I was just about to let rip when it dawned on me: of course, we have different surnames. ‘I'm Griff's granddaughter,' I lied. But since we'd agreed this between us and I was down as his next of kin, I didn't even cross my fingers behind my back. Actually, they were tightly enough crossed, but for Griff.

‘He's doing fine. We've just got him breathing on his own. A very routine operation, according to the surgeon. You'll be able to visit tomorrow.' She must have heard my sob. Her tone changed. I could even hear the smile softening her voice. ‘Very well. Tonight. Just five minutes.'

 

If I had the ten minute long cry I wanted, Mary would fear the worst. So I dug as deep as I could, and made my legs run across the yard, and forced the voice to work. ‘Griff's fine!'

Only a croak, but I managed a louder one as I opened the shop's back door. I wasn't sure why Mary came out to me, hugging me and having a bit of a weep too, until Paul emerged, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders and pushing her back in. He scooped me up and propelled me to the kitchen, where he set about making tea.

‘Mary's just about managed to unload that hideous epergne – the one that got wished on you as part of an auction lot they wouldn't break up. So there's two good reasons for a cuppa – and a scone, I'd say,' he added, looking at me. ‘There are still some left.'

I didn't argue. I drank and ate. And then I took a second cup and a second scone to the office. I had to tell a load of folk Griff was OK. People who didn't even know he was ill, some of them. But first of all would be Aidan, his long-term lover who was stuck down in New Zealand after his sister's death. He'd want to know the good news whatever time of night or day it was, just as I would.

Then I thought I'd better make my peace with Robin. That was the nice thing about old friends. Or at least the nice thing about him. Once the S word came out, he didn't try to lecture me or tell me not to behave so badly in future. He just said it was fine, and asked how Griff was and what I was going to do.

‘And then I think I'll nip off to the church and have a word with God,' I ended.

‘It works just as well where you are,' he said, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh.

‘Look, if someone gives you a nice present, isn't it more polite to write a proper letter than to send a text? Well, then. I think God deserves a bit of effort from me after the efforts He made for me, don't you?'

‘Can't argue with that,' he said.

As the nurse had promised, I was allowed to see Griff in the evening. I'd never seen him so small and frail – old, in fact. He was in a vast space-age bed, with all tubes and dials and monitors everywhere, which Griff's nurse – one-to-one care even in these cash-strapped times was amazing – constantly checked. I spent five wonderful but terrifying minutes, just holding a hand and talking softly. As I tore myself away, she came over, smiling.

‘I promise you he's doing well.'

I gaped and gestured.

‘So well in fact that he won't need one-to-one nursing much longer. He'll be moved out of Intensive Care within forty-eight hours if he continues this way. To the next stage: High Dependency. One nurse to three patients.' She patted my arm. ‘Honestly. Just go home and leave him to us. You wait – we'll have the roses back in his cheeks by the end of the week.' She gave me another look, both searching and sympathetic. ‘Look, why don't you phone again, ten-ish, just to make sure. It's not a problem – the patient does better if he knows his family isn't worried. And you're all he's got, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' I said, dismissing Aidan without a second thought. ‘And he's all I've got, too.'

Paul, who'd insisted on driving me over, was waiting in the car park. Hospitals didn't suit him, he insisted.

‘I could take you straight home,' he said, ‘as I promised. But please come and have a bite with us. Mary won't admit it, but she's prepared a special spread. Actually, she'd love you to stay overnight with us too. She thinks the world of you, you know. Ever since you stood up for her against that lying bitch at your dad's place.'

‘He doesn't own Bossingham Hall any more,' I pointed out. ‘It was the woman the trustees employed that was the problem.'

He nodded patiently, pulling out on to the main road. ‘Anyway, taking her part then, and then offering her a job with you – you saved her sanity if not her life, Lina. And feeding you and offering you the spare bed – she's trying to say thank you, in no matter how small a way.'

All my mind would register was the number of words ending in
-ing
he'd used. I fished desperately for something appropriate to say. ‘Every time she takes a job off Griff's hands she does that. She's got a wonderful way with customers – as you must have seen, since you ride shotgun every day. Every day except Tuesdays, now I come to think of it, Paul – how come you were with us today?'

‘Just in case – in case you had to get to the hospital quickly,' he admitted.

I nodded. ‘Thank you. I'd have been a menace if I'd had to drive. And even with this wonderful news I keep getting these tears coming from nowhere. Paul – this sounds awful, I know – I'd love to eat with you, oh, yes, please, but I really can't stay over. It's a sort of touching wood, you know.' It was. ‘But I shall have a taxi home to Bredeham. I insist. Promise you won't argue? Oh, I know Mary will. But I want us all to raise a glass to Griff's health without you having to worry about staying sober. OK? Promise you understand and will make poor Mary understand? And I'd better take this call. It's Pa.'