Redemption Song (13 page)

There was no one at the pond – lake. Ben had been right. But there was a summer house on the far side and a faint light flickered through the windows. Intrigued, Saffron crossed the wooden bridge which bisected the water at its narrowest point. There was someone in the summer house, she was sure. As she came near, she recognised the sounds of a couple making out and unable to walk away, spellbound, she sat on the damp grass and listened as their cries ricocheted through the air. Afterwards, they said each other’s name in breathless, tender huffs. It was the warring couple and their lovemaking was as intense and ardent as their fighting had been. The strength of feeling between the unknown lovers sent Saffron reeling. Crying, she pushed herself up and walked back to the house.

Ben found her in the kitchen where she was drinking a glass of punch. Nauseous but resolute, she said, ‘We need to talk.’ Noting the seriousness of her tone, he grabbed a bottle of wine from the upright fridge – there were dozens in there – and they headed out to the garden, finding a bench in a quiet spot by the vegetables.

Shaking, mouth dry, guts clenching and unclenching so hard she thought she might empty the contents of her stomach, Saffron cried her way through an explanation, an honest exploration of her feelings.

Ben listened quietly until she had finished, holding her hands in his, squeezing them from time to time, encouraging, reassuring. He was such a decent man.

His relief was palpable. ‘I thought it was just me. That this was the way it was. I’ve nothing to measure it against. My mother and father are hardly role models.’ His voice cracked.

‘Mine are, I guess. But unless you’ve felt it yourself, it’s still all academic, isn’t it?’ Saffron snuffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her cardigan.

‘Do you think it exists? True love?’

‘Who knows? But there has to be more, doesn’t there? We’re like an old married couple, or brother and sister, stuck in a rut. We’re a habit and we’re only twenty-three.’ She smiled now. ‘You scared?’

‘You’re joking! Think of all the women I can fuck! Scared shitless of telling people though. Mother will be so disappointed and Dad will be furious. The wanker.’ His laughter became tears. It was the first time she’d ever seen him cry.

Her stomach tightened. ‘I’ve no idea how to tell Mum and Dad. They’ll be so upset. They’ll miss you. You’re like another son to them.’

They hugged each other. ‘We’ll stay friends, Saff.’

‘Defo! No change there.’

They talked and talked. And in a strange way, Saffron enjoyed it. It was the first time they’d shared deep, heartfelt emotions. It was a heady cocktail of relief, fear of the unknown, and sadness at the pain and disappointment they would visit on others. She would miss him, of course. It was only when Ben went to refill her glass she realised how much they’d drunk. No way could either of them drive.

‘Damn,’ Saffron said. ‘We’ll have to sleep in the car, drive back in the morning.’

‘We can’t. I’ve a match first thing. It’s past two, we won’t be legal to drive until mid-morning at the earliest.’

‘It’s a Sunday league.’

‘It’s important. Last game of the season. We’ll get a cab.’

‘But that’ll cost loads. I’m totally skint and we’ll lose so much money what with cancelling everything,’ she wailed, guilt surging through her again. Stephen and Rain had already forked out a considerable amount of money on the wedding, money which might be hard to recoup in full. And she owed them so much already. Everything. Medical school didn’t come cheap.

Ben groaned. ‘Fuck. Forgot about that. Another thing for Dad to be mad about, the tight bastard.’

‘I’ll call my dad. He offered.’

‘You can’t. Look at the time.’

‘I’ll call him at five thirty. They’re always up with the birds. He’ll be here before seven. There are no trains on a Sunday so we really have no choice. We’ll have to collect the car on Monday. What a cock-up.’

‘Rather you than me,’ Ben shrugged. ‘Might as well go and grab a coffee as we’re not going to get any sleep.’

Saffron didn’t think she’d have slept regardless. She wouldn’t relax until she had broken the news of the break-up to her parents. She would tell them as soon as Sunday service was done.

‘So you called your dad and he came to fetch you because you’d had too much wine to drive?’ They sat on the shingle, backs resting against the promenade wall. It was falling into place: her anger, her grief, her guilt.

‘I texted him, right then. Of course, I didn’t, like, expect him to answer. I thought he’d be asleep, pick up in the morning.’ Tears swam in Saffron’s eyes. Joe wanted to tell her to stop. She didn’t have to explain. He got it. It was too painful, to say it, to listen to it. But she continued. ‘He turned up sometime between three and four. He looked tired. And he’d never been keen on driving; Mum did most of it. They often joked it was a miracle he’d passed his test. It should have been me behind the wheel. He wasn’t used to windy country roads, and he was going too fast. Something was bugging him, I felt sure.’

‘Were you hurt?’ Joe asked.

She didn’t look at him; she continued to stare at the horizon. ‘Ben was killed outright. Wouldn’t have felt a thing, the doctor said, though how he could have known is a mystery. Not like anyone’s come back and filled us in. I didn’t say that to Mum, though I think she knew. Me?’ She turned to Joe. ‘A few cuts, some bruises, nothing. Now that was a kind of miracle. A sick, stupid joke. Mum couldn’t explain how her precious God had taken the lives of two innocents, when the guilty one, me, the one who’d done wrong, walked away unharmed. What kind of a God is that? It’s bollocks, all bollocks!’ She spat the last sentence, eyes wide, red and bloodshot.

‘You’ve been punished. You’re suffering.’

She frowned.

‘You’re trapped. You’ve trapped yourself. You didn’t tell anyone that you and Ben split. You’ve played the grieving almost-wife. You can’t move on because you’re supposed to have lost the love of your life. You feel guilty, responsible. And on top of that you are grieving the loss of your father and a man, Ben, for whom you felt love, whether you were
in
love with him or not. You must miss him.’

‘I do.’

‘It’s an enormous loss. Stop with being so hard on yourself.’ He took her hand, pushed his thumb gently down the grooves between the bones from knuckle to wrist, something his nanny used to do when he was a child. It was such a comfort to him then; it still was. He did it to himself even now, revealing the lost boy in need of love and comfort.

‘What are these bones called?’ he asked.

‘Metacarpals – why?’

‘They feel so delicate, so fragile. Yet they’re incredibly strong. They work hard.’

‘Like all of the body.’ She stared at him and he longed to kiss her. She turned away and stared at the floor. She gasped, suddenly, began to shake. ‘I prayed on the roadside. Before I made the call,’ she said, her voice quiet, cracking.

Confused, he shook his head.

‘I’ve not told you the worst of it.’ Her chest heaved. ‘Ben died instantly, but Dad didn’t.’

She paused.

‘Nothing can be worse than watching a loved one die,’ he said.

‘It can. After I climbed out of the car, I expected to see them doing the same. I was in shock. When they didn’t, I returned to the upturned car. Ben was nearest and easiest to reach. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. He looked fine. There wasn’t even much blood on him. It looked as if his neck was broken.’ She glanced at her hand and back at Joe. ‘I held Dad’s hand. There was a groan. That was when I realised he was alive. I told him everything would be OK, that I’d call for help and that he was to hold on in there. I didn’t know if he could even hear me. As if he could do anything else. We say the stupidest things, under stress. I was screaming, not talking. It was a miracle the person on the other end of the phone understood me at all. It took ages for her – I think it was a her – to get all the details. I was hysterical. And while I waited for the ambulance, I prayed. I didn’t do anything I’d been trained to do. I was useless. I prayed to a God I’d spent half my life denying existed. Arguing with Mum and Dad about their stupid beliefs. Perhaps that’s why my prayers weren’t answered.’

‘You did the right thing. You called for help. Stop beating yourself up,’ Joe said.

‘But that’s the point. I didn’t. I didn’t do the right thing; I didn’t
do
anything. I sat there. Paralysed. Praying.’ Her voice grew louder and louder. ‘When the paramedics pitched up, he’d stopped breathing. For how long, I had no idea. I’d not checked his pulse, not given CPR. Basic stuff. Basic.

‘The paramedics shocked him, got him breathing again, his heart pumping. They didn’t know me, they whispered between themselves, medical terms. But I heard. I knew. Brain damage. “If he survives, who knows what the damage will be?” That was the implication. By then, I was in gear. But it was too late, way, way too late.

‘At the hospital they took Dad to theatre. Internal bleeding, severe. They removed his spleen, a kidney. But it was the bleeding on the brain that got him. They did their best, they said. More than I’d done. I felt so ashamed. I
feel
so ashamed. There was barely a scratch on me.’ She laughed at this point, bitterly. ‘Just like in the movies. We can do so many amazing things. We have all these gizmos and knowledge and expertise. We can virtually rebuild people. But the first few minutes are crucial. Crucial. It’s the first thing you learn. Nothing could save my dad, my lovely dad. He died before Mum even got to the hospital. I think she hates me for that.’

‘What?’

‘Being with him when he died. It should have been her.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’

Saffron shivered. ‘Whatever. She’d hate me if she knew the truth. I hate me.’

‘She wouldn’t and nor should you. We all make mistakes.’

The proprietor of the first guest house looked askance when Joe asked if they were serving afternoon tea, but the second was welcoming. A plump woman ushered them into the front room and sat them at a table in the bay window. ‘Now there’s a lovely view,’ she said, arms folded across a generous bust. Saffron didn’t know what she was talking about – it was almost dark. Fifteen minutes later the landlady presented them with china cups of milky coffee and a selection of cakes and buns from a wheeled trolley. The coffee was surprisingly delicious and Saffron returned to something almost approaching normal, though the beginnings of a headache pulsed at the base of her skull.

It had felt good to admit she hadn’t loved Ben in the way she should have, while simultaneously acknowledging her grief at his death. One of her great fears about the breakup was that people would blame her, cast her in the role of scarlet woman. Before the party, in her darkest moments, she’d dreamt about Ben dying. She’d imagined how easy it would be that way; she was such an emotional coward. She’d not have to break his heart, she’d get shedloads of sympathy, and she’d be free. It was a win-win situation. What a bitch she was.

The reality was light years away from her fantasies and she was tormented by the thought she’d brought all this on herself, it was all her fault. Be careful what you wish for; it was something her dad used to say.

Dad. Sharing her darkest secret had been even more of a relief. All those clichés about burdens were true after all. Perhaps Joe was right, perhaps her inaction at the scene had had no impact. He might have only just stopped breathing. She’d been told that surgeons were advised against operating on friends and relatives. Perhaps no one would have blamed her. Joe didn’t seem to hate her.

‘You not having one?’ he said, ramming another fondant fancy into his mouth. It was gone in a single bite.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t want to spoil supper.’

Joe leant forward conspiratorially and whispered. ‘She went out and bought these specially. Wasn’t expecting customers and we pitch up. It would be rude not to.’ He popped a mini-muffin into his mouth. She took a cake and bit into it. It tasted good. ‘You need to tell Rain. About Ben and you. Not the other thing,’ Joe said.

‘Why? It won’t change anything and it will hurt her.’

‘Because it’s honest and you’ll feel better. She’ll understand where you’re coming from.’

‘And I can go out with you and she won’t be mad?’

He sighed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

She wished that it was.

‘I shouldn’t have kissed you. I could blame it on the wine but that would be pathetic,’ he said after a pause.

‘We’re even. Forget it.’ Why was she saying this? She didn’t want to forget it; she didn’t want him to forget it.

He drained his cup – it looked tiny in his hands – and stood up. ‘Right. Let’s get you back. Rain will worry.’

‘I’ll go back alone, thanks.’

‘Let me pay the bill and we can walk back together. We’re headed in the same direction – it would be crazy not to. And weird. We’d have to make an effort to take different routes and one involves a much harder climb.’ He smiled. ‘At least part of the way.’

‘OK. But we part well before the manse.’

‘Rain doesn’t approve?’

‘It’s not that. She likes you. It’s just …’

‘I get it.’ He dug his hand into his front pocket and pulled out a twenty-pound note.

‘I owe you,’ she said, ‘I feel like my conscience has been saved in some way. Thank you.’

‘You owe me nothing.’ And he turned and ambled towards the small reception. She noticed the beginnings of a tattoo poking out from the collar of his jumper as he tugged on his jacket and wondered what it might reveal.

Chapter Thirteen

Rain stared at the clouds, watching them scud across the pale blue expanse. It looked like a spring sky but the air was raw. She shivered and wrapped her cardigan across her chest, and tipped her head upwards once more. This time, she noticed the remains of the purlins bisecting the sky, interrupting her view, and shifted on the pew. Golly, no wonder people shuffled in their seats during a service, the wood was unforgiving, even for fleshy backsides. She pledged to get more armchairs for comfort’s sake; her congregation was still elderly, despite her best efforts to attract younger people.