Faith - Lesley Pearse [181]
He came back with the glass of red wine very quickly, put it down on the table and moved off so fast it was like a re-enactment of the speed with which Howie left that day. She wondered now if the maggot even took in what had happened. Perhaps it was best that she believed he was slow-witted, rather than entirely lacking in compassion.
Yet the reality of her situation that afternoon was like finding a signpost reading, ‘You have finally reached rock bottom.’
She’d gone out looking for a man. She’d shamelessly thrown herself at him under the influence of drink and coke, and happily let him screw her all afternoon in the name of fun. She had in fact become one of the characters in her own seedy blue films, except she wasn’t a nubile eighteen-year-old any more, she was a thirty-seven-year-old mother. While her only son was dying in a road accident, she was stretched out on her bed, legs in the air, letting a worthless scumbag do what he liked to her.
She cried for the whole of the drive out to Fife, tortured by the knowledge that it was the way she had allowed her life to go that had taken Barney from her. She had images of him running through her mind. The plump, smiley baby sitting up in his pushchair, his first faltering steps, sitting on his first tricycle and the funny little dance he used to do when she put some music on. She would never wake up in the morning again to see him holding out a cup of tea he’d made for her. She would never again have him run to her when she came home. She could never stroke his back for him, kiss him goodnight, listen to his laughter or dry his tears. She would never see him as a man.
She had loved him, but not enough to put him first.
The ten days up to his funeral were hazy now; only the physical pain she felt and the self-loathing remaining clear. She remembered Belle saying she couldn’t stay at Kirkmay House because she was fully booked, and so she stayed in one of the guest rooms out at Brodie Farm. What she did all day was a mystery to her still. She must have had to make the funeral arrangements and go back to her flat in Edinburgh to get clothes, but she remembered none of that. The only crystal-clear image was of how Barney looked on the mortuary slab.
His face had only minor cuts and scratches. They told her that his death was caused by hitting the back of his head on rock or stone. Apart from being so pale, and his skin so cold, he looked much the way he did when he was asleep. She gently traced around his plump lips with her finger, smoothed back his dark hair from his forehead and sobbed out her heartbreak because his eyes would never open again and she’d never again see his wide smile.
She only visited Jackie once while she was in hospital, and she couldn’t remember now whether that was her choice, or because Jackie refused to see her. But during that visit she knew they didn’t exchange more than a few words. Jackie was lying in bed, her face as white as the pillowcase, except for a vivid scar on her forehead, and Laura sat beside her and held her hand. In Laura’s mind no words were necessary. She knew Jackie loved Barney as much as she did, and that she would never have taken any risks with him in the car. But she knew now that words were necessary, she should have vocalized her thoughts, and maybe then they could have comforted each other.
Jackie came out of hospital two days before the funeral, her broken arm in plaster and dressings on both her legs. Belle collected her and took her home with her. She phoned Laura and said she thought it best if she didn’t call round.
The day of the funeral was sunny with a stiff little breeze that made the crops in the fields around Brodie Farm dance and sway. Laura had stood watching this early in the morning, wondering how she could still appreciate the beauty of her surroundings while feeling as if her heart had been torn out. She knew Frank and Lena had arrived the night before, and wished they were staying here, and Jackie too. The fact that she was alone at Brodie Farm, except for some holidaymakers