Chapter Eleven Margaret #3
Because that’s what this has become.
A surreal dream I wish I could wake up from.
‘Yes. But he very much wasn’t, Charlie,’ Margaret says, making sure to look me right in the eyes as she says it.
‘So whatever guilt you may be feeling about being on your telephone while in the car, you need not think it was the reason why that accident happened. I believe a witness stated that Anthony’s car was swerving across the road long before he hit you.
The boy in the car behind, I believe. He was the one who saw it all happen. ’
‘The teenage lad,’ I mutter, in disbelief. ‘Will doesn’t look like him at all.’
Margaret looks confused again. And no wonder. ‘Perhaps you should drink a little more water?’ she suggests.
Perhaps you should drink a little more water, Mr King?
I look at the police officer and nod my head.
‘Charlie? Are you alright?’ Margaret asks.
I take a sip of the water, and hand the bottle back to the policeman. ‘We’re almost done here, Mr King,’ the policeman says. ‘It’s a very unfortunate incident, but no one’s fault.’
‘But I was on the phone,’ I say, mostly to myself.
‘Yes, I know,’ Margaret replies, ‘but it definitely didn’t cause the accident, Charlie. You don’t need to believe that. It wasn’t your fault.’
I look at her, scarcely believing what I’m hearing. ‘It wasn’t?’
‘No.’
I start to cry then. Proper, gulping sobs. On a beak-pecked lilac couch, in front of a woman who’s still mourning her husband’s death, with a foul-mouthed parrot looking at me with a good-natured smile on its face.
It’s a good job he is here, because otherwise I might be tempted to believe that none of this is really happening.
I do not know my own mind, after all.
But here’s the thing . . .
Here’s the big, undeniable thing:
My mind – for all its cleverness, for all its ability to mask the truth from me, for all its skill at constructing falsehoods – would never think, in such a fantasy of pure, unadulterated catharsis, to include a fucking parrot called Wank.
Margaret puts an arm around my shoulder. I am equally as mortified by this as I am grateful.
After about a minute, the sobs subside, and I start to feel a little more human again.
A little more Charlie King.
‘You must have been carrying this around with you for a very long time,’ Margaret remarks with no small amount of sympathy.
‘Yes. I have . . . Or, no, I haven’t.’
Bloody hell, I’d better go through the whole thing with her, lest she think she’s trapped in a room with an absolute nutter.
I don’t have to do that. I could just get up and leave this poor woman to her life and her parrot. But I feel like I owe her an explanation. I feel like I owe myself one too.
So, I explain everything to Margaret. The truth – as far as I can define it, or grasp it. It’d probably be easier if I was up a pole.
By the time I’m done, Wank has chewed his way through seven cashew nuts, and I feel a little lighter.
‘My God,’ Margaret says. ‘You’ve put yourself through the wringer, haven’t you?’
‘I have.’
Margaret gives Wank a tickle behind one ear. ‘Anthony would have liked you.’
‘Really?’
‘He would, yes. He was one of life’s fixers too.
Never a problem he thought he couldn’t sort out.
The hours he spent working on his boats.
Getting them working at peak efficiency.
If there was a rope that was frayed, or a splinter of wood that needed sanding, he couldn’t let it go until it was done.
No matter what time of day it was. He was a ball of nerves if things were left outstanding, or not fixed. ’
I cringe a little inside. ‘Yes, that does sound a bit like me.’
A bit? About the only thing that sounds different is that I don’t like boats.
Margaret sighs and then slaps her hands on her thighs. ‘Then I get to do something I never got to with him. Something I’ve wished I’d done before that day, a million times since his death.’
‘What’s that?’
I don’t think it’s to sic a parrot on me. That danger has passed.
‘I can tell you that you are wrong, Charlie King.’
I blink a couple of times. ‘Wrong?’
‘Yes, wrong.’ She takes my hand in hers. It feels dry and soft. But the grip is still strong for a woman of her age. ‘You cannot fix everything. You do not know everything. You cannot control everything. And you cannot ignore what others are telling you. Or your own body, for that matter.’
I try to pull away from her, but her grip grows even tighter.
‘Don’t be as foolish as my poor, sweet Anthony, Charlie.’ Margaret is allowing herself to cry a little now. ‘Listen to Annie. Listen to your friends. Trust them. And stop trying to make your world into something it’s not.’
‘What am I trying to make it?’
Her grip loosens, and she pats my hand fondly.
‘Perfect, Charlie King. That’s what you’re doing.
That’s what Anthony did too.’ She lets out a long, slow breath.
‘And it killed him. Because he couldn’t cope with the fact it wasn’t perfect.
That there was something wrong with it. Something wrong with him. That he wasn’t . . .’
‘Totally fine,’ I finish.
She pats my hand again. ‘Exactly.’ Then she smiles. ‘If it was a perfect place, my Anthony would still be here, and I wouldn’t be dealing with a parrot that I’ll never be able to sell because—’
‘Wank!’
Unbelievably, I begin to laugh.
Slightly more unbelievably Margaret starts to laugh with me.
It goes on for longer than the crying.
I am now standing at another door.
One I am far more familiar with than the one leading to Silver’s Pets and Supplies.
But I’m finding it even harder to knock on this one.
So, I just stand here. Unsure of what to do next.
My conversation with Margaret has left me more than a little adrift at sea, you understand. I had plans before it. Plans that would have seen me potentially incarcerated. But those plans have gone completely out of the window, because I finally know the truth.
And I mean it this time . . .
No more surprises are in store.
I know my own mind again. Or, I’m starting to. The pieces of the jigsaw are slotting back into place now, and I don’t think any of them are still missing. I hope not, anyway.
The very last piece – the one that only came to me as the last of my laughter tapered off while sat on Margaret’s lilac couch – was about how the phone call actually happened in the car on the day of the crash. But I’ll get to that.
First is something much more important.
I have to knock on this door.
Because I need her. Because I love her. Because if I can’t be with her then none of this really matters anyway.
My hand shakes as I bang the door knocker, partly due to fear, and partly because I’m holding something quite heavy in the other hand, and haven’t eaten properly all day.
A few moments pass before the front door swings open.
‘Charlie?’ Annie says, a very perplexed look on her face. The perplexity turns to confusion as she regards what I’m holding. She can’t help but let the slightest hint of a smile cross her lips at the strangeness of it all.
Her smile, no matter how awkward or slight, is like the sun coming up.
‘Charlie, what . . . what’s going on?’ she asks.
‘Hi Annie,’ I say to her, in as light a voice as possible. ‘How are you? Can we . . . Can we talk, please?’
‘I . . . well . . . er . . .’
‘Wank!’
The parrot looks out at us from his cage, which I have temporarily placed on the kitchen table.
I have purchased a parrot.
Wank will have a home again. With me.
I felt it was somehow appropriate.
Annie isn’t sure she agrees.
‘You’ve bought a parrot, Charlie. Was that wise . . . you know . . . considering how things are with you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Parrots can be tricky things, Charlie. Especially ones that keeps saying—’
‘Wank!’
‘Margaret says I can train him out of it,’ I assure her.
‘Does she?’
‘Yes.
‘Wank!’
Annie folds her arms. ‘Charlie, I need you to do an extremely good job of explaining what the hell is going on, and I need you to do it right now. Last time I saw you, it looked like you were on the verge of self-destructing – and now you are smiling, and have a parrot.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
Here we go, then. Another apology. This one will be a lot easier, but it will also be far more important. ‘I did what Leo told me to do. I found out more about the man who died in the accident. The man, it turns out, I did not actually kill.’
I then go on to detail my entire conversation with Margaret Silver, with constant accompaniment from Wank. Much like the way Margaret fed him cashews while she was talking to me, I do the same now. It’s a strangely therapeutic process. I can see why she did it.
Wank is more than happy with it as well, of course. He’s going to be a fat parrot, if I’m not very careful.
‘You can’t call him that,’ Annie says.
‘I would very much like to.’
‘If you have to keep him, he’s going to need a better name than that.’
‘Okay. Any ideas?’
She studies the bird carefully. ‘He kind of reminds me of my grandad, the way he smiles like that.’
‘What was your grandad’s name?’
‘Wayne.’
‘Wayne?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wayne the Parrot?’
‘It’s still pretty close to what you call him,’ she points out, quite accurately.
My nose wrinkles. ‘Not sure about that one.’
Annie takes a cashew from my hand and leans forward. ‘What do you think, Wayne? You’d like to be called Wayne, wouldn’t you?’
‘Wank!’
‘Close enough.’ She watches him for a moment while he chews the cashew. ‘It would be fun to have a parrot,’ she eventually says. ‘Maybe we can take him for walks.’
My heart speeds up a bit. ‘We?’
She looks back at me, her mouth opening as if to speak. But then no words come out.
It’s not her that needs to do the talking here.
I reach out a hand and take hers. She doesn’t try to stop me. ‘I’m sorry for all of this,’ I tell her. ‘I’m sorry for being so stubborn, and stupid. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Everything you said was right. You were right.’
She faces me fully now, leaving Wayne to his munching. ‘And what about now? Do you think you can listen to me now? Because if there’s anything left between us, Charlie, then I need you to—’
‘I booked the appointment with the doctor before I got here,’ I quickly tell her.
‘There was a brief hairy moment when the parrot interrupted me with his favourite catchphrase, but I smoothed it over with the receptionist.’ I smile.
‘I’m going in tomorrow. No more excuses.
No more avoidance. I’m going to tell them everything. I’m going to get help.’
The look of relief that washes across Annie’s face makes me feel both elated and sad at the same time. It should never have come to this. It should never have got this bad. I was on the edge of an abyss I walked myself up to for no good reason.
‘Perfect,’ she says with a smile.
No, Annie. Not perfect. I learned from a very clever person today that the world is never perfect. And that’s something I will remember for the rest of my days – because I never want to go through anything like this again.
One thing is still perfect in this world, though. The smile on Annie’s face.
There’s no doubt about that.
The fact I get to see it again is something of a miracle – and one I won’t ever take for granted.