Chapter 12
12
After a sleepless night where I’ve role-played all sorts of scenarios in my head, including going round to Luke’s mother’s flat like Tash suggested, I’ve given myself a firm talking to and decided that I’m overreacting to the differences between Luke and Will. Of course Luke isn’t perfect; nobody is. I didn’t like the proprietorial way he behaved when we were on shift together, but I guess it shows he cares, and maybe I can reassure him and help him to tone it down a bit.
I’m in the flat alone as Luke and Mike are both working. Normally I relish the peace and quiet, but I can’t seem to settle today. The situation with Tash is still on my mind, even if I’m not ready to talk to her yet, and Mr Barwell’s attempted suicide is also bothering me. That, at least, I can do something about, I decide as I grab my car keys. I wouldn’t normally go anywhere near the hospital on a day off, but I need something to distract me, and maybe the opportunity of observing Will’s relationship with his father some more might help to quell my doubts about Luke.
‘Hello, Mr Barwell,’ I say as I walk into the room, having first checked that he doesn’t have any other visitors and knocking lightly on the door. I’m disappointed to see that Will isn’t there, but I realise that he’s probably off sorting out his affairs before moving down to look after his father.
Mr Barwell is sitting up in bed, a copy of The Times spread out in front of him and a pencil in his right hand, frowning at the crossword.
‘Coke and Rum initially served in saloon,’ he says without raising his eyes. ‘Of course, how stupid of me. Coke and Rum initially is the first letter of each word, which makes Car, of which saloon is a type.’ He fills in the letters with a flourish before raising his eyes to look at me quizzically. ‘I’m sorry, you look familiar but I can’t place you.’
‘I’m Tilly,’ I tell him. ‘I was one of the nurses who treated you when you came in yesterday.’
His face clears. ‘Of course you are. Sorry. I, umm, wasn’t exactly at my best. Thank you for everything you did. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am to have put you all to so much trouble. Please, take a seat if you’d like to and you have time. How come you’re not wearing your uniform?’
‘I’m not on duty,’ I tell him. ‘I just wanted to call by and see how you were.’
‘That’s extremely kind of you. I’m as well as can be expected, I suppose. They’ve taken so much blood out of me for all the various tests that I’m starting to think they have more of it than I do. They’re worried about liver damage, apparently, and that I might be cuckoo.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘A very nice man came to see me this morning and left behind a questionnaire. I started to fill it in, but there’s pages of it, all about how well I sleep, whether I’ve had suicidal thoughts before and so on. I tried to explain to him that it was a one-off moment of madness, but he wasn’t having any of it.’
‘They are thorough,’ I agree. ‘But they mean well, I promise.’
‘Yes, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ he says with a smile. ‘You’re all in cahoots.’
‘I prefer to think of it as a holistic approach,’ I counter. ‘It’s no good fixing you up physically and then releasing you if you’re still broken emotionally, is it? You’ll just end up back here and you might not be so lucky next time. Plus, there’s lots of support we can put in place for you, to make things easier for you when you go home.’
‘Spy on me, more like. It’ll be bad enough having Will there, watching my every move.’
‘He loves you.’
He sighs. ‘That he does. That’s the worst thing about all of this. I feel so guilty for what I’m putting him through. He’s got his own life; he doesn’t need to be worrying about me.’
‘I’m not sure your recent actions are going to help stop him from worrying about you,’ I can’t help reminding him.
‘Yes, yes. Like I said, it was a moment of madness that I regret. Now, how are you at crosswords?’
‘Hopeless. I can just about manage a word search when I’m on holiday, but crosswords elude me.’
He smiles. ‘My wife was the same, but they’re not as hard as they seem. You just have to understand how they work. Would you like to help me finish this one?’
‘I’m not sure I’ll be any use.’
‘We won’t know unless we try, will we?’
‘Can I ask a controversial question?’ I ask him some time later. The crossword is finished and we’ve been sitting in surprisingly companionable silence for a while. I’m not sure I’m any closer to understanding how crosswords work, but it’s been a welcome distraction from everything else in my head and I’m surprised how comfortable I feel around Mr Barwell.
‘Is that allowed?’ he replies with a smile.
‘I’m not on duty, remember.’
‘Go on then.’
‘How do you think your wife’s death affected Will?’
To my surprise, the question completely floors him and he stares at me with those extraordinary eyes for what seems like an age before answering.
‘Do you know,’ he says eventually, ‘I never thought about it. I’ve been so caught up in my own grief that I never stopped to think that he’d be grieving too. God, what a selfish old bastard I’ve been.’
‘I don’t think you’re selfish,’ I reassure him. ‘Will told me that you were the full-time carer for your wife in her final years. She was your whole life and, even though her illness would have been progressive, it would still have been a massive shock when she passed. I think the fact that you’re here speaks to that. So it’s not altogether surprising that you might not have had the mental capacity to think about Will as well. But maybe this time together will be good for both of you. You can support each other.’
He considers it for a moment. ‘Hmm. I’m not really one for navel-gazing and group hugs.’
‘I’m not suggesting that, but maybe you can look at old photo albums together or something like that. Remind yourself of the good times before your wife was ill. Share happy memories as well as sad ones. She may not be with you physically any more, but you’re both carrying her in your hearts. Acknowledge that, and let her continue to be a part of your lives.’
He stares at me again, and I worry for a moment that I’ve overstepped the mark. But then his face softens.
‘Do you know,’ he says softly, ‘I think I’d like that. You’re very wise for your years, Tilly.’
I smile ruefully. He wouldn’t think that if he knew about my rift with Tash and my doubts about my boyfriend. Thankfully, my sudden melancholy is unexpectedly lifted by the arrival of Will.
‘Oh, hello. Tilly, isn’t it?’ he says when he sees me.
‘That’s right,’ I tell him, getting to my feet. ‘I was just checking in to see how your dad was doing.’
‘Is that part of the service?’ He looks uncertain.
‘No, but I was in the area,’ I lie. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, you know.’ He runs a hand through his hair distractedly. ‘Worried about this one, obviously.’ He indicates his father on the bed, who harrumphs dismissively.
‘I’m doing fine,’ Mr Barwell huffs. ‘In fact, Tilly was just suggesting that we might like to look through some of the old photo albums when I’m released. How do you feel about that?’
Will suddenly looks like he might be about to cry. ‘I’d love that,’ he replies.
Sensing that I’m intruding on a possible breakthrough moment for them, I start to back out of the room. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I tell them. ‘It’s nice to see you looking so much better, Mr Barwell.’
‘Please, call me Jonathan. And thank you for dropping by, Tilly. I’ll be here for a while longer if the urge takes you again,’ Jonathan says with a smile.
The realisation hits me as I make my way back down to reception. I know their situations are different, but Will has a genuine concern in his voice when he talks about his father, which Luke doesn’t. He talks about his mum’s frailty and the administrative hassle of sorting out carers and the like, but he never talks about how her illness has affected him. It’s almost as if she were a client rather than his mother. Maybe he’s just very good at compartmentalising, I tell myself, but I can’t shift the growing suspicion that something isn’t right here. God, I really want to talk to Tash, but am I ready to swallow my pride and admit that she might be right? My heart is pounding as I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Of course it does. She’ll be at work.
‘Tash, it’s me,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been giving you the silent treatment. Yes, I was very cross that you went behind my back like that, but there are some things that just aren’t adding up and I’d really appreciate some of your wisdom if you’re still speaking to me. Love you.’