Chapter 45
Jake hovered by the door.
From the bed, propped up on pillows, Martha caught sight of him. ‘Ralph.’
Jake walked over to the bed. There was a single chair positioned on the other side of the bed. Jake decided to remain on the side nearest the door, in case he needed to bolt. Besides, the nurse was sitting in that chair filling in some paperwork on a clipboard.
He crouched down beside her. ‘Martha, I’m not Ralph.’
He doubted she would understand what he was saying to her. According to the man he had spoken to in the apartment the previous day, who Jake believed was very much alive but had for some reason chosen not to reveal his true identity, Martha only had small windows of clarity opening briefly through the fog of her condition. The way she kept calling him Ralph suggested this was most definitely not one of her better days.
She opened her mouth to speak. Jake leaned closer. ‘Good heavens,’ she said, ‘you’re Scottish.’
Jake drew back, a wide grin on his face. Somebody just opened a window. Although her speech was slow, and at times slurred, he could understand her perfectly. ‘Do you know,’ he said to her, ‘you’re the first person to say that since I arrived in Scotland?’
‘Am I?’ she said. ‘Well people are stupid, I must say.’
Jake laughed at that. ‘How right you are,’ he said.
She studied his face. ‘You’re not Ralph, are you?’
‘No. I’m Jake.’ He took one of her frail hands. ‘Jake Campbell-Ross.’ He thought he saw a flicker of recognition cross her features. He didn’t know how much of this she was taking in or how much she understood.
Jake swiftly got out the envelopes. He didn’t want her to tire and fall asleep again before he showed her the photos; he really wanted to help her find whoever she was looking for, see her loved ones before she went. Jake really did understand the importance of this. ‘Martha,’ he said holding up a photo. ‘Martha, look at the photos, your photographs.’ He picked up her limp hand and put a photo between her fingers.
Her fingers tensed. She looked down at the photo.
‘Who is that, Martha?’ said Jake, pointing at the photograph in her hand, the one of Aubrey.
‘Ralph.’ She was smiling now.
‘That’s really good, Martha.’ Jake quickly put another photo in her hand.
‘Are you Ralph?’ she said, looking at Jake.
‘No, Martha – I’m Jake, remember? Now look at the photo.’ Jake stroked her hand.
She touched the next photograph with a frail bony finger. ‘That’s Ralph and Rosemary, and …’
She’d lost her train of thought.
Jake realised it wasn’t the one he wanted to show her. He was about to put the group photo of the four of them doing the line-dance jig back in the envelope and show her a different photo when he realised this was his opportunity to find out more about Aubrey.
‘Martha, tell me about Aubrey—’ Jake hastily rephrased. ‘I mean your brother, Ralph.’ Jake glanced at the nurse. He didn’t want to bring up her brother in front of one of the staff, but this was his chance to speak to Martha and find out about Aubrey. ‘Where did he go to school? Why did he disappear and not return to claim his inheritance?’ Although Lawrence had speculated about what had happened to him, as had his father, who had been interested in the family history of the house, that was all it was – speculation. Martha could give him all the answers first hand. ‘Where did he go when he disappeared?’
Martha shifted her gaze from the photo to Jake. She said, ‘Ralph.’
‘Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about Ralph. Your brother, Ralph. You both grew up here, right? Until your brother was sent away to school. You must have been just a toddler. I bet you missed your big brother terribly. Has he been here to see you?’ Jake looked towards the door as though he’d walk in right this second.
When he looked back at Martha she had dropped the photo in her hand. Jake shook his head and picked up the photo, holding it up. ‘Martha, can you tell me about Ralph?’ He noticed her eyes were glazing over.
The nurse looked up from her paperwork. ‘I’m afraid she tires easily.’
Jake sighed. He wasn’t going to get any information from her that day about her brother. He changed tack and showed her the photo of a small boy taken at The Lake House. The name on the back of the photo was also Ralph, but this wasn’t Aubrey. This photo was more recent, of a boy around his own age. Jake suspected someone had written that name on the back of the photo by mistake. ‘Look at the photo, Martha.’
Frustratingly, she continued to gaze at Jake. She said, ‘He should have married me, not that other girl. Then we would have been a family.’
‘Who should have married you, Martha?’ Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the nurse leaning forward in her chair, clearly also interested to hear what she might say.
‘You came, Ralph. I knew you would.’
‘Martha – I am not Aub, I mean Ralph. Now look at the photograph, please. I’m trying to help you.’
Her eyelids were now half-closed.
At that moment, the nurse’s mobile phone rang.
Jake swivelled round to look at the nurse.
‘Sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I have to answer this.’ She stood up, and headed for the door. ‘I’m just going to step outside.’
Jake saw her stood in the doorway, with her back to them quietly talking.
Jake held up the photo. ‘Martha, can you tell me who this is – the small boy in the photo?’ Jake put it directly in front of her face so she could see. He held the photo like that for several seconds, hoping beyond hope that when he put it down, she wouldn’t be asleep.
She wasn’t asleep, but she couldn’t answer Jake’s questions because he had made her cry.
Oh god! thought Jake. What was Lawrence going to say when he came back and found her in this state? What would the nurse say when she got off the phone? Jake frantically patted her hand, plucked a tissue from the box on the small table beside the bed and wiped away the tears – but they just kept on coming.
‘There, there.’ Jake said stroking her hand, casting furtive glances at the door. ‘Everything’s going to be alright.’
The nurse did glance over her shoulder, but didn’t seem to clock that anything was amiss.
He had no idea what to say or how to make her stop. But just sitting there holding her hand seemed to do the trick. After a time, she calmed down. Jake threw the last used tissue in the wastepaper bin.
Jake repeated his question. ‘Who should have married you, Martha?’
‘Ralph’s father, of course.’
Jake looked at her. ‘You mean the boy in the photo, Ralph, is your son?’ So the name on the back of the photo wasn’t a mistake, he realised. ‘Is that who you are trying to find?’
Martha focused on Jake. ‘I want to see my son.’
For a moment, Jake thought she was going to start with the crying again. But she must have cried herself out.
She looked at Jake, her eyes searching. ‘Will you find my son, bring him to me?’
‘Yes.’ Jake closed his eyes. He had just made a promise to a dying woman that he had no way of knowing he could keep. Her son could be anywhere in the world. For that matter, her son could be dead. He knew his approximate age – he’d be in his thirties now. But Jake knew he needed more information. He opened his eyes. ‘Martha,’ he said, ‘I need to know …’ He stopped. She was asleep. ‘No, Martha, don’t do this to me.’
At that moment, Lawrence walked into the room. ‘Hey, she’s smiling,’ Lawrence observed. ‘She must have enjoyed your company.’
He didn’t notice the half-empty box of Kleenex or the half-full wastepaper basket.
Jake followed Lawrence out of the apartment and down the stairs, feeling pretty lousy. Martha probably wouldn’t remember a word of the conversation when she woke up. But Jake would.
Jake joined Lawrence at the computer. Jake suddenly had a brainwave. If Martha was Aubrey’s sister, then Aubrey must know about her son, surely.
‘There – see for yourself.’ Lawrence stepped aside, allowing Jake full access to the computer. He glanced furtively around the reception hall. ‘Can you make this quick? I shouldn’t be showing you records of previous residents, even if they were here a very short time and are not deceased.’
‘May I?’ Jake pointed at the stool.
‘Go right ahead!’ Lawrence threw up his hands. ‘You know I could get in trouble for this.’
‘I know.’ Jake sat. ‘But thanks.’ He turned his attention to the screen. All the details Lawrence had told him about Arnold tallied with the computer record. Jake stared at the screen.
‘You know what I think?’ Lawrence pulled up another stool beside Jake. ‘I think you saw a re-enactment.’
Jake turned to look at Lawrence.
‘My wife and I watched this programme on telly that reckons buildings take images, like photographs, that it then replays from time to time. So, when you think you are seeing a ghost, what you are witnessing is a re-enactment of an event from the past that has already happened. Know what I mean? Like a photo.’
Jake could see where he was coming from – but it was complete rubbish. You don’t hold a conversation with a re-enactment. ‘I know what I saw,’ said Jake, turning away from the computer to face Lawrence. ‘What I saw was somebody pretending to be Arnold Wright.’
Lawrence shrugged. ‘If you say so.’