A Perfect Hero (10 page)

Clare smiled. ‘Yes, I imagine you can, Pop. I’ll wait for you out here. Call me when you’re ready.’

When he appeared she helped him into her little car and drove back to the hospital, parking as close as she could to save his legs. Then she led him up to the ward.

Mary O’Brien was just coming out of Michael’s room, and smiled at them. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Michael!’ she said brightly.

‘Pop!’ Michael turned from his position by the window and swung over to them on his crutches, his face working with emotion. ‘It’s good to see you!’ His voice was unsteady.

‘Hello, old son,’ Pop said gruffly. ‘Heard you were in the wars again.’

Michael sagged on to the edge of the bed and shot Clare a bleak look.

‘Would you mind leaving us on our own?’ he asked distantly.

‘No, of course not. Here, Pop, sit yourself down on this chair—that’s it. Would you like some tea?’

‘No, thank you,’ Michael said emphatically, and with a brief nod she left them alone.

She waited in Sister’s office, watching through the open door. After nearly an hour the door of Michael’s room opened and he stuck his head out.

‘He’s ready to go now,’ he told her, and disappeared back inside.

She followed him into the room. His grandfather was still sitting on the chair, his face stony.

‘Hello, Pop,’ she said kindly. ‘Ready for off?’

‘Give me a hand up,’ he demanded querulously.

She glanced at Michael but he looked away, so with a tiny shrug she took Pop’s arm and helped him to his feet.

He paused at the door and turned. ‘You’re a bloody fool, son.’

‘Bloody fool or not, Pop, it’s my future, and I have a right to some say in it.’

‘I think it’s a grave mistake.’

‘So it might be, but I don’t think so,’ Michael said heavily, and turned away.

‘Goodnight,’ said Clare quietly, but he ignored her.

The drive back was tense and fraught, each of them preoccupied with their thoughts. Clare was worried about Michael, and about the sudden gulf that seemed to have opened up between them. What had she said or done? Nothing that she could think of, but he was treating her like a leper—or was it himself he was treating like a leper? God knows, she thought. And what about Pop’s parting shot? What was all that about?

Pop was obviously upset by his visit to Michael, but Clare already know him well enough to know he would tell her anything he wanted her to know. In his own words, she’d have to learn to control her curiosity.

She declined his offer of a drink, as it was already getting late and she had a long drive back to the cottage. It was dark by the time she turned into the gate, and was surprised to see a light on in the kitchen.

‘How odd,’ she said to herself. ‘I must have left it on last night.’

Letting herself in without any thought of an intruder, she went straight into the kitchen as usual, and jerked instantly to a halt.

Michael was sitting sprawled in his usual place in the carver at the end of the table, and with a friendly smile he ambled to his feet and strolled towards her, his tanned, hair-strewn legs naked beneath old, comfortable shorts.

Her hand flew to her throat and her eyes widened in confusion.

‘Michael …?’

‘Sorry to startle you—we haven’t met. I’m Andrew, Michael’s brother. And you must be Clare.’

She couldn’t take her eyes off his legs. They were just like Michael’s—literally identical. Except for one detail.

They were perfect.

Clare didn’t even realise she was crying until Andrew tipped up her chin and wiped her eyes with a soft, immaculately laundered handkerchief.

‘Hey, I’m sorry. Did I give you a fright? I didn’t realise you were living here until I broke in.’

‘I—it isn’t that.’ She sniffed and he handed her the handkerchief.

‘Be my guest!’ he said in Michael’s voice, and she bit down the sob.

After a few seconds she pulled herself together and blew her nose hard, pocketing the handkerchief.

‘I—I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t realise—you’re so like him, it was a bit of a shock. He didn’t tell me …’

‘That we’re clones?’ He gave a short, slightly bitter
laugh. ‘No, it’s a fact he normally tries to escape from. He’s spent his life trying to be different, and I’ve copied him in everything, just to annoy him, but I guess he’s won this time,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

She noticed that there was an open bottle of wine on the table, half finished, and another empty on the worktop.

‘Don’t frown disapprovingly. I’m sure lover-boy won’t mind.’

‘No, I’m sure he won’t, but you’ve had rather a lot, and presumably you have to drive to your hotel for the night——’

‘What hotel? There’s a spare room here, surely it won’t worry you if I kip down in it?’

Clare sighed. This was Michael’s twin brother, after all. She could hardly turn him away. ‘Of course not. And yes, I will have a drink. Thank you.’

O’Malley came in and wound round her legs, then with a little yowl he leapt on to the worktop and up again on to her shoulders, draping himself round her neck.

‘Hello, rascal,’ she said, dropping gratefully into a chair, and he greeted her with a trembling squawk in her ear.

‘Nice little place he’s got here,’ Andrew said with an expansive wave of his hand. His red wine slopped over the edge of the glass and dribbled on to the floor.

Clare got up and mopped it.

‘What a domesticated little thing you are,’ Andrew slurred.

‘Not at all,’ Clare told him repressively, ‘but red wine stains the bricks.’

He stared at the floor for a moment and then back
at Clare. ‘Sorry. So, Clare, tell me about my little brother—how is he?’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure. Physically fine, mentally—I don’t know how well he’s coping. He’s shut himself off from me——’

‘Oh, join the club. That’s why I didn’t rush over—knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. He’s always been reclusive—I suppose that’s why he gets on so well with the damn cat—they both go off to lick their wounds.’

‘Except he can’t.’

‘Not yet, maybe, but he will, just as soon as he can. Me, I want all the sympathy and company I can get!’

Clare laughed, despite herself. Andrew was all right, and he couldn’t help looking like Michael. Although, as she was beginning to realise, the resemblance was only physical. Michael was just as open and direct on the surface—whereas she rather thought that Andrew was all surface, with none of Michael’s quiet, still depths. Perhaps she was doing him an injustice.

‘Would you mind very much if I deprive you of my sympathy and company tonight? It’s been a long day and I have to be at work by eight.’

He raised his glass. ‘Be my guest. Goodnight, sweet Clare. Sleep well—and get up quietly, eh?’

She gave him a level look. ‘I always do.’

‘Wonderful. Adieu, fair maid …’

She left him, slouched against the table, his glass dangling from his fingers. He was going to have a hell of a head in the morning.

In fact he was up and about by seven, with no obvious signs of the previous night’s excesses.

‘Seen the Porsche?’ he greeted Clare, coming in through the back door as she came down the stairs.

‘Good morning, Andrew. No, I imagine it must still be at the hospital where Michael left it on Friday. Why?’

‘Well, obviously he doesn’t have any further use for it, so I thought I’d have it back,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Fine—how did you get here yesterday, by the way?’

‘Taxi,’ he said economically.

‘Oh—right. I’ll give you a lift in. Did you make coffee?’

‘Sorry. I put the kettle on but that’s as far as I got. Do you suppose I could see him this morning, or do I have to wait for visiting?’

Clare put two cups on the worktop and turned towards Andrew. It still hurt her in a way to look at him, to look into those startling blue eyes so frankly assessing her. ‘No, we have open visiting. You can see him at any time. Why don’t you come in with me in a minute?’

‘OK. Is that coffee for me?’

‘Yes. Andrew, do you mind if I say something?’

He shot her a keen look. ‘No, of course not. What is it?’

Clare took a deep breath. ‘Do you think you could cover up your legs?’

He gave a short laugh and his eyes travelled over her with undisguised interest. ‘Why? Are they upsetting you, my love?’

Oh, God, she thought, he even calls me the same thing. ‘No, not really, but they may well upset Michael.’

He sobered instantly. ‘Hell, I hadn’t thought. Yes, I’ll sling some trousers on before we go. Have I got time for breakfast?’

‘Yes—go and change now while I make it. There’s some bacon——’

‘Bacon sandwich would be fantastic—thanks, Clare.’

He bounded up the stairs, and Clare’s heart sank. He was so fit and vital, so much like Michael had been this time last week. How cruel of fate to send him now to taunt them. Perhaps he would be less insensitive with Michael than he was with her?

He was back in seconds, much less disturbing in a pair of light cotton trousers. ‘How’s that?’

‘Better,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks, Andrew. Here’s your breakfast.’

They ate in silence, mainly because Clare made it obvious she didn’t want to indulge in small talk, and then they left for the hospital.

‘There’s the car,’ she told Andrew, pointing across to the doctors’ car park. ‘You can be independent now—have you got keys?’

He tossed them in the air and caught them with a flourish. ‘Found them on the dresser. Right, let’s get this over with.’

Clare gave him a keen look, and noticed the lines of strain around his eyes. ‘I’m sorry—this must be hard for you, too—I’m so bound up with Michael’s feelings I haven’t really taken in anybody else’s. Come on—I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.’

She took him up to the ward and left him in the day-room while she joined the others in Sister’s office for the report.

Danny was quieter, much to everyone’s surprise, and Pete Sawyer had had a better night. Barry Warner was still very depressed, but had slept better.

‘In fact,’ Judith Price said with relief, ‘everyone seems to have had a better night, although Mr
Barrington was a little restless once or twice—probably because he’s not on pain relief any more.’

‘None?’ Clare said in surprise.

Judith Price shruggd. ‘He refused it—I imagine he knows his own limits. He said phantom limb pain was just exactly that, and he wasn’t afraid of ghosts! Right, everyone, I’m off. See you tomorrow!’

Clare hung back until the others had left, and asked Mary O’Brien if Michael’s brother could visit him.

‘Of course—how marvellous that he’s here. I think he’s needed visitors—although Ross Hamilton’s been over a couple of times and his grandfather yesterday, but still—yes, Clare, take him in. It’s the best time, really, as he’s so busy with Physio now.’

So Clare went and found Andrew deep in conversation with Tim Mayhew, and took him down to Michael’s room. His likeness to Michael attracted quite a lot of comment, but he was obviously used to it.

‘He’s in here,’ Clare said, popping her head round the door. ‘Hi, there.’

Michael was standing by the window staring out. He was dressed in boxer shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and was leaning on his crutches. He turned to her with a serious look.

‘Clare, about last night, we need to talk——’

She smiled. ‘Not now. You’ve got a visitor.’

Andrew opened the door and walked in, then stood looking at his brother for a long moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was husky.

‘I didn’t really believe it …’

Michael laughed, a hollow, sad laugh. ‘Believe it, Andy. It’s true.’

‘Oh, God, Mike——’

Before Michael could move Andrew was across the
room, enfolding him in a bear-hug. Clare heard a broken sob, she wasn’t sure who from. It probably didn’t matter. Turning quietly, she left them to it and carried on with her work.

Tim Mayhew went in some half-hour later, and stayed for a few minutes while Andrew lurked uncomfortably in the corridor. His eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed shaken.

Clare shot him an understanding smile. ‘You don’t look as if you like hospitals.’

‘Hate them. Never have been able to understand how Michael could spend his life in them.’

She laughed. ‘I think some of the patients would agree with you.’

Tim came out and Andrew went back in for a short time before taking himself off ‘for a look round the local metropolis’ as he put it.

Clare had intended to take her coffee in to Michael’s room and drink it there, but he was down in Physio and stayed there until nearly lunchtime, then after lunch which he ate with Barry Warner he had a rest before going back to Physio again for another hour.

She went off duty at four and he still wasn’t back, but she rang in the evening and was told that his brother was with him.

She didn’t go back in, but did some washing instead and fidgeted restlessly with the house. In the end she rang her mother and poured out all her worries, telling her how he seemed to be avoiding her as far as it was possible in the hectic atmosphere of the ward.

‘I expect it’s just reaction, dear,’ she said vaguely.

‘Probably,’ Clare agreed, but she was getting more and more worried.

She was in bed by the time Andrew came back, and
was gone before she saw him in the morning. Once again Michael was avoiding her, but this time by seeking company. He was getting competent on his crutches, and as he swung past the entrance to Borstal, Danny Drew called him over.

Clare was in the corner doing Pete Sawyer’s pressure areas, and she watched as Michael manoeuvred himself over to Danny’s bed and eased himself down on the edge.

‘The other day,’ Danny said quietly, ‘I was out of line. I’m sorry, Doc.’

Michael nodded. ‘That’s OK, Danny. I understand. How about a game of cards?’

‘Pete’s got some—here, Pete, borrow your cards, mate?’

‘Sure—here, Staff, could you give them to him?’

‘Of course.’

Clare took the cards and walked over to Michael. ‘Are you going to play patience?’

‘Happy families, I thought,’ he said with wry humour.

They were still there half an hour later when Tim Mayhew came on to the ward. By this time the card game had deteriorated into a riot, with Michael showing the others card tricks and Danny outdoing him right, left and centre.