Barrington Street Blues (36 page)

I awoke in the morning in a sleeping bag beneath the rafters of an unfinished attic. Right, I remembered, Charlie Trenholm's house in Three Fathom Harbour. The night came back to me: I had been singing, blowing the harp, drinking, talking to a fisherman, talking to a young girl. My eyes darted around the attic. Nobody here except
me and Ed Johnson, snoring away on the other side of the room. Good. No drunken coupling with strange women this time out. I closed my eyes and started to fall asleep again when I heard a pounding downstairs. The door. Charlie would take care of it. But the pounding didn't stop. I heard people running around downstairs, I heard toilets being flushed. What? I got up and looked out the attic window. An
RCMP
cruiser was parked in the yard. Christ, a raid! Did I have anything on me? I patted my pockets. No. The next thing I knew, Charlie was in the room calling my name.

“Monty!”

I didn't say a word, in case the Mounties were right behind him. But he came in alone.

“
RCMP
. They're looking for you.”

“Me? What for?”

“They won't say.”

“Where are they?”

“Downstairs hall.”

“Is there anything lying around that shouldn't be here?”

“Not anymore.”

All down the toilet. As if the Mounties didn't know what was going on when they approached a house and heard the toilets flushing. I had no choice but to go down and face the music.

A female officer stood in the doorway. I looked out and saw her partner standing by their car. “Montague Collins?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Could you come with me, please?”

“What's going on?”

We had an audience, composed almost entirely of hungover lawyers.

“I'll explain outside.”

I followed her and, when we cleared the house, she said: “A Father Burke called us early this morning to try to locate you.”

Oh God, what was it? I felt a spike of fear and demanded to know what was wrong.

“Your wife was rushed to hospital last night. The Grace Maternity. That's all we know. The priest couldn't find you, so he called us.”

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! Of all times. The one and only night I was out
of reach. Tom and Normie must be frantic. I thanked the officer, ran into the house and grabbed my keys, told Charlie I'd explain later, got into my car and drove away. The police car followed, then turned off at a crossroads, and I put the accelerator to the floor. This was August; the baby wasn't due till October. As I knew all too well. Damn it to hell! I had never got around to reissuing the divorce papers; I thought I still had plenty of time. But, if the baby wasn't due yet, what was happening? Maybe something had gone wrong. Well, obviously. Maybe there wouldn't be a — I resolutely turned my thoughts from the direction in which they were headed.

I got to the city, roared up to the Grace Maternity Hospital, parked illegally, and ran for the door. I was directed to the floor where Maura had been admitted and, eschewing the elevators, I took the stairs two at a time, not knowing what I was going to find. Or what I wanted to find. I concentrated my mind on my son and daughter, and willed them to be there when I arrived.

The only person I knew was Burke, sitting on the edge of his seat, massaging his temples with his left hand. When he caught sight of me he shoved his right hand into his pocket. But I had seen it. A rosary. His face was grey, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Where were you?” he barked at me. “Tommy called in the middle of the night. He couldn't reach you.”

“What's going on?” I shouted back.

“She hemorrhaged. They had to —”

“When?”

“After midnight.”

“And now?”

“They thought she was going to be all right. I took the kids home. But something went wrong again, and they've got her in surgery.”

“What did they say, for Christ's sake? Is she going to be all right?”

“Where in the hell were you, Monty?”

I didn't reply that I'd been partying. I couldn't bear the thought of what the ordeal must have been like for my children. Or how I would make it up to them. And that was without even knowing what was happening to their mother.

“Where are Tom and Normie?”

“Fanny's going over to the house to pick them up. They wanted
to be here, but what good would that do? They're better off with Fanny until there's something we can tell them.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“What?”

“Why are you in your collar?”

He shook his head in disgust at the inanity of the question. But I knew. He hadn't decided at midnight to dress up for the role of a priest visiting the sick. He wore his clerical black so there would be no confusion about his status in the waiting room. He didn't want anyone to pinpoint him as the husband, the lover, the father of the child.

We sat together in silence. The tension was palpable. Then, down the hall, a door flew open. Someone burst out with a bundle in her arms and rushed across the corridor to another room. Burke's black eyes fastened on the corridor, willing it to impart some information. Three people in surgical garb emerged from the first room, removed their masks and conferred in low voices. Heads were shaken and gloves snapped off. Two of them walked away. One turned in our direction and came towards us.

“Mr. MacNeil?” She looked first at Burke, then at me. I stood up.

“You have a healthy little — little! — boy. Congratulations. Mum's tired and weak, but she's going to be fine. It will be a while before you can see them, but they're in good hands.” The doctor smiled at me and left the waiting room.

Burke slumped in his seat, eyes closed, the very portrait of exhaustion and relief. I could not even begin to plumb the depths of my feelings about the situation. I was overcome with a desperate desire to be out of there.

“I'm going.”

Burke's eyes flew open. “You're what?”

“I'm off.”

“Are you having me on, Montague? She's just come through —”

“She's fine. Her child is fine. I'm not the father. I don't want to be here.”

“But Tom and Normie —”

“I'll go get them, I'll drop them off here, I'll come back and pick them up.” I turned and walked away.

When I collected my kids at Fanny's, and gave them the news,
Normie was so excited that I didn't have to think about what kind of a pose to strike for her. Tom was subdued. Aside from casting a couple of glances my way, he did not probe for a reaction. I dropped them off at the hospital, assuring them that I had checked and Mum was fine. Father Burke was there. I had to get home and then to the office; I would see them later. I felt guilty and I felt justified, all at the same time.

I had a trial that day, for a client facing seven years in prison, so I had a good reason to be nowhere near the Grace Maternity. I drove home, showered, went to the office to get my file, and appeared, hungover but presentable in my barrister's gown and tabs, in the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia. Justice Helen Fineberg convicted my client, and he was remanded in custody to await sentencing. I returned to the office.

On my desk were the notes I had taken of my conversation with Constable Riley about the Sybil Kraus case. I didn't have the energy to do anything more than put the notes in the file, but I couldn't find it. Ross Trevelyan must have it, I thought, so I got up and walked to his office.

Ross was talking on the phone and glaring out his window. He didn't see me.

“Dad. Elspeth and I don't have a boat. Nor do we have the resources at this point in our lives to acquire one. So why would we want to join the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron?” He listened for a moment, then continued. “A social membership without a boat? What would be the point? We know everybody there anyway.” He stopped to listen again. “I just got here, remember? I can't expect to be making three hundred thousand dollars my first year at Stratton Sommers. As a matter of fact, though, I have a couple of cases on the go that should bring in a nice return, so . . .”

I didn't want to hear this, and I didn't want Ross to see me loitering in his doorway. But when I tried to melt into the shadows he caught sight of me. I made kind of a wry face and turned to leave. That's when I heard the crash of the telephone receiver and a shout from Ross.

“Collins!” I turned and stared at my law partner. “Get the fuck in here and close the door!”

Normally, I wouldn't take that kind of crap from anyone, no matter where they were in the hierarchy of the firm, but Ross was clearly a man under stress.

“Ross. Settle down. I'm sorry I overheard the conversation. We all have those kinds of hassles sometimes; you should hear me and my wife on the phone! I just stopped by to —”

“How much fucking longer am I going to have to wait for you to get your ass moving on the Leaman and Scott case? Jesus Christ! We've had it for nearly four months and you've been dicking around looking for all kinds of shit that isn't there. The file is full of crazy notes of yours, relating to Dice Campbell and his widow, and all these other red herrings, and for what? My father even said you asked him something about it. He's pissed, and guess who he takes it out on? We stand to make a nice little bundle, and you don't seem to give a damn. Just because you have two houses and not a financial care in the world, and you can take your evenings and weekends off, and spend your time swilling booze and blowing into a harmonica and banging groupies, doesn't mean the rest of us can slack off! I should just start the lawsuit myself and leave you out of it.”

“We have lots of time, Ross. I just want to be sure we
have
a case before we start the action, so we won't be faced with a huge award of costs against us if it turns out we've brought the treatment centre into it without justification. And I have to say you've got a highly distorted idea of the kind of life I lead! I've got two kids and —”

“Save it, I don't want to hear it.”

“All right, well, let's cool things off a bit, Ross.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry, Monty. What was it you wanted to see me about?”

“I just wanted to get the infamous Leaman file from you.”

“It's over there on my table. Get it out of my sight. And I do apologize.”

“Forget about it. See you later.” I grabbed the file and left his office.

I returned to my desk, shoved the Sybil Kraus notes into the file, and contemplated the rest of the week ahead. I had another criminal trial, and discovery examinations in a case arising out of a multi-vehicle
fatal accident that happened during a blizzard three years before. Leaman and Scott would have to wait.

I worked every night that week, and had a couple of stiff drinks when I got home, then collapsed in bed. I checked in with the kids regularly but did not set foot in the Grace Maternity Hospital.

On Saturday, I got a call from Tommy Douglas. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Tom. How's it going? Are you sure you don't want me to stay there with you for a couple of days?” I had given them the option of staying at my place, as usually happened when it was my week, or having me move in with them at the Dresden Row house. They wanted to stay there, to be within walking distance of the hospital until their mother was released. Tom had been conscientious in looking after Normie, I knew.

“No, you don't have to move in. Everything's copacetic here. Uh, Mum wants to have the baby baptized right away.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. There's nothing wrong with him, aside from being premature. She just . . . I don't know,” he finished lamely.

Great. A christening. Who exactly was going to be present? The child's father? Surely not, if I was getting this call. What was my role going to be? Godfather? An image came unbidden to my mind: the unforgettable scene in
The Godfather
: Michael Corleone at the baptism of his sister's child, reciting his vows on the baby's behalf, interspersed with scenes of his men gunning down his enemies as the sacred ritual proceeds.

“Do you renounce Satan?”

“I do renounce him.”

“And all his works?”

“I do renounce them.”

I snapped myself out of it, only to envision a church filled with family and friends, not knowing what to say to old Monty standing there with a stupid look on his face.

“So it'll just be here at the house.”

“Sorry, Tom, what's that again?”

“Just us at the house. And Brennan. She thought you would, well . . .”

My feelings were being spared. She was going to forgo a big
church christening so the kids could have me there but nobody else would be looking on. What choice did I have?

“Sure, Tom. When is it?”

“She thought tomorrow night. She's getting out in the morning. The baby has a name now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Dominic. Second name's Alexander.”

“After Alec the Trot.”

“Granddad. Right.”

So. Sunday night I was at the door of my former residence for the christening of my wife's child by someone who wasn't me. Normie greeted me at the door.

“He's so cute, Daddy! And so tiny! I'm only allowed to hold him if I'm sitting down. And you have to keep your hand under his head at all times so it won't flop down. Father Burke isn't here yet. Tommy picked him up and made him cry. Not Father Burke. Obviously. Dominic. He just has to get used to him. Tommy does. Are you coming in?”

“You're in the way!”

“Oh! Sorry.”

I stepped inside and there it was: the tableau I had been dreading for weeks. My wife holding her baby. A baby whose paternity I wasn't quite clear on. A baby she loved, presumably, as much as she loved my two children. I suddenly found that notion more wrenching than anything related directly to me. She looked up with trepidation. I couldn't think of anything to say. The baby was small but not inordinately so. He had black hair.