Beautiful Child (11 page)

‘You’re their Mum,’ said Matt, ‘why ask?’

Wendy went in to see her boys, her two beautiful boys and managed to kiss them both without stirring them enough to wake them.

‘They look like they’re at home in there,’ said Wendy as she walked into the kitchen where Matt was waiting. He’d opened a bottle of Rioja and poured them each a glass. He handed one to her.

‘They seem relaxed with their Uncle Matt.’

‘They are,’ said Wendy, ‘and thank God for you.’

‘Wendy…’

‘…I’m dying, Matt. I’ve got cancer. The latest prognosis is not good. There’s nothing else they can do.’

Matt almost coughed his wine back up. ‘What do you mean there’s nothing else they can do? How long have you known this?’

‘A long time,’ said Wendy, ‘please don’t be angry with me, Matt. I couldn’t bare it if you were angry with me.’

Matt took her in his arms again and hugged her. ‘I’m not angry with you, Wendy. I could never be. But what are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know’

‘I take it Charlie doesn’t know?’

‘No’ said Wendy, ‘I’ve arranged to meet him next week but I just had to tell someone before then. You were the only one I could tell.’

‘So your parents don’t know?’

‘No,’ said Wendy, ‘apart from my doctors you’re the only one who knows. And there’s something else.’

‘Christ, Wendy, what more?’

‘I’ve had a letter form a firm of solicitors in Wilmslow.’

Matt had a sinking feeling about where this was going. ‘Go on?’

‘Matt, Charlie wants to re-open our divorce settlement,’ said Wendy before breaking down. ‘His submission says that I’ve taken too much of an advantage of his financial means and that I could contribute more.’

Matt could barely control his anger. ‘Well we both know who’s behind this,’ he said ‘It’ll be Natasha.’

‘Matt, tell me what to do?’

‘You’ve got to tell Charlie you’re ill, sweetheart,’ said Matt, holding her tight as she cried on his shoulder. ‘Maybe then he’ll drop the case.’

‘Do you think?’

‘Well if he doesn’t I’ll bloody flatten him.’

‘Why is all this happening, Matt?’ 

‘I don’t know, my love,’ said Matt, who was ready to burst into tears himself. A mixture of pain and anger ran through his soul. Pain at the terrible illness Wendy was going to have to face up to and anger at what Charlie was threatening to do to her financially. If Natasha was standing in front of him right now he’d fucking well kill her. ‘This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair at all but I’ll be there for you throughout everything. I promise you.’

Wendy cried out ‘Oh Matt, what’s going to happen to my boys? My beautiful, beautiful boys’ 

*

The next morning Matt saw that Wendy was okay and took the boys to school before heading into work. He checked with the receptionist that Charlie didn’t have a patient with him and then he marched up to his door and burst into his consulting room before slamming the door shut behind him.

‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ asked a startled Charlie.

‘What’s wrong with me? I’ll tell you. I used to know someone called Charlie Baxter and he would never have put the mother of his children under the pressure of having to re-negotiate his divorce settlement!’

‘Ah’ said Charlie as he put his pen down on his desk. ‘ Wendy’s told you.’

‘How could you, Charlie?’

‘Matt, I’m making a new start with Natasha and I need to sort out my old life before I can do that.’

‘I’d never have heard that from your lips before Natasha came along.’

‘But that’s part of what love is about! Someone comes along and points out where you’ve gone wrong. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well you’ve never known the kind of love that I’ve got with Natasha or, for that matter, that I had with Wendy. You don’t know what it’s all about, Matt, because you’ve never experienced it or anything like it.’

‘You utter bastard.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Charlie, ‘but I’m not going to let you keep me on the receiving end all the time.’

Matt was floored by what Charlie had said but he did manage to have the last word before he left to go to his own consulting room.

‘One day Natasha will have dug out all of your pot of gold and then she’ll dump you for someone with an even bigger pot. And when that happens, and I know it will, don’t bother to come running to me to get you out of it like you normally do.’

When Matt got home he was in a heavy, foul mood. He put his key in his front door, stepped through and kicked it shut with the heel of his foot, walked straight through to the kitchen, threw his bag down on a chair, went for a bottle of his favourite French Bordeaux, opened it and slugged down a whole glass before filling it up again. He loosened his tie, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and then thought about getting himself something to eat. He couldn’t believe what Charlie was doing to Wendy. He couldn’t believe how Natasha had changed Charlie. The old Charlie would never have been so cold. But he could handle all that. He could face both Charlie and Natasha down despite what they were going to do. But what he couldn’t fight was Wendy’s illness. He’d deliberately avoided ringing his Mum today. He didn’t want her trying to claim that Wendy’s illness and the fact that she was going to die and leave her sons behind was all part of God’s fucking plan.

He had some spinach and ricotta cheese ravioli which he boiled in a pan of water to which he’d added some salt and olive oil. He emptied a jar of spicy arrabiatta pasta sauce into another pan and heated that up and turned his oven on high to bake some garlic bread. By the time it was all ready he’d drunk half the bottle of wine but he didn’t care. When it was gone he’d open another one. He thought about taking it easy considering all he’d got on his mind but then he told the thought to get to fuck. He needed comfort tonight and if he found that in a bottle of wine then so be it.

He was halfway through his dinner when the doorbell rang. He cursed. He really wasn’t in the mood for any visitors tonight but as he walked down the hallway and saw the outline of who it was through the patterned glass panels in his front door, his face broke out into a smile. It had been some time.

‘Well’ said Matt after he’d opened his front door. ‘Detective Sergeant Adrian Bradshaw. To what do I owe this honour?’

‘I know it’s been a few weeks, Matt,’ said Adrian who knew he didn’t deserve to expect anything from Matt. ‘What can I say? I’m a bad boy.’

‘Then it’s a good job I like bad boys’ said Matt who thought Adrian looked great in his grey suit, white shirt, and dark purple tie. He had one hand in his pocket and was holding his car keys and his mobile in the other. His dark eyes were bearing down intensely into Matt’s and he knew what that meant. ‘Come in.’

Adrian went through into Matt’s kitchen and started helping himself to wine and food like he lived there and was just late home for supper. He wiped some of the pasta sauce up with a piece of garlic bread and wolfed it down.

‘I’m a cheeky bastard, aren’t I.’

‘It’s always been part of your charm,’ said Matt leaning against the door frame.

‘I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,’ said Adrian, ‘and this wine is a bit bloody nice. You know how to live, Dr. Schofield.’

‘Glad you’re enjoying it’ said Matt who’d like to give Adrian his dinner every night but that was a dream that he’d long since dismissed as impossible.

Adrian lifted up his arms up. ‘Do you think I’m keeping in shape?’

‘It looks like you are.’

‘I’ve been going out running with one of my neighbours.’

‘Up and down those Saddleworth Hills? That really will keep you fit.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for a while, Matt,’ said Adrian.

Matt shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well you could’ve sent me the odd text now and then but I know what the score is with a married man, Adrian.’

Adrian had agonised endlessly about why he kept coming back to see Matt. He’d never been with another man before he’d met him and he still didn’t consider himself to be even bisexual. He certainly never looked at any other men and he’d never admit to being unfaithful to Penny. Matt was a man not a woman and being unfaithful meant going with another woman. It was just something about Matt. They’d become friends after Matt had done a stint as the police surgeon at the station Adrian had been working at. Then one evening Adrian had given Matt a lift home after a few of them had been at the pub and Matt asked him in for some coffee. Matt had been a bit drunk and he’d started asking Adrian if he’d ever thought what it would be like with another man. Adrian had laughed initially and then Matt had asked him why he’d come in for coffee. That had been followed by a moment during which Matt had decided to make his move. There was just something about Matt that Adrian couldn’t explain. He’d been flattered that Matt had found him attractive. He’d never had a friend who was gay before but he’d have to admit that the more he got to know Matt the more curious he had become. He was still straight. It was still women who turned his head. He just felt lucky that life had thrown him a different kind of sexual experience with a guy as lovely as Matt was. Just something about the person Matt was that had found something inside Adrian’s soul. But his marriage would never be threatened by it. 

‘A straight man who likes a bit of cock on the side is nothing but heartache for a man like you, eh?’

‘Now don’t go all poetic on me,’ said Matt who didn’t believe that any man who went to bed with another man was completely straight but he’d let Adrian off with that one.

‘No chance of that, mate’ said Adrian who then walked over to Matt and stood close. ‘If you want to tell me to piss off then I’ll go.’

‘I’m actually really pleased to see you, Adrian.’

Adrian placed his hands on Matt’s shoulders and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. ‘I’m glad I’m here. I’ve wanted to come a few times but you know how it is‘

‘Not really,’ said Matt, ‘I’m not married. But you’re here now and I want to make the most of it. How long have you got?’

‘A couple of hours.’

‘Then let’s not waste anymore time talking.’

They kissed passionately and their hands were all over each other. Then Matt took Adrian upstairs where they made up for lost time.

*

Angela had never been much of a church goer. She went there for weddings, funerals and christenings - in other words, all the times when others invited her to their rituals of religious symbolism. Faith, in a religious sense, was just something she’d never understood. She wasn’t religious, neither was her husband, and when they got married they did so in a registry office. But despite that she liked the architecture of church buildings and when she did step inside them she couldn’t help but get a strange sense of peace and calm from being inside such a cavernous structure. That’s why she’d arrived for her meeting with Brendan O’Farrell early so that she could sit down in a pew in Holy Saints church and gather her thoughts.

‘Can I help you at all?’ said Phillip as he walked up the aisle towards the smartly dressed woman sitting near the front.

Angela turned round. ‘Oh sorry father, I … ‘

‘…no, no, don’t apologise,’ said Phillip, holding up his hand, ‘I just wondered if I could be of any help.’.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Angela answered before smiling and holding out her hand. ‘I’m Angela Barker. I’ve got an appointment to see Canon O’Farrell at half past.’

Philip shook her hand. ‘And I’m Father Philip Evans. Welcome to our church, Angela.’

‘Thank you,’ said Angela who rather liked the look of this fresh faced young man. She could imagine confessing all to him without any qualms at all. Why did they saddle these guys with celibacy? What a bloody waste.

‘You’re the psychotherapist?’

‘That’s right’ said Angela.

‘You want to talk to Brendan about this particular church’s involvement in the migration of children to Australia back in the fifties and sixties? Is that right?’

‘The forced migration, father.’

‘Sorry, yes, I have to acknowledge it was a forced migration and I think you’ll find Brendan does too.’

‘That’s good,’ said Angela, ‘because that means progress on the part of the church.’

‘Well of this particular church anyway,’ said Phillip. ‘We’re a little independent, a little revolutionary here but don’t tell or else you’ll get us into trouble.’

Angela smiled. ‘Don’t worry’ she said, ‘your secret is safe with me.’

‘That’s good to know’

Phillip led Angela from the church across the short yard to the presbytery. Inside it reminded Angela of everything she used to hate about school. The walls were in the standard nondescript magnolia with dark brown wooden polished tiles on the floor and the coldness punctuated only by pictures of the Pope, Christ and various saints. There didn’t seem to be anyone else there as Phillip showed her into an office just off the main hallway. The sun was beaming through the window as Brendan, who’d been sitting at the desk, stood up and gave her the big beaming smile of an old man who’d used it to get through life. His hair was grey but his face was wearing well, she thought, and the skin on his neck showed little signs of sagging. He took her hand in both of his and gestured for her to sit down in one of the two armchairs. He sat in the other.

‘Well now you’re a psycho-therapist,’ said Brendan. ‘That’s a very modern profession now, isn’t it.’

‘I suppose it is, Canon, yes,’ said Angela. Despite the warmth of his greeting she was still wary of him. She’d had some of her fiercest confrontations with members of the clergy, both Catholic and Protestant. She liked to think she offered practical help to the people in her care whereas priests can only offer prayer.

‘Phillip will bring some tea in shortly,’ said Brendan. ‘Now how can I help you?’

‘I want to talk to you about a patient of mine,’ said Angela.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes. He’s an inmate at Manchester prison which is one of the places where I work.’

‘And you’ll have your work cut out for you there, I expect?’

‘It’s a challenge, yes,’ said Angela, ‘but a worthwhile one.’

‘Are you a Christian woman, Angela?’

‘No, Canon, I’m not.’

‘But you perform in a very Christian profession,’ said Brendan, ‘ministering to some of the most needy in society.’

‘Well I happen to think that the people who demonstrate Christianity are those who don’t go to church,’ said Angela who immediately regretted saying it. She was making herself out to be as truthfully righteous as those she accused of being falsely righteous. And she didn’t think of herself in that way at all. It was a kind of reverse snobbery and she couldn’t fucking stand that.

Brendan let his head fall back as he laughed. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘and why do you say that?’

‘You really want me to tell you?’

‘Yes’ said Brendan. ‘You’re a professional woman and I value your opinion.’

Angela teased herself with the thought of making a cheap shot about how unusual it was for the Catholic Church to value the opinions of a professional woman but she decided, at the outset of her relationship with the Canon, that she would keep it buttoned and simply amuse herself with that idea.

‘Well I’m an agnostic, Canon’ said Angela. ‘I don’t know for sure that there’s no truth to religion which is why I’m not an atheist. But to me churches are full of people who think their hypocrisy filled lives will be redeemed by an hour on a Sunday morning when they’re seen to be going to church.’

‘Go on?’

‘Well a large part of my job is to not judge anyone,’ said Angela.

‘And you’ve just judged my entire congregation.’

Angela could feel herself blushing. Why did priests always have the apparent ease to do that to her? Talking to a priest like Canon O’Farrell was like talking to her father. He could always corner her arguments too.

‘But I’m not claiming to be a Christian and I thought that Jesus came to teach us not to judge?’

‘Well,’ said Brendan. ‘I think you’ve enunciated a basic truth about some who profess to be Christian.’

‘Which is?’

‘That many of my flock don’t seem to know the difference between the old testament and the new testament. Now you’re making me feel like an activist in some political party who thinks he should beg you to join.’

Angela laughed. ‘Well I wasn’t making a pitch, Canon.’

‘No, I know, just indulge me,’ said Brendan, ‘I’m an old man about to retire and I like to have some fun.’

‘Good for you, Canon.’ said Angela. ‘But could we now get back to why I’m here?’

‘Of course’ said Canon. ‘I promise not to sidetrack us again.’

‘Okay. I want to talk to you about my patient who, as a young child of five, was left here by his mother and then as an orphan sent to Australia back in 1962.’

‘1962? I wasn’t here then, Angela, but I agree that the whole forced migration scheme was a most shameful act on the part of the church.’

‘It was, Canon,’ said Angela, ‘many of these children ended up leading pretty awful lives and my patient is an example of that, a fairly extreme example, but an example nonetheless. His name is Sean Patrick O’Brien and although he’s still behind bars at the moment he is up for parole soon and I know he wants to come back to where it all started for him.’

‘So what is it you want from me?’

‘I want to know if you have records for these children and if so then I’d like you to show me the record for Sean Patrick O’Brien.’

‘Angela,’ said Brendan, sitting forward in his seat and wishing that Phillip would come in with the tea. ‘What good do you think that would serve now?’