Don't Be Afraid (17 page)

 

Angus

Torcuil was distraught, his hands shaking as he held a glass of water. Bell and Clara owed him their lives. Which meant I owed him my life too.

He was there to save Bell. I wasn't.

I was working. As always. He'd driven to the cottage as soon as he'd seen the black smoke rising and arrived before the fire brigade and the ambulance. His face was black with oily smoke, and there was a burn on his left hand. He had refused to have that seen to, but they had bandaged it anyway, despite his protestations that it was nothing.

“Isabel couldn't get out. She was lying on the floor, there was blood on her head . . . I couldn't see much, the smoke was burning my eyes . . .” He opened his arms. “Clara could walk, but she wouldn't go anywhere without Bell, she was just crouching there beside her . . . She could walk, she
could
. She could have walked out,” he repeated, as if he could not believe what had just happened. It was all surreal.

“Clara risked her life for Bell?”

“Yes. As soon as I began dragging Bell out, Clara followed. She collapsed there,” he said gesturing to my doorstep. “You should have heard the way she was coughing, it was like a bark. I thought she would suffocate. The smoke was so thick my throat was burning, and I'd only been inside for a minute or two. I don't know how she . . . how she switched off her survival instinct. She would not leave without Izzy. Simple as that. I just don't know how we can ever thank her.”

“I don't know how to thank
you
, Torcuil,” I said, looking away to the still waters of the loch. I paused. “I need to ask you a question.” Did I? Did I need to know? Did I need to find out if Izzy could not get out, or refused to get out? If she had wanted to stay in and let herself suffocate. That would have worked. Unlike the pills, that would have worked.

“She couldn't move. She was nearly unconscious, though not quite.” Torcuil read my mind, like he often did.

“So you don't think . . .”

“I don't know. No. No, I think it was an accident, Angus. I don't know how the fire started, but she was hurt, she couldn't walk, she couldn't even crawl. She couldn't have got out by herself.”

“Okay. Okay,” I said, and I realised I was shaking too.

“I'm not doing enough for Izzy. I'm just not doing enough . . .” Torcuil burst out.

A pang of jealousy hit me. He had been there to save her life. And he claimed he wasn't doing enough for her. He was her brother-in-law, for God's sake, how much was a brother-in-law supposed to do?

Unless he was more. Unless he still felt he was more, to her.

“It's not up to you, Torcuil. It's up to me to help her,” I said, and wondered what kind of small-minded person would come out with something so petty at a time like this. I was ashamed of myself.

And then something changed on Torcuil's mellow, kind features – and he snapped. He looked like he was about to say something, then he stopped.

But then: “But you aren't, are you? You are
not
here, Angus. Like you weren't there when our father was dying. Because you're always somewhere else. Always busy with your music. Sometimes I really think nothing else matters, for you. Nothing.”

I watched Torcuil's face turn twisted and contorted in rage, and I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

Or maybe I could. Because it was the truth, yes – it was the truth. But it was something I had always pushed to the back of my mind, something I'd always found excuses for. Nobody had ever spelled it out to me so clearly, so cruelly.

Of course. It was all my fault.

I had let Bell down.

I had let everybody down.

Me and my music: my wife, my mother, my lover, my best friend, my life.

But I was only human and, together with contrition, came rage.

“I left Bell with Clara! I thought she was being looked after! And if I remember correctly, it was you pushing so much for me to hire Clara. Because you had a vision, a good feeling. You didn't see the fire, did you? Your crystal ball didn't tell you that!”

“Who says it was Clara's fault? And she refused to leave Izzy.”

“Isabel!
She is Isabel to you.
”

Suddenly, Torcuil looked deflated. All the anger swept from him, and he held his left arm in his right hand. I could see him trembling.

I couldn't look him in the face any more. “Do you still have feelings for her, Torcuil?” I said in a low voice, in a way that was almost soft.

There was a pause, while he winced in pain – his hand, I supposed.

“Of course not. I love her like a sister. That is all.”

I said nothing.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said,” he murmured.

“It's true.”

He shook his head.

“It isn't. I was just angry.”

It was too painful to keep discussing it. I didn't want to hear what he had to say.

I couldn't.

“You need to get that hand seen to.”

“It's nothing. I have some burn cream at home.”

“It might not be enough, they might want to—”

“Look, I'll leave you to get on with things . . .” He gestured towards upstairs, where Isabel was lying down. She somehow convinced the firemen that she was fine and they let her stay. Clara, instead, was in hospital. Torcuil turned away and walked off without any more words, without a backward glance. I had a bitter taste in my mouth as I watched him step out of my garden and disappear.

He might have just saved Bell's life, getting here before the firemen, and all I could do was be jealous. Because he had shown concern for my wife.

I was ashamed.

And still, there was something in his eyes, when he spoke about Isabel.

Izzy
.

I strode upstairs two steps at a time, the acrid smell of burnt wood and plastic in my nostrils, my eyes still streaming though the smoke was long gone. The stuff was poisonous, oily, adhering to skin and clothes like soot. Bell was sitting on the bed, her hair lanky and blackened, but her face cleaned where the paramedics had checked for burns. Her left forearm was bandaged.

“Why, Bell?” I could only yell. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn't start the fire on purpose—”

“I know! I know you wouldn't go that far! But you refused to get out. Did you actually want to die in that fire?” God help me, I wanted to smack her for having done what she'd done. If I had to be damned for it, I wanted to smack her for having just sat there, waiting for the smoke to kill her. And kill Clara too.

“No! No way! I promise you! I didn't want to die! I hadn't felt that way since . . . since Clara arrived.”

“Well you seem to really care for her, considering you nearly got her killed! She wouldn't leave your side! Torcuil had to prise her off you!”

She hung her head. “I'm so sorry.”

“She is in hospital, Isabel. Because of you.” I said, and immediately I hated myself for it. But the fear and despair and the terrible, terrible rage I'd felt for the last two years was exploding in me.

“I'm so sorry,” she sobbed again.

“Then why didn't you get out?” I was aware that I was shouting, that I was scaring her. I'd never thought I could be that person, shouting at my wife – but I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop.

“I was scared!”

“You were more scared of being out of the house than suffocating or burning? Are you crazy?”

“I suppose I am, yes,” she murmured.

And then all the fight went out of me. I knelt in front of her, like a desperate supplicant, and I took her hands.

“Bell. Once and for all, tell me the truth.” She looked at me. “Did you try to do it again?” There was no need to specify what
it
was.

She locked her eyes on mine. “No. No. I was terrified; I didn't want to die. I don't want to die.”

“Well, you nearly did. For the second time. We can't keep going on like this, Bell.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath. “I don't know. I don't know what I mean. But maybe . . .”

And suddenly, unexpectedly, she threw herself into my arms and I held her, like a frightened animal. I held her tight, tight, I never wanted to let her go.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you need to go somewhere you'll be safe.”

All of a sudden, she went rigid in my arms.

“No! No! I'm safe with you! It was an accident . . .”

“But it would be for your own good. Bell, I need your help here. I swear, I don't know what to do any more. I just don't know what to do.”

“Keep me with you. Give me one more chance. Just one more chance.”

I just held her, and cried in her hair.

 

Torcuil

Margherita was looking at me, thinking I couldn't see her. I'd been lost in thought, looking out at our garden, asleep for winter. Waiting.

Like us.

Waiting for Izzy to get better.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“There's something bothering you, I can tell,” I insisted gently.

“It's nothing, really.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“It's just . . . sometimes I worry.”

“What do you worry about?”

“It's difficult to put into words . . .” She looked almost embarrassed. At that moment, I knew what she wanted to talk to me about, and I prepared my answers.

“Try . . .” I took a chair and placed it in front of her at the kitchen table. I took both her hands, locking my eyes on hers. “Tell me.”

“That you still love her,” she blurted out.

For a moment, my stomach clenched. How could I explain? How could I explain that someone you loved once would never be out of your heart – and it meant everything and nothing, because life moved on and things changed and a heart didn't cling to what it had lost, like a barnacle on a rock. The heart changed too, and mine had. And hadn't.

And Isabel's was in a similar limbo, because the words she'd said to me when I saved her from the fire told me so.

How could I explain?

“I do love her . . .” I began – her eyes widened – “but not like that. Not like I used to. The place she used to have . . . You have it now.”

“Are you sure? Because I couldn't take it. It would break my heart.”

“I'm sure. Margherita, it's you I love. And you only,” I said, and I was grateful. Grateful she was safe, grateful she was healthy. Grateful, as selfish as it may sound, that we didn't share the same predicament as Angus and Izzy.

“It's you I love,” I repeated, holding her and breathing in her scent of soap and sugar.

 

Angus

An uneasy truce was simmering between me and my brother. When we walked in, Clara was sitting on the hospital bed and combing her brown-grey hair. I was relieved beyond words to see she had no oxygen mask, no line, none of those scary things you see on TV. She was even wearing her own clothes, sitting with her back straight, her movements calm and measured.

“Sorry. Is it a bad moment?”

“No, come in, come in.” Her voice was a bit hoarse, but apart from that and being quite pale she seemed unscathed. “The nurse lent me a comb. I must look a fright.” Her serene smile, once more.

“Not at all,” I said clumsily.

“How are you feeling?” asked Torcuil, placing the flowers we'd brought down on her bedside table.

“Like I want to get out of here!” she laughed, then coughed a little. Suddenly I realised that her cheeks were very pink – she must have been given oxygen. “They said Isabel is at home. What a relief!”

“Yes. She had a bad bump on her head, but no burns, and her lungs are fine. All in all she was extremely lucky. I'm sorry—” I began, but she interrupted me.

“There is nothing to apologise about. It really was just an accident. Isabel was trying to make hot chocolate for me.”

I exchanged glances with my brother.

“Is that what happened?”

“Yes. I know, I was there! We had noticed that a gas ring was faulty. We should have sent for Dougie at once, but it slipped both our minds.” Of course. How could I have thought that Bell had something to do with this? It made no sense. But I still had a terrible doubt in my mind.

“She couldn't move, could she? That's why she didn't get out.”

“That's right. When I arrived she was lying on the floor and there was blood on her head and her face. It was horrible . . .”

“You stayed with her. You refused to leave her,” Torcuil murmured.

“Well. I couldn't leave her, could I?”

I was left speechless by her loyalty.

“Angus. We need to talk.” Clara was looking straight at me, eyes on mine. She never looked down, or away – she held another person's gaze like she was always unafraid and unashamed.

“Is there something you haven't told me, Clara?”

“She
hasn't
been taking her medication,” Clara blurted out. “She has been throwing it away.”

Floor and ceiling swapped places for a moment, then the world rearranged itself, but it was a strange world, a world I didn't know any more.

“
What
?”

“I'm sorry, I—”

“And you didn't think of telling me!” I struggled to keep my voice low. This was a hospital, but I was seeing red.

“I only found out two days ago. Believe me, I was as shocked and as angry as you are. But confronting will solve nothing. I'm trying to reach her slowly—”

“We need to step up a gear,” I said, trying to sound hard but sounding terrified instead.

Clara's face fell. “What do you mean?”

“We need a nurse. I mean, a
psychiatric
nurse. We need to . . . step up a gear,” I repeated lamely.

“But . . . but I have a plan! And it's working! Slowly, but it's working!”

“If things are working so well, why did you feel the need to tell me about the meds at all?”

“Because I realised I shouldn't have kept it from you. And I'm so sorry I did . . .”

“You're sorry you kept it from him or you're sorry you told him?” Torcuil said cryptically.

“What do I employ you for, if you're not checking on her—”

“Angus!” Torcuil snapped.

And then I remembered. I remember that Clara hadn't run out of a burning building, so she could remain with my wife.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Clara.”

“She will take her medicine. I promise you. Please, give me a chance to let this work. Let me do what I need to do.”

“And what would that be?” I said, more harshly than I would have liked. But I couldn't help it.

A hesitation. “Help her get better.”

“Will you see she takes her medicines?” I'd been deceived all that time. It couldn't happen again.

“Yes,” she said, and looked me straight in the eye again. She was on the verge of tears.

“I want her to take her pills every morning in front of me if I'm there, or in front of you. Is it a deal?”

“Yes,” she repeated.

Suddenly, Torcuil opened his mouth, like he was about to say something.

I looked at him. We both did. And then something passed between him and Clara, a secret communication I wasn't part of.

And then he said something unexpected. “Don't worry, Clara. You won't be separated.”

“Well, what can I say? She's like a daughter to me.”

A moment of silence, then I spoke. “So, how long do you have to stay in hospital? Is there anything we can do?”

“They say they'll let me out after the afternoon rounds. I'll take a taxi back.”

“No way, I'll come and get you,” Torcuil offered.

“There's no need . . .”

“Please. Honestly, it's no bother.”

“What about your hand?”

“My hand is okay.”

“If you come and get Clara,” I intervened, “I'll be able to stay with Bell.”

“Like I said, it's no problem. Clara . . . thank you. For not leaving her, I mean.” Torcuil gave her a brief hug and she returned it with warmth, like a mother. I looked on, too wound up, too wrapped in my worry to be part of their connection.

I mumbled a goodbye. I was confused, torn between gratitude and anger, overwhelmed by this whole mess, unable to say anything more.

We walked to the hospital car park and my head pounded with tension.

“Torcuil, I think I missed half of that conversation. What did you and Clara
say
to each other? I mean, the way you looked at each other . . . What was all that about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. It's like . . . she told you something. Or you told her something. Without words.”

“I'm not telepathic, Angus.”

“No, but you seem to
know
. . . I can't explain.”

“I know that we have to let Clara try. I'm sorry if you think my feeling misled you, but I'm convinced that hiring Clara was the right thing to do.”

A fine drizzle was falling from the sky, tossed about by the wind, chilling me to the bone. Pewter clouds weighed on me from above.

“I understand,” I said, but it wasn't entirely true. I don't always understand what goes on in Torcuil's mind, but in spite of what I said during our argument, I certainly trust him. Truth is, I trust him with my life, and trust is more important than understanding.

“If things don't change, we'll think about it then,” he said – and again, his use of
we
riled me a little.

“I need to think about this now, Torcuil. I want to give Clara another chance, but maybe a psychiatric nurse . . . I can't believe Isabel hasn't been taking her medication! I'm so angry I can't even . . .” I rubbed my forehead with shaking hands. The pain in my head was getting stronger, nausea lingering at the edges of my awareness.

“I know,” Torcuil replied, taking my car keys gently from my hand and opening the door of my Mini. “Come on. Get inside. I'll take you home.”

“Why? Why on earth is she refusing to get better?” I said in frustration as Torcuil started the engine.

“She has her own logic, and it makes sense to her.”

“Her logic is warped.”

“I know. We need to work together and make her change her mind.”

“I want somebody to be with her every single morning when she takes those bloody pills, every single time I'm not there.”

Once again Torcuil seemed about to say something, and then changed his mind. “
Clara
will be there,” he said instead.

I wish I could be
there for her,
I heard.

But I wouldn't let myself be overwhelmed with jealousy, not again. I would not cast words at him like stones. Not after the things I'd said to him that morning, only for him to still stand by me. As he always does.

“You really seem to have a lot of trust in her,” I said, hoping against hope that Torcuil would elaborate a little about this mysterious
feeling
he had about her.

“I do. I told you. She's a good person.”

“Right. She's a good person. And that's the reason why you trust Clara. That's all you have to say on the matter.”

“Pretty much.” A pause, while I watched the empty grey moors flit by. “Also I know she had a daughter just like Isabel.”

His tone made it sound like the conversation was over. As we stopped in front of my house, Torcuil took a deep breath, his eyes closed, and then left without a word.