In The Garden Of Stones (45 page)

Over tea
and ginger cake Grace and Colin talk about his session in more
detail, the questions asked, the answers given, Colin’s overall
impressions.

“
So, do you think you can work with Mal?” Grace asks. “Shall
I ask him to come back?”

“
I’m gain ta give it a try. I’ve got nothing to lose, so …
aye. Do.”

“
He’ll be very pleased to hear it. I’ll tell him when I see
him tomorrow. I’ll get him to call you and organise an
appointment.”

“
While ye’re theer, find out where he’s sending the bill
will ye?” he says. “I ken it won’t be cheap, but I’m gain ta pay my
ain way on this.”

“
No need,” Grace says. “Between Mal doing an on the house
favour for me and the Centre covering his expenses, it’s all taken
care of.”

“
I’ll no be owing–”

“
I said it’s all taken care of. End of discussion.
Okay?”

Colin
huffs, “We’ll see about that,” and takes a large bite of his cake.
“Why are you still seeing Mal anyway,” he says through it. “I
thought you were all better now.”

“
I’m getting there,” Grace says. “Close, but no coconut just
yet.” She glances at her wristwatch, sighs and picks up her bag and
umbrella. “Now, much as I would love to stay and chat some more, I
really have to go.”

He gives
her his best lost puppy look. “Do you have to?”

“
Yes I do.” She kisses him. “I have things to do. Mr Pickles
needs to be fed and I have a meeting with some people later this
afternoon.”

“
Who?”

“
I’ll tell you when I have something to tell you.” She
pushes her plate and the remains of her cake across to him. “You
can finish that if you want.”

He grins
greedily. “I want.”

She
blows him a kiss from the door and is gone, yet this time, when the
mixed feelings of loneliness, anxiety, and the fear she will not
return fall over him like a smelly blanket, the light does not go
all the way out.

It
continues to glow steadily, radiating heat deep inside him and he
smiles – a broad, happy smile filled with contentment and
hope.

“
Colin says he would like it very much if you would agree to
be his therapist,” says Grace at her meeting with Malcolm Pettit
the next day.

Mal
smiles. “I’m very pleased to hear it. I’ll set up a series of
sessions.”

“
He can’t come here, obviously, so you’re going to have to
do house calls.”

“
I don’t mind. It’s all in a good cause.”

“
Any idea what are you going to do with him?”

“
Not yet, but even if I did I can’t discuss it with you,
Grace. Patient confidentiality. If he wants to waive that privilege
and allow me to discuss his treatment and progress with you, that’s
up to him. As yet–” He shrugs.

“
Of course. I understand.”

“
Suffice to say, as he took the first step and asked for
help, that’s a major hurdle overcome in itself. A great start. So
long as he continues to want the help and is willing to put in the
work, I will do whatever I can to get him back on the road to
wellness. It’s no quick fix by any means, though. You both have to
be in it for the long haul and be prepared for setbacks and
disappointments along the way. Realistically, it could take
years.”

“
I don’t care how long it takes. Just make him
better.”

“
I’ll do everything in my power, Grace.”

Grace’s
heart, too, swells with hope for the future.

Chapter 44

The
first harsh nip of winter is already in the air, the grounds of
Pelham Chase coated with a white frost, but the sun is out, the sky
is clear and although still chilly enough to make their breath
visible, the day is pleasant enough to be taken advantage of, and
so a well wrapped up Grace is to be found pushing an equally snugly
cocooned Colin’s wheelchair back up the main driveway to the
rehabilitation block on the return leg of their walk.

Good
food, time outside in the sunshine and fresh air at every available
opportunity, and plenty of hard work has brought some colour back
to his once sallow face, which has filled out a little, and under
his close fitting beanie hat his hair is growing back, although he
still has a way to go before he has a full crop of
curls.

“
The first thing we’ll do when we get you back on your feet
is get you some decent trainers,” Grace says, breathing out her own
personal fog bank. “And then we’re going to go for a walk. A proper
one. Wherever you like, out in the country, round and round the
park, up and down the street, anywhere, for miles and miles and
miles, and you won’t need to give a single thought to where you
step … unless it’s in some doggie doo of course.”

“
That’s going to take some time.” Colin pats the tartan
mantle covering his thighs. “I’ve only just been fitted for my
legs. I’m going to need lots more Physio yet.”

“
Another six months tops, Simon says. It will pass in a
flash.”

They
continue on in silence until they reach a wooden memorial bench,
dedicated to an old soldier from Monymusk and his dog, Norman.
Grace sits.

“
I have something to tell you,” she says.

Colin
manoeuvres his chair to face her, regarding her suspiciously with
eyes above a nose tinged red with cold.

“
Oh aye. Now why do I always get a nasty clammy feeling
between ma shoulder blades whenever I hear you say
that?”

“
Want to hear it or not?”

He
stiffens his back as if preparing to take a fist to the gut. “Go
oan then.”

She
clears her throat. “Remember a little while ago I had a meeting
with some people?”

“
Aye, but you wouldn’t tell me who with or what
about.”

“
Well, now I can. It was about you…or more precisely your
future here. Simon was there, as was your physical therapist, the
occupational therapist, Doctor Henderson and Mal. Lucas appointed
me as his proxy because I understand what’s going on better than he
does. I have his full authorisation.”

“
But not me?”

“
No.”

“
Well how very cosy,” he says bitterly.

“
Shush. We … I didn’t want to tell you about it in case it
came to nothing. I didn’t want to get your hopes up only to have
them dashed. I only ever want to give you positive
news.”

“
Because that’s what it says in the book? Don’t upset the
man in the wheelchair. Don’t ask his opinion because he’s in no
state to have one. His legs are made of tin and plastic so the rest
of him is too. Treat him like a child–” Colin’s words come out
contemptuous and mocking.

“
Stop it!” Grace says sternly. “That’s not
what–!”

“
And what momentous life changing decisions did you all make
on my behalf that I have to follow like a good wee
sheep?”

Grace
bites down on her lip, moderating her retort, not wanting to start
an argument. “There’s no need to be snippy–”

“
Me? Snippy? Heaven forfend.” Colin pounds the padded arm of
his wheelchair with a gloved fist. “Of course I’m bloody snippy!
All and sundry are making decisions about
my
life,
my
future, without so much as a by your leave. I
think I’ve every right to be
snippy
, don’t you?!”

Silence.

He
stares down the driveway to the road beyond, and the world outside,
and then up to the building that has been his home for nearly two
years.

“
So what did you decide?” he says after a long, drawn out
pause.

“
That you don’t need to be an inpatient any more,” says
Grace. “That you can leave here and move in with me and continue to
have your Physio and other treatments as an outpatient.”

“
Be yer bidie-in? People will talk.” Colin’s brows pull
together, hooding his eyes with a scowl. “You live in a pokey one
bedroom flat on the third floor with no lift. How is that even
remotely possible? Which idiot came up with–?”

“
I did, and I’ve already instructed my estate agent to find
me a three bedroom bungalow with access to a garden, and I’m
looking into what grants are available for any necessary
adaptations.”

Silence.

“
Look, Colin, nothing has been decided for definite,” she
says. “I can tell her to stop looking and stay where I am. If you
don’t want to move, that’s fine. You can stay here and find your
own place when you’re ready. We were just exploring alternatives to
help get you back into–”

“
Normality?”

“
Yes.”

A
pause.

“
Why three bedrooms?”

“
One for me, one for you, altered to your own specifications
and needs, and one for my workspace. I’ve decided to set up the
interior design business again, working from home. I’ve thought
long and hard about it and the pros outweigh the cons, so I’ve
decided to go for it. There’s definitely a call for it, I’m good at
it, I like working for myself, the commute is fairly short, about
eight feet all told, and the freedom and the flexibility it will
give me will free up more time to spend with you, and to oversee a…
venture I’ve set in motion.”

“
And there was I thinking I was yer one and only. You got
time fer another project, 'cause this oan’s pretty high
maintenance.”

“
If you’ll shut up with the sarcasm for a minute and listen,
I’ll tell you.”

Colin
pulls his mouth into a tight cat’s bum pout.

“
Thank you. Now, do you remember the dead man at the
Larches?”

Silence.

Grace barely manages to stop herself from rolling her
eyes.
Give
me strength
.
“You can answer that,” she says.

Colin
does. “Fit ‘boot him?”

“
I got an email from the police. They’ve identified him at
last. His name is … was, Benny Lawson. Ex Marine, like we thought
he might be. Served two tours in Iraq. Used to be a regular at the
homeless shelter and the soup kitchen, but when he stopped going
about two years ago nobody noticed because there was another to
take his place, and one man in a raggedy coat and tatty old hat
looks much like every other. He just fell off the radar. They did a
post mortem but can’t be sure how he died. Whatever it was, he was
only fifty-two. Poor bugger.”

“
Aye. Shame indeed.”

“
And finally putting a name to him set the seal on my
plans.” She rummages in a bag slung over the back of Colin’s chair,
pulls out an envelope and hands it to him.

Colin’s
scowl unfurls. “Fit’s this?”

“
Open it and see.”

He opens
the envelope and takes out several sheets of paper stapled
together.

“
That first page is a purchase agreement,” Grace explains.
“Signed, sealed and delivered. I always believed I was shown the
Larches for a reason. This time next month it will be mine at a
knockdown price. The owners practically gave it to me, couldn’t
wait to get rid of it. The exact phrase they used was 'millstone
around our necks'. Nobody wanted it because first, it’s such a
mess; second, because nobody wants a cemetery in their back garden,
and third, nobody but nobody wants to buy a house where a homeless
man died and rotted away in one of the bedrooms. Nothing more
guaranteed to put them right off. Not me though. I think the house
is lovely and it has masses of potential.”

“
I’m no seeing the connection.”

“
Think back to the lazy days of summer, the day of our
picnic,” Grace says. “Remember we saw that poor guy with that
vacant look on his face, like he wasn’t really there? The thousand
yard stare you called it, damaged inside you said. And then you
told me these guys are everywhere, walking the streets, homeless
and frightened, dying in lonely neglected houses like poor old
Benny. You said yourself they would rather sleep in doorways and on
park benches than in a proper home because they are too fearful to
be around other people. I want to make a place where they and
everyone around them can be out of harm’s way.”

“
Still no seein’ it.”

“
In plain English - I’m going to convert Larches into a
hostel for those who need it. I want to get some of those guys off
the street, give them somewhere clean and warm and dry to go, if
only temporarily, with bathrooms and kitchens and comfy beds, with
access to good food and medical treatment, where they can get help
sorting out housing and jobs and benefits. Look at the plans and
tell me what you think.”

Adorning
the next page is an artist’s impression Grace has cobbled together
on her computer of how the finished project might look. The rest
are sketched plans of proposed room layouts and external
elevations. There is also a breakdown of projected
expenses

“
I think it’s … ambitious,” Colin says at length.