Please Release Me (14 page)

‘Peter …’

‘You have to laugh,’ said Peter. ‘Otherwise you can’t carry on.’

To his surprise, Val laughed. ‘I feel like that about my life too, sometimes.’ When she continued, she sounded less weary and more like the sister he remembered. ‘You should come for tea on Sunday. We can eat the same time as the kids then and we might even get a chance to chat after we’ve got them to bed.’

‘That sounds great. I’ll bring wine, then.’

‘You read my mind.’

‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

There was a sound in the background. ‘Shit. One of the kids is awake. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’

‘Bye. Give the kids a kiss from me.’

‘Will do. And Peter …’

‘Yes?’

‘Thanks for calling. I really appreciate it.’

When he hung up, Peter felt better. He hadn’t realised quite how guilty he’d felt about not visiting. Now that he was doing something about it, he felt happier already. He and Val were very different people, but they got on fairly well considering they were siblings. As for his nephews, he loved them more than he’d thought possible.

He let himself into the front room and poured himself a whiskey. He stood in the light of the standing lamp and examined a photo of himself and Sally. He had hoped to have children one day. His future as he’d imagined it had always involved a house, a wife and a family. He’d had a few girlfriends, but by the time he met Sally, he’d been single for so long that he’d lost hope of settling down for long enough to have a family. Sally had swept into his linear, database centred world and thrown it into a breathless whirl of light and colour. She had made him feel like anything was possible. And now she wasn’t there anymore.

He had to make sure he bought something suitable for his nephews. Sally would have been able to help him with that. She was an excellent shopper.

‘I wish you were here,’ he said. ‘I need help with some shopping.’ He thought about Sally, arms laden with bags from clothes shops. Would she really know what to get for his baby nephew? He tried to remember how she’d responded to his nephews when she’d met them. He realised she’d only met his family once before the wedding and it had been an awkward affair. He’d apologised to her for the volume and pace of the kids as they ran around the house.

‘Maybe not,’ he said to the picture. ‘I’m sure I can think of something.’ He gulped down the rest of the drink, relishing the burn of it. ‘It’ll be nice to see Val again. Now that I’ve spoken to her, I’ve realised how much I missed her.’ He remembered that Val didn’t approve of Sally. How would they have got on eventually? Val would have made an effort to get on with his wife. Wouldn’t she?

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He turned round. There was no one there. He turned the main light on. Still nothing. He looked at his glass.

He shouldn’t have any more, especially as he wasn’t feeling very well. He reached for the bottle to put it away and felt a chill so intense that he almost dropped it. He gasped. Once the bottle was back in its place, he waved his hand, trying to find the draught. Nothing. Strange.

He turned out the lights and left the living room, trying not to look behind him. Even in the kitchen, he felt as though someone were watching him. ‘Get a grip, Peter. You’re just getting paranoid.’ Nevertheless, he dumped his glass in the sink and hurried upstairs.

In his room, the feeling of being watched vanished. He took a couple of painkillers and went to bed. After a few minutes, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. He climbed out of bed to pull on a pair of socks and a T-shirt. He burrowed into the bed until only his face was exposed to the chilly room. The feeling of being watched was there again. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to sleep.

Eventually, he dreamed of being stalked by something he couldn’t see.

Sally was bored. She’d never visited Peter at work, so she couldn’t go watch him. Grace was at work too. The nurse’s station was too busy for them to gossip and the TV in Mr Wright’s room was off. There was one place where something was always going on. Sally whisked herself away.

There was no natural light in the inside of the casino. The bright lights looked the same day or night. Sally tried to breathe in the smell of the place before she remembered she couldn’t. It always smelled the same. Carpet cleaner, air freshener at the start of the night, then alcohol, perfume and sweat by the evening.

It was still early for the punters, but there were a few people already at the slot machines. Sally spotted a woman who looked familiar from before. She was a tallish brunette dressed in Marks and Spencer’s clothing who fed token after token to the garish machine, trying to work out the system. Sally stood behind the woman, a small distance away. The woman looked around, pulled her collar closed and went back to what she was doing. Soon she was preoccupied again, hypnotised by the machine.

Sally watched idly for a few minutes, then she too became interested. ‘No, not that one,’ she shouted. ‘Green. Green.’

The woman’s finger, which had been about to press the orange, stopped. After a moment’s hesitation, she changed her mind and stabbed green. The lights whirred. Ding. One of the stars on the winner panel lit up. Ding, ding, ding. The woman’s hands flew to her mouth and she watched for the last one. No, that was it. There was a cacophony of noise and coins crashed into the tray below. It wasn’t the torrent of coins you saw in the movies, but it was enough to make the woman squeal with delight and scoop it all up. As she stood up to take the pile of tokens to the booth, she whispered ‘Thank you,’ her eyes looking upwards as though talking to a guardian angel.

‘You’re welcome.’ Sally herself was jumping up and down with excitement. Okay, it wasn’t her win, but she’d helped. Without her the stupid woman would have pressed the wrong button and messed it all up. Next time … well next time they’d do better. They could get that last star. There had to be a pattern to this. How had she missed these machines before? She’d always gone for the roulette table. Why? When this was so much more fun?

She looked around and noted that the carpet had been changed and there were new pictures on the walls. It had only been a year and they were already updating the place. Nice. She wondered if her favourite croupier was still there. She was always lucky when he was around.

She turned her attention back to the slot machine and tried to peer inside, but it remained solid to her. Never mind, she would just go look at the other players for a while, until her friend came back.

Peter checked through his bags. One present for each of the kids. A bunch of mixed flowers and a box of Guylian shell shapes for his sister. Nothing for the brother in law. He got out a bottle of red wine and added it to the pile. Hopefully that would be enough to buy his way back into Val’s good books. He checked the time. Another half hour or so before he needed to set off. Time for a coffee.

He’d just poured his drink when the doorbell rang. Peter frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone and his mother didn’t usually bother with the doorbell. Leaving his coffee, he answered the door.

The woman in a blue mac and feathery hat stood outside. So she had been looking for him. What did she want? Why was she following him? He kept the door open just a crack, ready to shut it at the first hint of trouble. ‘Yes?’

‘You’re Peter, aren’t you? Sally’s husband.’

‘Ye-es.’

‘Can I speak to Sally please?’ The woman’s face, which would once have been beautiful, was red and weathered. There were blue thread veins and creases around her eyes. Yet there was something vaguely familiar about her. Something about the mouth and the flyaway grey hair.

‘You are?’

The woman smiled. Again the tug of familiarity. ‘I’m Glenda. Sally’s mother.’

But Sally’s mother was dead. The mention of Sally sent a stab of pain through him. It had hurt Sally when she lost her mother, so soon after her father’s suicide. Whoever this woman was, she was playing a cruel game. He stepped back to shut the door.

Glenda stuck out a hand. ‘I know she pretends I don’t exist, but I worry. I’m her mother.’ Her face was against the crack of the door now. ‘Please. I just want to know she’s okay.’

Peter hesitated. He had no reason to believe this was true, and every reason to slam the door in this woman’s face. But there was something about her that made him pause. Either she was lying or Sally had been. He believed Sally, without question, but yet …

Seeing his hesitation, the woman carried on talking. ‘I haven’t seen her since her wedding and I’ve been watching out for her. She hasn’t been to work. She hasn’t walked by here. Her mobile is turned off … please? Tell her I won’t be any bother. I … just …’ There was fear in her eyes. And tears.

She didn’t know. Peter took in the worried, aged face. She was just an old lady, who seemed to genuinely know and care about Sally. He should at least tell her what had happened. Maybe try and clear up this confusion. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘Thank you.’ There was a waft of alcohol and the sour smell of someone who hadn’t quite made it back to sobriety. She walked past him, steady and stiff.

‘Down the hall and first left.’ Peter directed her into the kitchen. She turned and gave him a smile. Sally’s smile. It hit him like a thump in the chest. She was related to Sally alright. Judging by her age, she could very well be Sally’s mother. Or an aunt. Either way, Sally had family she’d never mentioned.

He followed the woman into the kitchen. She was looking around approvingly. ‘ By the way, I’m Glenda, Glenda Cummings.’

Another jolt of familiarity. The way she said it sounded just like Sally. Peter stared at her, immobilised by the memory.

Glenda watched him for a second and sighed. ‘Did she tell you I died?’

Unable to find a response, he nodded.

‘She does that sometimes,’ said Glenda, wearily. She frowned. ‘Did she tell you about her father?’

Peter found his voice. ‘She said he … committed suicide.’ Hanged himself, that was what Sally had said. He’d hanged himself from the bannister, so that Sally found him when she came home from school. He remembered Sally’s whole body trembling when she told him. And then she’d told him about how her mother had just faded away and died of a broken heart soon after. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about it ever again. He had respected that.

Glenda looked away. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He did.’ Another sigh. ‘After that Sally and I fell out and we don’t talk. Sometimes it’s easier for her to pretend I’m dead too.’

Sally lied to him? Why would she do that? She’d done it before, with the gambling, but once he’d confronted her, she’d told him everything. All those debts and sorry secrets. About the affairs that had funded the gambling habit. It had been their first and only row. She had cried and begged another chance. He’d loved her so much that he’d agreed. On the proviso that she went to Gamblers Anonymous, which she had eventually done, never missing a single meeting. He’d thought she’d told him everything. He remembered the red letter he’d dealt with the week before. No, not everything. It was entirely possible this woman really was Sally’s mother.

He made Glenda a coffee, which she took without comment. She sat at the table, still in her coat, and looked around. ‘This is a nice place,’ she said. ‘She’s done alright for herself, my Sally. Is she not in?’

Peter drew a breath. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this …’

The watery eyes widened. ‘She’s dead? There was no ad in the paper. When? How?’ The voice rose in pitch, also eerily like Sally’s.

‘No, no, no. She’s not dead.’ Peter held out his hands in a calming motion. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. She’s alive. But she’s not … well.’

Glenda frowned. ‘Not well? Is it serious? What is it? Is she in hospital? Is that why I haven’t seen her?’

There was no painless way to explain it. ‘She’s in a coma. There was a car accident after the wedding. She was injured. She’s been in a coma for nearly a year now. That’s why she hasn’t been … anywhere.’

The blue eyes widened. Glenda looked down at her hands. She gave a small sob.

‘Are you okay? Is there anything I can get you?’ He’d just told this woman that her daughter was in a coma. It was bound to be a shock. He wished there had been another way to tell her, but there wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry.’

Glenda didn’t look up. Her shoulders hunched in as though she were protecting herself. ‘Tell me.’

He told her. About the accident, about the hours of operations, the medically-induced coma. About how Sally never woke up. About the hope of each slight change that might move her closer to consciousness. Partway through his explanation, Glenda started to rock. She whispered, ‘My baby. My poor, poor baby.’

Peter stopped. What did he do now? He remembered all too well the feeling of being told all this about his wife. For him the news had come in bursts. Each new development punching into the ache left by the previous bit of bad news. Glenda was getting it all in one go. ‘Glenda? I’m so sorry.’

After what seemed an age, Glenda looked up. ‘I need a drink,’ she said hoarsely.

Peter hesitated. Glenda had clearly been drinking already.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Glenda. ‘I’m not going to get mean and rowdy on you. Right now, I really, really need a drink. I’m begging you.’ She looked up at him, her eyes hazy with tears. ‘Please.’

Frankly, he could do with a drink himself. Peter fetched the whiskey and watched as Glenda knocked back the glass he poured her. The resemblance to Sally and the response to the news of Sally’s coma was enough for him to believe that she was closely related to Sally. If she was her mother, she must have had Sally very late. Glenda closed her eyes briefly and Peter noticed that, despite the thin looking skin, Glenda’s skin was not that wrinkled. Perhaps she just looked older than she was. As he watched, the alcohol seemed to chase away some of the defeat from Glenda. When she finally looked up, she seemed more collected.

‘Did she tell you I died of a broken heart?’ Her eyes met his for the first time.

‘Yes.’

Glenda nodded and looked back at the hands. She rotated the glass, round and round. There was a thin layer of amber liquid at the bottom. ‘She did that a lot.’

‘Why? Why would she lie?’ What he didn’t say was ‘why did she lie to me? I’m her husband.’

Glenda shrugged. ‘She’s ashamed of me. It was easier to have a mother who was dead than one who’s an alcoholic who lives in a squat.’

‘She didn’t need to be ashamed. I would have helped. I helped her with—’ he stopped, wondering if Glenda knew about Sally’s problem.

‘With the gambling?’ Glenda gave him an appraising look. ‘She told you?’

Somehow that annoyed him. ‘Yes, she told me. We were getting married. She didn’t want to have secrets when we started our married life.’

‘But only up to a point, eh?’ There was something in the way that Glenda was staring at him, as though she were weighing him up. Something like sadness … or pity. ‘Don’t judge my girl too harshly,’ she said. ‘She didn’t have it easy in life.’

Peter folded his arms. ‘No.’

‘She found her father, you know. Hanging from the bannister.’ Glenda took another sip of the whiskey and closed her eyes. ‘She went to the neighbours. By the time I got home, she’d calmed down.’ She pushed the glass across the table and looked pleadingly at him.

These were things Sally had never discussed. A side of Sally that he’d never seen. Peter poured another short measure. Glenda was clearly highly dependent on the stuff. He wondered if addictions ran in the family. He wondered if he should be feeding her addiction.

‘Thanks.’ She drew it back towards her, the glass rumbling against the table top. ‘She handled it so much better than I did. And when I … when I fell apart, she tried to help for a bit. But then she gave up and left.’ Glenda sniffed and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. ‘She blamed me, you know. For her father taking his life. She thought it was my fault. But …’ She gave a loud hiccupy sob. ‘I loved that man so much. I just couldn’t face life without him.’

Shit. Peter looked around and spotted the roll of kitchen towel. ‘Here.’ He passed it to her. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Glenda blew her nose and managed a watery smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t need this. Your wife’s in a coma. You don’t need a silly old woman crying in your kitchen.’

‘It’s okay.’ What else could he say? He no longer doubted that she was telling the truth when she claimed to be Sally’s mother. She looked too much like Sally to not be related to her. Sally had told him the story of her father’s suicide. She’d also told him about her mother’s subsequent pining and early death. Clearly, only half of the story had been true. Why would anyone deny the existence of their mother? Why, after all that song and dance about not having secrets, did Sally lie to him?

The chair scraped on the floor as Glenda stood up. ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘Sally would be livid if she knew I’d spoken to you.’

She took a step closer and the smell of stale alcohol grew stronger. ‘You’re a good man, Peter. I can see that you’ll do your best for my Sally. She’s lucky to have you.’

Peter didn’t know what to say. Glenda started towards the door. Peter put a hand on her arm. He couldn’t just let Sally’s mother disappear from his life, just like that.

‘Can I help you with anything?’ he said. ‘Money?’

She gave a short laugh. ‘I’ll only drink it.’

‘Something else then?’

‘A sandwich?’ she suggested, the smile pulling at her mouth making her look like Sally again.

Peter remembered the carefully labelled boxes of food in the fridge. ‘Wait a minute.’ He pulled the boxes out and stuffed them into a carrier bag. ‘Here. Take these. There’s food enough for a week.’

Glenda peered into the bag. ‘Thank you.’ She gave him the full benefit of her smile. ‘Thank you, Peter.’

He nodded, awkward.

As Glenda reached the door he said, ‘Wait. How can I contact you? If … if I need to.’ If the worst happens. If Sally dies. If Sally wakes up.

Glenda stopped. ‘I read the Times every day, you know. Not Sundays, because the library’s shut then, but otherwise. I read the classifieds and the births, deaths and marriages. So if anything happens to Sally, will you put a notice in the Times? So that I know.’

‘Of course. I’ll do that. If she wakes up, I’ll put something in the classifieds. I promise.’

‘Thank you.’ She gave him another one of Sally’s smiles and let herself out.

Peter went into the front room and watched her leave. Her step was a little quicker than when she’d arrived. Probably from the two glasses of whiskey she’d had. Poor woman. He wondered what she must have been like before the alcoholism had got its claws into her.

He thought of his own mother, who was so clean-cut and normal. Who cooked him meals that he gave away to strangers because he didn’t appreciate that they were just what he needed. He’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he’d forgotten to appreciate his family.

Family. Oh shit. Val and the boys! He looked at his watch and realised that he’d spent longer talking to Glenda than he’d thought. It was too late to join them for tea now. Bollocks. He called Val.

‘Val it’s Peter. I’m very sorry—’

‘But you’re not coming? Fine Peter. I should have known.’

He had expected her anger, but he still felt wounded by it. ‘I was all ready to go out but—’

‘Is it Sally?’ She sounded weary, as though she was just being polite.

‘No.’

‘In that case, I’m not interested in the excuse. I’ll see you when I see you Peter. Bye.’

‘No, wait! I’m still coming.’ Val had every reason to be disappointed in him, but he didn’t have to leave things like this. So what that he wouldn’t see the kids? He could still go see his sister.

Val was dubious. ‘It’ll be gone 10 o’clock when you get here.’

‘I could sleep over on the couch,’ he said. ‘I can be a couple of hours late for work tomorrow. It’s my company. What am I going to do? Fire me?’

‘I … okay. I’ll see you in a few hours.’ She still sounded unconvinced, as though she was still expecting him to cancel at the last minute.

He needed overnight things now, but apart from that, he was set to go. He felt much better. He needed to talk to someone and Val was one of the most blunt and down to earth people he knew. She was also the only person he could trust to keep a secret.