Where the Rain Gets In (26 page)

Margaret drove to Withington for her two
o’clock. She was in good time, but she needed that time to compose herself for
the session. She waited in the car rather than go in a café for some lunch. The
session went okay – a lot easier than the morning out at Alderley Edge.
Margaret suspected this had something to do with her having less sympathy for
the woman she was counselling, and this allowed her to be more dispassionate in
her handling of the case. But even this gave Margaret cause for concern that
how she responded to a person should have a bearing on her ability to counsel
them. Once again, she made a mental note to include this in her written notes
later in the day.

The temptation was there to have a
little snooze in the car afterwards, but Margaret resisted it and drove back
through Chorlton to Stretford. Driving through city streets was a very
different experience to the morning’s drive on the motorway, and Margaret
stayed alert for the short journey. She passed by the entrance to her road on
the way to the Crisis Centre in Stretford, but Margaret decided not to call in
at home. She was early for her hour’s shift, and the manager of the Centre
commented on how keen she must be. Calls came through, but none were put
through to Margaret and she was able to get on with writing up her notes on the
day’s sessions. Out of politeness, Margaret asked the manager if it was okay to
continue into the next hour – she could be available to take calls while
working on her project – but surprisingly the manager refused.

“I think you should go home,” she told
Margaret. “You don’t look too well.”

“No, I’m fine,” said Margaret. “I just
need a cup of tea – I forgot to have lunch today, that’s all.”

“Still,” said the manager, “I think
you’ve done enough for today.”

Margaret almost pointed out that she’d
not actually taken any calls for the whole of her shift, but then she realised
this might have been deliberately arranged by the manager. Embarrassed, she
made a show of checking the rota for her next shift, and then said her
goodbyes.

“Get some rest,” said the manager as
Margaret left the building. “You look all in.”

Margaret sat in her car and switched on
the engine. She didn’t want to go home on her own, but there was nowhere else
to go. Now that it was later in the day, and people were returning from work,
it was harder to find parking close to the house; Margaret had to double back
to a space she’d seen at the entrance to the road. She checked for Eugene’s car
as she drove by the house, but it wasn’t there.

Margaret sat for a long time in the car.
She was mortified at what they thought of her at the Centre – was it so obvious
that something was wrong at home? Did everybody know? Did she only volunteer as
a substitute for confronting her own problems? And the counselling – was she
really so suited to counselling if she allowed her emotions to interfere with
her handling of a case? Margaret was a good nurse; she knew she was. So why
couldn’t she get the balance right in this – that all-important balance between
professional concern and competence?

Margaret spent her days being there for
other people, but her own life was falling apart. She sat in her car and
watched traffic pass by along the main road. People were going home for the
evening, to their families, to their partners, and to their children. Her own
empty house was behind her, but it was no longer a home.

She was so ashamed. She was ashamed of
whom she had become, and she was ashamed of the way she’d humiliated Eugene.
She had humiliated herself.

Margaret took out her mobile phone and
checked it for messages; there were none.

Where was Mike?

She dropped the phone back into her bag.
She knew she had no option but to go into the house alone. She picked up her
bag, got out the car and pressed the remote. She walked back along the street and
up the steps to her front door. She went inside and closed the door behind her.
She stood with her back to the door and listened to the silence of the house.
She looked at the telephone in the hallway.

She picked up the receiver and dialled
Mike’s mobile number, but her call went straight through to his message system.
She hung up before saying anything.

Maybe Mike was on his way home?

Margaret picked up the phone and dialled
again.

“Mike . . . ” she said, but that was
all. She didn’t know what else to say. Tell him she loved him? That she wished
he were home? That he was coming home?

Was he coming home? Was he ever coming
home?

Margaret ran out of time before she
could say anything else and she didn’t phone again. She dialled Eugene’s home number
but when it rang out a few times she knew that this, too, was going on to a
message.

“Eugene,” she said. “It’s Margaret.
Please pick up the phone.”

Nothing.

“I’m so sorry for this morning,” she
said. “I know . . . I know you probably can’t, but, please, if you’re there,
pick up the phone.”

She waited but there was nothing, and
then the line went dead. Margaret continued to speak into the receiver.

“I’m so ashamed,” she said. “I’m so
ashamed, Eugene – of us, and of everything”

But when Margaret put down the phone and
stood alone in her hallway, she knew it wasn’t Eugene she had to talk to – it
wasn’t even her husband Mike. She couldn’t confide in her boys, because Jack
and Mike junior were gone. It was healthy that they were gone, but Margaret
missed them all the same; she missed the strength they’d so often given her in
the past.

She knew what she had to do for this
mess to be made right again. She knew what she had to do – she just didn’t
think she had the courage to do it.

I
t was past two-thirty by the time Mike
had persuaded Katie to come back with him to Manchester. He’d bought tickets
for several flights throughout the early evening, all business class, and a
return for Katie on the last flight back to Dublin at nine o’clock. Mike was
delighted that Katie had her passport; he’d been prepared to wait while she
went home to fetch it. He was prepared to do anything to make this happen.

“You’ve some nerve booking me a flight,”
said Katie.

“It’s only money,” replied Mike. “There
was every chance you might not agree to see me, remember?”

Katie didn’t know what Mike hoped she
could achieve but since she wasn’t about to return to work for the afternoon,
she thought she might as well give him the rest of the day. It didn’t matter to
Katie if a few hours of that day were spent flying back and forth across the
Irish Sea; it was only the fact that it was Manchester that unnerved her.

“If we leave now,” said Mike, “we can
catch a flight at four o’clock.”

Mike walked across to the reception desk
to settle his bill, though, from what Katie could see, he’d only used the bar.

Katie didn’t like the idea of
interfering in Mike’s family, but he assured her they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Official visiting hours at the hospital weren’t until seven o’clock, and the
unspoken implication was that nobody would be there to visit Katherine anyway.

“You won’t even know you’re there,” said
Mike. “She’s in Wythenshawe Hospital, right next to the airport.”

“I know where Wythenshawe Hospital is,”
said Katie. She felt tetchy – it was a long time since she’d been home. She’d
kept herself ready for over twenty years to leave at a moment’s notice; she
wasn’t too happy now that moment had come that it was Manchester she was
running to.

They didn’t talk much on the journey
over; there was little more to be said and Mike knew better than to expect any
small talk from Katie.

The plane flew in over south Manchester.

“Where are you from, Katie?” asked Mike.

“You mean where was I born, and where
did I live, and all that?”

“Yes,” said Mike, “all the normal
things.”

“Gorton,” said Katie. “I’m from Gorton.”

“That’s over by Ashton, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Katie, “around there.”

“So we’ll have passed close by when we
used to drive out to the hills?”

“Not really,” said Katie. “That was
closer to Oldham than Ashton.”

Even so, Mike sat on the plane and
thought of Katie back then – how she was so close to her home and never said a
word.

But this was all Mike got out of Katie.
He’d never know that Katie had a whole different childhood – if you could call
it that – before she was taken into care in Gorton. He’d never learn how she
came to be living in Hulme and studying law by the time she was twenty. He’d
never know, because he’d never ask; and he’d never ask, because he knew she’d
never tell.

Katie and Mike had eaten on the plane.
The food was good and helped fill in the silence between them. The stewardess
cleared away their drink glasses for landing.

If Katie thought of anything, it was to
question the sense in Mike asking her to come. Who in his right mind would let
another head case like Katie within a million miles his daughter? But then,
maybe that was it – none of them were in their right mind here. If this was
what Mike wanted, if this was what he was asking of Katie, then so be it. If
she could help, she would try to help; and she’d make every effort not to do
Katherine any further harm.

Now Katie was here, she would do what
was asked of her, but she couldn’t help but be concerned about what the next
two hours might bring.

They had no baggage, so they were
quicker through to Arrivals and then out to the car park.

“Do you ever worry that you might be
stopped at customs one day?” asked Katie.

“As in – properly stopped?” asked Mike.
“For all my past sins, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Katie. “That they might be
looking for you, or at least looking to stop you coming back into the country?”

“Well, obviously it’s occurred to me –
otherwise I’d never have come up with that story this morning – but no, I gave
up worrying a long time ago.”

“Have you been back to the States
since?”

“No,” said Mike. “I don’t want to push
my luck. I think it was a good plan at the time, and I think we got away with
it, but I don’t like the idea of Bruno still being out there somewhere.”

“As a loose end, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Mike. “It’s a shame to say
it, but that’s how I think of Bruno now – as a messy loose end that might come
back to haunt me. I gave up worrying about him a long time ago, though; I’ve
bigger things to worry about now. This is us, here,” he said.

“You got rid of the Jag, then?” said
Katie, once they were in the car.

Mike reversed out the parking space.

“It’s going to take more than driving a
Volvo to keep my family safe,” he said.

They drove straight to the hospital. Mike
had to brake hard twice to avoid other cars as he looked for a space in the
hospital car park.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Katie.

She looked across at Mike; he was
becoming increasingly agitated, and less and less like Mike.

“No,” he said, “no, I’m not sure.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” said
Katie.

“It made sense when I set out to ask you
this morning.”

“I don’t know what you hope I can do.”

“Talk to her,” said Mike. “That’s all –
just talk to her.”

They walked from the car park to the hospital
entrance. The complex of different buildings was confusing to Katie, and she
let Mike lead the way. Inside, there was a large expanse of floor with a
reception desk in the middle.

“If you wait here,” said Mike, “I’ll
just make sure that it’s okay to go in before visiting hours.”

Katie sat down to one side on one of the
many plastic chairs placed around the entrance hall. She suspected Mike had
gone to check on Katherine, and not on the visiting hours; she wondered what
would happen if Katherine was too ill to be seen.“Come on,” said Mike, when he
returned. His face drained of its usual freshness and youth.

He looks like an old man, Katie thought
for the first time.

They walked down a long corridor, one
side of which faced out on to an inner courtyard. Then they turned into a ward
of private rooms. Mike opened a door and stood back to allow Katie through. He
gestured with his hand – part invitation and part introduction.

Katie could see that Mike was in bits.
She took a hold of his hand. So many years between them and so little physical
contact – it was strange to touch the skin of a man she knew so well, and yet
barely knew at all.

“You’d better leave us alone,” she said.

Mike looked across the room, from Katie
to his daughter on the bed, and then looked back down at the ground.

“Please, Mike,” said Katie. “And don’t
wait around here; wait outside the ward, or at the entrance where we came in to
the hospital.”