Hard Tail(3)

"There, there," I said helplessly. Suddenly remembering I had a handkerchief, and it was even reasonably clean, I passed it to her. "Come on, have a good blow."

She blew her nose in that quiet way women seem to manage-I always sound like an elephant attempting the Last Post-and gave me a brave little smile. "It's just-everything's happened at once. You being made redundant, and then, well … "

"Alexander," I supplied, in case all the emotion had made her temporarily forget the name of the bloke she was leaving me for. Alex was a friend of mine, as it happened. Blond, where I was dark; short and chunky, while I was tall and on the lean side; down-to-earth and Northern while I was … not. I wondered if her subconscious was trying to make a point.

I'd always been pleased with how well they got on together.

"I never meant to hurt you," she sobbed, teardrops leaving blotches on her dry-clean-only skirt. I considered sliding the FT onto her lap to catch them, but newsprint would only have made a worse mess. Best to leave it.

"You haven't hurt me," I said, not quite truthfully. Let's face it, even if you've accepted that your marriage was a total mistake, having your wife run off with another bloke is going to be bad for the ego. But I didn't blame her for looking elsewhere for what I couldn't give her. I blamed myself for being so bloody determined to keep my head stuck in the sand.

"I hope one day you'll find someone who deserves you," Kate said, sniffing.

I shrugged, wondering bleakly if that would be a good or a bad thing, if it ever happened.

Kate gave her nose one last snuffly little blow and picked up the bag she'd packed before coming back downstairs. I wondered if I should offer to carry it to the car, or if that'd be taken as an insult. It didn't look heavy, so I left her to it. I guessed she'd be back with my dear old mate Alex for the rest of her stuff later.

I thought about dropping some hints as to when I'd be out over the next few days but couldn't muster the energy. Or think of anywhere I'd go, come to that.

She turned her head to give me one last, sorrowful glance as she stepped through the door, then paused as something struck her. "Oh-and by the way, your mother rang."

It never rains but it pours.

***

My mother never rings me. Never.

She rings my brother, Jay. I know this, because I asked him once. I ring her every couple of weeks or so, because I feel guilty if I don't, but she never seems that pleased to hear from me. Most of the time is usually spent talking about Jay-his latest money-making scheme, his latest girlfriend, whatever. She always finishes up by saying, "Well, at least I don't have to worry about you." And then she makes this sort of tsk noise under her breath, as if the lack of worry is just one more way I've been a disappointment to her.




 

 

So if Mum had rung, it must be something serious. A chill ran through me. Dad had been complaining for years about pains in his chest, but the doctor had always sworn blind it was just indigestion. What if this time she was wrong? I grabbed the phone and perched on the arm of the sofa to make the call.

"Mum?"

"Timothy! It's about time you rang."

I'd only rung her last Thursday. "Mum, is everything all right?" I asked, standing up.

"Well, how can it be? Your poor brother! And it's not like we can get all the way over there every day for weeks on end, not with your father's health-"

"Mum! What's happened to Jay?" I was pacing round the living room by now. Mum often had this effect on me. Thank God we'd gone for the 80% wool carpet.

"What's happened to James?" she repeated scathingly. "Really, Timothy, I do think you might make a bit more effort to keep in touch with what happens to your family. Blood is thicker than water, although I sometimes wonder if you've even heard the phrase-"

"Mum! Just tell me!" I half shouted down the line, cutting her off mid-flow.

There was a brief silence, punctuated by an alarming creak from the plastic case of my phone. I relaxed my grip a bit, although it took some effort. "There's no need to be rude," Mum complained. "Your brother had an accident with his skateboard."

Jay's thirty-one, in case you were wondering. Going on thirteen. "And?"

"He's broken his femur. An unstable fracture, the doctors say. He's almost certainly going to need surgery."

The way she said it, you'd think it was my fault. "But he's going to be okay?" I asked.

Mum sniffed. "Oh, you know doctors. Always telling you not to worry. That woman in the village surgery has never taken your father's heart troubles seriously. Last time he went to see her, she sent him away with nothing but a couple of indigestion tablets! I don't think they train them properly these days. That surgery's never been the same since old Dr. Mallett left, not that anyone ever listens to me … "