Bonfire Blues Page 3
“What is it?” I still managed to ask her.
“It’s Chris… And he’s…”
“Oh.”
I barely made a sound at all and I still gave myself away. I've never been a good liar.
“You knew!” she snapped at me.
“Yeah... I’m sorry.”
Silence. I swallowed and felt just how much my throat was hurting. I sat down next to Becky and she looked at me.
Her words came out in a very precise mixture of upset and anger:
"Why didn't he tell me?”
I had no answer for her. I still tried to give one.
“I think he wanted to protect you from knowing. He wanted as few people as possible to be hurt by what'd been going on… I guess because I barely know anyone involved, he could tell me.”
She still looked hurt.
"I'm sorry."
“So is this why he left?” she asked.
“I’m not sure but I think so.”
Looking back, I’m still not convinced I said or did enough. I just really didn’t want her to be mad at me. She wasn't a naturally angry person but finding out the truth upset her a lot. I could see she wanted to lash out at someone and I wanted it not to be me. I was still ready for it, of course. With Dan gone I figured I was the person most qualified for attack.
I was wrong again. What she actually wanted was to confront Chris. I couldn't blame her but I liked the idea only slightly less than her having a go at me. After all, Chris had sorted himself out and he and Carla were the happiest they'd been for a long time. Nothing could be gained by picking that particular scab again.
Once she'd calmed down, Becky didn't take too much persuading. Deep down she knew I was probably right. She took a deep breath to swallow down what she was feeling, smiled at me and reached out to touch my wrist with her hand. I don’t recall goose pimples rising on my arm but I do remember suggesting we pack the boxes away and not mention them again. She agreed. So, as evening encroached into her bedroom, she put the three photographs back into their dusty hiding place.
I knew she wouldn't mention what she knew to Chris and Carla. Not much else was guaranteed though. I should've known that some things have to find their way out into the air again. When Dan came back, there were always going to be questions and that's exactly how it turned out.
I was out when he arrived. And by the time I got back, Becky was on the living room floor, alone and in tears.
“He’s gone,” she told me.
Between sniffs, she explained how she'd confronted Dan about why he left. He’d been apologetic but she hadn’t been willing to listen. She asked why he hadn’t told her about Chris; telling him she'd found the photo in the box. He became defensive and accused her of going through his things. Then he asked what else she'd found out. He wanted to know what she knew about his father, making it clear it was nobody’s business but his. He only calmed down when he noticed she wasn't wearing her earrings.
“So the butterflies have gone,” he’d said and smiled, “I’ll be seeing you Becky.”
And then he left. I must have missed him by about a minute.
When she stopped talking, Becky started to cry again. I had no idea how to handle it. I gave her a hug and something happened I hadn’t expected. I found myself hugging her tighter, hanging onto her as if I didn't dare let her go. And she did too. The ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the beating of our hearts became entwined and created a divine rhythm. Not that I really heard any of it, I felt it in my chest and in my throat. For the first time in my life, I experienced silence all around me, and it made me realise how loud life can be. How sounds surround, contain and consume us every day and none of it matters. All that should ever matter was right then, when I was nothing and she was everywhere. We kissed and for those few moments, I was happy.
The silence was too brief and then guilt kicked in. I didn’t know what to do and I had no idea why it happened. So I left her and I know I shouldn’t have. I was stupid. I told her I'd be back but I was running away. That was wrong and I still regret it.
I stopped on the pavement for a few seconds, just to breathe. That was when I should have gone back to Becky’s beautiful tear-filled eyes. I wasn’t brave or wise enough to do that. Instead, I walked on needing something to occupy my mind and shield me from everything I didn't want to feel.
I wasn't thinking clearly. In fact, I was hardly thinking at all, but I still tried to make sense out of what Becky told me about Dan. It all sounded so strange. In all the years I'd known him, he'd never mentioned his dad. And whenever I'd talked to his mum she always gave the impression that his dad not being around wasn’t a big deal. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about that. And something told me it was all linked to those hidden photos in some way.
I wandered into Alveston bus station almost without realising. I hadn't a clue about what to do. That's when fate took a hand. Sunlight shone in my eyes and I shielded them and peered up at the departure board. I could hardly believe it. Three quarters of the way down the list was Crediton. I couldn't help myself. I went straight to the ticket office and bought a ticket.
The journey was surprisingly short. Forty-five minutes passed and then I saw the church. I recognised it from my brief look at the photo; standing tall, perched on top of a small hill. The bus stopped at the foot of the hill and I got out. Standing on the spot, I tried to take in the scenery but, other than the church, there wasn't much to see. So, that was where I went.
The door into the church was wide and tall. It was also locked. I decided to wander round the outside of the building, along a gravel path that broke up the lush green of neatly trimmed grass. When the path changed direction, I saw the side of the building given over to wild grasses and wildflowers. Full of energetic nature, they were a haven to the fluttering of patterned butterfly wings. That was where I found Dan, sitting on a bench in the early summer sun. He was staring at a single gravestone that stood in the middle of all the untamed beauty.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet made him look over. He shielded his eyes and smiled, not at all surprised to see me. He looked the same as I remembered but then it had only been a few months. I don't really remember what he wore that day. He might've been dressed in grey and I do recall that the wind was cold and strong enough to bring some much needed colour to his cheeks. He looked back at the gravestone as I sat on the bench beside him.
“There’s the old motherfucker,” he said.
There was a moment when I wondered what he meant. Then I looked at the slab of granite he was staring at. The name ‘David Liman’ carved onto it let me take a first step towards understanding.
“I only met him twice,” he told me, “Once when I was three, which I don’t really remember and another time. When he actually made me feel a little bit wanted... He was dead and gone a couple of months after... Which was a bit more typical of him, I suppose”.
He almost smiled. It made me sad.
“Turns out he was drinking and went for a drive. Ended up wrapped around a lamppost and that was that..."
He looked me in the eye. He wanted me to understand.
"I always wanted to think better of him but... Ya know...”
“He deserted you.”
“Yeah... But. I don’t know… All I ever had was a few photos and vague things to base anything on... I couldn’t ask mum. It wasn’t fair on her... I think that’s why I came here. His wife still lives in the Rectory so I’ve been sleeping on her sofa for the last little while.”
I saw that all he'd wanted was to understand how his dad could abandon him, and, it seemed like he'd got some comfort from what he’d found.
“She’s nice and I’m pretty sure I don’t actually hate him anymore. The trouble is that I don’t really know what that leaves me with… Or how I feel right now.”
“Better?”
He smiled as he looked at me.
“Maybe.”
It sounde
d like it might've been the truth. We both looked away, towards the setting sun. The butterflies had gone from the air and I didn’t notice the dark clouds gathering in the sky. A little time passed and Dan spoke to me again:
“Will you apologise to Becky for me."
The mention of her name twisted round my mind. It brought back guilt but not understanding of how I'd blinded myself from my love for her.
"She didn't know and that's my fault not hers,” he added.
“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell her.”
“Things have changed. I know her feelings aren't the same as when I left.”
His words made my heart thump in a way that shouldn't have surprised me but did.
“What makes you say that?”
“There are a couple of little things,” he answered with a shrug.
I was about to ask what he meant when he looked at his watch:
“The last bus back to town's gonna be along in five minutes. You should probably be getting back to Becky, mate.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’ll be back in a day or two. There's some stuff to take care of here first.”
I said goodbye and walked away along the gravel path. I looked back only once and saw him still on the bench peering back at me through the growing darkness. I could see the kindness in his face as he shouted to me:
“Take care Scotty. And please tell her that I love her and she deserves to be happy.”
It was as I got onto the bus that the first spots of rain began to fall. By the time I arrived at the station the rain was almost