Missing - Dead or Alive Page 27

  Once he’d finished on the phone, he glanced uneasily at Debra.

  ‘I wish we didn’t have to go.’

  ‘Me too. Hope there isn’t a bad atmosphere because I’m there.’ Debra sighed.

  ‘I’d have thought any animosity would have been towards both of us. So let’s not think about how people will treat us.’

  The idea of having to ‘act out’ a role to placate Maria sickened him, but he felt obliged to attend the funeral.

  Tim contacted them once more before the funeral, to give them details of the time and place it was to be held. The funeral service was to take place at St Stephens Church, Dexford, at three o’clock, followed by cremation at the Crematorium almost next to the church. The actual day being a Monday, Bob and Debra planned to travel down on the Sunday night and go back early Tuesday morning.

  Their journey down was pleasant without the rush hour traffic. Being in Dexford brought back lots of memories, both happy and sad. He’d missed the town, and the people to an extent, but he’d moved on now without any regrets.

  It felt odd now, lying in a strange bed in a hotel room in the town of his birth. Snuggling up to Debra, he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this funeral’s over with,’ she told him.

  ‘Me too. Let’s just get through the day, go home and forget about it. And after the funeral, apart from visits to my mother, I won’t come back again.’

  ‘Perhaps then we can get on with our lives again without interference.’

  ‘When it’s over, there’ll be no need to have any further contact with Maria. Except when my solicitor serves the divorce papers on her – and then we’ll be free to plan our future together.’

  ‘That’s what I want more than anything,’ she said, holding him tightly in her arms.

  And so the day of the funeral arrived. It was bright and sunny and most of the morning was spent visiting Bob’s mother. They dined at the hotel, then returned to their room to get ready, Bob in a grey suit, white shirt and black tie, Debra in a navy blue dress and jacket.

  At ten to three they reached St Stephens, and found a place to sit towards the back of the church. Bob acknowledged some of the people already there with a nod and mouthed ‘hello’. By the time the funeral cars arrived with the close family mourners, the church was already full. And as he looked around thinking how well Joe must have been liked, he spotted Maria flanked by Tim taking their seats.

  The coffin stood, adorned with flowers, at the front and at three o’clock the service began.

  From his vantage point Bob saw Maria had deteriorated in both her appearance and health. She seemed thinner, paler and altogether older, cowering at Tim’s side. Every now and then she sobbed quietly to herself.

  ‘God, she doesn’t look well, does she?’ He commented in a low voice.

  ‘Neither would you if you’d just lost your father in a fire,’ Debra said, squeezing his hand.

  ‘Suppose not.’

  Bob wasn’t sure if Maria and Tim had noticed them, but guessed they were too wrapped up in their grief.

  Before long the ceremony was over and the closer relatives continued to the Crematorium where the proceedings were brief. When this ended, they went outside to look at the lovely wreaths displayed on the ground. Bob became so choked with emotion, he was unable to speak, remembering how in former times, Joe had been the one he’d got on well with.

  They walked across to where most of the mourners were gathered around Maria and Tim, eventually squeezing their way through to Maria.

  Bob said, ‘Really sorry about your dad, Maria. I hope your mother makes a speedy recovery.’

  She nodded without a word.

  ‘What an awful thing to happen. How devastating for you.’

  ‘It is, but life goes on.’ And as an afterthought she added, ‘I wouldn’t be here now, had it not been for Tim.’

  ‘Yes, he was very brave.’

  ‘Are you coming back for something to eat?’ Maria said with a blank look on her face.

  ‘If it’s all right with you.’

  ‘That’s up to you Bob, it doesn’t matter to me.’ And at that she walked towards the funeral cars indicating it was time to leave.

  Bob didn’t really want to go, but the sharpness of her reply made him feel compelled.

  The wake took place in the function room of a local pub and was a jollier occasion than he had expected. A light buffet meal was laid on with wine, which seemed to ease the tension. As the afternoon wore on people began to make excuses to leave. At this point Bob saw it as the ideal opportunity to make a move himself and told Maria he’d keep in touch.

  To which Maria replied ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, but you will get over this.’

  ‘That’s all right for you to say, Bob.’ And after a brief pause added, ‘But it’s no longer your problem.’

  Bob just smiled saying. ‘Take care of yourselves both, won’t you?’

  ‘We will dad.’

  They hugged and kissed formally before leaving.

  Once outside Debra sighed, ‘Phew, am I glad that’s over.’

  ‘Me too – but I feel so sorry for them. It’s a terrible shame.’

  ‘It is, but they’ll survive. You have to in these situations as I know only too well.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you want to ask her about a divorce yet, do you Bob? It may be a bit soon, but the sooner it’s sorted the better for all of us.’

  He smiled, and shook his head ‘Not yet, Debra.’

  In reality he was stunned to find she could be so callous, knowing to ask Maria for a divorce right now would be rubbing salt into her wounds. Although Debra had already written to Alan, he would have to let the dust settle first before even thinking about talking to Maria.

  Chapter 32

  Once everyone had left, Maria breathed a great sigh of relief. This had got to be one of the worst days of her life, to cremate her beloved father and have no idea if her mother would recover from the terrible burns to her body. The funeral had gone off well, without a hitch – and for that she was grateful.

  Now back in the living room of their makeshift house, she felt physically and mentally drained, and thanked God Tim had done her proud. Since the tragedy he’d taken on most of the housework and the cooking chores. She felt guilty at times because she didn’t eat much of what he’d prepared. Still, surely this would improve, she hoped, closing her eyes to blot out the grief.

  ‘How you doing mum?’ Tim asked, sitting down opposite her.

  ‘Terrible, the anguish doesn’t get any easier to bear... in fact it seems worse. When I remember back to what they did for me over the years, never expecting anything in return – it doesn’t seem fair.’

  ‘They were old mum. Silly things happen to you when you’re their age. That’s why what happened, happened. He shouldn’t have been smoking his pipe in bed. Must have fallen asleep, that’s what the fire officer said, wasn’t it? It was an awful accident that was nobody’s fault.’

  Maria was aware of what the firemen had said, that her mother was lucky to be alive, having been found by the window probably knocked unconscious by the blast. And after considering what Tim had said, she replied, ‘I know we couldn’t do anything to prevent the fire. That’s the worst thing about it. I just think if we hadn’t been there, creating all the extra work it may not have happened. So in a way I feel responsible.’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but if you’re thinking along those lines, why not blame Danny for reacting like he did over Lizzie, or dad for deserting you.’

  ‘How do I get over this?’

  ‘That’s impossible to say, but you will, mum. You got over me, didn’t you? When I left, I mean. So you can do the same this time too.’

  ‘But I didn’t – that’s the point. You were on my mind all the time, and I did lots of stupid things to find you, and none of it made any diff
erence.’

  ‘Come on now mum, why don’t you take two of those tablets the Doctor gave you? You’ll feel better if you do.’

  ‘Thanks for thinking about me. I keep saying what a good son you’ve been, the son I always knew you were.’

  Tim returned from the kitchen a couple of minutes later with two yellow tablets and a glass of water. She took them from him, put the tablets into her mouth and swallowed them with the help of her drink. Relieved, she sat back on the settee.

  After a quarter of an hour, she was more relaxed and grew tired; her eyelids became heavy and longed to remain closed.

  ‘Tim, I’m going to bed now,’ she yawned. ‘You wouldn’t believe how tired I am.’

  ‘Of course, mum. It’s been a very busy traumatic day for me too; I could do with going to bed myself. Come on, let me help you upstairs to your room.’ He held out his arm for her to take.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do.’ He said, guiding her back to the bedroom.

  She took her nightie out from under the pillow on the bed and went to the bathroom to change. Then later shuffled her way back, slipped between the sheets and pulled the covers over her, unable to keep her eyes open. The last thing she remembered was hearing Tim shouting from his room, ‘Sleep well mum, sweet dreams.’

  When she woke, although it was dark in her bedroom she knew it was daylight outside.

  She’d had a lovely sleep, dreaming of the three of them going on holiday together, like they used to in the old days. What fun they’d had playing games, swimming in the sea and sunbathing. And then in the evening walking across the deserted beach, Maria holding Bob’s hand, him telling her he loved her and she telling him the same – and Tim dashing about looking in rock pools for shells and pebbles.

  As she looked round the room she saw Tim sitting by the side of her bed. He must have been watching over her, but now his head was back fast asleep. As she tried to sit up she felt so weak, and could hardly get herself out of bed. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so weary, but then it had been a rather traumatic few weeks.

  Finally, she managed it, and put on her dressing gown with some difficulty. As she started to walk, Tim suddenly moaned, then stretched. He looked startled and got up from his chair.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing?’

  ‘I need the bathroom,’ she explained.

  ‘Here let me help you.’ He offered her his arm to take.

  She was out of the bathroom in five minutes, surprised to see Tim waiting outside to help her back to bed.

  ‘Don’t overdo it mum. You need plenty of rest, peace and quiet after all you’ve been through. Come on, let’s get you back to where you belong.’ He grabbed hold of her arm again.

  ‘Thank you, Tim.’ Sadness caused tears to well up in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me - I can’t stop crying.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that – you need to get that grief out of your system.’

  ‘You’re right, I suppose.’ She slumped into bed again.

  ‘Let me get you something to eat and drink. You’ll be stronger once you’ve got some food inside you.’

  He went away then to prepare her breakfast. Maria was feeling rather lethargic, and having problems keeping her eyes open. And by the time Tim returned with the breakfast tray she was drifting in and out of sleep.

  There was a bowl of porridge which he said he’d sweetened with honey, and a cup of milky tea. Although she knew he’d done his best, on the sight of the food her stomach turned. And after a few spoons full she felt it impossible to swallow any more. How she would have liked to have eaten everything her son had prepared. But in the end was forced to say, ‘Sorry son, but I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Oh come on mum; just a bit more. Carry on like this, and you’ll waste away to nothing. Then what’ll I do with you.’ His eyes widened with distress.

  ‘Please stop making a fuss Tim; I’ll be all right, honestly…’

  ‘Well, at least have something to drink. Plenty of fluids are very important for someone in your position.’

  ‘All right.’ Putting the cup to her mouth, she tried to force down most of the milky tea. Then lay back on her bed to rest.

  ‘I’m shattered.’

  ‘I can see you are, mum. You’ve got to take it easy.’

  She closed her eyes and was asleep again in no time.

  The days that followed were a blur to her. She vaguely remembered resting, sleeping, hardly eating or drinking. And constantly crying over her father’s death and the predicament of her mother.

  The Friday after the funeral she looked at herself in the mirror in the bathroom. She’d lost weight; seemed just skin and bones. But at present due to her poor appetite she could do nothing. And even though Tim persistently mentioned calling a doctor she wouldn’t let him. She’d get out of this mess herself, without the worthless advice of well-meaning doctors.

  On a number of occasions Tim had said how he was frightened over her condition, and that he felt something was not quite right. But Maria always remained adamant saying she’d be fine as long as she’d got him to wake up to.

  Bob got shivers down his spine worrying over how to tell Maria about the divorce. But how long should he leave it before getting in touch? Maybe he should send her a letter like Debra had to Alan or should he ring? It drove him mad, because after the fire, the need to be tactful was vital.

  Debra was well aware of Maria’s predicament, but continued to badger him about contacting her regarding a divorce, which irritated him. He wouldn’t be bullied and would only ask for a divorce when the time was right. She’d have to be patient, after all Alan hadn’t replied yet regarding her own divorce, so she ought to chase that up rather than go on at him.

  It was a Saturday night, four weeks after the funeral. They’d had one such discussion about Bob’s divorce and the mood between them was tense. Bob had put some music on his stereo, while Debra was reading the latest Wilbur Smith novel. When the phone rang, he sighed because he’d have to turn the music down. But Debra hastily picked up the phone first. She mumbled a few words before turning to him. ‘I’m not sure, but it sounds like your son.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake – I don’t want to speak to him.’

  ‘Just talk to him, will you?’

  He went across to the phone. ‘Hello, what do you want now?’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Come on, hurry up – out with it. I haven’t got all night.’

  ‘It’s mum…’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘She’s not well.’ He sounded upset, but Bob didn’t go for that at all.

  ‘If she’s sick, go and fetch a doctor. I can’t do anything about it – can I?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I think I do. She’s no longer my responsibility, she made that very clear at Joe’s funeral, so you’ll have to deal with it yourself.’ Bob felt the temperature rise in his chest. This was nothing to do with him, and if Tim thought he was going down to Dexford he was very much mistaken.

  But Tim wasn’t put off and continued, ‘It’s been ever since the fire. She’s so depressed. I thought she’d start to get over it after the funeral, but she hasn’t. She’s got worse and I’m so worried. She’s too weak to do anything and lies in bed for most of the time. And with very little appetite she just picks at her food, no wonder she’s lost a lot of weight.’

  ‘Look – she’s grieving over the death of your granddad and what’s happened to your nan. It’s what people do when a loved one dies – but that wouldn’t mean anything to you, would it? When did you last think of anyone but yourself?’

  But ignoring that last comment Tim continued ‘Dad, listen.’ Bob could hear his son sniffing in the background as if he was crying. He had to be putting this on – didn’t he? ‘If you don’t do something soon, she’ll die. Couldn’t you please come down here just for a while? It would make such a difference to her, I’m sure.’

  �
��I won’t listen to any more of this. All right so she’s a bit under the weather right now, but she’ll live – everyone does. You’re using this as an excuse to get me to come down there.

  ‘And I have to tell you, I’m about to write your mum a letter, asking for a divorce. Debra and I are getting married as soon as we can. Now if that doesn’t make it crystal clear to you and her, I don’t know what will.’

  There were a few seconds silence on the phone when Bob thought he’d finally got through to him. Then Tim added, ‘All right dad, you do what you want. If you don’t mind having mum’s death on your conscience, so be it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘Oh don’t be so bloody dramatic.’ He shouted in reply before putting the phone down.

  Debra glanced at him not giving away how she felt about this.

  ‘God Debra, you should have heard him whining on about his mother. How she’s not very well, she’s not eating or drinking, she’s so depressed and keeps crying. You’ve got to come down, or she’ll die? On and on and on he went. If you ask me it’s about time he stood on his own two feet.’

  ‘Good for you. So you told him about the divorce – that’s brilliant. He’ll tell Maria for sure. Now you can send her that letter without any worries.’ Debra got up and wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘I can, and hopefully you’ll get off my back now as well.’

  ‘It might do.’ She smiled in return. ‘You know for a while there Bob, I didn’t think you had it in you. But credit where credit’s due – I was wrong.’

  ‘Thank God for small mercies.’ He was a bit peeved by the pressure she had been putting on him. Before long, however, he was to see another side to Debra.

  The next morning being Sunday, they’d got up late and were eating breakfast still wearing their dressing gowns, when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Bob said. ‘Don’t know who that’ll be.’

  She shrugged her shoulders, nodding in agreement.

  He walked into the hall, hand in front of his mouth yawning, but his heart flipped over when he opened the door to see two uniformed policemen standing before him.