His dad’s lips are cracked and his pale tongue keeps trying to lick them. Robert takes a tissue and dowses it in water, then dabs it on his lips. Paul lies still as his brother tends to him, then raises his hand again. He’s going to speak.
‘Keep them close, Robert. Please keep them close.’ His throat rolls and bobs in his scrawny neck. ‘And if she finds someone else.’ His arms lift from the bed and he puts both thumbs up.
Then, with no warning, no fuss, but instantly and completely, he’s gone. Doesn’t even close his eyes. The shock shoots down to William’s feet and up to his head.
‘No!’ Evelyn’s at the door. She approaches the bed. ‘No!’
Robert and Howard stand back, Robert silently sobbing. Howard takes his hand. It’s the first time William has ever seen them touch each other.
‘It was seconds ago, Evelyn. It was peaceful,’ Howard whispers. Robert’s head hangs as if his neck has no strength. His tears are dropping onto the lino and William thinks he can’t bear this. He wants to run away, he wants to go with his dad.
‘Evelyn,’ Howard says, ‘we’ll give you some time on your own with him. Shall we take William?’
‘No! Please don’t take him.’ The desperation of the ‘please’ punctures William’s heart.
As Robert and Howard exit the door, Robert’s shoulders heave up and he lets out a deep, deep sob.
William is terrified. How long can something hurt this much? He’s shaking, watching Evelyn lie on the bed, tuck her head under his dad’s chin. ‘Paul,’ she sobs, ‘you didn’t wait for me.’
Inches from her crying face, the eyes that haven’t got his dad in them any more sit like cold marbles in deep sockets.
Robert is still crying in the corridor. The bed is shaking with his mum’s weeping. And his dad’s body without him in it revolts him. And he just can’t stand this! He’s rooted to the spot. Imploding. Exploding.
They leave the hospital an hour later. She puts her arm tightly around his shoulders as they walk, and pulls him to her side.
‘It’s you and me now, William. You and me.’
He remembers his dad’s raspy voice – ‘Keep them close, Robert’ – and his eight-year-old heart knows that somehow, his world is always going to be out of kilter from now on.
62
‘Is the plan still to meet for lunch?’ Martin says, glancing over at William in the passenger seat.
They’re half an hour out of Swansea. They’ve listened to music, they’ve sung and they’ve laughed. They haven’t talked about anything that matters.
‘Yes, there’s a pub not far from Mum’s.’
‘I’m going to duck out, if you don’t mind.’
‘You? Give up the chance of food? What’s going on?’
‘I’m going to meet Gloria.’ He winces. ‘She’s scared.’
‘Fair enough,’ he replies, realising that now they are close, so is he, that he could do with Martin’s company. But mostly, the thought of Gloria being scared to see him squeezes his heart. ‘Where are you meeting her?’
‘Midday, somewhere on the seafront.’
‘I assumed she’d be with Mum.’
Martin shakes his head. ‘Apparently it’ll just be her maid of honour at the house.’
The electric pop of the idea straightens William’s spine. ‘In that case, I’ll duck out of lunch too. You can drop me off at Mum’s.’
Martin raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘She’ll be busy, and how will you get to the church?’
‘It’s the local one, it can’t be that far.’ With a kick of adrenaline he adds, ‘If it goes well, I might even get a lift!’
‘Can I help you?’ The woman at the door is about Evelyn’s age, and for a second, William searches her face for signs of his mother, but then realises of course it’s not her. ‘We’re a bit preoccupied at the moment,’ she says, already poised to close the door with a polite smile.
‘I’ve come to see Evelyn.’
Both hands fly to her mouth and she takes a step back. ‘Dear Lord, it’s William, isn’t it?’
He nods.
‘Hang on.’ She pushes the door carefully until the catch clicks gently shut. Her figure darts to the left. William studies the concrete slabs under his feet. Then a change in the light makes him look up and his lungs inflate suddenly. Even through the opaque glass, her movement, the angle of her arms at her side, the tilt of her head, is as familiar as an old ache.