Waking Up Sideways

 

  start of  ***WAKING  UP  SIDEWAYS***

🐲 If ever any circumstance could relate to the things that you see on TV from films or drama's, here it was: quick marching it into casualty at the side of a wheeled stretcher, a team of surgical and medical staff awaiting the victim, spilling numbers and stats, while nurses sidelined to help deal with the turmoil, shock and confusion.  

   'Where is she going?' Neil said aloud, watching her being hurried on along a corridor and out of sight. He kept looking around him, twisting and muttering as if trying to convince himself he was actually here, this was happening now.  Immediately he turned at a touch to his shoulder.

   'Did you travel in the ambulance with her?'  

   'Yes' 

   The nurse gave a sorrowful nod and rubbed his shoulder. 'Just follow us into the family room, bit more private in there. We'll get you a tea or coffee.'  People waiting in casualty had automatically clapped eyes onto the dramatic entrance, and he felt engulfed in this nightmare. 

   'Aye, aye. Thanks.'

   The old, greying nurse waited until he sat down and did likewise across from him, clipboard in hand, awaiting information. She had long since abandoned the comforting clichés of 'being in good hands,' knowing they do little to alleviate concern.  A junior nurse entered with his coffee and placed it on the low table in front of him, and it wasn't until he struggled to open the sugar sachet that he realised he was trembling.  

   'Here,' she whispered. 'I'll do that for you. Just the one?'

   'One, aye'.   

   They gave him a minute to try to compose himself, but for them it was another night of business as usual. Neil's head jerked up when he heard a pen clicking rapidly. 

   'I know this must be a shock, but we need to file some information, is that okay?'

   He nodded, a sickly feeling was accompanying every sip of the cheap coffee he took.

   'We've had some details from the hotel radioed in, could you just confirm them few for us?'

   'I'll try, but I don't really know what happened...there, there was a crowd gathered and someone said... ' He closed his eyes, took a few breaths, '... she'd jumped from a window—'

   ''Okay, okay. I know it's quite daunting, but it's just a few personal details we need for now, like her date of birth, address, next of kin, that sort of thing, so her name's Saskia Reymarr and she lives at.....

   Furtham Road?'

   'Aye'

   'Date of birth?'

   Neil brows furrowed. 'Ah, it's February 7th, 19... uh... sorry.'

   'And you're her father?'

   He swiped a nervous hand across his mouth and chin. 'Yes... no... sort of... ' 

   The nurses exchanged glances, often facing complexities in relationships, so they refrained from pressing further; he looked too visually traumatised to continue efficiently.

    'Is there a mother we could contact, or have you already—?'

    'Beverly... Christ!' He cradled his head in his hands - that would be a no, then.

    'Maybe best to let her know, we could be doing with her here. Is there a number for her?'

    'I may still have one listed, can I try to call her first?' 

    'Sure... but if there's no answer and no other point of contact we'll probably have to send the police to collect her.' They stood to leave, giving him some space. 

    Rendering his number private, he felt a mixture of relief and horror when she answered. 

    'Beverly, it's Neil...do not hang up. Saskia's had an accident, she's in St. Luke's, and it's not looking good. Get yourself here right away.'  With Beverly in instant panic mode, he cut her off. The stark reality that Saskia could die, hit him. God, what had he done? He felt it as good as having pushed her himself.

    

Arriving shortly after 10 p.m. Beverly, in great distress, gave the more important details (medical history and such) to the hospital staff.  Saskia had been taken straight to surgery after her CT scan to relieve swelling and a bleed on the brain. That was about as much update as they had to give.

   Neil was asked to remain in the building. With police involvement, this incident was classed as suspicious or untoward, and a full understanding of the night's events was imperative. 

   He had been waiting for Beverly's confrontation, but was still startled when she walked through the door; eyes bloodshot, complexion pale, all cried out. She sat down across from him and waited until the door clicked shut before speaking.

   'Well, this is the last place I thought I'd be tonight. I can't believe this... '

   'Have they said how's she's doing?'

   'Hardly anything. All they've said is that she's still in surgery before ushering me in here to wait for news, so I guess it falls upon you to share what you know... how bad is she, Neil?'

   'Really bad.' There was no point in lying. 'I only saw her for myself as she was taken into the ambulance unconscious. I don't know how severe the head injury is, but her hair was all covered in blood. She's got broken bones and deep lacerations in her side, possible ruptures and internal bleeding.'  He remembered the ambulance crew's judgement and update over the radio on the journey to hospital, and they were forthright enough to say things were looking grim. 'The paramedics weren't sure if she'd pull through when I asked them what her chances were.'

   'So, she could die?'

   Neil couldn't bear to affirm such a possibility aloud, so nodded lightly, and this instantly triggering her own fear as she stood then started to take a few paces back and forth.

   'Take a seat, Beverly, This is a lot to take in.'

   'You don't say... '

   'Look, the doctors will be coming at some point to give us a clearer picture. Please, just sit down.'

   'Sit down? I should be sitting my arse down at home right now, and not worried to fuck like this. Jesus Christ... why was Saskia with you tonight, anyway?' 

   Neil sighed, woeful. 'Because I asked her to meet me.' Had he not, then things wouldn't be like so.

   'Why, for God's sake? I thought she'd be the last person you'd want to see... '

   Neil smiled, then sneered sardonically; 'Maybe I should ask you why she was ever in my life to start with?' 

   That question held her to silence for a few moments, until her cold, don't give a toss nerve kicked in.  'You found out why... so what real need to you is she now?'

     Shaking a slow head at her arrogance. Beverly was never one to keep your cool with for long once bad feeling surfaced.  'Look... my head's been all over the place with this shit. I still needed answers -  ones I may not have gotten from you.'

  'Like what? What bloody else do you need to know, apart from it being an attempt to stiff you over.'

  'You've got a damned cheek talking to me like this, Beverly, I could have sued the fucking arse off you for attempted fraud!' Although knowing she was lucky he hadn't taken the legal route, she also had an advantage over him in that respect. The papers getting a whiff of such a story would have crippled him; a man's liaisons with someone whom he thought was his daughter was still sick enough.

   'Maybe you should have... ' Beverly stated, and sounding as if it had been said with conviction.

   Neil eyed her cautiously; he'd be curious to hear her version, what the original source had to say. 'I know we didn't know each other too long, but I never thought in a million years you would be clever enough to come up with something as elaborate as you did. I mean, what was it all about, really? My father and some thirty year old grudge!?'

    Beverly jutted her chin up, frowning. Not sure how much he knew.

    'Saskia told me all about it, Bev. My award, your father dying, all this pent up hatred over what you feel is owed to you.' It had been bad timing for the newspaper article covering his business award to find its way to the room her father died in, untimely and portentous indeed. But to come up with an assiduous plan, incited by her cancer-stricken friend, was evil genius. 'What a payback, you got me good and proper... both of you.... I wonder what your father would have made of it?'

  His voice started to sound peevish to her as thoughts travelled decades back. Staring downwards her eyes tightened into slits as angry tears threatened to spill.

 'You and your father stung my dad, hustled him over on that French deal and left us with hardly anything.'

   'That was my father's doing, not mine. He only made me aware of what he'd done years down the line, and I had I'd moved on with my own career by then.'

 'Yes... to a huge bloody empire. My father's money was your father's starting block - you used  us!  You never loved me. I was just another link, a safety catch, the supposed makings of some future family business. Funny how it all seemed to collapse at the same time.'

   'Not true, I did love you, but fell out of love with you in the same degree. And your father could be overbearing at times, too, Beverly, but us splitting up... had nothing to do with mine.'  Despite the vast passing of time, he still remembered his father's hey-ho attitude to the break up. He could also recall feeling smothered through overworking back then too.  'I'm sorry if I hurt you, Beverly, but that was nearly 30 years ago!'

   She needed help; that was his conclusion. If everything that had ensued was down to historic events that she  allowed to fetter her present life, then she needed help. Since her father had passed, she appeared to be coping, but although she carried a persona of happiness, she felt dead on the inside, lost in her own prison of hatred.

   'Don't you realise what your madcap idea's have led to, what kind of hellish payback you've caused? From the moment I saw that scarf round your head, and the back story you concocted, I fell for every word, didn't think for one second that Saskia wasn't mine... I mean, the lengths you went to to pretend you have cancer!' His face was contorting at this ridiculous ruse. 'What a sick fuck!'

   'A sick fuck,... sick fuck....?' Beverly repeated, tapping her chin with a finger and frowning. ' Oh, you mean like the first time you lay with her!' 

  Touche! It was a quick-witted, stabbing homonym that had them staring at each other, only hers with a ghost of a smile flickering on her lips.

    Neil bore his eyes deeper into hers, not commenting on that jibe, just making his fingertips into a steeple gesture and tapping them rapidly off each other. What a bitch. It seemed her best tact of defence was to abase.

   It had been hard for her to accept that her deplorable scheme had backfired in the most contemptible manner. Even now, with her daughter's life hanging in the balance, Neil could tell it was still all about her and this long awaited obsession of getting even, while the whole time since entering this small room he'd been silently trying to broker a deal with God for her to live. 

   'Why the fuck did you both have to come into my life,' he sighed, mentally crippled.  It was more a statement to himself than a question to her. The vision of her accident (even with not having seen the worst of it) would haunt him for life. 'D'you wanna know what's really ironic in all of this? As I said to Saskia... I'm not my bloody father, I'd have given you the money, all you needed to do was ask, and I would have helped.'

   Beverly raised both eyebrows, and wriggled her shoulders in a display of false modesty. 'Would you, now?' she said. But before a word passed from either's lips there was a tap on the door and a nurse peeked round. From over her shoulder, Neil saw a police constable peering at him. 

   'Mr. Balfour, the police would like a word with you now, if that's okay?'

   Neil stood up. 'Of course.' 

   As he shuffled past the low-sitting coffee table, he leaned over, peering right into Beverly's face, whispering an ultimate, stark truth. 'We better hope that convincing little actress pulls through, for, like it or not, if she doesn't, her death will be on both our hands.'

As painstakingly absurd as tonight's events turned out to be, retelling the absurdness of his connection to Saskia again to the police (for he knew him being questioned was coming at some point) was daunting.  He'd already been through hell with the incest and fraud inquest - he and Saskia had been inculpated in a story with enough bite to it to feed the thousands had it gone public. Heaven knows what they'd be asking him this time round. But he got a bit of a shock and a surprise at the same time. 

   The police weren't so interested in ongoing arguments from past relationships bursting back to life - they saw time and again that some people never learn - but were informing him of a crucial development.

   After some routine questions (times, whereabouts, connections, etc) had been tended with, footage from the young lad's phone had been viewed and the receptionist at the hotel questioned - the incident was effectively deemed an unfortunate, booze-soaked accident. Possible foul play or suicide attempt were highly likely to be ruled out once the case moved through the right channels. That didn't, however, take the sting out of Neil's guilt -  he stupidly went and dipped the brush in the paint again.

   He asked the constable if he'd accompany him back into the room to let Beverly know.  The information was about to be given to her anyway, but he wanted to be there when they told her. And just as the news was relayed to Beverly, yet another nurse entered the room to tell them that a consultant was on route with the results of Saskia's CAT scan.  

    

From the look on the consultant's face, bad news was about to hit with hurricane force. Dr. Rossiter assumed they were man and wife, not sworn enemies, but as detested to the other as they were, in a obscure way they needed not to hear such news alone. No one took a seat after the introductions and the doctor got down to serious business.

   'Your daughter has had her CAT scan and it looks like she had a linear fracture. The blood coming from her head was due to the skin being split open and it needed a few simple stitches. There is no compression of the brain or distortion to the bone of the skull but that could change overnight.' 

   'And if it does?' Neil asked.

   'There is no sign of any hematoma, bleeding or clots on the brain, but we'd have to perform a craniotomy, either open up or drill into the skull if that develops.'

    Beverly raised a hand to her mouth, eyes flitting side to side at the thought.  

    'So, she's not still in surgery, then?' asked Neil, in a mixture of relief and disbelief.

    'No, but she is badly concussed, still unconscious. I know it's a medical cliché we say all the time, and glad for it, but she really is lucky it wasn't worse. Had it been the back of the head... ' The tilt of his own head spoke the rest of the sentence for him - she was more or less one lucky pup. 'The fracture should heal itself in around a week or so, providing there are no follow on complications. We've given her something for the pain and a sedative to keep her comfortable through the night.' 

   The surgeon kept silent for a few moments to let them digest his words, gave an ominous sigh. 'Please... ' he gestured for them both to sit, 'there's more.'  Only the accompanying nurse stood rigid in her place.

    'I'm afraid her other injuries are intense. She's has an intertrochanteric region fracture of the hip, of the worst kind, and she has broken her right fibula. There is also damage done by the glass bottle she was holding during her fall. It somehow smashed on the rock and got embedded into the flesh just above her hip. It has torn muscles and taken quite a large scoop from her side. We have another blessing in that the glass didn't do any damage to innards or organs, but we can't assess any nerve damage yet.'

   An uncomfortable quiet settled in the room, the unspoken words hanging heavily above like a dark cloud, until Neil spoke. ' So, what happens now?' 

   'Now,' the doctor repeated, 'we wait till morning when all the alcohol is out of her system and give her another CAT scan and run more blood and other tests.  Ultimately, she will need major surgery to repair the vast damage. Because the break is bad we will need to incorporate, plates, rods and screws into the hip as it will require remodelling. Mr. Johnson, the orthopaedic surgeon will asses the extent of the damage and decide the best procedure for her.'

   'Jesus.' Neil ran a hand through his hair, knowing this would be one hell of a complex job to fix. 'When will this be done?'

   'As I said, we'll scan again tomorrow and as long as there are no complications with her skull fracture, we'll at best be looking within the week.'

   'And afterwards? How long will she take to recover?' Beverly queried. 

   'Please understand.... Saskia, isn't it? ' He double checked his notes; bad news always sounds better when personal first names are used. 'Saskia will need extensive physiotherapy afterwards if the operation goes well.'

   Neil loathed that word if  with its costly two letters, and went straight to the point.. 'But she will walk again?'

   Dr. Rossiter's gaze dropped to his lap for a few seconds, before exchanging a glance with the nurse. Information asked in this manner promised no happy ending, and it was always risky as to how people react when it's not the news they hoped for; doctors were not always miracle workers.  He tried to explain with as much humility as possible.  'I really can't answer that for sure as there are so many factors to consider. Nerve damage and paralysis, clotting even may be a danger... it all stems from how the surgery goes in accordance to her state of injury. I'm sorry you've had to hear this but we'll have a clearer understanding in a day or two. I'm sorry I can't help further.'

   'Can we see her?' Beverly asked quietly, the full force of worry kicking in.

   'There really is no point as she's heavily sedated... and it's getting late.'

   'I need to see her.'

   'She'll be monitored closely overnight.' The nurse added from behind Beverly's shoulder.

   'Not even for a... '

   'Beverly,' Neil cut in, and she drew him a disagreeable look, 'let's just leave it for tonight shall we?'

   The doctor stood, solidifying the end of the matter. 'I know it won't be easy, but try to get some sleep.   Goodnight.'

   The nurse didn't want to appear rude, but they were having a rather busy night and knew she'd be needed elsewhere.  'Would you like me do anything before you go?'

   'Yes,' Neil said, 'could you find me a local taxi phone number please?'

   'That's okay. I'll drive him home.' Beverly said out of the blue; an undeniably remarkable offer considering the circumstances.

   'No need, really.'

   'No point in an extra wait till one comes. You're not far away, are you?'

   'About 15 mins.'

   'Well, then?'

   'Okay.'

   The nurse showed them to the doors and bid them a sympathising goodnight and Beverly led him to her car.  They didn't converse at all, apart from Neil pointing out his directions home. It felt surreal to be sitting next to her, after the damage she'd done. But neither had the strength nor inclination to fight anymore. The sight of Saskia and the horror she was about to endure seemed to bury any meantime hatred. 

   Once they'd reached his building, Neil thanked her for the lift and reached for the door handle to vacate the car. but then pulled his hand back again.

   'Let me pay for Saskia to have private treatment.' 

   'What?' She was astounded with his offer. Surely he'd want to still distance himself from the woman who tried to rip him off for thousands, not throw more money her way. 'You can't be serious?'

   'I think I owe her that much. She wouldn't be in hospital right now if I hadn't arranged to meet her.'

   'Maybe, Neil,  but she's there because she was drunk and careless, too.'

   Whether her comment was to try and ease his guilt he wasn't sure. Even if it were, she still wouldn't hold her own hands up to any wrongdoing; Saskia had veered way-off the plan of her own accord, hadn't she? 'How would that work, though, she's already in hospital awaiting surgery.'

   'I mean afterwards, for when she needs rehabilitation and physio.' 

   Beverly looked ahead in thought, still fearing that Saskia might not have a chance at an afterwards, but then told him,

   'You're forgetting Neil... I'm not her mother. It'd be up to her to let you.'  

                *               *               *               *               *               *               *               * 

She still hadn't shown signs of total consciousness from both the painkillers and sedation although they had been reducing overnight meds. The past two times he had visited she had been asleep, but he sat there nonetheless, quietly talking to her in hushed tones. He was lucky, in a sense, that he was allowed to visit her out of hours ( the  ICU ward nurses used their discretion for him to do so since she was in a side-room). Beverly was sticking to regular visiting hours, and so far they hadn't crossed hospital paths;

he would remain polite enough if they did, but wouldn't want any form of civility misinterpreted as forgiveness. There wasn't an inkling of that in him for her.

   

As he walked into her room she was yet again asleep - laying there in a bed with perfectly tucked-in sheets; as if comfort mattered to someone who'd been lost in near-comatose. He did notice, however, a reduction in wires and tubing, although some patches remained to a monitor that bipped and beeped.  But her porcelain-skinned face was marred and scraped raw, though the purple bruising had faded on her right eye and cheekbone, it was still very much swollen. His insides twisted at the sight of the lost splendour that used to be his.  He pulled a chair over and sat by her bed, holding his cold clammy hand around her peachy warm one.

   'I'm sorry, kiddo.' he whispered, and raised her hand to give it a rough, chin-bristled kiss. Careful not to put weight upon any part of her, he folded his arms on the edge of the bed and settled his head on them. The lack of quality rest was catching up with him, and he felt too warm and serene for any nugatory babbling, so closed his eyes to the lack of white noise and slept within minutes.

The wriggling sensation from Saskia's movement roused him and his head lifting up sharply.  Her eyes were open, but she squinted from the light and pulsation in her head, taking a short dizzy moment to work out where she was.  

   'Hey, Saskia... ' He grinned and sat upright, dragging the chair to the top of the bed. 'Thank God you're back... '

   While smacking her lips from a dry mouth, she reached up trying to pull out her nasal cannula, to which Neil stopped her from doing.  'Uh... let's leave that there for now, shall we...?

   Looking towards him, managing only to raise her lips a little on her left side, she croaked,

          'You need a shave, Raptor.' 

          ' Aye, aye, I do...' he agreed, through light laughter and utter relief.

    He wiped misted tears away as the nursing team entered her room and shooed him away to let them get on with the necessary. In a day or two he hoped she'd be well enough to take him up on that rehabilitating offer. 

   end of  ***WAKING  UP  SIDEWAYS***

This Is It (ch39)

              start of  ***THIS  IS  IT***

🚑Sitting slumped on the edge of the bench, wind sweeping her hair forward, her cheek still throbbed from Neil's slap. It was the only part of her that radiated warmth; the rest of her body shaking through cold and shock. Yet the urge to defy him and make for his flat was pushing hard, despite knowing he'd never allow concierge to buzz her into the building. Sense should have dictated that the best thing to do was go home, but she decided she'd use her motel booking under the remotest chance that he might still just seek her out, knowing how near she'd be.
   Dragging herself against the facing breeze, doing her best to ignore the coldness whipping round her legs, she'd tied the belt of her thick furry gilet tighter into her waist, picked up her bag and headed for the off-license; if nothing else she could at least seek warmth from some alcohol. 

   People blurred past her, absent and insubstantial as the only thing etched across her brain was not letting go. With him, she'd gone from fear and avoidance, to guilt that was suffocating. She still needed him, wanted him. Seeking a way back to friends and a life most young people live felt impossible. Not now, not ever; she'd tried and failed.

   Saskia entered the off licence they frequented, and it felt gauche without him there. But the owners knew her face fairly well and the younger assistant behind the counter couldn't help but stare at her ruddy complexion and dried-in mascara streaks.

   'Bottle of red wine, please, a good strong one - doesn't matter what kind.'  She fumbled in her gilet's pocket for her purse when the notion hit her. 'Actually... scrap that, make it a bottle of Jack Daniels instead.'

   The older Asian gentleman with the perpetual smile, turned to change the bottle and replaced it on the counter.  'Planning a preasant 'h'evening?' he asked her - as he did with most customers - with redeeming quality through his native accent. 

  But a very disgruntled Saskia wasn't up for pleasantries right then - knowing she looked anything but pleasant. Snatching the bottle off the counter, she slapped down £30 and told him to keep the change, marching off indignantly. The old man's son stood shaking his head at him, calling him, in his native tongue, a witless fool.

  
Returning to the almost-vacant motel (bar one other guest), the same bespectacled young desk attendant was leaning over the same newspaper as when she'd checked in. Surprised to see her back so soon, his smile dropped when he saw her face.

   'Key for room six, please,' she asked quietly. 
   Reaching under the desk and into a box, his eyes kept fixed on her. Clutching the key into his palm, he asked concernedly,  'Are you okay, miss?'
   'Yeah, I've ah... just had a bit of bad news, that's all.' 

   He frowned; since when did bad news leave finger marks? 
   'Sorry to hear that.'
   'Happens,' she shrugged.
   'Can I get you some water?' he asked, noticing just how flushed her face seemed.
   'No, thanks, got that sorted.... ' she said, swinging up a flash of her bottle.
   'Sure you're okay?' Silence. 'Anything at all I can do for you?' Like phone the police, he omitted to say.

   'Yes, you can give me the bloody key to my room!'
   'Oh, yeah... sorry,'  he said, not quite expecting to be shouted at. 

   Slowly dangling it from a finger, she grabbed it and scurried up the narrow stairs, and he waited until he heard her room door close before saying aloud, 'Snippety bitch... you probably deserved it.'

The heating in such a small room hit her the second she walked in. Throwing the fur from her body onto the bed, she sat on top of it and planked the bag down next to her. With no glass in the room, she would have to tank the Jack Daniels straight, so she scrunched round the top foil and screwed off the lid.  After a sniff and slight hesitation, she took a 'here-we-go' brace, lifted the bottle and took a hefty glug. Vile. But ever so warming, ever so him - spreading right across her chest in ripples. All it took was another brave gulp before her phone was out. 

  Sitting the bottle at her feet, she hit his number and as expected it went straight to message mode, disappointing her. But she took small comfort in that, as yet, he hadn't re-blocked her number. 
  Rising, she went to peer out the low-ledge window, and felt pissed off by the smiling contentment on faces as they passed by while she was trapped in turmoil. Swiftly turning, she perched back on the bed's edge, switching the TV (one with a screen that's no size at all these days) promptly on and off again; as if some antique refurbishment show or cookery programme would distract her sufficiently enough to forget how surly her night was going. Taking a far bigger swallow this time, she tried calling again. 

   'Christ, Neil, just pick up!' she shouted at the phone.

   This heavy-duty alcohol started to hit her hard and fast; fuzzing her mind and wavering her vision until she had no trouble in pressing the bottle to her lips. Instead of tasting acrid it tasted of his lips.

Laying fully along the bed, she rolled to face the wall, knocking her foot against the bag, spilling its contents onto the carpet.  As she crawled to the foot of the bed to gather them, she saw it. Stuck on the top inside of the bag was the little 'winner' crazy golf sticker from Father's day - the one he peeled from his jumper and secured onto his wallet, the one he said he'd cherish forever.  Closing her eyes, she recalled the elation on his face over a silly circle of sticky paper commemorating his first ever Father's Day.

  Unprepared-for panic waved through her,  'No, no, I'm not giving up, no way, Neil... '

   Sitting upright she she swiped open her phone. She'd try a million ways to say she's sorry, pull out every effing stop she could think of to bring him back. She'd give him one hour to answer her, then it would be a trip to his complex. She wouldn't allow pessimism to rush to the fore; nothing was over yet, and especially not while drink was there to ply more encouraging thoughts. 

  Savvy enough yet to judge out a none-too-desperate timescale, (a high number of misspelt, desperate texts would do her no good, despite knowing every passing minute of this timescale would feel much longer to her) she popped in her earphones and found feelgood music to help counter any negativity and after every second song she'd check for texts after every second song, lest a direct caller interrupted the music. 

Hugging herself, bottle in hand, she swayed along with the music, taking the emotional pathway of the soul that certain songs leads to.  The first two songs brought no reply, nor did the end of the second two. But just as she expected no reply for a third time, her phone pinged that a text had just arrived. 

                          ' On my way to the motel if you're still there? I'll be around fifteen minutes.'

 She read the words aloud, mimicking them in his Scottish accent.  No kisses, no emoji, no term of endearment, but they were the sweetest words she'd drunkenly ever read and replied succinctly.

                           'I'm still here.'

 A relief so strong engulfed her, made the Jack Daniels taste of candy floss as the room took her on a carousel ride. The words may have been brief and his intentions unclear, but they were bringing him to her. She reckoned he had vented his anger, ranted and torn her to shreds enough; surely he was bringing some forgiveness along? Even a smidgen would be a start.  But this very second she was happy; jubilant and gloriously happy. In ten minutes he'd be with her. She rose to her feet, chose a playlist from her phone and dropped it back into the chest pocket of her dress, allowing herself this time, a quick victory dance.  

  As her favourite song boomed away in her ears, evoking feelgood positivity, she made mad, jumpy, random moves, the bottle as a dancing partner, singing along loudly and very much out of tune.  Underneath her room, the young man at reception cringed at the screechy voice and foot thumps. Had there been any more guests in the place he would have to have a word but decided to let the mad cow get on with it for now - his shift would be swapping over soon. 

   Her movements had also caught the attention of two lads around fifteen years old, mucking about at the canal lock. From the other side of the narrow water, one of them had climbed up to the middle bar of the gates, with his phone pointed at the window of Saskia's room. 
   'What you doing, Cammy?' his friend asked, intrigued.  
   'Some girl's bopping about in a room and one of her tits keeps popping out!'
   'No way!' he called. 'Are you getting it? Zoom in, zoom in!'
   'I bloody am!'  This was far too good to miss.
   Unbeknown to Saskia, the boy was filming as much of her frantic dancing by the window as he could. The low neck cowls on her powder blue dress was exposing a little too much on some of her more robust moves, but feeling this elated she probably would have felt felicitous enough to give them a free flash anyway.

The middle eight of her song was her favourite part, and consumed by all this music and hope, she lifted her arms outwards, spinning on one heel time and again, before starting to make tiny jumps as she always did at that bit.

  Backing up unsteadily, the sole of her shoe stepped upon on the wires leading to the television, rolling and twisting awkwardly, round her high-ish heels, and made her lose her footing.  Her vision wavered, hands scrambled for balance as she felt her head drop back, rending the window's glass. The crack rang out loud in the quiet evening air; Saskia had plunged backwards through the window, with an avalanche of pointed daggers and shards accompanying her down. On landing, the back of her head cracked and bounced off rocks that grouped there. Although gravel covered most of the space below, she was unfortunate enough to have the only bedroom window directly above the huge cluster of boulders.  

   The bottle of Jack Daniels broke on contact with the hard surface, and the top half somehow wedged most of its jagged self near Saskia's right hip. The ear-pod's wire had ripped from the phone, one still remarkably remained in her left ear.  She didn't even have time to scream in the descent that twisted her hip into a formidable angle.

   'Jesus fuck!' Young Cammy called out loud. 

   Running across the bridge, the two boys split up, one of them heading to alert the hotel by front entry, and one to Saskia. Getting to her, Cammy recoiled in horror at the jagged end of a broken bone jutting just under her exposed hip, her dress having ridden up. The scene was shocking, sending the young lad's mind reeling, almost unable to comprehend or process the image by his feet. Blood from the cracked skull was running free in scarlet streams, soaking the right side of her face, matting her hair - its red colour in vile contrast to the platinum blonde. He'd been on the phone as he'd ran.

   'Ambulance, please! A girl's just fallen through a window at Mossroad Hotel... yes, that one. Her head's smashed in... no, no response, she's out cold... right... please be quick, she might even be dead! No, I can't... please don't ask me that!'

 Shaking with nerves, he looked down at Saskia, and bravely followed the actions given for the head wound until he heard others approaching, but before anyone came into sight, he bent down to neaten her.  One of her breasts were exposed, and he felt the need to pull her dress over to cover it before the guy from the motel started chest compressions. 

Neil walked briskly, spiked with guilt and seeking some kind of ludicrous assurance she was going to be okay. He might just be making the most idiotic move of his life, but he was prepared to give her just a few minutes in small recompense for the slap. 

   The flash of blue and yellow lights hit him the second he turned the corner. An ambulance and police  had arrived quickly and simultaneously, while a crowd gathered at the side of the hotel, people tiptoeing and shoulder jostling for a good viewing point.  His step quickened as did his heart-rate. This wasn't good. Joining the crowd at the back he asked a woman what was going on. 

   'They say a young blonde girl jumped from a window! Terrible... ' This false and dramatic assumption that ripped through the crowd stunned him, and he immediately started to tear a pathway through the onlookers in heart-filled panic, struggling to the front in no time. Hauling up the police barrier tape to go under, a young policeman did his best to stop him. 

           'Sir, you have to step back!'

   But Neil kept repeating that he needed to get to her, so a policewoman joined in to try calm and detain him from his side-stepping and dodging.  In one strong tug he freed himself from the young officer's hold, shouting back in desperation as he propelled himself to the ambulance,

       'She's my daughter, for fuck's sake!' 

   Running straight to the scene, he slid dead in the gravel just as the paramedics were loading Saskia into the ambulance. He was temporarily incapacitated, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.  All he could see of her on the stretcher was blood-covered eyes and head above the oxygen mask, and supports and padding all around her.  

   The police had caught up with him in seconds, but instead of pulling him away, they informed the ambulance crew that he indicated he was her father and could be vital for information. The crew nodded to each other and asked him again to reiterate it.  In a rather pitiful voice, he said yes.  It was the first thing he thought of to be able to accompany her and was beckoned aboard the vehicle;  he could deal with the lie afterwards. Before stepping in, he saw the blood on the rocks and gravel, and the shattered remains of a Jack Daniels bottle.  
   'What had you done, kiddo....' he whispered 
   In a matter of moments the ambulance took off, sirens ablaze. The crew put him in the picture as much as possible, filling him in on her extensive hip injury as well.  Her bloods and oxygen levels were dangerously low and there was no guarantee she'd pull through. 

             end of  ***THIS  IS  IT***
 

Beautiful Pain (ch38)

        start of  ***BEAUTIFUL  PAIN***

⏳ A month down the line had passed when he caved, sending her an impeccably worded  text asking her not to reply but to meet him Tuesday night by the benches outside the Mossfield Hotel - a small licensed establishment beside the handy strand of one-stop shops that they often used. It was a twenty minute walk from his flat and he decided that meeting her at an outdoor, quiet location wouldn't feel so troublesome; he couldn't face having her back at his home.    

   Saskia had remained determined not to contact him beforehand now that he had apparently unblocked her number. Perhaps he'd already blocked it again, but she didn't want to know that: she would rather be carried along by the anaesthesia of false hope, than none at all.  It was imperative her mother didn't get a whisper of this as she couldn't allow anything to balls this chance up; as much as she dreaded it at the same time.   

Despite an earlier growing hunger, Neil couldn't face any food, he just changed quickly into jeans and casual jumper, necking a couple of whiskies before setting off. There was a chance she might not even show up, but he doubted it.

   Sitting on a bench by the riverside, he saw a car parking in the grounds of the hotel, and made out her shape behind the wheel. She gave it a couple of minutes before getting out to walk towards him, taking each step with her head bowed as if ready for the guillotine.

   She came into closer view with looks that defied earthly reasoning.  God, was she beautiful, standing there in those funky clothes she deemed her own, her hair misbehaving in the breeze. It was hard to believe something so exquisite had the kiss of a cancer, mouth of a chronic liar.  For once, those padded lips didn't induce that dimpled, captivating smile on seeing him. He tensed a little as she sat a respectable gap from him by the arm of the bench, instantly feeling his recrimination by the set of his shoulders. He spoke first;

   'You know... I wondered what words would spring to mind first on seeing you, and I think congratulations is fitting enough.'
   She wasn't going to hit him with an apology right away, that would be too insulting. 'You didn't deserve it. I really do feel awful.'
   'Do you?' he scoffed.  'And I'm still finding it an amazing thing to try to pull off, especially the tenacity it was done under. Fell right for it as well, like a right bloody idiot.'
   'It all started to change and I didn't know what else to do.'
   'Not taking part to start with... how's that for a suggestion?'
   Saskia lowered her head. 'Mum's a hard person to say no to.'

   'So all of it... her idea?' he queried, not that it made much difference to him now, but he had to ask. 'No 'No fucking around, I want to know as much as possible, beginning to end. I'm owed that at least.'

   'Yes, I know you are. I'll try my best to—'

   'Sod any best effort, Saskia... just start talking before I change my mind and up and leave.'

   Saskia threw her head to the skies, taking a deep, bracing breath. 'Okay, okay.' She nodded. 'It all stemmed from an article and photo in the newspaper, the one with you holding your Businessman of the Year award. Grampa had a copy of the paper by his bed at the nursing home, folded over at that very page. Mum come across it when we were clearing his room after he died.'

   'And that pushed her to come up with this elaborate plan?'
   Both were looking straight ahead, not yet meeting eye to eye. Saskia had vowed to tell him the truth - no matter how much it may hurt -  as the police hadn't uncovered everything to him in their inquires.
   'That's what incited her, she blamed that for his death. But things got worse after she found out that Grampa didn't have a little nest egg tucked aside for us after all when he died.  The house was the only asset to our name and the mortgage became solely for us to find. Then when Fay - the friend we ran Cooper's Café with - got her cancer diagnosis told her that she wouldn't be helping to renew the lease on the café once the year was up, she got desperate - panicking that we'd not have enough money to eventually settle down in Spain with Corrine.'

   Neil was listening keenly, curious to find out if the version the police gave him carried the same details.

    'She knew how readily money poured in for charity - it certainly did at Fay's coffee morning. People take pity, don't they? And once she'd had her shaved head, the whole concocted idea came about. Exactly how much was thought out by that point, I can't remember, but she kept at me with this crazy plan. '

   Sitting forward now, elbows on knees and clasping his hands, he let out a huge sigh. 'And you quite happily went along with it?'

   'No, no... not at first. Of course I thought she was mad... until it all spilled out.'

   'About my father, I'm guessing?'  

   ' Yeah, I got told it all. - The financial history, and how you and your father destroyed our lives.  You were painted darker than black, and I was convinced you deserved it at first. And if her plan failed, she was prepared to the take full blame; I was to act like I was a victim, too, pretend that I didn't know either, and I suppose because she was willing to take the rap, it gave me the confidence to be so bold with what I felt for you.' 

    Neil could remember DCI Bruce telling him that, too. Why she swapped sticking to something that would exonerate her, for a full confession that implicated her, he wasn't sure. Police involvement finally bouncing her back to reality? He doubted she was sure of that herself. In the name of love or not, it was simply too little, too late.

   Saskia could see out the corner of her eye that he had turned to face her, and now looked at him too.

   'So, how were you to extort money from me?'
   'Ask for it. For a flat, car, or just outright. She didn't care how, that bit was up to me.'

   'Why not just call my office, I mean she managed to hunt me down? If her letter had been worded strongly enough, I would probably have just given her it had she asked.'
   'She wasn't wanting to take that chance of refusal.'
   'So instead she invented us - with the added bonus of crushing me at the same time.'
   'Please believe I didn't know you at all, hadn't even heard of you when I agreed to the underhandedness of stringing you along, and I'd no idea how much she loathed you.' With eyes closed , she gently shook a remorseful head at what she'd done. 'It was to be quick and easy, I shouldn't have let things get as far as they did.'  

   'Then why did you?'
   Eyes opening, she frowned in confusion; surely it was obvious. 'I had to. I'd fallen for you.'
   He sneered.  'Och, how can you say that, Saskia?'
   'Because it's true! The longer she waited for her money the longer I had you.' A bright coral flush  crawled over her chest and neck.

   Neil sat up straight again and angled himself to face her more.  'Just how long was that to be? I mean it was to have a final outcome, an end at some point - surely?'

   'I know!' she said loudly, quickly losing composure; he'd wondered how long it would take the quivery chin and waterworks to begin. 'But I had to carry on keeping you in the dark, and telling her I needed more time despite the risks. But each day we had together was a bonus, and I wouldn't accept any night being the last I may see you, so I had to do my damnedest to keep that ending from happening. I mean, I could have fleeced you months ago, and fucked off, you know that.'

   'Oh, aye, that I do. And the old fool would have coughed up so you and your mother, or whomever, could be whooping it up in a fountain of sangria right now.'
   They both held a willful silence as a woman walking her dog was passing. The wiry scruff of a thing made a diagonal pull on its retractable leash towards them, hoping for scratch on the head. As disinterested as he was with dogs, he watched it up on its back legs, tail wagging briskly as it sniff and licked away at the salty wetness from Saskia's cheeks. She mustered up the need to give the dog some attention back before its owner pulled it away, apologising for its pestering. And Neil thought dogs were good at character judgment; seems she had a charm over animals, too. He waited until the woman was out of earshot before continuing.

   'You played your part so well, Saskia. That word Dad seemed to flow off your tongue fluently, you didn't falter, not once.'

   'I didn't care what word was used to keep you in my life, what lie was needed. You had to lie yourself  to the police to keep me in yours.'

   'Thought I was lying...' he snidely corrected her.

   'But that's what we were willing to do, wasn't it?'

   He was reluctant to answer as he knew she was right, and she used this as a spark of encouragement that he may be beginning to accept her plight. With something important to fight for she had to be that bit bolder, get results in what ever manner it took.

**************************************************************************

 'Look, I switched off reality to live the fantasy. I was so proud calling you my dad And it was easier to live that lie when you've a mother who didn't want you; when you're the result of drunken nights during the holiday season. Fuck knows who my dad is, so forgive me for getting carried away and feeling what being wanted was actually like!'

   'Forgive you? Ah, hold on... am I supposed to feel sorry for you here?' Neil asked austerely.

   'No, of course not, I'm the one who's sorry. You did feel real to me, though.'
   'Aye, real enough for me to sink to the depth of depravity for you, while you were living in this constructed fantasy. You knew it wasn't incest!' His gaze pierced and drilled more guilt into her heart. 

   Saskia covered her face with her hands, she knew she'd gutted this man and it hurt.  All that emotion she spouted at the hotel at Christmas, so cunningly interwoven to snare him: breaking laws, rearranging his life, his future, putting her first above everything. But the illicit sex, as wrong as it was, wasn't the high for him.  As much as it was (supposedly) a comfort to her -  one that she was in control of and could stop if she wished so -  it was the simple father-daughter connection he subsisted on. But though her remorse surfaced, he remained unaffected.

   'I hate myself for what I've done to you. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.' she repeated those useless words as she leaned forward, hugging herself as if she had tummy ache. Neil knew she was genuinely hurting by the clouds forming on that flawless forehead. The apology begged forgiveness, but he took no notice - what was she really expecting? 

  'Sorry for what? Near destroying me and my sanity? Turning me into a laughing stock?  Or the end of the luxuries and expensive presents?' Neil knew that his latter comment was below the belt. What were odd hundreds here and there to a multi-millionaire? But he had to remember he was the one who endured the worst of this ordeal.

   Sobs came, huge and hearty and he let them last until she attempted to regain composure, trailing a sleeve under her nose and sniffed. 'I'm sorry for it all. I really am.'

   'No amount of heartfelt sorries will ever cut it, Saskia. You've no idea what I've been through.' 
   He stood, running a hand through his hair as he turned and faced the river, giving her a better glance at the large flowery gift bag that had been resting by his side. He picked up on this and followed her line of vision. 

   'Ah,' he said, pertaining to it by sliding it over to her,  'While we're kinda on the subject, I brought the last of the smaller things you left in the flat, posted your clothes and bigger things on this morning.' 

   Bang went the very slim chance that the gift bag was some sort of forgiveness present, and she felt stupid for allowing herself that tiny surge of optimism. The remainder of her stuff had to go to erase the deceit and mind-twisting lies of her true character. 

   He never thought he'd ever know her other than being his daughter; under whose warped confabulation transformed him dramatically. What a pity what had started so promisingly (initially shaping him into a man with priority outside work and wealth) had ended in such a mess. Both had been refusing to face facts, bringing the other spectacularly down in the harshest of ways. But there comes a time where you can only expend so much effort and energy and his was now spent; hers well and truly squandered. As he remained standing, she thought this an indication for him being ready to leave.

   'Please don't go!' she begged. 'Please, just stay a bit longer... ' She had been on the verge of saying Dad. That word she coined and believed in in her own dizzy head. 'I've booked a room in the hotel, can't we just go there to talk - have a drink?'
   He laughed incredulously. 'You think this will all be forgotten with a bottle and a bed?  You've fucked me up enough. Don't flatter your sweet-little-self. Big Julia would be in with a better shout than you.'  The insult cut deeper than his thunderous expression.

   'Just give me five minutes, in there.' She nodded to the the hotel. 'We can't talk properly out here. Please!' Her voice, head and heart all spoke to him at once. 'Let me at least try to—'

   'For Christ's sake... this can never be resolved, Saskia! What else could you possibly say that would excuse or even make sense of this shit?' He took a few steps away from her, forcing her to her feet, and she flinched a little as he swung swiftly round to face her.  'D'you want to know the utterly pathetic bit in all this, the thought I struggle with every day? All I had to do was check, to make sure you were really my daughter.  A simple test, phone call, even. But who lies about having cancer and children they never even had, who in their right mind goes to that extreme? Beverly pulled a classic double bluff on me, she really would have been better suited to my father! But you, daddy's-little-nobody, helped her cover those tracks quite competently, you kept it going far, far too long. You could have done something about it and you didn't!'

   His words sounded raw, but nothing was more raw than her heart. 'I wanted to tell you the night the police visited us, but I was scared.'

   'You were selfish, you mean. Why didn't you just stiff me over at the start, saved all this torment?'

   'Why didn't you just let me go home from that Christmas party when I wanted to, instead of sending my taxi away?'

   'So this is all MY fault, is it?'

   He turned from her. This was pointless. He'd heard her version, had his say, given her her belongings, No more. He took one last look at the girl who graced his life and shattered his love.

   'Bye, kiddo.' he said, knowing that the term-of-endearment would sting even more. Taking a second to catch his breath, he tucked his hands in his pockets and started to saunter away.

   'Don't you feel anything for me anymore?' she cried after him.

Without looking back, he answered over his shoulder:  'Not since the day you cut off our bloodstream!'

This couldn't be it. Each stride away from her had her head pulse with agitation. Erratic gulps of air were taken between the desperate pleas that loaded themselves on her tongue, but were too quiet for him to hear in her effort to simply breathe.  After one huge inhale she screamed out, 

  'But I  love you, Neil!' 

  He kept on moving.

   A sudden night chill passed through her bare legs, whisking up an unspoken fear that this would be the last time she'd see him, and under a rush of utter panic she ran after him, an unremitting no no no reverberating in her head with each footstep that clumped on the cobbles.  Before he knew it, she grabbed him by the arm in a effort to halt him, and in return received a hard and unexpected strike to the cheek. As her hands went up to nurse the sting he stared at her, near nose to nose.

   'Can you not just accept that it's over!'

   'Please, just—'

   'Okay then, 'Neil snarled, 'maybe this might sink in. As sick and psycho as I thought we both were... you still killed my daughter. Just really think about that, Saskia. And who could forgive that... huh?' After another vile stare he raised an index finger to her face, his breath warming her chin. 'Do not follow me home.'

   In complete disbelief at having been hit with such velocity, a stunned Saskia watched as he rounded the corner.  His parting words were pretty clear; she meant nothing to him now.

  Lost and depleted, with a heavy heart she returned to the bench.  A few people - halted by the outburst -witnessed the assault, but only one elderly man approached her to check if she was alright. Asking if she wanted him to walk her home or to safety, she said no, but he felt more eased on hearing she was booked into the hotel. 

   Lifting the gift bag, she trudged her way, red-faced and mascara streaked, to the little off-licence they frequented most Wednesday's, where they'd read the labels on wine bottles—he for quality, she for volume.  Tonight's lone visit was to call for something considerably stronger....

   *          *          *          *          *          *          *
He arrived back at his apartment block, yet couldn't remember taking the route home, but he was there outside his door - somehow. 

   Keys fell as he tried to unlock the door and on bending to retrieve them, they slipped through his fingers for a second time. With heady thoughts challenging his coordination, he turned his back to the door and slid to the tiled flooring as unexpected tears of despondency ran salted water into his mouth.  Gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest; loud with intermittent wails echoing in the space around him.  Hugging his knees to him, horrid and happy visions spewed back at him, each vying to dominate his mind, worsening his weeping and inducing random ramblings.

   Like a feckless child, he dragged himself to his feet, telling himself all he needed to do was get indoors and get a grip. After a few attempts through blurring tears he was in. He tried to compose himself with a whisky, but he was emotionally beaten, those scenarios in his mind still menacingly prolonging the grief that had circled inside him for four long weeks. Seeing her again was supposed to be an end, a release from the pain, but he never anticipated the hurt being this strong. 

   Downing two more straight whiskies, he threw himself longways on the couch, staring his torment at the ceiling. He wondered if he'd ever live life outside his head again. Everything now would be based on bedrocks of if only. But the ruinous thing about if only, is its power of forever reminding you of your failings and its reluctance of allowing you to move on without regrets.

Around an hour later, as he felt the dried salt from his tears tacky on his skin, he'd reached a cried-out calm. Reliving the evening in his mind, he started to feel bad about hitting her.  His palm smarted from the brisk contact, so he imaged the skin of her soft cheek hurt one helluva lot more. Never before had he struck a woman, and despite the uncaring pig his father was, he had stressed to his son to never lay a finger on them; why hit women when they had hearts to break - something, ironically, his own mother could attest to. While Saskia's slap marks were beginning to fade, his conscience-on-the-couch was starting to sting. The man, felt the slap - deserved or not - unjustified.  

   Breaking his decision that he was done drinking for the night, he rose and headed for the decanter, and just as the glass touched his lips, the hands of the rotating sand clock that Saskia had made for him, reached the hour, turning its glass-boxed edges to rest in new layers. Slowly he rose and went over to examine what ridges and shapes it had settled in.  

   There was nothing there. No hill scene, no waves like the sea, no ripply field of wheat, no other discerning feature, just bland smooth sand, and the tick of the clock he'd failed to part with, urging him to go. Cursing himself for his next actions, he grabbed his jacket, switched his phone back on and legged it out the door.  

   'I must be off my damned head.' he said aloud, as the lift doors closed. 

               end of  ***BEAUTIFUL  PAIN***

outdated facilities, slack in maintenance checks, cleanliness enough

Ghost of You (ch37)

              start of  ***Ghost  Of  You***

👻 A lot of trepidation goes along with keeping someone at bay, anticipating what might be, trying to keep one step ahead. Neil had respected the lengths Brian had gone to, and recompensed by returning to the office just a few days after his visit. Fuck any rumours or whispers - he was the boss after all. Immersing himself in work seemed to be fairing well, and the first few work-dominated days passed so quickly and lucidly he hardly felt them happening. Until today.

      How she knew he had returned to work he didn't know, but an unprecedented amount of mapping out your daily regime so as to avoid any unpleasant clashes or upsets, had to be put in place. There had been calls to his office in his absence - of which Brian directed were not to be logged or disclosed - and four days had passed with no further attempts.

    Initially, the begging and apologies had started to come thick and fast; by letters to his home, some to his work or by email - all of which were sent back or office staff deleted. Then she'd started using other mobiles after he'd blocked her number, but any unrecognizable number got blocked too; Saskia didn't expect forgiveness and open arms, but she didn't bank on him being quite so thorough at warding her off either.

    Last week in particular, she'd tried fruitlessly at Balfour Complex to gain entry to his flat, but never making it past reception. She'd run out of options; only his workplace left to target, and today - in person - was the day. First checking his car was in the lot, she brazenly marched through the doors and entered the building, a huge smile plastered her face for greeting the woman at the desk. That was as far as she got.

    Neil was tipped off by reception and left the office quietly. A nervous flurry was rising in his chest as he went to the corridor window to tilt the blinds, catching the scene at the exact moment the peaked hatted and shoulder-patched security guards were turfing her back outside.  What started with female charm and pitiful lies soon led to shouting, before turning into a  tussle. Her undeterred dodging and weaving forced pedestrians (some vying for the best vantage point to watch this brand of city entertainment) onto the road lest they risk a slug from her flailing arms - and by the looks of it she was proving to be some challenge.  But the uniformed heavies - one now uncapped - had chastened her, sitting her down on the low, decorative wall that edged the building. 

   Neil's heart pinched when one of the men squatted to her level, and put a hand on her shoulder while exchanging words; he'd been too high to hear the words the commotion had contained, and he wondered what she might be saying as streaky wet mascara, plummeted her heart even further down into those clumpy shoes. Moments later, she accepted defeat and with head down, hands in pockets, she sauntered off.

   It was the first he'd laid eyes on her in weeks, and though it had been rather pitiful to watch, the antics of her ignoble, ignominious display had coaxed the corners of his mouth up ever so briefly; the girl had fought her corner to a helluva degree. But all it took was a millisecond for grim recollections to come flooding back, reminding him that he was still standing there an object of ridicule.

  He had expected the apologies and the sob story at some point, but not quite this soon; maybe she felt enough time had passed for him to expunge any hurt, maybe she believed he'd accept her reasons why... But knowing her (and despite it all, he still very much did), he wouldn't put it past her to try again.  Any more attempts from her today, bold or booze-soaked, and the police would have to be involved. At least his office staff were very much heads-down and unaware of any chaos down below. Not that they would be stupid enough to make a fuss over it - not if they still valued their jobs. 

 

Once she had disappeared from sight, he turned and leaned back against the window ledge, stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and closed his eyes for a few moments; the outcome was not to be this, it was to be together whatever. Distance. Lies. Sacrifice. They promised they'd do everything in their power to have some form of future - even if it meant lying to a sick and dying woman. What a farce all that turned out to be. And to think he used to berate himself for considering how easier life would be if Beverly did die. But he had to be thankful for small(ish) mercies. Had they been related, the press could be dining out on his suffering and disgrace, too.

   After staring out the shine in the tips of his shoes, he suddenly vamoosed, made a beeline straight out of the building instead of going back to his desk. There was a brief moment's temptation to walk in the direction Saskia headed, ever so annoyingly brief. But his heels turned the opposite way, and his aimless walking found him, for the first time, in the little pub that he'd passed on route for over 20 years. How ironic for it to be named The Thrifty Thinker when his head was loaded and all over the place. Work had seen the last of him today.

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Next morning, the dominant fear that she would show up at his workplace again today left him weary; the proper shindy she caused on the pavement below - like a drunk trying to re-enter a nightclub - wouldn't be allowed for a second time without police involvement.

   He'd only been back at work a few days, and already he was considering taking the day off. Last week's thoughts, prior to Brian's visit, favoured leaving work altogether. Fulfilment had fucked off years ago, and all that was left was inconsequential coming and goings. Even of he did retire, right here, right now, what would he do? Starting again hadn't a ghost in hell's chance, and with this one-sided-incest detriment hanging over him, bringing back his former social life again felt too challenging.  

   Yet challenging was what life with Saskia had been - quick and anomalous, not knowing what madcap idea would spring to her mind, or tug at your heartstrings. He'd loved her effortlessly as a daughter, and ferociously as a lover; utterly sweet disaster. All he was doing was sliding back down the snake to square one, no matter how many soul-destroying times the dice rolled. But still he drove to work; if she showed up she showed up — he was determined not let avoidance take hold again. 

     

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Brian was doing his best to look after him, but his wife didn't want him back in her house. She gave no objection to her husband supporting an old friend, but since the old friend had seemed impassioned enough to be sleeping with his own daughter, the lip of her door acted very much as a barrier; he may be cleared but he still played ball. It was a horrible feeling having no-one to turn to; so his home became his sole sanctuary, but he wasn't alone, she still festered and oozed inside him like a sore, her ethereal essence always around. 

  

He tried his best to let only the guest room contain her, piling all her stuff onto the bed.  But even out of sight, she still showed up; in single strands of hair that seemed to find themselves everywhere; in the imprint on the chair she favoured, now dipped in the middle where she always sat upon tucked-under feet; from bits of her in the once-organised-but-now-junk drawer; from sticky smears on jars and bottles; from crumbs lodged in various places.  It would take a whole lot more than soap suds to wash her away. Maybe once he rids himself from the ghost of her will he find any release. He'd ignored them long enough. Her things had to go.

         end of  ***GHOST  OF  YOU***

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Put You Together Again (CH36)

 start of **PUT  YOU  TOGETHER  AGAIN**

🙌 Neil was in the shower when concierge tried reaching him, but they knew Brian well enough to still allow him access. But when Brian tried the holiday-key Neil once issued him with, the key didn't fit. Shouting through the letterbox for him got no reply and panicked him a bit. Relieved to see Neil padding about (thankfully with a towel wrapped around his middle) he withdrew his fingers and pounded on the door. Neil dreaded it being the police again, yet answering to Brian felt worse. Nonetheless, he opened the door, allowing him in. Neil pointed to the percolator and told him to help himself while he jumped into slopping out clothes. Reappearing in night-wear, Brian saw a face portraying utter misery and felt the vulnerability radiate from him. Even just hearing Neil's phone's after the tone voicemail message (all of which he was ignoring) sounded like a voice from another lifetime. One of a busy, confident man genuinely sorry he could not be with you this moment. 

   'If I wasn't in the shower, I'd have told concierge not to let you in.' Neil scoffed, but being perfectly honest.

   'You're not returning calls or messages, what else are folk to do?'

   'Folk?' Neil quipped. 'As if my absence from folk in the office will be sorely missed.'

   'Some of us still do care, you know.'

   'Really? I doubt you'll be saying that shortly.'

   'Why? What's happened now?' Brian asked warily.

   He sighed. 'A whole new kick in the bollocks and no-one would have seen this one coming.'

The sordid story come pouring out, and Brian sat benumbed. The warped world he'd spun himself into just got a lot more twisted. How on earth would Neil bounce back from this one? Humility was hard enough on everyday folk, but men with such high standards couldn't take such idiocy and shame to the bar with them. Hiding away was the last thing he should be doing, but the only thing he could think of.  

   'How long before you return to work?' Brian needed to know his mindset. There was now more going on in his friend's head than he feared he could handle. 

   'Now, there's a question!' he smiled, pensively. 'Right now, I'm an invisible imbecile. You're the only one apart from the police who knows the truth, and pride's going to make sure that I don't take this any further. Ultimately, they haven't gained but I've lost more than money. Work? Last thing on my mind. Be a long while before I show up again.'

   Brian thought a moment. 'I understand where you're coming from but... '

   'Look,...my absence, as long or short as it may be, would be put down to the abhorrent stories of my 'goings on' with my daughter. They'll be relishing in that for months to come - that'll be tough enough - but I've got a double whammy to contend with though now, haven't I?'

   'How do you mean?'

   Neil lowered his and pressed his lips together briefly when seeing Brian's quizzical face. 'Wouldn't it be great to say that I wasn't a dirty old fucker? That all our denials had substance behind them and it was mere, brutal gossip? I now have the evidence to prove that it wasn't incest after all, but it doesn't make one iota of a difference.'

   'Oka-a-ay...' Brian said slowly, not quite getting the gist.

   'Think about it, Brian. It would feel ten times worse if the true story got out there. There's no way in this world I could live with revealing what truth outscored the biggest lies I've ever fallen for. And the papers would have a field day if they got a sniff of it. Besides, I still thought I was sleeping with my own daughter  - didn't I?...Fuck! ' Neil's head fell into his hands as he sat forward in his chair, rubbing his temples with his thumbs.

   'You okay?' 

   Neil straightened up, tilting back his head as if defying tears to fall. 'I've spend days in disbelief, in total torture wondering why I allowed this to happen.'

   'You weren't to know.'

   'I don't mean being duped, I mean letting her in my bed. Why on earth didn't I stop myself before it got too crazy. I fucking gravitated to the lowest level, let something I should have kept under control win. I feel like a miscreant, seedy, vile. But that's what I get for visiting places no father - or whatever the fuck I thought I was - should dare to go. It hurts, Brian, this time too much, but it's justice, isn't it?' 

   Brian kept quiet for a bit to digest this reasoning, totally understanding where he was coming from. It was a pity it had taken till now to feel the tempestuous shame and guilt. But that was the impact she'd had on him; it had all been veiled by what he considered love.

   'You know, Neil, initially when I found out about you both it threw me - morally and mentally. But it  happens more often than people care to even think about, and it's not even criminalised in many countries. Who hasn't heard or read about this sort of thing from long lost relatives? And let's face it, it's not like there's a drop-in centre or support group is there? Sometimes intuition is stronger than the fear of laws.'

   'Don't tell me you've been researching stuff like that?' Neil frowned and gave Brian a flicker of a smile - he wouldn't put it past him.

   'Let's just say, being the son of a vicar, I'm here for the greater good of man - even arseholes like y—'

   'D'you want to fill my retiring bootsor not?' Neil interjected (while Brian squinted and stared down his nose at him pleased though, that a little banter had sparked up), making a carry on hand gesture with his wrist.

  'I'm getting there, I'm getting there!' the friend scoffed.  'After a while I made my own mind up that yeah, in the eyes of the law you were wrong, but of what, really? Understanding human nature's never been straightforward, your body's reacting to what's in the head and it wasn't fulfilled until you hit the sack with her.' 

  Jesus, Neil thought, he really has been looking shit up!

  'You were both consenting adults, and didn't set out to hurt anyone, despite the risks. And let's face it, you feared you were going to be the only family she had left. Personally, I still think it was madness. But why worry so much about right and wrongs for anyone else's beliefs and ethics... including my own?' Brian concluded rather grandly.    

   Neil was taken aback, totally gobsmacked at his friend's bombastic, but much-needed ranting. 'God, Brian... and I didn't purposefully blaspheme there... but have you just come out with that to try and make me feel better, or did you really mean that?'

   'Mate, I had no idea Saskia screwed you over before I came here, did I, so of course I meant it. I've had time to think in length. That's the thing about Bible-bashers, we don't always agree with the law, we have our own ways. Why d'you think so many people find God when in prison? We've all had a stint in the gossipmonger-court-of-morals; certain things should have fuck all to do with anybody else.'

   'Except Valerie.' Neil piped up, with a wry smile.

   'Ah, well, you slipped up there, but I can still imagine it was a shock for her.'

   'Well, I understand now why it took her up until her niece dobbed me in; must have been a hard decision. I had a soft spot for her you know, a real hard worker. She'd oi, oi, oi, at every messy desk she tidied, fussed about me like a mother-hen, 

                              'Member to tuck scarf ride roun,, it butter out der...' 

   

   Brian smiled humbly at his friend's impersonation. He hadn't quite been the depraved beast he was painting himself, just a kind-hearted knob with blinkers. 'Not that it matters now, of course.'

   'Aye, that's true... ' Neil fell into brief silence as flashes of Saskia came crashing back, always unbidden, unannounced. He blinked himself out of his stare as Brian words melted into here and now fact. He was right. It didn't matter now - but where would he go from here? Who would grant any man clemency for sleeping with his daughter? Even finding himself inculpable provided no hope. Beverly had worked hard to do such a number on him and succeeded impeccably. 'It was still sick though, wasn't it?'

   'Fuck sake... ' Brian whispered, nettled by his friend's reluctance to give himself a break. 'Okay, then, Neil. Maybe it was a sickness, of the mind, of the soul, fuck knows. Every sickness comes to an end, though, and I'm sorry yours ended the way it has, but it's done now.'

   Biting down on his bottom lip, feeling as if he was about to be ambushed by tears again, Neil nodded.  This visit from Brian had proved to be excruciatingly poignant, because at times of absolute anguish it takes just a small token to restore faith again. It was what this visit from Brian was all about. and that was before the whole story was known.

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It had to come up; work and his intention towards it. Neil had made a second round of coffee for them both. He had noted on answering the door that Brian was suited and booted; no doubt slogging his guts out keeping two departments running. But he didn't feel in the least bit ready to return to any incumbent or leisurely life.  

   'So, when will you be back in the office?'

   'Och, I can't see that being anytime soon.'

   'You can't stay here and fester either, it would cripple you, mate.'

   'Couple of weeks, maybe.' Neil said, purely to appease him.

   Brian could remember him saying that he'd be willing to give work and all his ventures up to be with Saskia. But how gutting would it be to do just that, not only without the girl, but from humiliation too?   Regardless of Neil's present thoughts, Brian would need to turn second in command longer, and continue to be one hell of a sharp organiser; he'd already proved to be an even bigger friend.

   'Look, this has been all quite... I think demoralising is too mild a word, but just promise me one thing?     'What?'

   'Don't make any rash decisions right now. You've built up your businesses admirably - don't just walk away. Ultimately, and as nuts as it's turned out, you've done nothing wrong.'

   Despite Brian's change of heart and emphatic support, raw hurt was still ripping through him, as was pangs of pointless finality. He kept silent, ridiculous thoughts of this being punishment for all his father's wrong-doings continued to stir. For all his hard but fair approach in life, it still didn't wash away the fact that his father's corruption had been the foundation of his success.

   'Okay... but I need some headspace for now.' 

   'Well, then.'  Brian stood abruptly, having to tuck back in the shirt that his big belly always teased out on sitting.  'I'd better get back. I take it I can return to work knowing you won't be tanning your wrists, then?'

   'Nah. I'm not only a mug, but I'm a wimp, too.' 

   Brian slapped him briskly on the shoulder and headed for the door, then suddenly stopped and turned, his eyes narrowing as if something had just occurred to him. 'Actually, when you think of it, it's just as well you're not her father. Could you imagine walking her up the aisle knowing you had first dibs?' 

Neil just gave a full smile and shook a weary head at his comment. It was a risky comment, but it helped whiplash their 20+ year bond back to full throttle in less than an hour; he'd help Neil come to terms with shit bit by bit, help him recover recover by Hell or high water.   'I'll see myself out.' 

   'Hey?' Neil shouted after him, and he popped his head back in before closing the door. 'I'm sorry for all that crap in the office, you didn't deserve it.'

   'Already forgotten... but bite the bullet and come back to work soon. You could even try giving everyone a substantial pay-rise then they wouldn't give a fuck who you were sleeping with, not even the dog - if you had one!'

   Neil tutted. 'For a churchgoer, you don't half cleave to evil thoughts!'

   Brian grinned and quietly closed the door. 

 end of  **PUT  YOU  TOGETHER  AGAIN**

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