Chapter 26 Dangerously Healthy by Malcolm Birkenshaw

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Chapter 26.

`Out of sight out of mind,' Mother might have been thinking
long before the silver tips of her jumbo jet had climbed into the
clouds above Manchester. She could have been right, years ago, but
not nowadays, not when Canada is a mere Atlantic's distance away,
and not after she had boasted to the hospital telling them where she
was going. Thus, as in the case of Doctor Crippen, it is upon small
oversights that Murphy's Law can practise its humour.

`Humour,' is not what she called it after the finger of fate
had dialled her number in the middle of a day trip to the Niagara
Falls. `I hadn't even got my cases fully unpacked,' she tantrumed,
emerging from the airport still ranting on about how Edward could at
least have waited until her holiday was over. Still, now she was
here she intended to take command of the funeral arrangements,
insisting he should be cremated after a service to be held at the
biggest church in Leeds, ignoring his desire to be buried.

`Cremated?' The thoughts of being burnt had always filled
Father with terror.

`Well, he's not having to pay, is he?' she retorted, having
discovered how much it would have cost for him to be buried next to
his sisters, his wishes thus being conflagrated when she instructed
the Co-operative society to arrange his cremation.

`The Co-op?' I exclaimed. `He always avoided them, ever since
they put his late grandfather's shop out of business.'

I withered in her glare, not daring to remind her that she
never shopped at the Co-op because, in her world of imaginary
splendour, it was not the kind of place where the best people wished
to be seen.

But money was money, especially since in this instance, and
upon the specific condition, that there would neither be a
Co-op sign on his hearse nor in the car in which she would follow.

`Just one car?'

`Just one... I'm only a widow, do you think I'm made of money?
In fact, if I wasn't a widow I wouldn't be here, would I?'

Lena was also at the funeral, and Peter and William. We were a
family again, Father having achieved in death all that he had
striven for when living on earth.

Dust blew in eddies upon the stone steps we mounted in front of
the church, inside its tall gothic arches climbing high above carved
oaken pews and empty choir stalls, the flagged aisles and colours of
its stained glass windows dead in the grey October day.

The organ began to drone. A door latch clunked. The sound of
traffic entered, wide doors opening to let cool air whisper in. The
doors banged shut, yet still a shiver, I raised my eyes. How small
the coffin, how small the coffin: “except ye be as little children”
haunted my mind, submerged in guilt, heart humbled by memories of
unkind things done and words left unsaid. Such a tiny coffin,
surrounded by rows and rows and rows of empty pews, the silence of
his history less than a tick from the clock of the story of life.

With a measured pace of finality the pallid pall bearers left
with his coffin upon its final journey. `I think it's disgusting,'
Mother chuntered whilst climbing into the car which was ready to
follow (choosing to forget that Christ's death had also been
lonely), Father's hearse having already started drawing away,
destined for the crematorium: in that brief moment the street became
empty and deserted.

`Awfully low, awfully low,' she kept repeating in our car on
the way back, having dismissed the cortege. `He deserves better than
that. I'm going to arrange for a Memorial service with incense, and
a choir, and proper hymns at my own church.'

Claire's eyes asked their silent questions when Lena and I got
home, my eyes giving answers without words. `Tea, would you like a
cup of tea?' she asked. To that we could reply, and the day of heavy
skies began to submerge into darkness.

`Who's got the Radio Times?'

`John.'

`Ask him to return it, I think we'll stay in tonight.' Damn,
before I could read Lena's mileometer she went out. Though, in truth,
today I could not be bothered.

What to do today? I thought, next morning once they had left
for school. But there was no need for almost immediately the
telephone rang. `Hello, Adderton 572.'

It was Mother. `I've bought an eternity ring by which to
remember your Father,' she announced.

An eternity ring, in memory of your disposable husband? I
silently gasped.

`Pardon?'

`Nothing.'

`I'm sure you said something.'

`Not that I know of.'

`Well, there's also my engagement ring, the one which you've
stolen, I want that returning before the service.'

`I've not stolen it,' I snapped.

`Lena has, and that's the same.'

`Lena? Of course she hasn't,' I exploded. `You've us to thank
for rescuing it following one of your tantrums with Father when you
threw it away.'

`Don't be so ridiculous. Who in their right senses would throw
valuables away?'

Point proven, I thought, silently biting my lip. That's all
the thanks you get for scratting through her dustbin, searching for
the ring, holding it in trust until Father came home from hospital.
Of course, she never intended that he should; so I returned to
Adderton dejected, yet another of my hopes cremated with him, and to
our loft where it had been stored in secrecy in case burglars broke
in - then she really would have had something to shout about. Mind
you, fancy the old nag remembering with clinical accuracy where the
ring had gone? She must have been pretending to be beside herself.

Driving along Adderton lane and past the Brick Pond I mused,
recalling how it was only a week since I had taken him to Newmiller
Dam. What premonition or influence had caused him to want to linger,
taking in as much as he could upon his last day on Earth? He could
not have known, could he?

`How much did you get in the will?' Lena barely gave me time to
park my car and close the kitchen door.

`I don't know,' I replied, aghast at the question. `I'm not
interested, I've come home to look for her ring.'

`Ring?'

`Yes, she say's you've stolen her engagement ring.'

`Rubbish.'

`That's what I told her. I wouldn't care, but on top of the
worry it's cost us a fortune insuring the blasted thing,' I set off
with a pair of steps to climb into our loft.

Damn it, everything was hidden too well, being secreted between
the rafters and joists. After a couple of hours I was sagging, and
by then Lena had gone out. `Hello,' I telephoned Mother, `I'm
exhausted, going to have a cup of tea, but in the morning I'll put
on a mask and have a thorough search, turn the fibre glass
insulation upside down.'

`I said that Lena had stolen it,' she exploded.

I slammed down the receiver, evil-minded old bag.

Five minutes later the telephone rang. `Have you found my ring
yet?'

`No, I have not. I've told you I'll find it tomorrow,' it was
my turn to explode

`I knew Lena was wearing it,' she said. `Anyway, it's too late
now, I've told the police. They'll arrest her. She deserves to be
shown up.'

`She's not wearing your bloody ring,' I crashed down the phone
in an ill-tempered desire that the bang would leave her ears
ringing.

By the time Lena returned home I was musing in bed, one eye
shut, mouth half open - but I'll tell her tomorrow for she had
already undressed and slid silently into her side of the bed.
That's a relief, closing my mouth, happy to put off the moment,
preferring to avoid knowing whether or not she had fallen
immediately asleep.

Next morning the kitchen and bathroom were in their usual state
of sullen urgency whilst Lena and the children were getting ready.
`I had a right do with my mother, last night, on the phone, whilst
you were out,' I said, engineering a light-hearted laugh, having
waited until Claire and John were out of the room. `She's reported
you to the police for stealing her ring.'

Lena's face stayed the reflection of stone-coloured dough.
Remaining unmoved she opened her bag, unwrapped a fold of white lint
and threw something across the room before leaving for school, the
whatever-it-was ricocheting round the walls and bouncing off the
fireplace to end up somewhere under the settee. Hell! my hand
eventually found it, the missing engagement ring. How the devil had
she known that Lena was wearing it?

Then the dawn of an idea in my mind began to break and make
sense. Maybe they both have similar minds, so perhaps it takes one
to know one? Damn, whilst this first light was beginning to create
long shadows in my mind I had forgotten to check her mileometer when
she was still busy in the bathroom.

`On the other hand,' I mused, pouring full cream milk over my
cornflakes, full cream milk that had been skimmed by the children,
`There's plenty of time for a second cup of tea.' I opened the
newspaper, `I've all morning to read her mileometer,' the school
being less than ten minutes away, `All I need to do is deduct a mile
from the reading.'

Outside the sun was still rising, its rays taking over where
Lena's illuminating behaviour had left off. Its lemon light was
focused upon her Morris Minor, focused upon its speedometer,
focused so precisely that FIFTEEN MILES shouted out the moment I
glanced - lackadaisically pretending to be doing something else.

Bloody hell, she's been with him again, bugger, bugger, bugger.
Time to do something about it, right now, my jugular vein flushed
with hot blood as my temper rose. On second thoughts, tomorrow might
be even better, it's John's birthday, she'll be expecting me to stay
in for his party, and logic cooled my brain.

I bet she lights the candles, playing "Here Comes Jolly Mum",
and then whilst they're occupied clear off for the evening. That's
it, that'll be her plan, to leave me tied up with the children.
Well, let's see if I can also give her a birthday surprise, devise
some way of getting away for an hour to follow her and see where she
goes? But how? But how?

`Martin,' a voice called out from across the road.

Who is it? I pretended to be adjusting Lena's wing mirror
before casually looking up. `Hello,' I said. It was Brenda, Stan's
wife.

`Hi, how are you?' she walked over, wanting inquisitively to
help. `It's Iain's birthday tomorrow, you know.'

`It's all right, thanks, I've done it,' I straightened up,
wiping phantom dirt down my front. `Iain, your lad?'

`Yes, he's having a party, and wants your John to come.'

`That's an unfortunate coincidence, it's John's birthday as
well, and he's having a party at our house.'

`I know, Lena's invited our Iain to it. But, as a solution, I
thought they could all start at your house and finish off at
ours..... A kind of joint party,' she attempted to look past me,
still curious as to what was wrong with Lena's car.

`Great idea,' I beamed, realising that perhaps this could be
the chance I was looking for. `When should I bring them, anytime
special?'

`As soon as you like. Just drop them off, then Lena and you can
go out for a while during the evening.'

Read the following chapters that tell of how Martin "cured" his M.S. and climbed mountains by the following year.

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