Another ambulance has pulled into the car park and as it sits waiting to dispatch its patient I feel the engine vibrate beneath my feet. I can sense that Chris wants to continue the conversation but I am tired, tired of trying to resurrect something that had no right to live in the first place.
I press closer to the glass and as the landscape fragments into a series of dots I see my past flickering in front of me. I see my father standing on the doorstep, his arms folded, a broken man in a broken house; I see my mother running towards the waves; David’s face as we collected pink seashells; Hannah wriggling in her plastic cot. I see Nidal’s football lying in the street and Sally’s smile as she closed her eyes. The cafe is full of ghosts and as Chris holds my hand I close my eyes and try to brush them all away but they remain lodged inside my brain like tumours feeding off each other.
I look at Chris and I can see in his face that we have said all that needs to be said. This is it; the end of the line.
Silently we stand up and make our way out of the cafe, through the labyrinthine corridors and out into the vast concrete car park.
As the air hits my face, my muscles contract with exhaustion. A cab toots its horn and a group of hospital workers bustle past as we stand inertly on the kerb, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye.
‘You’re right,’ he says finally. ‘Happy ever after doesn’t exist. But we can try, Kate, we can hope. Because at the end of it all surely it’s not wishful thinking to dream of a happy life?’
‘Of course it isn’t,’ I tell him, thinking of Hannah and David and the long journey ahead. ‘I couldn’t do my job if I didn’t believe that. As long as I can believe that human beings can love as well as hate, then I can go on living.’
‘And the nightmares?’ He looks at me pleadingly, as if he is hanging from a precipice and I am his only hope of salvation. ‘Do we just live with them too?’
‘I’m going to work on it,’ I tell him. ‘Maybe go and see a therapist, I don’t know.’
‘Well, if it works, give them my number, eh?’
I smile. Here we are, two shattered people standing on the threshold of a new life, both reticent to take the first step.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Me? I’m going to go back in there and find my family,’ I tell him. ‘And I think you should too. Go home, Chris.’
He nods his head and frowns. ‘And then what?’
‘Then who knows?’
‘Yes,’ says Chris. ‘Look, I’m going to get a cab and let you . . .’
He leaves the sentence trailing as I pull him towards me and kiss his cheek. I feel his body relax into mine like it always did and for a moment I almost succumb; almost let him back in.
‘Goodbye, Chris,’ I say as we peel apart.
His eyes glint in the reflected light of the hospital entrance as he presses a finger to his lips then places it on my mouth.
Then, turning, he walks towards the row of cabs and I watch as he opens a door and climbs inside. I watch as the taxi pulls away and the back of his head grows smaller and smaller, until it’s just a dot quivering on the edge of the watery horizon.
48
It is almost 2 p.m. when I arrive at the seafront. The fishing boats are moored and a group of men stand on the beach untangling their nets. I cross the road and head towards the boats, reading their names as I go: Castaway; Star of the Sea; Merlin; Captain’s Mate. And then I see it: The Acheron, with its ominous black and white stripes. But there is no sign of him as I walk along the shingle crunching mussel shells with my boots.
It’s my last day here and, though I’m scared, I know that I have to ask him before I go.
The men look up from their nets as I approach. They smell of sweat and salt.
‘Excuse me,’ I call out above the growling waves. ‘Is Ray around?’
‘He’s on his break,’ says one of them, a young man in his late teens. He stands looking at me; his eyes narrowed.
‘Oh,’ I say as the wind pummels my face. ‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’
‘You’ll find Ray at the cafe over there on the corner, love,’ says an older man, stepping forward. He pushes the younger one aside. ‘Sorry about this one; he has no manners.’
I thank the men and as I walk back across the road I can feel their eyes on me. It’s like they know.
The cafe smells of egg and chips. I step inside and look around. Then I see him. He’s sitting at a table by the window looking out to sea; a big mug of tea in his hand.
As I walk towards the table he looks up.
‘Kate,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘I saw it all on the news. Poor wee Sally. I’m so sorry.’
‘I need to know, Ray,’ I say as I sit down at the table. ‘About David’s death. And this time you have to tell me the truth.’
He looks at me, his eyes full of pain, then he gestures to the waitress.
‘I’ll get you a warm drink first,’ he says.
We sit in silence while the waitress places a mug of steaming hot tea in front of me. When she leaves I lean forward and put my hand on Ray’s.
‘Ray, please. Is it true?’ I ask him. ‘Did I kill my brother? I need to know.’