The One You Love (10 page)

‘Please,’ he implored, ‘leave us alone. We didn’t ask for any of this.’

‘Any of what? What did Edna tell you?’

‘Go,’ he demanded, ‘before I call the police.’

16

For a few seconds father and son just eyed each other across the hospital bed. Will was still trying to catch his breath, relieved that his worst fears hadn’t been realised. He looked at his father, who was dressed in fashionable clothes that to Will looked more suitable for a twenty-something than a man of nearly sixty. And then there was his new, trendy pop-star haircut – close-cropped and messy. His dad did look a lot better than during those final years of his mother’s life, whilst she had battled through cancer. Will wished he could have been happy that he had found a new lease of life, but just couldn’t.

‘I thought I’d come and see how things were going,’ his father, Edward Holden explained, finally answering his son’s question. ‘The nurse told me that Richard hasn’t improved.’

‘He might never wake up,’ Will said, regretting his choice of words as he remembered what the nurse had told them about always being positive in front of the patient. ‘Although a lot of people do recover, so we shouldn’t give up hope,’ he added, for Richard’s benefit.

‘I was worried about you too,’ Edward added, ‘after what you said on the phone. You sounded really upset.’

‘Just not worried enough to come and see me?’ Will surprised himself at the bitterness in his voice. ‘I needed your support; you had to be able to see that.’

Edward smiled ruefully, just as the door to the room flew open.

‘It’s okay,’ Edward said to the nurse as she raced into the room. ‘He’s my son.’

Will turned and smiled apologetically. The nurse scowled back, obviously not happy at the way he had just barged into the room without asking permission first. And he could understand that. You couldn’t be too careful these days.

‘You can stay,’ she said, ‘but next time can you please report to the desk. I don’t appreciate having to chase people through my ward.’

‘Of course,’ Will said, ’I’m really sorry.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ the nurse said, unable to manage a smile. She closed the door, leaving Will with his father.

‘Will,’ Edward said, as they both looked at Richard. ‘I’m your father, and you know that I’d do anything for you. But you’ve got to understand that I can’t just come running all the time. I have my own life.’

‘Yes, with your girlfriend.’

Edward was now living with a woman nearly thirty years his junior. She was a doctor, and they’d actually met when he had been visiting his wife, their mother, as she was dying of cancer in hospital. The thought of romance blooming over the bedside, as their mother was pumped high with morphine, never failed to make Will furious. He suspected that the relationship had begun even before his mum had taken her last breath, although Edward always denied that was the case. His story was that they had met by chance some months later, and had struck up a friendship that was never meant to get more serious than that. Since she’d moved into the house eleven months ago Will hadn’t visited, unable to stomach seeing someone his own age taking the place of his mother.

‘Look, William,’ Edward said, ignoring the jibe, ‘I’ve done my best to help you, but I never wanted any of this.’

‘You still resent me burdening you with my situation,’ Will spat. ‘You’d have been happier if I’d never told you.’

‘I’d have been happier if none of it had happened,’ Edward admitted, ‘but it did, and we have to make the best of it. I admit that sometimes I wish you hadn’t told me.’

‘But you’re my dad. Who else was I going to turn to?’

‘You could have spoken with Lucy, instead of pushing her away.’

‘She would never have understood. How could she?’

‘She was a lovely girl. And she really cared for you, William. Maybe you underestimated her.’

‘I couldn’t have dragged her into it. Letting her go was the best thing for her.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Edward said. He seemed to study Will’s face, searching for something. ‘You don’t look well,’ he added, noting the dark lines under his son’s eyes like smudged mascara, and the bloodshot eyes. ‘Are you sleeping?’

‘Not really.’

‘The nightmares are starting again?’

‘They never really went away,’ Will revealed. ‘But they’re getting worse again, yes. This has brought it all back. They don’t feel like dreams – it feels real. I dream of the same thing over and over again.’

He hated the way he felt so needy when he was with his father, like a little boy longing for everything to be made all right. But he’d learnt from bitter experience that there were some troubles that parents couldn’t just take away.

‘Why did you come here, Will?’

‘What? To see Richard, of course.’

‘You burst in here like your life depended on it. You were out of breath, you’ve obviously been running, and you didn’t stop when the nurse asked you to. Why?’

‘I thought he might be here,’ admitted Will, feeling foolish now at his paranoia. ‘I thought he might try and finish off the job.’

‘What made you think that?’

‘I went round to his flat,’ Will explained. ‘I’d tried to call him, to ask if he had anything to do with what happened, but he wasn’t answering his mobile or home phone. Then I found out that he’s just moved, to a really deprived area south of the river. He’s living in this really horrible block of flats. I think it might all be connected. Maybe it’s all part of a plan and I’m going to get a call from him soon.’

‘You didn’t speak with him?’

‘He wasn’t there. A neighbour said he was at the hospital visiting someone, and I just put two and two together.’

‘Trying to contact him was not a good idea,’ Edward said, glancing through the window as a nurse passed by. ‘The police are looking into this. Let them get on with their job – it’s what they’re paid to do, and I’m sure they’ll find out who did this. In the meantime, concentrate on looking after your sister. She’ll be going through a worse time than you, Will, believe me.’

‘They’re convinced it’s Dan,’ Will said. ‘But they don’t know the full story. I should have shown them the photograph.’

‘You’re jumping to conclusions. Apart from the photo, of which there could be other explanations, there’s nothing else to suggest he has anything to do with it. How long is it since you last heard from him?’

‘Eleven months, two days,’ Will replied without hesitation.

‘Jesus, Will, you’ve got to stop this.’

Will turned away from his father and watched Richard, willing him to open his eyes. Then, in that split second, he realised that if Richard did wake, and his suspicions were true, it could be the end for him.

‘You know what I think?’ Edward continued. ‘This is all part of your guilt trip. You’re desperate to blame yourself for what has happened, but think about it, if it was him, why attack Dan’s brother? He’s got nothing to do with it.’

‘I should have gone to the police in the first place,’ Will stated, as he continued to ponder the possible ramifications of Richard’s recovery. ‘I should have told them everything right at the beginning. But I’m a coward.’

‘You’re not a coward.’ Edward dismissed the statement. ‘I don’t want to hear you talking about yourself like that. It won’t help the situation one bit.’

‘Oh, I am a coward, Dad.’ Will faced up to him across Richard’s bed. ‘I thought you would have known that by now. Or are you still in denial at the way the son of the great Edward Holden has turned out?’

‘Don’t be stupid, William.’

‘I mean it, Dad. Emma is out there, desperate to know what happened to Dan, and maybe, just maybe, I can do something about it. But I’m too busy worrying about myself. and how it will affect me.’

‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Dad, how can you say that after what I’ve done?’

Edward moved around the bedside and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘William, you found yourself in a situation and you made a mistake. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.’

‘But I deserve to be punished.’

‘You have been punished. You’ve been punishing yourself for years now. Your life is falling apart, and you’re just standing there letting it happen. But it’s got to stop, before you lose everything and everyone.’

‘I’ve been having thoughts recently, about whether it’s worth going on living,’ admitted Will.

Edward exhaled, rubbing at his newly grown beard. ‘Have you given any more thought to seeing a counsellor?’

‘I can’t. You need to be open and honest for those things to work. You can’t go in there, keep a secret like mine and expect to come out cured.’

‘Then you’ve just got to work through this. But please, Will, try and move on, for all our sakes.’

17

Some years earlier

‘Excuse me, can I have your autograph?’

Emma turned to look at the rather scrawny, acne-scarred man standing by the studio gates, who was holding out a note pad in expectation. He looked about eighteen, but was dressed more like an old man in grey trousers and a knitted jumper. A camera hung around his neck, and Emma immediately thought that he looked like a train spotter.

Although a voice was telling her to politely refuse and walk on by, no one had asked for her autograph before. What harm could it do?

She didn’t notice the warning signs of desperation in his eyes.

‘Sure,’ she said, moving back towards him. ‘No problem.’

‘Thank you so much,’ the guy gushed, as he handed Emma the pad and pen. ‘I’m so grateful to you for doing this. I thought you might be too busy – I know you’re busy – but it’s great that you can take the time for me.’

‘It’s no problem, honestly,’ Emma replied, holding the pen ready to write. The biro was about half its normal size; the plastic at the end was cracked and splintered. To her distaste she realised that the tatty, browning sellotape wrapped around the top of the pen was damp with what she could only think was saliva. She used her best acting skills to keep a calm face and just put up with it.

‘I’m your number one fan,’ he said. ‘I didn’t used to watch the programme that much. But since you’ve been in it I haven’t missed an episode. If I’m out when it’s on I video record it. Sometimes I video record it anyway, so I can watch it back as much as I want.’

Emma waited to just write what she had to and then leave. She was already regretting this situation – the guy was harmless but weird with it.

‘I think you’re a fantastic actress,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ She was embarrassed by the compliment. She didn’t look up at him, keeping her eyes on the pad, but he was ducking down to catch her attention.

‘I’m your number one fan,’ he repeated, as if looking for a response that hadn’t come the first time he’d said it. He edged forward, invading her personal space. Now he had her backed against the wall. ‘I know everything about you.’

Alarm bells rang.

‘I hope not,’ she tried to joke, but it came out sounding nervous. She glanced across at the gates but the security guy who sometimes patrolled wasn’t there.

‘Your favourite meal is Lasagne, your favourite film of all time is
Dirty Dancing
. You’re a black belt in Karate. You started training at your high school when you were eleven, because a girl started bullying you in your art class. It only took you five years for you to get your black belt. This year you’re fighting in the British championships in Birmingham, but you’re finding it difficult to fit in the training now you’re working on the show. You’ve always wanted to be an actress, and you’d love to work on a film, but you don’t think you’re ready yet.’

Emma shifted nervously. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘I read it,’ he said. ‘I always look for articles about you in the magazines. I never buy the magazines though – I read them in WH Smiths. They let you go there and read magazines for as long as you like – you can stand there all day and it’s all free. I like going there, especially when there are articles about you.’

‘Oh, the magazine article.’ She felt relieved that there was a rational explanation for his indepth knowledge of her personal history and preferences. ‘You read the interview in the magazine.’

He nodded and smiled, revealing yellowing teeth and a waft of stale breath. It didn’t look as if he ever brushed. ‘I like reading articles about you.’

She hadn’t really wanted to do the damn magazine interview, but her agent had convinced her that such self-promotion could lead to better acting roles in the future. In the end she had quite enjoyed the experience. But now, looking at this grinning man, she realised she had opened up part of her private life to strangers. It felt weird.

‘What would you like me to write?’ she said, holding the pen ready, still not wanting to look up at him.

‘Whatever you like,’ he said. ‘My name’s Stephen.’

‘Okay, Stephen.’ She wrote down a short note on the first available blank page, some three quarters of the way through the notebook. The rest of the pages were full of autographs, some of which she recognised as being from fellow cast members.