ma, and Zara bloody Khoury was the sole reason for that. She was the root of all my problems, growing deeper, branching out further. So, I scribbled a quick note before dashing off into the bitter dawn.
I had to go.
The wheels beneath me can’t go fast enough.
‘Ah, come on!’ I yell, bashing the dashboard with my fist. ‘Hurry. Please.’
I go over that text message again and again, the vision giving me a headache. If Helen hadn’t been such a pain in the arse last night, I would never have put my phone on silent. And if I’d never met Zara, I wouldn’t even be in this situation.
It was a blessing I’d needed a wee at six in the morning.
Thirty-three miles to Liverpool.
The unknown number had come from Ethel Barton’s home phone. Ex-directory. Luckily, she knew Snowy’s ma and was able to get a message to her, and she passed on the message to Snowy. I saw the text just before returning to my makeshift bath-towel bed on the floor of the Travelodge room.
I tried calling Snowy back, standing in the Travelodge car park, the dull fuzz of planes flying low overhead. The frost bit my toes within my trainers, my fleece just not cutting it in the Baltic early morning. I watched my breath condensing in the air as each ring repeated itself, a hamster wheel of frustration. Snowy never picked up. At least he’d sent me Ethel’s number.
I got inside the minibus, called Ethel Barton.
‘Ethel? It’s Jim,’ I said, throwing the van into gear.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘What happened, Ethel?’
‘It’s a good job I was there, you know. A good job I found her, you know.’
‘Found her where?’
‘Where are you, Jim?’
‘Shut up and tell me what happened to me ma, Ethel!’
‘Well, I can’t tell you if you want me to shut up, soft lad, can I?’
‘Ethel.’
‘Do you know what time it is? I never got to bed ’til gone eleven, you know.’
‘IS SHE OKAY?’
Ethel let out a long sigh. ‘Yes. She’s okay.’
‘Is it her heart?’
‘She fell. Getting out the bath.’
‘Were you there?’
‘No, I wasn’t there, soft lad. Your mother had this God-awful idea to get in the bath on her own. On her own! For the rest of me days, Jim, I swear I’ll never understand what the bleeding hell compelled her to do it. She knows not to get in the bath on her own, never mind get out of it. I said to her time and time again, you know. I did, you know.’
‘So, how did you find her?’
‘Well, I sensed something wasn’t quite right when she didn’t come to our Yvonne’s sixtieth, didn’t I?’
‘She never went?’
‘No. I waited ’til the buffet opened and thought, it’s almost nine, it’s not like your mother to be late. She’d booked a taxi for seven, you know. Seven.’
‘And you waited ’til nine to realise something wasn’t right?’
‘I had to wait ’til the buffet opened. The cling film doesn’t come off the plates by itself.’
‘Fucking hell, Ethel.’
‘Jesus Christ, Jim. You’ve got a dirty mouth.’
‘So what happened after nine?’
‘I told our Yvonne to give me a lift to your mother’s. But she was well away. It was quite embarrassing, you know. A woman of our Yvonne’s age, drinking like a teenager, you know. So, I dragged her husband away – he’s teetotal, you see, since his bypass – and God love him, he took me to your mother’s.’
‘And she was … where? I don’t understand, Ethel.’
‘Lucky I had that key, Jim. I went straight upstairs and there she was on the floor.’
‘Oh, God. Me mam? On the floor?’
‘She’d been there since tea time.’
‘She could’ve caught pneumonia.’
‘Well, the heating was on full blast, you know how careless she is about that.’
‘Thank God.’
‘So I called an ambulance and she was whisked in. She needs a hip replacement.’
‘But her heart?’
‘Her heart’s fine, love. It’s … fine.’
‘You don’t sound so sure, Ethel.’
‘I called your sisters. Although, I hate to think what my phone bill’s gonna be next month. They’re on the next flight home.’
‘Oh Christ, Ethel,’ I say, my throat tight, dry. ‘What does this mean?’
‘Just get yourself to the hospital.’
‘I’m on me way.’
‘If I hadn’t left our Yvonne’s party, you know, I hate to think what would’ve happened.’
And if I’d truly let Helen go all those years ago – with my blessing like I said I had – I’d already be at my ma’s side.
It was supposed to be a beating, not a blessing. Pushing ten years ago, roughly.