Death Actually Page 20

  Standing on the polished linoleum in her sensible waitressing shoes stood the woman he’d thought he would never be happy to see again – alive. His mother. Sylvia James.

  Tim had no time to prepare himself before Sylvia flung herself across his bed, clutching him to her, stroking his hair, telling him how much she loved him and how everything would be all right – just as he remembered she had soothed him when he was a little boy. He remembered how fiercely she had loved him then, back when they were very poor and it had just been the two of them.

  “Yes, Mom,” he said. “Everything will be all right. Trust me, I know.”

  They held each other for what seemed an eternity before his mother finally levered herself off the bed to sit on the chair, still clutching his hand, her eyes examining every part of him, carefully checking that nothing was missing.

  “You look awful,” she said, when she found her voice.

  “And you look old,” he replied.

  “Believe me, you don’t look so young any more either, sonny boy.”

  “Good to see you, Mom. Paid your own ticket to get here, I hope.”

  “Nahh, your lovely wife – who I have only just met, I might add, not having been invited to your wedding and all – she sent your jet to get me. Lovely flight – had the plane all to myself. I hope you weren’t saving the wine for anyone special. The poor man had to open five bottles before I found one I liked, and by then I was too tired to drink it. The bed on the plane is fabulous. Your bed – I mean the guest bed – looked a little lumpy and so I told the attendant, as your mother I would sleep in your bed. He didn’t look happy, but hey, we’re family. And Tim, I am loving the suite at the hotel. It is so good to meet Jenny. At least she understands the importance of family. And that boy of yours – so smart for his age and handsome, sheesh, he looks nothing like you when you were a baby, which is a good thing, I promise you. You were a very ugly baby.”

  Tim smiled. Was it good to have her here? Meh. He’d changed since nearly drowning, but his mother would always be same. She was the one person in the world who treated him with no respect, ever, expecting him to spend his money on her in front of her friends as some sort of vindication of herself and her life. He used to hate it, but now he realised, after what he’d been through, none of it mattered. He was alive. It was good. He’d looked down the barrel of the alternative and wasn’t frightened. That was good too. Knowing.

  At night, when he was waiting for the pain medication to start working, he would get flashbacks to the helicopter falling out of the sky towards him, the blades chopping the air, closer and closer. He could feel again the boat rising up underneath him, turning mid-air and burying him in the gravel, his foot stuck behind the throttle holding him face down in the water, unable to breathe, the river invading his nose and mouth, his arms flailing in pointless protest, until nothing.

  He shivered and his mother stopped talking. He frowned at her.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” she said. “I’m your mother, I’m allowed to worry about you even if you don’t want me too. You’re too caught up in being the big star to spend time with your mother. Too Mr Fancy Pants to remember me. I remember those pants, Mr Big Star, and how many times I had to change them when you were a baby.”

  His mother paused for breath and Tim, long used to the speeches she called a conversation, seized his opportunity. “I love you, Mom. I really do. I’m sorry I said all those things about you. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to meet Jenny or to our wedding. I promise I’ll be a better son from now on. It’s just …” he paused, “you’ve always been such a pain in the ass.”

  Sylvia fumbled deep in her handbag for a tissue, head down, refusing to look up and let Tim see her face.

  “And I love you too,” she said, between sniffs. “There’s no mother who could be prouder of her son. But dammit, Tim, you hurt me.”

  “No more, I promise.”

  “Good, because even before you said those lovely things, Jenny has asked me to move in. You have a nanny flat to spare, something about the night nanny storming off in a huff a few weeks back. I’m not going to let you push me out of your life again. I’m going to be a grandma to your boy. Did you see that mark on his neck – the same one you have? What a way to make peace. You almost dying. Twenty-four hours I was in labour without drugs, I’m telling you. Next time you want to talk, no boat accidents – just pick up the phone, I’ll be downstairs.”

  Tim lay back on his pillows and shut his eyes.

  Sylvia was still speaking. “And in future, no rivers! No boats! No more stunts. You’re not a young man, that hair dye doesn’t fool me. No countries where they drive on the wrong side of the road! Is that too much for a mother to ask? I don’t think so. Do you?”

  “No, Mom. You’re right,” he said, adding, “but only for today,” under his breath. “Tomorrow you’ll be wrong again and we can get back to normal.”

  “Are these people looking after you? I mean, properly? How civilised is this place? Have they spoken to the real doctors back home about you?”

  “They’re fine, Mom. It’s all good. Couldn’t have had better treatment. It was a Kiwi doctor who saved me, remember? Now, are you being looked after?” he asked, and then slapped his head. “Of course you are, I forgot. The suite, the private jet.”

  Thankfully, Jenny, carrying Isaac in his car seat, walked in to stop the reunion of mother and son from deteriorating further. She unhooked the baby and lay him down on the bed beside Tim. Isaac was a good-natured child and threw a big gummy smile at his father, melting the hearts of the three adults who each made silly noises in response.

  As the baby gurgled and sucked his fingers, kicking little legs erratically, for no reason other than that they were free and he could, Jenny asked what the doctors had said on their morning ward round.

  “My leg’s doing fine, and so are my lungs. I need to take antibiotics for a while longer and I’ll be on crutches for the next month. By then I’ll be allowed to fly. Best of all, they’re letting me out tomorrow. I checked with the specialist in LA and he said the same. One of the guys here sent over the x-rays and MRI, and they’ve had a few Skype consults. Everyone agrees the bone is healing well – and Mom, my head is normal.”

  “Fabbo,” said Jenny. Tim and Sylvia winced, united in their distaste.

  Jenny took no notice and continued, “Matt has booked the Lodge for all of us for a month. You can recuperate there in peace and quiet. No interviews, no scripts to read, and no meetings. Peace and quiet!”

  Tim looked apoplectic. “The Lodge? For a whole month? For everyone? Goddamn it, Jenny, how much will that cost? And you sent the jet for Mom … I mean, where does it end? I’m not made of money, even though the two of you seem to think otherwise. And on that subject, the bracelet you bought goes back. I won’t be able to work for a while and we need to economise, especially now.”

  “Insurance,” said Jenny, playing with Isaac’s feet, much to the boy’s delight.

  Tim stopped at the sound of the magic word. A beatific smile descended on his face as he sank back into his pillows.

  “Insurance,” he said, making it sound the sexiest word in the entire English language. “Well, that’s all right.” He reached over and playfully tickled Isaac’s chubby little tummy, hoping for another big smile.

  Jenny winked at Sylvia, who winked back.

  After his domestic entourage had left to go shopping – because Sylvia, of course, needed new clothes – Tim’s nurse came in.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your mother,” she said. “I didn’t realise she was from New York. And is she Jewish?”

  “She’s not,” said Tim, glumly. “She’s from Texas and she’s Episcopalian, has been all her life. That’s like your Presbyterian. She started out a Woody Allen fan, and then she started channelling Estelle Constanza – George’s mother in Seinfeld,” he explained. “She was talking like a Jewish mother before I left home. It made her feel more maternal when it was just the
two of us, and I played along. I’m surprised she didn’t bring chicken soup.”

  “She did. She made me promise to give it to you for lunch, as a surprise.”

  “I hate chicken soup and she knows it. Tip it out,” he said in a stage whisper. “But tell her I loved it and want more.” He chuckled. “Let’s see who gets the real surprise.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The party was in full swing when Maggie and Elka arrived. Champagne had been flowing generously for an hour, and they were greeted enthusiastically at the door by Estelle. She was in her element as the flamboyant and generous host to clients and friends alike. Waiters were making the rounds of the invited, proffering hors d’oeuvres on silver trays and refilling glasses.

  Everyone had dressed for the occasion. Maggie was relieved she’d ditched the black in favour of the red and gold silk tunic dress she’d purchased in Dunedin. It fitted like a glove, and Kate’s stilettoes complimented it perfectly and made her look sophisticated, something she hadn’t felt in years. She had to resist the urge to twirl every time someone commented on how fabulous she looked.

  She was surprised at how many people she knew, and how pleased they were to see her, so it was twenty minutes before, glass in hand, she was able to squeeze her way through the crowd to speak to Kate about the phone call. As she reached the kitchen door, she caught sight of Ben, looking impossibly handsome, being kissed warmly on both cheeks by Estelle. Ducking behind one of the columns near the ladies loo, Maggie drained her champagne in one go. The twirling feeling came to a sudden halt, as shame and embarrassment washed over her. Why, why, why had she come, when she knew he would be here?

  Elka sidled up to her. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to avoid a certain doctor,” hissed Maggie, as a waiter thoughtfully refilled her glass.

  “You’ve got to face him sometime. I don’t know exactly what happened, Maggie, but was it really so bad you have to hide?”

  “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Well then. You look fabulous. Time to act it. Now head up, shoulders back. My god you’re tall in those shoes. Behave. He’s on his way over. Smile, Maggie. Pretend he’s a puppy.”

  “A what?”

  “You know what I mean. Just smile, then. Let me talk.”

  “How are you, Elka?” inquired Ben.

  “Better and better each day, Ben. I’ll be back at work next week.”

  Ben looked surprised, but quickly turned to Maggie, who was now assiduously examining the bottom of her glass, which was already empty again. “And you, Maggie? You’re well? I haven’t seen you since Dunedin.”

  Maggie could hardly not reply, especially when Ben seemed to be making an effort to be civil. Her heart thumping in her chest, she looked up into brown eyes twinkling in amusement at her discomfort. What was so damned funny?

  A waiter reached over and refilled her glass.

  Before she could say anything meaningful, they were joined by Estelle, who entwined her arm in Ben’s, standing as close as was physically possible to him without standing on his shoes.

  “Doesn’t everyone look wonderful?” she gushed. “Maggie, it’s so nice to see you off duty and out of black – such a surprise, don’t you agree, Ben?”

  “I’ve always suspected there was colour lurking somewhere,” he said, laughing, “but you’re right Estelle, she looks beautiful. That dress is such a departure from what you usually wear, the person who helped you buy it must have an eye for what suits you.”

  Maggie cursed inwardly and took another sip of the delicious bubbly, completely at a loss for words.

  Elka answered for her. “That’s the dress Kate brought you from London, isn’t it Maggie?”

  “Kate has excellent taste. She gets it from me, but this dress, I bought it in Dunedin.”

  Estelle was growing bored at not being the centre of attention at her own party, and draped herself even more intimately over Ben, forcing him to look at her. “Ben, darling, the whole town has been talking about how you saved Tim James’s life. Aren’t we lucky to have him, ladies?” Almost as an afterthought she looked at Maggie and said, “And you must be so proud of Nick. I should have invited him. Call him and tell him to drop by. There are lots of people who’d like to meet him. His bravery, combined with the skill of this fantastic doctor have put Queenstown on the map. The Mayor was telling me the servers at the Lakes District council were overloaded as soon as news of the accident got out. Of course, we are also very sad to have lost Mike,” she added.

  Estelle beckoned them closer. “Real estate is going through the roof,” she whispered, loudly enough for everyone else in the room to hear, and then more quietly, “You bought the Lake Hayes house at the right time, Ben. Well done. Now, if any of you hear of anyone wanting to sell, remember me, won’t you? I must mingle.” And with that she swept off to talk to a well-dressed couple on the other side of the room.

  Maggie, Elka and Ben smiled at each other awkwardly, wondering who was going to be the first to break the silence.

  It was Maggie. “You got that house for a good price, didn’t you Ben? I suppose you were able to take advantage of a terrible situation. The competition was hardly in a position to object, was it?”

  Ben’s face froze. He looked uncomprehendingly at Maggie, first with hurt and then with vague contempt, before excusing himself politely and moving away to talk to another guest.

  “Can you explain?” asked Elka.

  “I can and I will,” said Maggie, slurring her words just a little. “Lucy and Mark – you remember, the man who died on the chairlift and his lover – were going to buy that house. They’d put in an offer which they expected would be accepted. But when Mark died, it of course fell through and Ben swooped in for the kill, so to speak.” She finished with a triumphant nod at Elka.

  “No!” said Elka, “I don’t care about the house. I want you to tell me why you were just so hideously rude to a man who obviously likes, or should I now say liked, you. A lot. It’s none of your business what he paid for the house, or who he bought it from, and to bring it up in public is strange, Maggie. It’s not like you, and the fact that you are already half drunk is no excuse. One day you can tell me what really happened in Dunedin, but right now I would rather we didn’t speak.”

  Maggie was speechless. She felt as though Elka had stripped her bare and found her wanting as a human being. Hot tears pricked her eyes. Never in all the years they had been friends had Elka spoken to her like that.

  Ducking her head, she escaped to the loo and locked herself in one of the stalls, trying to understand why she’d said what she said. It’s the principle, she thought. He thinks money and charm can get him everything he wants. It’s how he got the house when Lucy was so vulnerable. I’m the only one who knows the true story. They wouldn’t think he was such a hero if they knew what he’d done.

  She staggered upright and unlocked the door, then did a quick check in the mirror, deciding what she would do – after all, no one really cared what she looked like. Smoothing her dress down she picked up her glass and set out in search of Elka to make things right between them. At the door she hesitated. This was the reason she didn’t go to parties. She couldn’t trust herself to behave. Nothing good ever came of them. She wished she could just snap her fingers and instantly be transported back to her cosy living room and Coronation Street, but she needed to see Elka first.

  Maggie slunk back to the party in her red Jimmy Choos. The noise in the restaurant had increased markedly in her absence as the champagne continued to flow, and the waiters seemed busier than ever. Maggie’s glass was quickly refilled as she stood alone, searching for a familiar and friendly face who might provide some form of social asylum.

  Estelle’s voice floated in beside her. “I wanted to get you on your own Maggie. How’s Elka? I mean, really? She looks all right – thin, perhaps – but did the surgery go well?”

  Relieved to have her mind taken off her own misery, Maggie replied, �
��I think she’s all right. She doesn’t say much but she’s making plans for summer, so that’s positive.”

  “Excellent. She’s done a lot for this town, hasn’t she? Without her restaurant providing some more sophisticated dining, I would have gone nuts. I mean, all those young people plummeting off bridges and down mountains is great, but they don’t spend a lot of money on anything else, do they?”

  “I guess not.”

  “And,” said Estelle, confiding in Maggie in a way she’d never done before,“I hear Tim James is coming back to recuperate at the Lodge after he leaves hospital. Evidently he believes Dr Goodman is the only one who can look after him properly. He can’t fly for a month. Tim James, not Ben. He’s bringing his wife and son and the whole entourage with him. Tim James, not Ben. That would be silly, he doesn’t have a son. Ben, not Tim James.”

  A waiter refilled their glasses before they could wave him away. Maggie wobbled a bit. It was hard to balance in the heels.

  “Nick won’t talk about it,” said Maggie. “He wants to forget it happened and get on with his life.”

  Estelle nodded solemnly. “Quite right. My father was a fighter pilot. Didn’t talk about it – the real heroes never do. Let’s drink to heroes, Maggie.”

  They both drank.

  “Estelle, now that we’re friends,” said Maggie, “tell me about the sale of the Lake Hayes house. I haven’t heard a thing from Jilly’s estate, so I assume there were no complications.”

  “It sold the night before that man, Mark Holmes, died on the chairlift, which was very sad, wasn’t it? Ben made the more generous offer, way above any price I thought the place would get, and it was accepted. Of course, I rang Mark and Lucy to ask them if they wanted to go higher, but neither of them could manage it. They asked for time, but Jilly’s husband – ex-husband, I mean – said no. He was happy with Ben’s price and my efficiency. I’ll get more business from him, you mark my words. Anyway, I couldn’t get a hold of Mark and Lucy because they were skiing. I had to tell her afterwards. You know, after he … you know. I hate that word, death. I don’t know how you do it, Maggie. Such a depressing job.” Estelle looked up from her glass. “You don’t look so good, Maggie.”