BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

 

                                                                     Chapter Two

 

It had been a long and stressful day, and by the time Edward reached his flat he was feeling all in. Sometimes the bus journey home was a god-send, allowing him to do nothing for the best part of an hour, while being carried along a long dark tunnel. It was raining again and the forecast was that, as befits a January night, it might turn to snow.

    ‘What a day’ the thought uppermost in his mind. He had been unable to clear from his memory the anger in Jonathan Marshall’s face, when he had turned on him.

    “Why didn’t you save my dad?” he had been shouting, and “Don’t you care?”

    This was the down side of his work, but paradoxically, he knew it was where he could be at his best. Yet somehow he had not been able to ease the way for young Jonathan. It had however been the catalyst for Mrs Marshall, who until then had been holding on, trying to control her emotion. Unwittingly Jonathan had given his mother the release of tension that she needed, and she was completely composed when she left the hospital.

    There were days when Edward felt that what he was doing was important, and today was one of them. He had played his part in seeing two middle-aged men who had been brought in following heart attacks, safely through A & E, and now comfortably recovering on the wards. A succession of accidents of all kinds, not to mention many road accident victims. All had been dealt with properly, most sent homes, and some who needed further treatment, were also settled into one of the wards. It was the randomness, the unpredictability of events, and the many skills that he was called upon to display that gave him such a sense of satisfaction. That very sense of being needed meant that other thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind. Now, once again they had forced their way to the front.

   “How can Tony expect me  to give it all up?”

   Edward felt a spasm of anger as he remembered Tony’s announcement that ‘We will be moving’.  Despite his attempts, the memory of Tony’s thoughtlessness had filtered in and out of his consciousness all day, and his anger then had only been suppressed by other more pressing emotions.

    He was scared at the prospect of losing Tony, who had, it is true, made a stronger man of him during the last few years, but he realized that he was at a crossroads: a point in his life where he had to make a choice. He wished that he did not have to make such a big decision, but it seemed that there was no other way. He knew that he was going to have to choose between Tony and Wixley General Hospital.

    A picture of Jonathan Marshall came into his mind again. All of his anger being directed at him, but he was certain that in being there, he had been the means by which Jonathan had released his tension. Yes, it was unfair, and of course it was untrue to say he didn’t care, but here was a young boy caught in a situation which he did not understand, could not control, and he was lashing out. He felt he could live with that; for surely that was what his life was about.

    He had just about reached his journey’s end, and wearily he left his seat to make his way to the bus exit. Ten minutes later he was unlocking the door to his flat, knowing it would be empty, and for the first time, he was glad that it would be. It would be another hour before Tony arrived  home, and he needed that hour to clear his thoughts, and to hold on to his new feeling of destiny. He busied himself with the preparation of the evening meal, and some tidying up. Soon however he was starting to get edgy, moving things that didn’t need moving, then moving them back again. Worst of all he was starting to doubt his resolve, perhaps even looking for a way out, so that he would not to have to make that decision.

    He heard the key in the door, and in a moment Tony came into the flat. Perhaps he too had been worried about their future, and Edward hoped he might be conciliatory. In this he was disappointed, for Tony was sure of himself, and knew that he had made the right decision, and didn’t seem to understand why Edward was making it so difficult. Their greeting was cool, and Edward soon realized that if he had hoped for some change or softening in Tony’s attitude, he would be thwarted. He had their meal ready which he now placed on the table. They ate in silence, and after washing the dishes in silence, both sat down in their little lounge. It was clear to them both that they had reached a crisis point in their relationship, and quite suddenly, love and affection had been replaced by cold independence, almost indifference.

    Tony was the first to speak “Are you coming with me then?  I have to know; or are you sticking to your little job in that little hospital?”

    Edwards heart sank. Even at this late stage he was hoping for some unexpected solution to emerge which would save them from what he knew would be a painful parting. Tony clearly had no such expectations, and was not leaving any room for compromise.  “Come with me or I go without you.” That seemed to be the bottom line. Edwards heart was pounding, but he couldn’t hide from the fact that the time had come to make that decision. It was perhaps the most important decision he would ever make, and there would be no way back. He took a deep breath and stood up, his legs trembling, his pulse racing.

    “I’m not going with you.” he said quietly

    A few minutes passed and neither of the spoke another word. Edward was aware of a great sense of relief, and even a feeling of self-respect, for standing firm. Tony left the room and went into the bedroom. Edward could hear sounds but stayed where he was. About twenty minutes later Tony reappeared carrying a small case. He held out his hand and smiled.

    “Goodbye Edward.” he said.

    Edward was transfixed. ‘Goodbye Edward’. The words rang in his ears, his thoughts racing. ‘Is that all it comes down to, Just, ‘Goodbye Edward’?

    Somehow he heard Tony’s voice over the pounding in his head. “I'm sorry that this part of our lives has come to and end,” he was speaking calmly without emotion, “but things change, and sometimes you’ve got to move on.”

    All his warmth and charm had returned, and he seemed to be perfectly happy at the way things had turned out. “I hope you find what you want in your little hospital - be happy.”

    This time he had said ‘little hospital’ with a smile, and without malice. “I'll be in touch soon to sort out the flat and a few more things.”

    When he got to the door he paused, turned and said with a big smile, “Don’t forget; be happy.”

    Then he was gone. Edward couldn’t believe it. Tony had gone, his head had stopped spinning, and he realized that despite his anxiety's it had been an easy parting. Not the traumatic event he had feared. Tony had gone, and though he knew that he would miss him, he felt strong. 'Perhaps Tony is right,' he thought 'and that we do sometimes have to move on'. He was feeling a little drunk, and was surprised that he wasn’t crying. He knew that he had lost something important, but what, he thought, had he gained in return. His job?. Yes that was vital; and his independence?. He had never wanted independence before, but now, perhaps for the first time in his life, he felt that not only could he  handle it, he wanted it.  But he knew, almost instinctively that there was something else. It took some time before he realized that the biggest gain was that he had found himself.

 

Margaret had spent quite a while at the hospital, seeing various people and sorting out what had to be done. Bill’s death had been so sudden and unexpected, that she was completely unprepared, and just now she was trying to get a mental picture of it all. Emma was quiet now, but her sobbing had left her drained. She, more than anyone seemed had been affected by the sudden loss, but perhaps her tearful outburst would allow her to accept and recover more quickly than her brother. When they finally got home Margaret started to get something ready for their tea, even though tea time had long since passed.

    She was thinking of Jonathan. Not of Bill, not of herself, but of her son. She had been amazed at his reaction, and was at a loss to explain his fury. She wondered why he had been so angry, and at whom. She was sure the doctors in the emergency theatre had done all they could, and one of them had explained the extent of her husband’s  injuries. When she was asked to identify the body, she could see, despite the work that had been done to make him look less damaged, that it had been a terrible smash. A police lady had been to see her, and said that someone would call again soon with more information, but until then she didn’t know exactly what had caused the accident. As far as they could tell no other vehicle had been involved, so there was no obvious cause, and no witnesses had come forward.

     Margaret had been surprised however to find that the accident had happened here in town, for he told her that he was going to London for a meeting? In fact she had been expecting a call from him to say he would be staying over for the night, which he did quite often. She had thought, and still did, that he was seeing someone else, when his overnight stays became more frequent, and even wondered if he might leave her. But he hadn’t done so, and their lives had continued as before, together but distant.

     She and Emma had been home for some time now, and looking first at the clock on the wall, and then at her wrist watch, seeing that in each case it was well-turned nine O’clock. She called to Emma, who was squatting in her usual place in front of the TV, which she had been watching for a while.

    “Have you any idea where Jonathan might be?” she asked.

    “He might be with his girl friend.” Emma replied after a pause.

    “What girl friend; I don’t know about any girlfriend?” Margaret asked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

    Emma got up from her position on the floor in front of the television. “I don’t know much about her,” she said as she came into the kitchen. and sat down at the table. “She’s in his year at school; he was telling me about her yesterday, but I don’t know where she lives or her name.”

    “Well I hope he isn’t going to stay out all night like a tom cat,” Margaret said, a little surprised at herself for the remark. After all, Jonathan was growing up fast and was as big as some boys two years older. While she could see that he would be attractive to the girls,  her thoughts were  “we’ve got enough to think about at the moment, thank you very much.” All the same she smiled. It was her first smile of the day.

 

Jonathan wasn’t with Claire. In fact he hadn’t seen her since they entered the school in the morning. He had left the hospital in a daze, going nowhere in particular, ignoring calls from Mr Wilson, who he had spotted just outside that little room. He ran to the shopping centre and then just walked, it seemed like he had walked for hours, until he realized that he didn’t know where he was. He was still angry, but didn’t know why. Somehow he knew that he should be sad, or upset, or sorry, or distressed, or grieving, but he felt none of those feelings.

    Just anger.

    He was angry at his dad. 'What a stupid sod for getting himself killed', he had said to himself, over and over again.

    He turned round and started to retrieve his steps, hoping that he would find his way, for he had become aware of some basic instincts. He was cold and hungry. He knew that it was his own fault, eating hardly any breakfast, and then because of what had happened he had missed lunch. Then of course he had left left home without a coat. One way and another it had been a long day. He had gone to school early in the morning, wanting to be off before his dad got up; not really wanting to see him, fed up at being picked on lately, and fed up that he was never any fun any more.

   Jonathan could hardly remember the last time they had shared time together. He recalled that they used to go to the park and they would kick a ball too and fro, but that stopped a long time ago, and he never found out why.

    Sometimes he would think about his mum and dad together, and he wondered if the still loved each other. He heard people talking about love sometimes, but he didn’t really know what it meant. He didn’t know much about making love, apart from what he picked up in the class room, or in the playground. What was it about, this sex thing, he wondered that seemed to make his school friends snigger and laugh. Also, he pondered, you could never tell if people knew, or if they were making it up. One thing he did know; there was never any sign of any love in his house. 'If they do love each other' he was thinking, ‘it doesn’t show’;  and 'do they love me?' After that another question popped into his thoughts, this time even harder to answer; 'do I love them?'

    Jonathan wasn’t getting anywhere with this; he didn’t know what to think and he was very frustrated.

   “I’m not even sure if I know what it means.” He heard the words and realized that he was shouting. Shouting into the wind. ‘Mums OK’ he said, more quietly, calming down again. ‘She looks after me, and gets my meals’. He paused, trying to work it out, knowing that there must be more to it than that, but unable to say what.  ‘But Dad?’ another long pause, ‘I don’t even like him’. He felt an unexpected and unaccountable sharp stab at that thought. For a moment he had forgotten that he was gone. Thoughts of that kind; that he had gone for good, or even that he might even miss him, had not yet started to form.

    He thought of Claire; and wondered if he loved her. ‘I like being with her’ once more he nearly spoke the words out loud, ‘and she says she likes me, but I’ve only known her a few weeks so how can you tell?’ Then a thought occurred, as if for the first very time. ‘I haven’t even kissed her yet; he paused - for even in his thoughts he found the words hard to form - ‘never mind touching her and feeling her’.

    ‘But I do like being with her’ he repeated the thought ‘so maybe I do love her’.

    By this time he had regained familiar territory and he decided to see if he could find her. He had walked a little quicker and was not aware of the cold anymore, but he was still hungry.  Those two slices of toast at breakfast seemed a long time back, and as it was now nearly ten o’clock, he hoped that the ‘chippy’ would be open. It was, and before long he was eating fish and chips from the newspaper, doused with salt and vinegar. Soon he was feeling better.

    He continued to search  the streets hoping to find Claire or any of his pals, but he was unlucky and found no one he knew. On a cold January night there were few people around, and anyway, he was starting to feel bored with wandering about.

    The prospect of going home to face his mother however was not something he relished, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.  Somewhat reluctantly, he turned toward his house.

     Not quite fifteen, maturity and manhood tantalizingly just out of reach, he could not comprehend that although he didn’t need his mother right now, his mother needed him.