BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

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                                                                        Chapter Six

 

Edward took a little time out from his busy routine, something he would not normally do, even though he had checked that there were no emergencies in the pipeline. Emergences could occur at a moments notice, they followed no rules, or guidelines; they just happened and one just had to be ready. He was determined therefore to be no more that half an hour. He had primed a colleague, who, armed with a pager would call him if he was needed, so of he went. Twice earlier he had telephoned the supermarket, and was told that Margaret was not in, and when he asked if she was ill, was told that personal information could not be given on the phone. Undaunted he asked if it was to do with her son, who, he said, he knew been having some difficulties since the death of his father. This created a slight problem for the receptionist, who on the one hand had to stick with company procedure, and on the other she clearly thought she was talking to a family friend.

    “I’m sorry,” she said, “I really can’t tell you on the phone; it’s just not allowed: and in any case I don’t know myself.” Then she added “Why don’t you call in and speak to the manager, he might be able to help.”

    Edward was very surprised at this turn of events. He had phoned to see how Jonathan was getting on, expecting a positive report, only to find that there was something going on, but no-one wished to elaborate.

    He left the hospital just before ten, and with as much speed as he could muster, ran, walked, trotted, then ran again until he came to the supermarket. He went in and asked if he could see the manager, and was directed to his office. Out of breath but glad that there had been no delays, he knocked at the door. A moment later the was opened by a smartly dressed young  man of similar age to his own, and with a brisk manner.

    “Yes sir,” he said to Edward, “can I help you?”

    “Yes thank you very much; I’m a friend of Margaret Marshall, and I am a little worried, because I can’t get in touch with her, and I wonder if you can help me.;” He stopped to get a breath, still panting “I know she works here, and I would like to help if there is a problem.”

    He stood at the door to the manager’s office, who had made no attempt to ask him inside, and waited for a response.

    “What is your name please?” the manager asked.

    “Edward Willett."

    “Just a minute please Mr. Willet.t” he said as he closed the door. Five minutes elapsed before he reappeared, and this time, instead of talking at the door, he took Edward’s arm and led him a few yards away from his office.

    “I have spoken to Mrs. Marshall; she’s in my office right now,” he said, looking to one side, “and she confirms that you are a friend.”

    Then looking back to Edward, he continued. “She has had a bit of a shock; her son ran away from home last night.” he said as though to explain. “He has been found, and he’s OK, but both he and his mum are very upset."

    Edward was quick to offer, “Is there anything I can do?” he said, wondering how this can have happened.

    “No, not at the moment.” replied the manager, firmly, “Mrs Marshall is being taken home very soon; and so is her son; by one of his school teachers. They will need to be left alone.”

    Edward was a little put out by the last remark, but when the shop manager continued, he soon realized that it should be so. “Mrs. Marshall has asked me to thank you for your support, and she hopes you will get in touch soon, perhaps tomorrow.” then he added, as if to emphasize the point. “But today she just wants to be with her son. We are taking her home very soon, where Jonathan will be joining her. Please be patient Mr Willett, and do not disturb them today.”

 

Margaret was very apprehensive when the car stop outside the little garden of her home. Bill had never been interested in the garden, so it had been left to her to do what little she could to keep it tidy.

    “Just enough to stop the neighbours from complaining.” she used to joke, but her heart was never in it, so most of the time it was overgrown and unwelcoming. Now it was as bad as ever, and she was a little embarrassed knowing that one of Jonathan’s teachers was about to see it.

    “Can’t help it,” she muttered, “there’s more to worry about than that at the moment.”

    The rat tat tat on the office door announced the announcement of Mr Willsons arrival followed who had offered to take Mrs Marshall home. She immediately recognised him as the man who had brought Jonathan to the hospital the day Bill had died. Jonathan was still being being seen to by a company nurse ans was not ready, but Mrs Marshall was anxious to get home before her daughter returned from school, earlier than usual, due to the crisis in the Marshall household.

      "Not to worry, Mr Willson offered; I'll take you and come straight back for Jonathan."

      Margaret was at her front window when the car arrived at her home for the second time, First to emerge was Mr Willson who skipped round the cat to the passenger door. Then her son was getting out of the car. Not the son she knew. The boy standing there was the opposite of the bright, sparky, full of life boy that was her son. This one was quiet and uncertain, waiting until Rodney gestured towards the door. Margaret was there before them, and as they walked along the short path towards her, she smiled at them, but her eyes were on Jonathan. He was tired: that she could see; but what worried her was what she could not see.

    She took him in her arms, and squeezed him. “Whatever it is,” she said quietly in his ear, “we can sort it out.”

    Then she turned to Rodney, who was just a step behind her son. “Thank you so much for what you have done.” she said, “I hope Jonathan comes to realize what a friend you have been to him.”

    They had reached the door now and Margaret turned again to Rodney “Please will you come in for a cup of tea?”

    “Thank you Mrs. Marshall,”, he answered, “it is very kind of you but I think it might be better if I do not.” he continued, “You have had a rough time, both of you, and I think it would be better if I leave you to each other.”

    With that he held out his hand, ever the gentleman, to take hers, and as they held hands - hardly a shake - he said “I look forward to seeing you before too long when all this is forgotten.”

    Then turning he gave Jonathan friendly hug and said “See you in school on Monday; and don’t worry; it can all be put right.” Before releasing him from the hug he also whispered in Jonathan’s ear. “Don’t forget what I told you.”

    Turning he lifted a hand. “Bye Mrs Marshall; bye Jonathan.” Then he was walking quickly but lightly down the path to his car. It did not seem as though he even looked at the garden

 

Jonathan looked at the clock. Looking back he supposed that his had been a strange life, in a house with little cheer, and lots of things that he would change if he could. Not many things were steady and reliable, and there had been plenty of times when he had wished he was somewhere else, even someone else. And yet at this moment he felt safe and secure. Just the same, there were not many things he could think of that had remained constant, but one thing came to mind. He could not ever remember a time when the clock in the ‘sitting room’ was not working. His dad had been presented with that clock from his work, and he was very proud of it. It was always his proud boast, “It never lost a second.” whenever he could. Now it had stopped.

    “What time is it mum?” he called out.

    Mum was busy in the kitchen making a cup of tea. “I don’t know,” she called back, “what does the clock say?”

    “It’s stopped.” he said.

    “Nonsense,” she replied, “it never stops.” as she came through carrying two beakers.

    “See,” she said “it’s twenty past eleven.”

    Jonathan looked again, and to his surprise saw that the clock really was working, and that it had advanced two minutes since he first looked. He could hardly believe it. So much had happened this day that he felt that it was well into the afternoon. He looked at the clock again. This time it proudly proclaimed, twenty four minutes after eleven. He sat down on the  settee, disoriented, and a little frightened.

    “Drink your tea,” his mother said, “I’m going to see about something to eat.” She moved towards the kitchen. “We will have to have a talk about all this Jonathan; Mr Willson has told me the just the barest outline  but no details, so there’s no hurry; it can wait a bit.”

    He put his head back thinking it would be nice if he could go to sleep, but there was not much chance of that. His thoughts turned to Mr Wilson.

    What was it his mum said?, “I hope he knows what a friend you are.” he remembered, or something like that . “Suppose so.” he thought to himself, somewhat begrudgingly. “I didn’t think he’d come for me.”

    Then he thought of the journey from Mr Wilson’s flat. They hadn’t spoken very much on that journey, but a couple of things had stuck in his mind. He remembered his teacher saying, “You should get it over with your mum as soon as you can; the longer you leave it the harder it will be.”

    He had also reminded Jonathan that though what he had done to his dad’s grave wasn’t very nice, there was no real damage, and the police had not become involved, so it would just between him and his mother.

    With that thought he was determined that he would try to tell his mum everything when she came back to the room.

    Ten minutes later, having got dinner on the way, his mother popped her head into the ‘sitting room’ to ask what he would like for a pudding.  Jonathan was fast asleep.

 

Edward was back at the A & E. Remarkably no emergencies had occurred in the forty five minutes he had been away, and the ward was relatively quiet. Edward’s head on the other hand, was pounding. Apart from the physical stress of running both ways between hospital and supermarket, from which he knew he would recover, was the shock of discovering what had occurred. At least to discover that something had happened, though he could not imagine, and no one would tell him, just what that was.  “What can it be?” he kept asking himself, “I know he was upset when he left the hospital yesterday, but that was what was required, to get it out of his system and in to the open.”

    Then it hit him like a hammer blow. “She wouldn’t see me this morning.” Stunned at the thought, he felt ill.  “I must have been too hard - she must be blaming me.”

    The rest of his shift went very slowly, and he was relieved that nothing critical came up, because he doubted his ability to think clearly.

 

Margaret didn’t disturb Jonathan until about two o’clock, thinking that the sleep would do him good. Gently she pulled on his shoulder, and gradually sleep gave way to consciousness.

    “Wake up my lovely,” she said, “dinners on the table.”

    The sleep had indeed done him good, and Jonathan felt stronger than for a long time, and, most importantly, felt that he would be able to face up to his mum. They ate their lunch in relative silence, neither of them wanting to open up on the subject that was at the front of their minds, temporarily trapped, but bursting to escape.

    When, after the meal, but still at the kitchen table, pots not yet cleared, and a beaker each of  tea in front of them, it was Jonathan who plucked up the courage.

    “I’ve got to tell you something that will upset you mum.” he said. It came out almost from nowhere, but having started, he could not go back. Margaret too was relieved.  Apprehensive as well, not knowing what ‘crime’ her son had committed, but glad that now the door was open, they had to go through.

     “When I went to bed last night,” he started, “all the bad thoughts came, and I was so angry at everyone and everything, and I couldn’t sleep. I got up about midnight and thought I would go for a walk.” He stopped, looking at his mum, but she didn’t speak, waiting for her son to continue, “honestly I didn’t walk to any place special, I just walked.”

    Again Margaret remained silent, wanting Jonathan to get to the heart of the matter as quickly as possible.

    “I didn’t really know where I was at one time, and then when I realized that I had got to the cemetery, I looked for a way to get in. I walked around hoping to find a break in the railings, but after a while I just climbed over. There was a bit of moon so I could see enough, and I walked around until I found dad’s grave."

    He looked at his mother again, wishing he could stop, but knowing he could not. “I stood there for ages just looking at it, and then I started to cry.” Jonathan hoped his mother would say something to help him out, but not knowing where this would lead, she was unable to do so, and again she remained silent.

    “Then for some reason I got angry, and the angrier I got the more I cried, and the more I cried the angrier I got.” He stopped again, and after a few minutes, it seemed as though he had come to a barrier.

    Now Margaret spoke, a mothers instinct telling her that her boy needed some help.

    “Go on Jonathan,” she said quietly, “try to tell me, then it’s done.”

    “I trashed his grave.” he said bluntly. He had said it. Now he could not go back.

    “What do you mean Jonathan; what did you do?”

    “I looked around and found a big stick, and I thrashed and thrashed until there wasn’t a flower left, and then I kicked the cross over, and pushed the soil away” He took a deep breath, feeling the anger inside him just as before, “then I started kicking all the soil away; until it didn't look like a grave any more; as though it was nothing to do with me.”

    He seemed to be thinking, perhaps trying to remember how it went.“ After that I stood around for a while like I was in a dream. Then I climbed back over the railings and carried on walking, and then I started to run. I didn’t know where I was until it was about six o’clock, when I found an old building that I remembered from a school trip. Then I realized that I was wet and cold, and I seemed to freeze, and sat down and waited.”

    Jonathan stopped talking, he was finished, not wanting to say more, not having any more to say.

    Margaret moved from the chair opposite her son till she stood next to him, and put her arms around his shoulders, gently pulling him to her. Nothing was said for a little while and Jonathan made no attempt to break away; he was the child again, safe in the comforting caress of a mother.

    “You know,” A few minutes had elapsed and Margaret spoke quietly, “you are quite a lot like your dad.”

    Jonathan didn’t move, but some sense told her that he was listening.  “He always found it hard to express his emotions, just like you,” She put her hand on his head and with her finger ends gently tweaked his curly hair. “and he would get so frustrated,” she said, still quietly, “just like you.”

    Jonathan stirred a little, as though he wanted to say something, and Margaret loosened her hold. “I’m sorry mum.” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, “It all seemed to get on top of me.”

    She squeezed him gently. “I don’t think I knew who I was most of the night.” he told her, "never mind where I was."

    He moved a little and she, releasing her hold, sat down beside him.“ Did you hate your father so much?” she asked, taking his hand so that the contact remained.

   Jonathan gave a little shudder, “Before he died I didn’t hate him.” the words were spoken quietly, then for a moment he was silent, “I didn’t really care I suppose, and he didn’t seem to care either.”

    He looked at his mother. “He didn’t seem to care about any of us, so I didn’t care.” and she wondered if there was just a touch of spirit returning to his voice. “I think I tried to love him, but he wouldn’t let me.”

    Margaret had to be careful. She wanted Jonathan to break free from the torment he was enduring. She didn’t quite understand it, but she knew that until he was free, he could not return to being the boy he was  or the man that one day he would want to be. Also she did not want to provoke his anger. She had seen the signs of another outburst just a few minutes ago, but now thankfully it had started to subside.

    “Your dad was not a bad man Jonathan.” she started. “When we first got married, and then when you and Emma arrived, we were such a happy family, and ‘Oh’ he loved you so much.” she paused, unexpectedly feeling a touch of emotion herself, “He loved us all, and he was so proud of his children, and especially you, his first child; his first son.”

    She looked at him, then herself, both of them sitting on the hard chairs of the dining room, the bright light above offering no darkness in which to hide their feelings, and yet they were closer than they had been for years. Her eyes were moist.

    “What happened then, mum?” he asked, wanting to make some sense of it.

    “I can’t tell you I’m afraid.”, she said. “ I wish I knew; your dad had to work long hours to support us, and then when you were old enough I had to get a job as well.”

    Margaret knew that there was more to it than that, but didn’t know where or how to start to explain, because she never really knew herself where it started to go wrong.

    “Something changed somewhere.” she said quietly. Jonathan was more settled now, and Margaret tried to find the right words. “We were often too tired to be there for each other, and neither of us was perfect. We never intended to break up, or expected to, or wanted to.” she said, again searching for an explanation. She realized that she was trying to explain it to herself, as well as to her son. “So instead of being tolerant of each others shortcomings, we started picking on them.” She stopped.. “I think we just fell out of love.”

    It was like a final summing up. Fifteen years of their lives in that short sentence.

    “Did he stop loving us as well, Emma and me?” Jonathan asked, now upright and looking straight at his mother.

    It was a hard question to answer, but Margaret knew that this might be the key to it all, and it would not do to give her son, desperate to get himself together, anything but the truth.

    “You must have seen for yourself that your dad and me have not been happy”, she waited for a look or a nod from him, that he understood this much.“We both knew that it had gone, but we didn’t hate each other, and we did try to get along. We just didn’t love each other any more.”

    This was hard for Margaret, because she was now looking into her soul, looking for the words, and the reason, to explain her failure. She had to stem her own feelings, now starting to erupt, and carry on. Her eyes were still wet, but she had managed to hold back real tears.

    “There were times when we would talk and try to be nice with each other; but we both knew that our love had gone.” She did not want to exaggerate this part of their lives, but she wanted Jonathan to know that it hadn’t all been bad. “I know that he felt that he had failed you, and that he would have done things different if he had the chance.”

    She looked and smiled, “But you see Jonathan, most times people don’t get the chance to go back and ‘do it again’.”

    She waited a moment, hoping for, and feeling that she saw, some sign of understanding, before she continued. “So I can’t tell you truthfully that he loved you.”  This was heady stuff, and she could feel the tears welling up again. “When he stopped loving me I think he stopped loving himself a little bit, and somehow that made it hard for him to show his love for you..”

    She struggled to find the words “I used to think he would leave us but I think; no I’m sure, that he feared the loss of his children more than the loss of his wife.” she shrugged her shoulders “But one thing I do know for certain, is how much he wanted to love you. But perhaps he just couldn’t find the right way to show it.”

    She stopped again, not knowing how she could continue, or what more she could say. For the moment it seemed that there was nothing that either of them could say. A good few minutes elapsed before Jonathan got up from his chair and kissed his mother on the cheek.

    “Cup of tea?” he asked

    “Yes please.” she said, and then quickly searched for her handkerchief to wipe away the tears which had been threatening, and which now she could no longer hold back. By the time Jonathan returned with two steaming beakers her cheeks were dry, but her eyes could not hide those recent tears.