Riley, p.39
Riley, page 39
‘Lily,’ she whispered the name. ‘Lily’s husband.’
‘So I understand, ma’am. Anyway, he was brought to the hospital in Fellburn, but such are his injuries, at least to the head, that he has been taken into the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle.’
She said something that sounded to him like, Oh dear God! then he said, ‘I know you’re a great distance away, ma’am, and it would take some time for you to get here. Have you any close friends I could contact for you?’
‘There…there is his father.’
‘Could you give me his address?’
She gave him Alex’s address.
‘I will get in touch with him right away, ma’am. I’m very sorry to have brought you this distressing news, ma’am.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was small.
What next? What next? She should go. She must go…Fred. She must phone Fred; he would find out the real state of affairs.
She dialled the number. Presently a voice came as a grunt: ‘What? Who is it?’
‘It’s Nyrene here, Fred.’
‘Nyrene?’ There was a pause. ‘It’s…it’s half past three in the morning, what’s up?’
‘It’s…it’s Peter. He’s been attacked. The police say he’s been badly injured. He’s been taken to the RVI in Newcastle.’
‘Peter?’
‘Yes. Yes, wake up.’
‘I am awake, woman.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Fred, but I’m in a state. It seems that he’s been brutally attacked by Lily’s husband.’
‘Whose husband?’
‘Lily’s. You know, Lily Poole, the young actress. She does his washing and things.’
‘Never!’
‘The police are getting in touch with his father. Would you go and find out what’s really happened to him?’
‘I’ll get there straight away and let you know.’
‘I’m so sorry to have troubled you, Fred.’
‘Don’t talk rot, woman. Look, here’s Louise, I’m going to get my clothes on.’
Louise’s voice was low and her tone unbelieving now as she said, ‘What I’ve just heard I can’t take in. Why would Lily’s husband want to do anything to Peter? He’s that big goof of a man, isn’t he, a lorry driver?’
‘Yes.’ Nyrene was nodding towards the mouthpiece as she said, ‘Yes, a big goof of a man; and Lily used to say he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘He must have been drunk.’
‘Very likely. Yes, very likely.’ Nyrene said.
‘Fred is almost ready, dear. I’ll go downstairs with him. We’ll ring you as soon as we have news.’
‘Thanks, Louise. Thanks.’
Later, when she looked back she could not remember what she did between the time she got out of bed and the phone ringing at six o’clock. By this time she wasn’t alone, for Hamish and Mary were with her.
Fred’s voice came to her saying, ‘Listen. Now listen, Nyrene. I don’t know exactly what’s happened to him; he’s still in the theatre. I only know that one of those fancy spikes that support the footscraper to the side of the flat door must have struck him somewhere in the neck. The Night Sister gave me a brief outline. I also went to the police station to find out if they could put any light on why this had happened. It appears that the man Poole was paralytic drunk, but then cried himself practically sober. From what I can gather, someone had been writing him letters about his wife carrying on with Riley. But he had to get bottled up before he could do anything about it, because, so I understand, he’s normally a very quiet fellow.’
When he had stopped speaking, Nyrene murmured, ‘Anonymous letters? That could only be his mother again!’
‘Yes, I thought that, and so does his father. He’d been to the police station too. He’s sitting now in the waiting room here, with Betty and the fellow’s wife, Lily. She’s in an awful state. She can’t stop talking. The Sister gave her something a little while ago, and it’s calmed her down somewhat. She should go home to bed, but she won’t move until she knows what’s happened to him.’
There was a short silence before he said quietly, ‘Nyrene?’
‘Yes, Fred?’
‘I…I think you should be here.’
‘I’m all ready to come, Fred. Although it’s Sunday I should be there by this afternoon. I’ll go straight to the hospital, Fred.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. See you later then. Goodbye.’
She was standing in the small office facing a young man, much too young, she thought, to be a doctor. He was saying, ‘You know he is in intensive care?’
‘I didn’t. I have just come off the train; I know nothing as yet about his condition.’
‘Oh. Oh well.’ He now picked up a clip of papers from the desk and, scanning the first page, he nodded as he said, ‘He seems to have had a bad mauling. His assailant was a boxer, I understand, but apparently he’s been very lucky in that the spike he fell upon didn’t penetrate his skull. He has lost part of his ear, although plastic surgery will soon put that right. We’ve yet to find out if the spike has done any damage to his brain.’ He fumbled again with his notes. ‘Apparently he lost some teeth when his jaw was broken, but again that’s of little consequence. But what can be ascertained at the moment is that the femur has been damaged. Then there will be the shock to consider.’
‘May I see him?’ The question was flat and he answered, ‘Yes. Yes, of course, but he won’t know you, not for some time.’
A few minutes later she was standing by Peter’s bed looking down on a mummified head, for all she could see of his face were his closed lids, his nose and part of his mouth. There was a tube leading from his left wrist to a bag of blood attached to a stand nearby.
Someone placed a chair to her side. She didn’t thank them for it, but dropped onto it. Then she put her hand up to her mouth so that the moans that were filling her throat wouldn’t escape. She thought, Oh, Peter, Peter. Oh, Peter, Peter. Oh, my dear, if I’d only…if I’d only…The words were racing each other in her head now and she was only dimly aware of a voice saying, ‘Take deep breaths,’ and then of being helped up from the chair, and it seemed to her that she took only three steps before she was once again in an office and the voice was saying, ‘Shall I get her a cup of tea, Sister?’ and the answer, ‘Yes, yes.’ Then ‘There now. There now.’ And it had a jocular tone as it went on. ‘We nearly had another casualty on our hands, didn’t we? It was a good job Nurse was passing.’
Oh, Peter. Peter.
‘Ah, here it is! Now drink this up. Your friends tell me you’ve had a long journey all the way from Aberdeen, and Sunday travel can be very slow.’
Oh, Peter. Peter. Oh my dear, don’t die. Don’t die. Give me time to forgive myself; don’t die.
‘We’ll take her straight home.’ It was Louise’s voice. She brought up her head and opened her eyes, and in a whimper now she muttered, ‘Oh! Louise, he’s—’
‘Don’t worry, dear, don’t worry. He’ll be all right, won’t he, Sister?’
The Sister’s voice did not come back immediately, but when it did it said, ‘All he needs now is rest; then his constitution will take over. And he’s young and strong. It’s all in his favour; and I’m sure he’ll feel better tomorrow when he sees you.’
As Louise led her down the corridor it came to her mind that again she hadn’t thanked either the Sister or the nurse for the tea. What had happened to her? Had she fainted? She had never before fainted in her life, that she could remember.
When they entered the waiting room, Fred was quick to move towards them and to say, ‘Let’s get you home.’
She looked from him to where Alex and Betty were standing, and then some distance behind to Lily. Lily’s husband had done this to Peter and all because of what he had imagined was happening between them. She was sure of that. It was that evil woman’s mind and her hate that had brought this about.
She was aware that Alex now had hold of her hands, and as she was about to flop down into a chair again, Fred’s voice came at her, almost barking in his old-fashioned way, saying, ‘No you don’t! You’re getting home and to bed.’ Then he repeated the Sister’s words, ‘Or we’ll have another patient on our hands. It’s sleep you want; the same as me. Everything will look better tomorrow, Peter included, you’ll see.’ And with this, he put his big arm around her, and with Louise at the other side they almost carried her to the car.
It had taken a sleeping pill finally to push her off and she didn’t become fully awake until ten o’clock on the Monday morning; and then she had the desire to stay where she was for she felt exhausted. That was until her mind gave her the reason she was in Louise’s house.
Only an hour had elapsed from the time she came fully around until she was once again in the hospital and standing by Peter’s bedside. His lids were all open and it looked as if he was straining to see; and yet he wasn’t aware of her presence until she murmured, ‘Peter. Peter.’
He could not move his head, it was as if it was in a vice, but he turned his eyes in her direction, and then his lips moved. But no sound came from them, yet she knew he had mouthed her name.
‘Oh, my dear.’ She was bending over him, looking down into his face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
The hand that had been lying limp on the coverlet moved slowly towards her, but it seemed it had no power to lift itself; and now she clutched at it and held it to her, saying in a broken mumble, ‘As soon as you’re able to be moved you must come home.’
When his lids closed she muttered again, ‘Oh, Peter. Peter,’ and at this, a nurse appearing at the far side of the bed said quietly, ‘It’s time for his injection; then he’ll be asleep almost immediately.’ And as if apologising for what she had to do, she said, ‘It’s better this way, otherwise he’d be in a great deal of pain; he’s very bruised.’
Nyrene asked quietly, ‘How long will it be before he will be…well, fully round?’
‘Oh’—the nurse gave a little shrug—‘it all depends on his progress; it’s early days yet.’
The eyes had closed now. She gave a lingering look at him before turning away and at the door she waited for the nurse to leave the bed, then asked her quietly, ‘Is he in immediate danger?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t be in this ward if he wasn’t. But I’ve seen worse than him, and they’ve gone out from here and finally from the wards on their two legs. So try not to worry.’
It was little comfort, but Nyrene nodded her thanks, and when the nurse opened the door to allow her to go out, she hesitated a moment to look back to the bed.
Only Louise was in the waiting room, and she didn’t greet her by asking, Well, how is he? but, taking her arm, she turned her quickly about, saying, ‘We’re going to have some lunch. You’ve got to eat; we’ve all got to eat.’ Then she added almost ominously, ‘There might be some long nights before us.’
Twenty-Four
The local newspaper had two field days: ‘Jealous Husband Attacks Actor’ followed by ‘All Night Vigil At Hospital’.
The Monday evening paper went further: ‘Ex-Boxer Gets Into Ring Again, Batters Actor’.
In each case there were descriptive paragraphs about Riley’s injuries that had caused him to be taken from the local hospital to the RVI in Newcastle, where he was now in the intensive care unit with severe head injuries, as well as a broken leg, et cetera. The third day there was nothing, but on the fourth day another headline appeared: ‘Actor Fighting For His Life, All Night Vigil By Wife And Father’. Then it went on: ‘In a specially allowed interview with our reporter, Johnny Poole said he was sorry to the heart at what he had done, but that it had all been caused by anonymous letters. He’d had them for some weeks now. They would be awaiting him at the depot, telling him of his wife’s visits to the actor’s flat which, apparently, had been solely for the purpose of collecting the actor’s washing and replenishing his freezer. The actor’s wife was mainly taken up attending to their invalid son.’ The reporter went on to say that Mr Poole hadn’t mentioned the fact that he had lost his job and that his wife had left him and would sue for a divorce.
Nothing more appeared in the papers until five weeks later when the case came up.
However, between times, the question cropped up amongst the theatre people and others as to who could have written those letters.
Any member of the family and immediate friends could have enlightened them, but they all knew, because Riley had voiced this from the beginning, that he didn’t want his mother’s name to be mentioned, because if his mother were brought to court the situation would be made public and he would never be able to get her off his mind; it was bad enough having to carry it in the background of his life. Alex had warned them to keep their tongues quiet and leave her to him. He would see to her. Oh yes, he would see to her.
She had been home only four times within the last five weeks, but she phoned the boy every morning and every evening, and he was responding to her absence much better than she had imagined he would because there was the promise of his father coming home, after his leg was better.
She was on the phone now to Charles and was saying, ‘Daddy was out of bed yesterday and could walk a little, so it won’t be long, darling, before he’s home.’ But even as she said the words she wondered why she was so sure, because the man she was seeing every day now was nothing like the one who had stood in the driveway making the excuse that he had come to see his son. This man was quieter; he never spoke of going home, and rarely asked after his son.
The child’s voice came again: ‘Have you told Daddy I can write my name?’
‘Yes, he was delighted to hear it, and he said if you will write down your address he will send you a letter.’
The boy’s laugh came over the phone; then he said, ‘Mr Mac wants to speak to you, Mummy.’
‘Hello there, ma’am.’
‘Hello, Hamish.’
‘How’re you finding him?’
‘Oh, much the same as yesterday; but…but he can move the leg a little more.’
‘He’ll be here for Christmas then?’
When she did not answer straight away his enquiring voice came again, saying, ‘He will now, ma’am, he will, won’t he? We can arrange something so he can be stretched out in the back of the car.’
‘I…I don’t know whether he’ll be fit for it, Hamish.’ She hadn’t the heart to say, I don’t know whether he wants to come, for that would have been nearer the truth.
‘Oh well, we’ll just have to go on thinking on the positive side, won’t we, ma’am? And herself’s got a list of cookies that she’s going to make as long as your arm. She’s upstairs at the moment. Will I call her?’
‘No, I’ll speak to her tonight, Hamish; I must get back. You know, it’s the day of the trial.’
‘Oh aye. Oh aye. He deserved two years; but I’d give him three.’
She made no comment on this for she knew who should go to prison for three years, and it wasn’t the big gormless ex-boxer.
When she reached Riley’s small private ward she found him sitting on the edge of the bed in his dressing gown.
He smiled at her, as if she had only recently gone out of the room and had now come back, as he said, ‘I’m for therapy, they tell me.’
She pulled up a chair and sat close to him, but she did not make any move to kiss him, or he her: except for the short intervals when she had gone home, she had seen him daily and their intimacy had never gone further than holding hands. She said to him, ‘I’ve just been on the phone. Charles sounded very bright.’ He did not answer this, but just nodded, and then said, ‘What time is it?’ She glanced at her wristwatch and said, ‘A quarter to ten.’
‘The case will have started.’
‘Yes, yes.’ She hadn’t thought she would mention the case to him, and here he was openly speaking of it, so he must have been thinking about it; and it certainly proved that he had been when he said, ‘I hope he gets off.’
Her voice was indignant as she said, ‘He doesn’t deserve to get off! You could have died!’
‘From the footscraper perhaps, but not from what he did.’
Her indignation now almost made her rise from the chair as she said, ‘A split groin, a cracked hip bone, a broken jaw, and the loss of four teeth, and half your ear gone.’
‘That was from the spike.’
‘Well, if he hadn’t beaten you up you wouldn’t have fallen and he needn’t have used his feet on you; and that spike, remember, could have entered your skull. The surgeon stressed you’re very lucky.’
‘Yes, I know, but even so you know as well as I do, Nyrene, that he’s not really to blame.’ He did not put a name to who was to blame, nor did she, and then he added, ‘And he was mad drunk.’
There was silence between them before he spoke again, when he said quietly, ‘He wrote to me, you know.’
‘Never!’
‘Yes, and he said he was sorry to the heart of him for what he had done. I’ve…I’ve told Lily, she was in earlier this morning, that she mustn’t divorce him; at least I didn’t put it like that, I said she shouldn’t leave him because he’s going to need somebody, for if, as I understand, it’ll be Judge D’Arcy on the bench he’s more than likely to send him along the line.’
Her voice was soft as she said, ‘Well, it’s what he deserves, for he could have crippled you for life.’
He stared at her. He wanted to tell her that he had crippled him for life, not so much in the body as in the mind. He had done a lot of thinking whilst lying here during the past weeks. Pain was a clarifier, it sorted out your values. What did you gain from being an actor except applause from an audience and the gratifying of your enlarged ego? But before you got the applause you had to please, and what did you give up in the pleasing? In his case he had given up time: time with his wife, time with his child, and what had that resulted in? The answer lay in the scar on his chin. And to continue to be an actor, you must hold on to verve, and verve meant enthusiasm and vigour. Well, there was no vigour left in him; as for enthusiasm, he knew that he would never step onto a stage again. The desire to express himself, to please, in fact to exhibit himself, had gone. All he wanted to do now was to find some place where he could be by himself for a time; not home, oh no, not home. She kept talking about home, about his coming home for Christmas; but most of her talk, he felt, was partly out of pity. As for the rest, she was trying to expunge her feeling of guilt for putting the child before him, because she knew if she were able to leave the child now she would have been able to leave him before and that had she done so none of this would have happened, and he certainly wouldn’t have had the scar on his chin.
