The Black Path (15 page)

‘Sales, probably. Double glazing. Or life insurance. I don’t know why people bother.’

I’m glad my dad bothered, Helen thinks. Or I’d never have bought the house.

‘Cheers,’ Siân says, handing her a glass. ‘To us!’

Helen raises her glass, sloshing wine over her hand and onto the table. ‘Oops!’ She really ought to make this her last drink. ‘I should make a move soon,’ she says. ‘It’s getting late.’

Siân frowns. ‘And miss all the fun? The karaoke’s about to start.’

‘I’m not a huge fan of karaoke.’

‘But that’s the reason I brought you here. You can’t go yet.’ She grins. ‘Now, have a look at this and pick a song.’ She hands Helen a menu. Printed on the back are dozens of song titles.

Helen shakes her head. ‘I can’t get up in front of all these people.’

‘Of course you can. That’s what the wine is for – Dutch courage.’

‘But I can’t sing.’

‘Most of them can’t sing. That’s not the point.’

‘So what is the point?’

Siân rolls her eyes. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? People laugh at you. Big fucking deal! Let them. You’ll probably never see them again. And who knows? You might even enjoy it.’

Helen sips her wine. ‘I doubt that very much.’

‘Then do it for me. Show me I didn’t back a loser.’ Siân smiles, then adds quickly, ‘Just teasing. Now, have a look at that list. I’m off to the loo.’

Helen watches as she weaves her way through the crowded bar, people parting to make way. Her eyes fall on the woman they saw earlier, riding the mobility scooter. She’s standing at the bar. Siân has spotted her too. Turning to face Helen, she lifts her right hand above her head, makes an ‘L’ shape with her thumb and forefinger and mouths the word ‘loser’. Then she’s gone.

Helen stares at the list of song titles. Some she doesn’t even recognize. Others she vaguely recalls from her childhood. She remembers her father singing along to his CDs at night, out of tune but with such enthusiasm it didn’t seem to matter. Then her mother’s voice echoes in her head.

‘For Christ’s sake, Richard! You’ll wake the neighbours!’

How typical of her
, Helen thinks.
Always worried about what other people might think
. She cringes.

I’m nothing like my mother
, she tells herself.
I can do this
.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. She takes a quick gulp of wine and slides it out. The number is unfamiliar but the area code is local. She’s about to answer when Siân reappears.

‘Who are you calling?’

‘Nobody.’ Helen puts the phone away. ‘Are you okay?’

Siân’s eyes are glistening. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? Have you picked a song?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Good. Cos I just put a request in.’

She pats Helen’s shoulder as she sits down.

‘Don’t look so worried. We’ll sing the first one together.’

‘What is it?’

‘Bonnie Tyler.’ Siân sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. ‘She used to own a club in town. Not a lot of people know that.’ She reaches for her glass.

‘What’s the song?’

‘Wait and see! We’re up third. Now, get that wine down you.’

The first person to take to the stage is a young man in pale jeans and an Adidas sports top. He warbles his way through ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams, fluffing a few lines and singing slightly out of key.

‘Rubbish,’ Siân mutters.

‘Give him a big round of applause!’ shouts the compere. She wears a black sequinned top and has a halo of blonde curls. She grins lasciviously at the blushing young man. ‘My name’s Clare, darling. But you can call me Angel any time you like!’

She turns back to the audience. ‘And now it’s time for our very own karaoke queen! Singing “I Will Survive”, please welcome – Megan Davies!’

Helen is surprised to see the mobility scooter woman climb awkwardly onto the stage. She’s changed her T-shirt. This one is also black, but the white lettering reads, ‘Vodka Made Me Do It’.

‘Vodka made you do what, luv?’ Siân shouts, her voice loud enough for the woman to hear. ‘Fiddle the social?’

Helen squirms in her seat. ‘Ssh!’

‘Don’t shush me!’ Siân snaps back. Then she flashes a smile. ‘It’s audience participation. It’s all part of the fun. Look at that sad sack! This’ll be a right laugh!’

As the music begins, the ‘sad sack’ on stage transforms herself from a lumpy woman in black leggings and a T-shirt into a polished performer. She belts out the words with such confidence, and with such power, that Helen breaks into a grin.

She could win
The X Factor
, she thinks happily, her mind cloudy with wine. If she wore a different outfit, and talked about her mobility issues. They love a good sob story.

She turns to Siân. ‘She’s really good!’

‘I’ve heard worse,’ Siân replies, stony-faced. ‘Anyway, we’re up next. I’m off to the loo.’

‘Again?’

‘Stage fright.’

‘You?’ Helen giggles. The wine is really having an effect. ‘But you’re not frightened of anything!’

Siân leaps up. ‘Keep an eye on my bag. I’ll be back in a tick.’

Then she’s gone.

Helen reaches for her glass and knocks back the last of her drink. It tastes strangely salty, but that’s probably from the food she ate earlier. She places the glass back on the table and looks around. Most people have their eyes fixed firmly on the stage. Some are grinning. Others are cheering. There are even a few wolf whistles. The woman is wowing everyone.

I can’t do this
, Helen thinks.
I don’t have that woman’s voice. I don’t have Siân’s courage. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home. What if Owen calls? How will I even hear my phone ring with all this noise? I should go. I have to go
.

The room spins as she raises herself unsteadily to her feet. There’s a huge round of applause as the woman belts out the final chorus before shuffling off stage looking extremely pleased with herself and resuming her position at the bar.

The compere hurries back on stage.

‘Wasn’t she fabulous? If it’s the vodka that made her do it, that’s the best bloody advert for vodka I’ve ever seen!’

The crowd roars with laughter.

‘Well done, love!’ she continues, to more applause. ‘Right, everyone. Settle down, please. It’s time for our next contestants. Singing Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out For A Hero”…’

Helen hears her name and her stomach churns. She looks around frantically. Siân is nowhere to be seen.

The compere leans forward, shielding her eyes with one hand and peering out into the audience. She sees Helen standing and gestures to her to come forward. ‘Is that you, love? Where’s your friend? Don’t be shy. Come on up!’

Helen shakes her head and feels her knees begin to buckle. Her skin is clammy and she’s finding it hard to breathe. Someone starts slow clapping. Others join in. A few people shout words of encouragement. Someone else boos. There’s still no sign of Siân.

Helen’s mind races.
Where is she? It wasn’t my idea to do this. It’s late. I’m drunk. I shouldn’t be here. Home. I have to go home
.

She pushes her way through the crowd and stumbles out of the door. As it closes behind her, she hears another burst of laughter and wonders if the butt of the joke is her.

Outside, the night sky is black with barely a star in sight. She hurries unsteadily across the car park and along the road past the leisure centre. The cool night air rushes into her lungs and she stops to steady herself, fearing she might be sick.

Not far now
, she tells herself.
Go home, drink some water and sleep it off
.

By the time she reaches the underpass, her lungs ache. She hesitates, wishing for a moment that she wasn’t alone. A knot of fear tightens in her chest and lifts the hairs on the nape of her neck. She stands rigid and listens. Nothing. Then, trying not to think of who might be lurking in the darkness ahead, she takes a deep breath and steps inside. There is still the strong smell of urine, but she keeps her mind focussed on thoughts of home. Seconds later, she re-emerges, gulping for air.

She’s a hundred yards from her house when she hears footsteps behind her and a woman’s voice calling her name. She stops and turns. It’s Siân, illuminated under a streetlight, catching her breath. Her red bag is on the ground between her feet.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ she demands. Her eyes are blazing, her features stiff with rage. ‘Someone could have nicked my bag!’

‘You disappeared. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘I went to the toilet! You could have waited!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen says, and bursts into tears.

Siân’s stares at her for a moment, then her face softens.

‘It was supposed to be a bit of fun, the karaoke. If I thought it would freak you out like that –’

‘Sorry,’ Helen sobs. Her face burns with embarrassment.

‘It’s okay.’ Siân steps forward. ‘C’mon, I’ll walk you the rest of the way.’

She links her arm through Helen’s, pulling her towards her to show there’s no hard feelings.

‘You had me worried,’ she says. ‘But it’s okay now. There’s no harm done.’

Helen nods.
It’s okay
, she tells herself.
Almost home now. Safe and sound
.

As they approach the house, she senses that something isn’t right. Parked outside her house is a Land Rover. As they draw closer, the driver’s door opens and a uniformed officer steps out. From the far side of the vehicle a woman emerges, also in uniform.

‘Mrs Helen McGrath?’ the male officer asks.

Helen nods, her heart racing.

The man’s expression gives nothing away. ‘My name is Captain John Davies. This is Captain Elaine Enfield. Can we step inside, please?’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As the female officer helps Helen to locate her keys, Siân pushes her way forward. ‘I’m coming with her.’

The male officer blocks her way. ‘And you are?’

‘Siân.’

‘Siân who?’

‘Just Siân will do for now.’

Helen is dimly aware of some kind of altercation behind her. But she isn’t paying attention. She half walks, half drifts into the house. Then the door closes on Siân and it’s just her and the two officers standing in the hall.

‘It’s about your husband,’ Captain Davies says. ‘Owen McGrath. He’s not dead. I repeat, he’s not dead. But he has been injured.’

Helen legs buckle and she finds herself supported by the female officer. What’s her name again?

‘Captain Enfield will help you,’ the man says as they steer her towards the stairs. ‘Just sit for a moment. Take slow, deep breaths.’

Helen lowers herself onto the stairs and tries to contain the panic welling up inside her.

He’s not dead. But he has been injured. How bad is it?

The man continues talking but she can’t hear what he’s saying. She sees his lips move, but there are no words – just sounds, bubbling away, signifying nothing.

His face looms towards her and his hands rest on her shoulders. ‘Are you alright, Mrs McGrath? Do you understand what I’ve just told you? Nod if you understand.’

Helen nods, then shakes her head.

‘There’s been an incident involving your husband, Owen. I repeat, he’s not dead. He’s on his way home. You need to come with us.’

‘Where?’ Helen asks, although deep down she already knows the answer. It’s where all wounded soldiers are taken.

‘Birmingham,’ Captain Davies says. ‘The military hospital.’

An image of Owen missing a limb flashes through Helen’s mind. Her mouth goes dry. ‘How bad?’ she asks, her voice sounding very thin and small compared to the Captain’s booming tones. Then, in a firmer voice, ‘How bad is he?’

‘That, I can’t say. But we need to leave as soon as possible. What about the woman outside? Is she a friend of yours?’

‘Sort of.’

‘And would you like us to let her in?’

Helen hesitates. Do I want Siân to come in?

She turns to the female officer. Her face is stiff, the eyes coldly professional. Then she adjusts her gazes to the small textured glass panel in the front door. Siân’s face is visible through the glass. She looks worried, like any normal person would.

Helen nods. ‘Yes.’

Captain Enfield opens the door and Siân rushes in. ‘What’s happened?’ she demands. ‘Is it her husband? Is he –’

‘He’s not dead,’ Captain Davies says. ‘But he has been injured. We’re taking Mrs McGrath to the hospital. In Birmingham.’

‘I’m coming with her.’

Captain Davies exchanges a look with the other officer. He turns to Helen. ‘Is that okay with you, Mrs McGrath?’

Helen nods numbly.

‘Then you’d best pack a few things. Captain Enfield will assist you.’

‘No need,’ Siân says. ‘I’ve got this covered.’ She hoists her bag over her shoulder and pulls Helen to her feet. ‘C’mon. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just tell me what you need and leave the rest to me.’

Helen’s heart is beating so loudly, she can barely hear a word – just the steady thump, thump, thump in her chest. If her heart is still pumping blood, then why does her skin feel so cold?

‘Up we go,’ says Siân, her voice somehow distant even as Helen feels her arm snake around her waist.

She holds onto the banister and struggles to keep control of her legs. With Siân helping to support her weight, she places one foot in front of the other and slowly they make their way up the stairs. When they reach the landing with its creaking floorboard, she feels Siân’s grip tighten. ‘Almost there,’ she says, and leads Helen into the bedroom.

Helen sinks onto the bed and buries her head in her hands. There’s a sharp click as Siân closes the door. She places her bag on the chair next to the dressing table and unzips one of the many side pockets.

‘Helen!’ she hisses. ‘Helen!’

Slowly, Helen raises her head.

From what looks like a multivitamin bottle, Siân shakes something out into the palm of her hand.

‘Take this.’ She hands Helen a small white pill.

‘What is it?’

‘Something for the shock.’ Siân takes a small bottle of water from her bag. ‘Here, drink this.’

Helen stares at the pill. It’s lozenge shaped and has letters and numbers stamped on one side.