Manny flipped the sign out of habit as he
kicked the door closed behind him. He was in trouble and his arms
were loaded with apologies in the form of bottles, freshly baked
pastries and a tray of really strong triple Espressos from Starbucks.
He'd been out all night, had fallen asleep on a friend's sofa and
hadn't realised the time until a cat had sat on his face about an hour
ago.
He needed a shower, but more importantly he needed to grovel to his
erstwhile employer who sat up and worried about him if he was out any
later than closing time.
But not this time, it seemed. Bernard wasn't at his usual spot at
his desk.
Frowning, Manny crossed the shop and dumped the bags carefully on the
desk, pulling out two of the four Espressos and flipping the lid off
one of them, drinking it in two gulps.
As he raised the second one to his mouth he turned and saw to no
particular surprise that Bernard was lying on the floor next to the
sofa, face down. He had one arm tucked under him, the other
stretched out towards the telephone that was lying upside down a foot
from his head.
"Too drunk to make it to the sofa," Manny mused with only vague
disappointment. "That's sinking to a new level, Bernard."
He drank the coffee, feeling a little better afterwards and riffling
through one of the bags to find a croissant.
"Or did you make it, only to fall off? Now that would be
impressive." He stuffed the pastry into his mouth, biting it off
at the middle. "And what's with the phone?" Spitting puff
flakes all over the floor and desk, he crammed the rest into his mouth
and bent down to retrieve the telephone.
Replacing it on the desk, he took a deep breath and crouched next to
Bernard. "Okay, come on." Pushing one arm underneath the
unconscious man, he rolled Bernard toward him and for the first time
saw the state of his face.
"Jesus!" It was such a shock he almost dropped him. His
left eye was swollen shut. Blood from a wound on his forehead had
run down to his cheek. His lips were split and bloody.
Slowly, he eased Bernard to the floor and put his fingers to the cool
throat like he'd seen them do in The Sweeney.
He couldn't find a pulse and for an awful moment he honestly believed
his friend was dead. Then he put his hand flat over Bernard's
chest and heard a beautiful sound - a piteous, pained groan.
"Take it easy," he instructed, hoping he sounded reassuringly
confident.
Pulling a cushion from the sofa at the same time as he grabbed the
phone again from the desk, he put the cushion under Bernard's head (as
he tried to roll onto his back) and dialled 999.
Asking for both an ambulance and the police, he was put through to a
woman with a calming voice.
"We've been broken into! My friend's been attacked." He
could feel himself panicking. "Help!"
Trained to deal with people in just the state Manny was in, the
operator finally coaxed a phone number and address from him.
Informed and subsequently assured that the ambulance and the police
were on their way, Manny was okay to hang up his temporary
lifeline. He looked around but nothing seemed damaged.
Nothing looked... stolen. He couldn't imagine what anyone would
want to steal and couldn't for a moment think of anything they might
have nicked.
From where he was he couldn't see into the kitchen to check the small
black and white television or the twenty-year-old VCR but he doubted
any thief in his right mind would have wanted to be seen dead stealing
those things.
He sat on the floor and reached for Bernard's hand, holding it.
"They're on their way," he told the unconscious man. "Just
don't... die on me. Okay? Don't you dare."
Ten minutes felt like forever. The ambulance arrived first.
Once they'd checked for broken bones and spinal injuries, and satisfied
themselves that Bernard had suffered neither, the ambulance men lifted
him onto a gurney and loaded him into the back.
"Coming with him?"
Sense prevailed. "I'd better stay here, talk to the police."
"Okay. We're taking him to A&E at University College
Hospital."
"He will... live. Won't he?"
The ambulance man had a very nice smile. "He'll be fine, he just
needs a couple of stitches. He may have a concussion. Don't
worry, we'll take good care of him."
And that was that.
Manny sat in the sudden quiet of the shop, waiting for the police, eyes
inescapably drawn to the dark red stains on the wooden floor where
Bernard had been lying. Blood was impossible to get out of
clothes, he had no idea how difficult it was to get out of wood.
The problem took on a disproportionate importance in his head and he
went into the kitchen to check what cleaning products they had.
The police found him there a couple of minutes later, sitting
cross-legged on the floor in front of the cupboard under the sink,
surrounded by chemicals so far beyond their sell-by date the constable
considered calling for a hazardous waste crew to take them away.
A couple of the products contained ingredients illegal under new laws.
Manny listened as if from a distance to the uniformed officer
explaining that there was very little they could do. He watched
with detached interest as SOCO dusted for prints around the kitchen
window, which was still closed, and the door, which hadn't been forced.
Fran arrived as they were leaving, all wide-eyed interest.
"What happened?"
"I don't know." He stared at the bags still on the desk, his
apology to Bernard for staying out all night. How could a couple
of bottles of cheap wine and a box of cooling pastries apologise for
putting his friend in hospital? "It was my fault," he told
Fran. "I wasn't here. I should have been here and I
wasn't. I was out. I stayed out because I got drunk.
How selfish am I? How can I have...."
"Manny!" Fran reached for his arms and shook him gently.
"This wasn't your fault. You deserve a life. If you'd been
here they would have attacked you too then who would have called for
the ambulance?" She smiled a little smile and he took a deep
breath, nodding once. "Can I smell coffee?"
He explained about the bags. She took the remaining two
Espressos, handed one to him and drank the other. Then she handed
him the box of bakery goodies and led the way out to her car.
The hospital was a couple of miles and half an hour's drive away.
Manny talked the entire distance.
"I can't believe it. I mean... who would do this?
Why? Even if he disturbed them, what threat could he possibly
have been to them? He... he wouldn't hurt a fly. He keeps
dead bees for God's sake! He loves insects! And... and even
if he managed to attempt to punch someone, what are the chances that he
actually hit them? They could have knocked him over with a single
finger! I mean, he comes across as loud and overbearing but he'd
have been more scared of them than they could possibly have been of
him."
"Manny!" Fran glanced over. "How much coffee have you had
this morning?"
"Just the three triples."
She rolled her eyes back to the road. "Calm down. They said
he was going to be fine, right?"
He nodded. "Right."
"So just take it easy. He'll have a black eye, a couple of
stitches, a headache and a story he's going to be telling us over and
over for the next five years. Okay?"
Another deep breath. "Okay." It earned her thirty-seconds
silence. "But I should have been there! What if I'd stayed
out longer? He could have been lying there all day! Do any
of his customers care enough to ring for an ambulance? Do they?"
It was with sheer relief that she dropped him at the entrance to
A&E.
"It could take me days to park. Go find him, make sure he isn't
insulting the nurses."
Manny got out of the car and leaned inside. "Thanks."
She smiled at him and he pushed the door closed, jogging into the
hospital. She watched him go, idle, unusual thoughts bouncing
around in her brain. But hadn't she always known there was
something... odd between them? Time to find a parking spot.
It took her twenty minutes. Plus a ten-minute walk to and from
the Pay & Display machine. And when she got back to the car
she had to shout at the attendant for accusing her of not paying the
parking fee then plead with him not to give her a ticket.
She found Manny in reception, slouched in a blue plastic chair, arms
crossed, staring at the blue tiled floor. For a moment she feared
the worst, but she pulled herself together. One of them had to
act sensibly just in case the hospital required a 'responsible adult'
to accompany Bernard home.
She shooed a small child from the seat next to him and sat down.
"Manny? Have you seen him?"
"They won't let me."
"What?"
"They say only family is allowed though to triage. What's triage
anyway? What are they doing to him in there?" His voice was
rising and she stemmed the tide of panic with the wave of a hand.
"Come with me."
Leaning on the reception desk, Fran sized up her opponent and read only
compassion and exhaustion in her eyes, despite the relatively early
hour.
"Excuse me. My friend here says you won't let him see his
partner."
They were both eyed cautiously and Manny struggled to keep the surprise
from his face. "Partner?"
"Yes. Mr Bernard Black? He was brought in just under an
hour ago, he'd been attacked in an attempted robbery. Mr Bianco
here is Mr Black's partner and I don't think sexual prejudice has any
place when a man's life is hanging in the balance, do you?"
One sweet smile and the frantic hysteria on Manny's face were enough to
get him through the double doors and into triage accompanied by an
A&E nurse.
Fran bought herself a coffee and a Twix from the vending machines,
picked up a couple of magazines and made herself comfortable in the
waiting area, happy to be there. Now and again she glanced up and
gave the room a once-over, looking for any man who seemed eligible for
some pre-treatment chat and some post-treatment TLC.
"Bernard?"
Manny peered between the blue/green curtains, the rest of him following
his face through into the small bay. Bernard was lying on the bed
on his side, fast asleep, snoring softly. His face looked as bad
as it had earlier except for a white dressing loosely placed over his
head wound.
"We need to give him a couple of stitches under a local anaesthetic,"
the nurse explained, "but we're waiting until he's slept off the
alcohol. It appears he was drinking quite heavily last night."
Taking the seat offered to him next to the bed, Manny idly wondered how
long it took to sober up after years and years of almost constant
drinking. He couldn't help but think if they went ahead and put
the stitches in now, Bernard wouldn't feel a thing.
He thought about the police too, about what they'd said, that they'd
want to interview Bernard as soon as he was up to it and that Manny
should take him into the station once he'd been released from
hospital. Bernard could barely remember his own birthday.
The shop was open seven days a week by virtue of him not knowing what
day of the week it actually was until Fran turned up with the papers
and the day's first bottle of wine.
Manny hoped he didn't remember. He felt guilty enough without
Bernard explaining every moment of fear and pain in great detail to
make him feel worse.
But more than that, Bernard had no defences against something like
this. Years of alcohol abuse meant that his emotions tended to
stay very close to the surface. The shop was his home, his
cocoon, his place of safety. Manny had no idea how he was going
to react to that safety being violated. Would he ever feel safe
there again?
It was his own fault that security was so bad at the shop. Their
last attempt to install a proper security system had been a disaster -
all because of Manny - and even that had ended up getting nicked.
Bernard moaned softly and Manny leaned forward. "You're in
hospital," he explained slowly. "There's nothing to worry about."
One wary eye opened and stared at him. After a couple of seconds,
Bernard wrestled his hand free of his jacket and brought it up to his
face. When Manny realised what he was about to do, he grabbed
Bernard's wrist. The sudden, potentially violent action startled
Bernard and he yelped - splitting open his lips again - and tried to
back away.
Unfortunately the A&E bed wasn't the double size he was used to and
without warning he tumbled backwards, vanishing off the other side.
Manny's cry of, "Bernard!" was overwhelmed by Bernard's own groan of
pain. Manny was at his friend's side as he tried to get purchase
on the top of the bed to pull himself up. It wasn't working and
the noise alerted a nurse passing by.
It wasn't surprising then when Manny was ejected from triage for
stressing their patient. He dejectedly joined Fran in the waiting
area and half-listened to her pointing out all the men she'd decided
were eligible for some TLC, if only the women waiting with them could
be distracted somehow.
Manny made a few understanding comments but his heart wasn't in
it. His imagination was running wild and he couldn't get out of
his mind the images of some big brute's fist connecting with Bernard's
gentle face. Sure, he and Bernard bickered like kids, sure the
man insulted him every chance he got, sure he cooked and dusted and
washed and swept and worked without so much as a 'thank you'.
But the fact was that every time he tried to leave, he ended up right
back here. The last time, when he'd gone to work in Goliath
Books, Bernard had gone to pieces, winding up with chemical poisoning
because he'd been eating oven cleaner. Anyone on the outside
looking in might ask why he cared what Bernard did, given the way he
was treated. But around Bernard was the only place Manny had ever
felt needed. Or wanted. Because under it all they did care
for one another.
Maybe they even loved one another, in their own bizarre way.
It was another two hours of sludgy coffee and chocolate bars before a
shaky, familiar voice called Manny's name.
They both looked up and saw Bernard standing non-too-steadily in front
of them. There was a sterile dressing covering the left half of
his forehead. His eye was darkly bruised and still swollen shut,
his lips whetted with Vaseline. He looked tired and irritable.
"Can we go home now?"
~
From the moment they got back to the shop, Bernard began to worry that
there was either something seriously wrong with him and they weren't
telling him, or both Manny and Fran had lost their minds.
Grabbing his long, black coat from the peg just inside the kitchen -
more evidence of Manny's clearing up - he shrugged it on and dropped
into his chair behind his desk, pulling his coat close around him.
Fran was hovering and Manny was fussing. His head hurt and the
fact he could only see through one eye was annoying him.
"Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? Hot chocolate?"
Bernard stared at Manny as if he'd lost his mind. "Tea?
Chocolate? Who's the one with the head injury?" Reaching
for the ever-present glass, he wrapped his fist around the stem and
banged it down hard on the desk. "Wine!"
Fran looked on with sympathy. "You can't have alcohol for a week,
Bernard," she explained gently, "you're on medication." She
pointed at the narrow, white paper bag she'd placed in front of him.
He grabbed it with his free hand and dropped it into the bin at his
feet. "Wine!"
Neither Manny nor Fran moved. "The police want to talk to you,"
Manny began.
"Why?"
"They think you must have let your attackers in but they'd like to hear
it from you and get some descriptions so that they can warn other shop
owners."
Bernard glanced from one to the other, his expression alone screaming
his doubts about their own mental well-being. "What are you
talking about? What attackers?"
"The men who did this to you."
"Men? What men?"
Fran's expression clearly said 'denial' and however hard Bernard
scowled, it didn't seem to wipe their sickeningly sympathetic smiles
from their faces.
He raised his voice to its loudest level. "Either tell me what
you're talking about or get out. I have a shop to run."
Crouching down at the end of the desk, Manny regarded him with
kindness. "You need to talk about it. It'll be better if
you share with us."
The two bags Manny had brought in earlier finally caught Bernard's
attention and he leaned forward, peering inside one of them,
triumphantly drawing out a bottle of red wine.
"Have you been at Fran's Yoga books?" he asked vaguely, opening his top
drawer in search of a corkscrew.
"Please, Bernard. Tell us what happened last night."
"Where's my corkscrew?"
"You can't drink...."
"Bottoms! Where's my corkscrew?"
"Talk to us about what happened last night and I'll find it for you."
"Find it for me now."
"No."
"Yes! You said you were going to look after me."
"I am looking after you!"
Frustrated, Bernard grabbed the penknife from his drawer, settled the
bottle in his lap and proceeded to dig out the cork.
"Bernard!"
"All right, all right." Maybe if he told them, they'd go
away. He couldn't understand the desperation anyway, usually he
had to negotiate to tell his stories. "I was pricing up those
books you forced me to buy from that old guy with the hairy nose.
They were too heavy and the pile toppled over. It knocked my
bottle of red wine off the desk. So I had to go out and get
another one." He looked up, smiling at his mad friends.
"Fascinating, umm?"
Manny shook his head. "After that. You're locking it all
away, Bernard, not talking about it. You're in denial."
"What are you talking about?"
"The attack."
"What attack?!"
"I came home this morning and found you unconscious on the floor, all
beaten up."
"Oh, that." The end of the penknife went through into the neck of
the bottle at last and he twisted it to make a wider hole before
pouring himself a glass, not bothering to pick out the bits of floating
cork. He'd heard fibre was good for his digestive system.
"It's embarrassing."
Fran shook her head. "It wasn't your fault, Bernard. You
mustn't blame yourself."
He frowned at her before carrying on, aiming his explanation at Manny -
the saner of the two.
"When I got back, I fell asleep for a while on the sofa. When I
woke up the telephone was ringing. I got up and reached for it
and slipped. I must have hit my head on the desk."
They were both staring now, Fran and Manny, doing fairly convincing
impressions of goldfish.
"Slipped? Hit... hit your head?" Looking from the sofa to
the floor to the desk, remembering the telephone, Manny closed his eyes
and shook his head. "No attackers."
"Of course not!"
"No one hit you."
"No. Now clear off. Both of you. Wait! Is it
lunchtime?" Downing the wine he'd poured, choking momentarily on
the pieces of cork, he stood up and almost fell over. Instead,
Manny was there, holding him upright.
"Sit. I'll go buy pizza."
Finally doing as he was told, he smiled up at Manny. "Thank you."
With a sigh bordering on relief, Manny nodded. "Anytime."
What would he have done with a frightened, needy Bernard anyway?
fin
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