| 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? |