Chapter 4

Tom Wainwright sat in the chair beside his son. In his hand was a book of poetry by Philip Larkin. He remembered Will at fourteen reading the poems to his mother. His mum never liked them because of the bad language. Will kept telling her, it wasn’t the words that were important but the way the poet used them. He kept on reading until Tom, seeing his wife’s discomfort, snatched the book and threw it in the bin. ‘There.’ He’d said. ‘That’s where your bloody poetry belongs. Why can’t you leave all this arty farty stuff be? Can’t you see you’re upsetting your mother? Why can’t you be more of a man, like your brother?’

He reached out and squeezed his son’s hand. ‘He knew a thing or two, this Larkin chap. You won’t be surprised to know I’ve never really read his work. I can see now why you used to like it.’

He went back to reading. He was still doing that when I got back. I’d been away for four hours in which I’d bought an I Pod and amplified speaker system, downloaded some music, moved into my hotel room, and even snatched a couple of hours sleep. As I walked into the room, Tom got up to greet me with a kiss on each cheek.

‘My you’re looking better lass.’

‘Thanks Tom it’s amazing what a few hours sleep and a shower can do. Anything happening here?’

‘Not really, they took him down for an MRI scan about an hour ago but no one is saying anything.’

‘Has Doctor Montand been in?’

‘No, Nurse Marie has been in a few times to check on him and change the drip.’

‘Perhaps we should go and find Dr Montand and then maybe you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee.

It took about five minutes to find Dr Montand who seemed very pleased to see a blood relation who could authorise any further operations. He explained exactly what he had done. I asked about the latest scan. He produced a tablet computer and flicked through the images.

‘Hmm, it looks encouraging. Monsieur Wainwright’s brain has stopped swelling. It may have even gone down a bit. We’ll know more tomorrow, maybe if this continues, we can reduce the sedation.’

We thanked him and went off to the staff restaurant to get a cup of coffee. I sat down opposite him trying to think of how to broach the subject I wanted to talk about. Tom looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Now young lady I’d like to think it was my irresistible charm that makes you want to be here with me. However, my ego is not that big. So what do you want to talk to me about?’

‘Well, I know that Will likes to think that he doesn’t need anyone. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for him to recover from this, or even if he will completely recover. He needs you on his side. I know you two don’t get on, but I don’t know why.’

‘Ah, so you want the potted family history. Okay, I’ll give it to you but I doubt it will help, too much water gone under the bridge. I’m afraid you won’t like me much after you’ve heard it all.’

Tom shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to figure out where to start. ‘You know Will is not an only child don’t you.’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘He had a brother, John. John was four years older, and when Will came along he became very jealous. Like most men, I could relate to a four-year-old easier than I could to a baby. I told myself that I was only compensating for the fact that Will got all his mother’s attention. It wasn’t true, of course, he was always my son, named after my father. As he grew up John was always what I called a real boy. He was in the school football team, the swimming team and he even ran for them, a real sports star, what father wouldn’t be proud. I went to all his matches and saw him presented with trophy after trophy, I even bought a cabinet for them. Will was a different kettle of fish. Everything was inside with him. In here.’ He tapped the side of his head with his finger.

‘He wasn’t interested in sports. Teachers said he was unusually gifted, academically. He loved it all. I’m an engineer, right? I can do maths, but he wasn’t just good at it, he loved it. It was the same with literature and science. Anything that required brainpower. At fourteen, he was county Chess champion. I mean chess, my son playing chess. But when he played his big tournament where was I? On the golf course, playing around with my mates. I couldn’t face sitting there watching while the clocks ticked away. I mean what did I know about chess. It was down to Emma, my wife, to be there and bring him home. When I got home she was full of it, county champion at fourteen. I’d had a couple of gin and tonics in the 19th hole, and couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. I think I said something like `It’s just a bloody board game.’ Emma tried to put the trophy in the cabinet but Will grabbed it, took it up to his room and we never saw it again. Later that year, we had another run in about poetry. Emma told me it was time I remembered I had two sons.’

‘Trouble is it was already too late, that was the last time he said anything to me that he didn’t have to. Even at Christmas and birthdays, Emma would ask what he wanted and the response was always the same. `I don’t want anything from him’’

‘He did two paper rounds, one morning, one evening. On Saturdays, he worked filling shelves in the supermarket. I tell you that boy did nothing but work and study. I thought he would come around. He saw his brother getting whatever he needed, just by asking. Yet he was prepared to work his arse off just to avoid asking. He wanted a new computer, he went out and bought it.’

‘John decided that he didn’t want to go to university. He didn’t see the point when he was only going to end up in the family business. Will never even considered that. When he reached eighteen, he bought himself a motorbike and took a place at Southampton University studying Economics and Statistics. That was where he got into sailing. From then on, I only saw him at Christmas, he got jobs in Southampton for spring and summer break. He came home to see his mum from time to time, but always when I was at work.’

‘One of my golfing pals had a daughter at Southampton. She said he was making a name for himself as a sailor. At last, he was doing something I could understand. A race is a race whether it’s running swimming or sailing. The first one over the line wins. You can tell how someone is doing by their position in the race. I were right proud lass. I wanted to go and see him race but I had no idea of where or when he was racing. I could have asked my friend, but I didn’t want to admit that my youngest son was a stranger to me. I just bluffed it out by saying that his mother and I were very proud of him.’

‘John went from bad to worse wherever I put him in the company he fouled up. He was usually late, hung over, or both. I had to employ someone else to double check everything he did. He had a company car, which he wrote off twice. He was a spoiled brat and I knew that I’d made him that way. Just as sure as I’d given Will the impression that nothing he did would ever be good enough, I’d given John the idea that he could do whatever he wanted and he would always be forgiven. I had no choice, he was all I had left. I had to hope that somehow he could turn himself around.’

‘While John was trying to act like a playboy Will was busy making sure he was in a position to become one. It was the time of deregulation in the city and while he was still at university, he started trading on the stock market. He graduated with a double first and no debt. His jobs and his trading meant that he was actually better off when he finished than when he started. He got a job as a trader in the city and became one of the champagne Charlies. Of course, he didn’t lead their lifestyle, just stashed all the money away for later. His only extravagance was to buy himself an eighteen-foot racing Skiff. He called it Blow Job but the sailing establishment didn’t like that and wouldn’t let him race. They said it was too embarrassing for the commentators. Will gave in and renamed the boat, Bee Jay. I saw him race in Cowes one year, he and his crew won their class. The friends who took me reckoned it was all to do with Will’s tactics. They suggested we go and find him and his crew, and take them out to celebrate. I wanted to, I really did, but I got scared. What could I say to my friends if he turned his back on me?’

‘Even at that point, there was still a way back. Emma and I studied the sailing calendar and arranged to go and watch him again. I knew he would never snub her even if that meant talking to me. I thought if only I talked to him I could undo some of the damage. I really thought I had a chance, then came the night I destroyed my world.’

‘I was supposed to accompany Emma to a big charity do, but I got involved in negotiations to supply one of the big car firms down in Birmingham. The talking went on a bit. By six thirty, we were still at it and I had to take them to dinner. Of course, I called Emma and she agreed to go on her own, as long as I picked her up. I was on my way home with a little time to spare when I ran into a big jam on the motorway. When I hadn’t moved for half an hour, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. So I phoned John and asked him to pick up his mother. When he refused, I really lost it. I told him either he picked her up or he would find himself out of a job and without a car in the morning. He kept protesting but I would have none of it. I hung up on him. I got past the holdup and realised that I would only be half an hour late. I tried to ring Emma but there was no reply. I guessed that John must have picked her up. I’d just got onto the elevated section when everything came to a standstill. All I could see was flashing blue lights ahead. As I got close, I could see someone had gone through the crash barrier. I can remember feeling sorry for them. I didn’t know you see.’

Tears were running down his face as he looked at me. I took both of his hands in mine. ‘Oh no, Tom not Emma.’

He nodded his head. ‘They never stood a chance, it’s about a hundred foot drop. The police told me John had four times the legal limit of alcohol in his blood. That must have been what he was trying to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. I killed them, as sure as if I pushed them over. I know it and Will knows it.’

I moved to sit beside him, put my arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight to my chest. ‘No you didn’t Tom it wasn’t your fault. John knew how much he’d drunk. He could have picked up Emma in a taxi. He didn’t have to drive. I’m sure Will doesn’t really blame you.’

‘Oh, he does lass. You should have seen him at the funeral. He tried to avoid me all he could but my sister got us together. She told us we’d only got each other now and it was time we buried the hatchet. Will just looked at me and said that I killed all chance of that on that fateful night.’

‘But your still here when he needs you. You haven’t given up.’

‘I can’t lass. My Emma was right I had two sons I need to show him that no matter what, I love him and I’m proud of him. I always have been really, I just didn’t know how to show it. I hate what he does but I’m proud of the fact that he’s got where he is all on his own.’

I took his hand in both of mine. ‘We’ll pull him through this, you and I, and then you’ll get your chance.’

We finished our coffee. Tom left for the hotel and I settled in for another evening of sitting with Will. I set up the I Pod and started up the laptop to get a bit of work done. As Nigel Kennedy opened up with Vivaldi’s four seasons, I checked on the position of Bee Jay II. She was approaching the coast of Spain, off A Coruna. I checked the news. There was still no `Man Overboard’ report. As time went by it looked less and less like an accident.

After an uneventful evening, Tom relieved me at midnight and I went back to the hotel to have the best night’s sleep I’d had since it all began. Tom was asleep in the chair when I got to the hospital. I woke him up and took him out for breakfast. When we returned, they were taking Will down for another MRI scan. I promised Tom that I’d keep him informed and he went back to the hotel. It was midday before Will was returned to his room. Two hours later Dr Montand came in with a beaming smile on his face.

‘Good news Ma’mselle, the swelling is going down. We can start reducing his sedation.’

‘But what does this mean for Will. Is he going to be OK?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘There will be some damage, we do not know how much. It is possible that he will make a full recovery, we will know more once he is conscious. Give us a few days we will know more then.’

‘When do you expect him to come round Doctor?’

‘We will reduce the sedation gradually. He may start coming back to us sometime tomorrow, maybe a little later. We will keep an eye on him, if we see any signs of a return to consciousness we will remove the breathing tube.’

He seemed a little surprised when I hugged him.

When the doctor left, I went over to the bed and kissed Will’s forehead. ‘It’s time for you to come back to us. It’s all up to you now.’

I sat beside the bed and held his hand. I played his music and I read to him. From time to time, his fingers would twitch which caused me to stop and check him. Tom came in early at 10:00 PM and took over from me.

Tom Wainwright watched his son throughout the night. He noticed a few tremors of the hand but nothing to say he was waking up. From time to time, he would read aloud or play music that Will liked or would remember. The I Pod was playing ‘The Last Time’ by the Rolling Stones and Tom was singing along when it happened. He saw his son’s hand move. It was not just a twitch, the hand lifted and fell down again onto Will’s stomach. Tom fell silent and just watched his son sleeping. Will’s hand was still. Once more Tom sang along to the chorus. The hand lifted and seemed to wave to the right and fall again. Tom reached out and pressed the alarm button. The thirty seconds it took for the nurse to arrive seemed like three hours. Tom explained about the hand movement. At first, he couldn’t convince her that the movement was real. The nurse took Will’s hand in hers and pricked the back of it with a pin. She saw it flinch then put it down and recorded the results.