Chapter 6

We sat on the sofa, side by side. Cal reached out and took my hand in hers.

“Tell me about Munich David,” she said, “please.”

“I will,” I said, “but, if there’s anything you can fill in, even tiny details, interrupt me.”

She nodded her assent.

“I don’t really remember anything,” she said sadly.

“Then I’ll try and remind you. I think you need to remember before you can move on.”

“You think I should move on?” she asked, panicking, “you don’t even want to be my friend any more?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I meant moving on with getting better.”

“Oh,” she sighed.

“You know your Mum let us spend the last night together before you went?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No, she said, “I didn’t. Er David? Did we erm you know?”

“Yes,” I replied, “more than once.”

“Was I good for you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “You and your Mum went off the following morning and flew to Munich. Your Mum stayed with you in a hotel Sunday night, then got you registered for the summer school and came home.”

“So, I was there alone?”

“Yes, I replied, “we kept in touch using the internet and then the following week I went off to Hollywood.”

“What happened then, isn’t Hollywood eight hours behind?” she asked.

“Nine behind Germany,” I answered, “which meant that I was getting back at night just as you were in your classes, and by the time you’d got back from there, I was in bed asleep, we were always in a situation where we were not both available at the same time.. We hardly got to speak to each other. I got the impression at one point that you were a little peeved that I was going to a party, but from what you told me later, certain people in Munich were putting ideas in your head about what I might be up to in LA.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” she said, “I think there was a boy there, who played piano, that was helping me with my rehearsal.”

“Wolfgang,” I said.

She screwed her face up in concentration, then shook her head.

“I can’t remember his name,” she said.

“I can,” I replied, not without rancour.

“Then you finished early in Hollywood and came to Munich?” she asked.

“I decided to surprise you,” I said, “I had a week before you were due to finish, and I thought we’d spend the evenings together and then fly home,” I replied.

“My Mum told me you did that, and some things about it,” Cal said.

I was looking closely at her, looking for signs of distress, but she just seemed interested. Like I was telling her a story about someone else.

“All right then,” I continued, “I caught a flight from LA to Frankfurt and then a shuttle down to Munich. It was early so I checked into my hotel and then, later, went off to the student residence you were in to find you. You weren’t there. One of your fellow students told me you’d gone to the Mensa to a disco, and offered to take me there and get me in. When we arrived, it was crowded, dark and noisy. At first I couldn’t find you, but then I saw you sat at a table with a group of others, so I came up and said hello.”

I stopped, stood up and walked to the mini bar fridge to get myself a drink, and also to get my emotions under control.

“So why didn’t I go with you?” Cal asked.

I stopped and looked at her for a long moment, taking in what she’d said.

“Cal, how did you know you didn’t go with me?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know, I think Mum told me,” she replied.

“We’ll check that later,” I replied, “when she’s up. Your first reaction, after you got over the shock of seeing me there, was to tell me ‘It’s not what it seems, I can explain’, so I asked you to come with me and we’d talk and you could explain.”

“And I refused,” she said, her head bowed, a tear trickling down her left cheek, “I told you I loved him. Oh shit, David, I am so, so sorry. How could I do that to you?”

“Same question again Cal,” I said, “how did you know that was what you did?”

“I, I don’t know, I assume Mum must have told me,” she replied.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I specifically asked her not to,” I said.

“Oh,” she answered, looking downcast, “David, I’m sorry, could we stop now?”

“Of course we can, but why?”

“I’m not sure I want to be reminded of any more,” she replied.

“All right,” I responded, “but you need to go over this with someone. Perhaps a stranger, like the counsellor you’re seeing tomorrow would be better.”

She just nodded.

“Can we go to bed now?”

“Of course,” I replied, “do you want to sleep alone?”

“I think so,” she replied, “will you leave the connecting door open?”

“Yes,” I said, standing up, “whatever you want.”

Cal stood up and faced me.

“But what do you want, David?”

“I want you to get better, Cal” I replied, “I want you to get back to who you were before Munich. I want my Cal back.”

“I’m not sure she still exists, David,” she said.

“Oh, she does,” I disagreed, tapping her lightly on the forehead with my index finger, “she’s in there somewhere, and I’m going to bring her out of hiding.”

She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said, “I’m selfish and shallow, and you just keep on doing things for me.”

“Cal,” I said, “stop running yourself down, and stop feeling guilty. You’re bright, beautiful and very, very talented. We need to get you past all this, and back on track for your dream.”

“No David,” she replied, “I don’t have a dream any more. That’s gone.”

“No, Cal, it hasn’t,” I said, turning to face her and taking both her hands in mine, “I can understand how you feel. I felt just about the same when I left you in Munich. I felt that I’d lost everything I ever wanted, that there was just no point in having dreams if all they were ever going to do was keep on being shattered. But, do you know what? I was wrong. Actually whether you achieve your dream or not isn’t that important, what’s important is having them.”

“But,” Cal began before I cut her off.

“Cal tell me about your dream,” I said, firmly.

“You know what my dream was, David,” she replied.

“Not was Cal, is,” I replied, “but I want you to remind me.”

A tear began a slow descent of her cheek.

“It’s no good,” she said, “I’ve messed up too much to ever go back now.”

“Cal, you can still do your singing lessons, you can still go to music college, you can still be the world’s greatest opera singer.”

“I know that, but I can’t have my dream. The one I’ve had since I was five,” she moaned.

“Yes, you can, you just need to get better and carry on working as hard at it as you always have.”

“No, David,” she said, turning to face me, “that’s my ambition, it’s my dream I’ve ruined.”

“Dream?” I said, “Ambition? Cal I don’t understand, what is it?”

“David, I’ve always wanted to be a singer, but what I’ve always wanted,” she paused, “well I can’t have it now so there’s no point talking about it.”

“There’s every point Cal, you’re worrying me,” I replied, “please, love, tell me what’s troubling you. What is this dream you think you can’t have?”

“You,” she said quietly, so soft it was almost a whisper.

“What?” I asked, not hearing what she said.

“David, my dream,” she said, “the one I messed up, and now I can’t have, was being Mrs. David James Barker. Since I was five, and now it’s gone, I ruined it.”

“Cal, I’d be the first to admit that you probably made some bad decisions while you were in Germany,” I said, as gently as I could, “but I never once, apart from maybe that first twenty-four hours or so after I left Munich, stopped loving you. I stopped trusting you, but not loving you.”

“I should never have gone to that party,” she said.

“Maybe not, but what’s done is done. You still have a life ahead of you Cal, so do I. And I certainly want you in mine.”

We were interrupted by the ringing of my phone.

“Hello,” I said, noncommittally as I answered the call.

Hi Son,” I heard my Dad say on the other end.

I glanced at my watch, it was two thirty am back in England.

“What’s wrong Dad?” I asked, “why are you ringing in the middle of the night?”

“Sorry son, I worked out it was evening over there,” he replied.

“It is, but it’s night over there,” I answered.

“Oh, of course, sorry I’ve been locked in with Andy since tea time.”

“So what’s happening?”

“This morning, Andy served papers on the hospital for medical malpractice, and patient abuse, and reported the hospital to the NHS ombudsman,” he said, “this afternoon they made us an offer.”

“Why do I get the impression from your tone that it was less than generous?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s very generous,” he replied, “They’re willing to release Cal from the Section 3, and launch an internal enquiry into her treatment, if we withdraw both actions and the complaint.”

“That is generous,” I agreed, “no mention of the arrest warrant on me, for abetting her absconding?”

“Oh yes, they said that was a matter for the police and they had no control over that.”

“Well I can think of two words to describe that, or is it only one?”

“Does it begin with bull?” he asked.

“Yes, and I can think of a two word answer to their proposition, but I know you don’t like me using that word.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ve discussed this with Mary and your Mum, and we’re agreed that you and Cal have to make the decision, so you two talk about it and let us know tomorrow.”

“All right Dad we will, how’s everything apart from that?”

“Ticking over quietly,” he said, “are you managing to show Cal any of the sights of LA?”

“Yes, we went out this afternoon and met a group of fans, it was nice. She’s actually doing well, a lot brighter and more with it since she came off those fu…, stupid tablets.”

“That’s good, the fans were girls I assume?” he asked.

“Why do you assume that Dad?” I replied.

“I just know my son. Oh, by the way, Sarah Green asked if you could ring her sometime, nothing urgent.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow, now you’d better get to bed or Mum will be thinking you’ve run off and left her.”

“Yes, she probably will, Goodnight son.”

“Goodnight Dad.”

We ended the call.

“What was that about?” Cal asked.

“The hospital,” I replied, “we need to talk about it Cal, you need to make a decision.”

“What sort of decision?” she asked.

“Andy served a lawsuit on them this morning, alleging medical malpractice and patient abuse. He also registered a complaint with the NHS,” I explained, “they came back this afternoon with an offer, they’ll release you from detention and launch an internal investigation if you drop the lawsuit and the complaint.”

“You mean we could go home?”

“Yes,” I told her, “you could.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding excited now.

I just nodded in answer.

We sat in silence while she thought it over.

“David,” she said finally, “when I asked if we could go home, you said that I could. What did you mean?”

“They refused to ask the courts to cancel the warrant for my arrest.”

“You mean if we went home, they’d throw you in jail?”

“Probably,” I said, “or you could go home by yourself, and I could stay here. James can probably find me some work.”

“No,” she said very firmly, “that’s not going to happen. If you stay, I stay.”

“You could be with your friends, your Mum, go to school again,” I suggested.

“David,” she said, “you weren’t there after I got back from Munich. I don’t have any friends any more. After what happened the only people who’d talk to me were your sister and Kathy Kearford.”

I realised as she said it, that was another bit of memory that seemed to be back.

“Cal,” I said, quietly, “that’s either the third or fourth thing you’ve said today about things since you went to Munich, that I don’t think anyone else has told you about. You need to mention it to the counsellor tomorrow.”

“I will,” she said, “David will you do something for me tonight?”

As I turned my head to look at her, an idea of what she was about to ask flashed through my mind, and I didn’t know how I could answer it. Whichever way I answered was dangerous, both to her recovery and to our still fragile relationship.