John Halkin - Squelch

Then the funeral. She must have dropped off for a second or two, because she saw it all so vividly: the open grave in that little village churchyard, the vicar in his cassock, reading the last words as dozens of huge moths fluttered overhead in a beautiful, eerie tribute.

The phone rang. She sat up, startled, trying to see in the darkness.

‘Ginny? It’s Bernie. Sorry to ring in the middle of the night, but I know you’re anxious to hear the latest.’

‘She’s dead,’ Ginny exclaimed. He sounded so downcast. So utterly exhausted. ‘Oh Bernie…’

‘No! She’s going to be all right. She’s asleep.’

‘Are you sure? Oh, of course you are, or you wouldn’t be saying it! Oh, I’m so…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, ‘I’m crying. I was so convinced that Les… Oh, thank God!’

‘Ginny, listen.’ His voice was calm and patient. ‘I shall sleep at the hospital, but I’ll be home first thing tomorrow morning as soon as I can get a mini-cab.’

‘You need to stay with her?’

‘No, she’s going to get better, Ginny. The worst is over. I’ll explain some other time what we found, but she’s responding well. And of course Dr Sanderson is here. She’s his patient.’

‘You are telling me the truth?’

‘Would I lie to you?’ He was infinitely patient, but his voice sounded so metallic on that phone, it was not like talking to the real Bernie at all. ‘Look, you’d better get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘No.’ She made up her mind suddenly, realising what she had to do for her own sake, if not for his. ‘Stay there, I’ll come and pick you up. It won’t take me long to drive at this time of night.’

Before Bernie could object she had put the receiver down. Then, thinking the children might be disturbed if he rang again after she’d gone, she took it off the hook. The keys to his car were on the hallstand.

It had been an odd drive through those empty country lanes with her headlights throwing surrealistic patterns of light and shade on the moving green foliage. Among those leaves more caterpillars must be lurking, she’d thought. Biting her lip, she had tried to concentrate on the twisting white line down the centre of the tarmac. Tomorrow she’d have to get some really effective pesticide to spray both gardens. Bernie’s first, of course, because of the children.

On the way back Bernie took the wheel, tired though he was. It had not been easy, she gathered; her fears that Lesley might die had been only too justifiable. They had taken blood samples and God alone knew what else before finally deciding that they were dealing with two separate factors.

‘There’s bacterial infection,’ Bernie explained tersely as he drove. ‘The bacteria are clearly visible under the microscope. Sanderson has put her on antibiotics. Whether there’s a link between that and the caterpillar bite is hard to say.’

‘That’s when she fainted.’

‘Not surprising when you see how deep the wound is. Sanderson did some emergency work on the foot but she’ll need another operation when she’s well enough. There are also traces of something else in the blood, some kind of insect venom, I imagine, but very thinly diluted. It may have no long-term effect. We’ll have to wait and see.’

‘I think these caterpillars are the larvae stage of my moths.’ She had been brooding over it all evening. ‘In fact, I’m convinced.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just a horrible feeling that I’m right.’

They had arrived back at the house. Keeping her voice down in order not to disturb the children she offered to make him something to eat. No, he’d had a bite at the hospital, he told her, adding that they’d both better get to bed. It was three-thirty by the clock in the hall, which meant it was almost certainly even later than that.

As she turned to the stairs, somehow she stumbled against him — certainly not deliberately — and grasped his arm to steady herself. For a few seconds they stood in a close embrace, her head resting against his chest. It was such a comfort having him there; so reassuring after all the tension. He kissed the top of her forehead.

‘Go on now, love,’ he said gently. ‘See you in the morning. Think I’ll have a nightcap before I go up.’

Feeling light-headed and slightly guilty towards Lesley, she had gone up to her bed in the spare room to try to sleep. Not that she’d meant anything by that moment of weakness. It was just that… well, she was so relieved that everything was going to be all right, it had gone to her head like a shot of LSD. In that mood she’d have hugged anyone who happened to be there, even Dr Sanderson. The gelding, as Mrs Kinley had dubbed him.

As for the caterpillars, she thought as she sank gratefully on to the pillow, a spot of spraying would soon deal with that problem. She’d do both gardens in the morning. They’d been unlucky, that’s all. The chances of being so severely attacked by any insect were one in a million. It was not likely to happen again, she had decided, closing her eyes.

But she had been wrong.

Terribly wrong.

She sat in one of Bernie’s deep armchairs, trying to come to terms with his news of Mrs Kinley’s death. The man with her had died too, he said. It seemed unbelievable.

Bernie poured her a generous dose of his best whisky. She should drink it slowly, he instructed. Doctor’s orders. Instead, she gulped it down. It burned in her throat, kicking her back into the present.

‘I feel so guilty about her!’ she burst out. ‘Oh, if only I hadn’t promised to go back it wouldn’t be so bad. But I did promise.’

‘There’s nothing to blame yourself for. I’m sure she wasn’t really expecting you.’

‘I let her down.’

‘Mrs Kinley was tougher than you think, Ginny. Believe me.’

‘You don’t understand, Bernie.’ How could she explain, she wondered desperately. She couldn’t even put it into words for herself. Not adequately. ‘In my TV series — the soap opera — we had characters like her. Alcoholics, shoplifters, people with mental problems. It was a policy decision to include them.’

She spoke bitterly, realising for the first time how they had all been deceiving themselves.

‘Oh, we thought we were doing a great job!’ she rushed on before he could say anything. ‘Giving the series a social conscience. You should have been at those meetings we had about it. You’d have vomited. Then, when you asked me to see Mrs Kinley, I didn’t really know what to say to her. I failed.’

‘Ginny, you’re torturing yourself unnecessarily.’

She stared morosely into the bottom of the cut crystal glass she held cupped in her hands. ‘It doesn’t help her now, anyway.’

Bernie put his own glass down. ‘I’m sorry, love. It’s time for surgery. Take another drink, if you want.’

She shook her head.

‘No, I said I’d play hide-and-seek with the children and then read them a story. I’d better at least do that.’

‘I’ll be going to visit Lesley after surgery,’ he told her, pausing at the door. ‘Like to come along?’

‘Please.’ She smiled at him ruefully. ‘Sorry I’ve been so silly.’

They talked again about Mrs Kinley as they drove into Lingford in Bernie’s car. As far as he knew there was no Mr Kinley. She had lived alone — divorced, he imagined; certainly there was no one else of that name on his list. As for her being one of the ‘problem’ characters Ginny had talked about, he definitely could not agree.

‘A sharp tongue, yes,’ he conceded, breaking into a laugh. ‘I asked her once if she had a drink problem. Well, she had by all normal standards, but she denied it of course. Oh no, doctor, drink’s no problem, she said, ’cept for the prices they charge. Her real trouble was she didn’t like getting old.’