Mark Haddon - A Spot Of Bother

“Thank you,” said George.

Ray left and George bolted the door and dropped his trousers and sat on the toilet and emptied his bowels and swallowed the remaining six tablets, washing them down with some slightly unpleasant water from the toothbrush mug without stopping to think about the deposit in the bottom.

Jean apologized to Eileenfor her outburst and Eileen said, “I forgive you,” in a way that made Jean want to be rude all over again.

Ronnie said, “I do hope George is all right.”

And Jean realized it was her fault. He’d sat on the bed looking dreadful, wanting to talk, and Katie had stuck her head round the door and she’d been swept up in all the arrangements and hadn’t gone back to ask what was troubling him.

“I’ll be down again in a few minutes,” she said, and headed upstairs, smiling politely at Ed and Alan and Barbara as she went past the living-room door.

They hadn’t got their tea, had they.

Oh well, she had more important things to do.

When she reached the bedroom George was putting his socks on. She sat down beside him. “I’m sorry, George.”

“What for?”

“For rushing off this morning.”

“You had things to do,” said George.

“How are you feeling now?”

“A lot better,” said George.

He certainly seemed all right. Perhaps Ray had got things out of proportion. “Your arm.”

“Oh yes.” George lifted his arm. There was a large gash on his wrist. “I must have caught it on that barbed-wire fence.”

At first glance it looked like a bite. Surely the dog hadn’t attacked him? “Let me sort that out before you get blood on your clothes.”

She went into the bathroom and fetched the little green first-aid box and patched him up while he sat patiently on the bed. She wished she could do more of this kind of thing. Helping in a practical way.

She stuck down a second strip of plaster to hold the little bandage in place. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” George put his hand in hers.

She held it. “I’m sorry I’ve been so useless.”

“Have you?” asked George.

“I know you’ve not been feeling well,” said Jean. “And I know…sometimes I don’t take enough notice. And that’s not right. I just…I find it hard.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” said George.

“What do you mean?” asked Jean.

“I mean you don’t have to worry about me anymore today,” said George. “I’m feeling much happier now.”

“I’m glad,” said Jean.

And it was true. He did seem very relaxed, more relaxed than she’d seen him looking for a while. “But if something starts to worry you, you will let me know, won’t you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I mean it,” said Jean. “Just say the word and I’ll put down whatever I’m doing. Honestly.”

“Thank you,” said George.

They sat for a few moments, then a phone started ringing.

“That’s not our phone, is it?” asked George.

It wasn’t. “Hang on.” Jean got to her feet and stepped into the corridor. The noise was coming from a mobile phone lying on the windowsill.

She picked it up and pressed the little green button and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Jamie?” said a man’s voice. “Sorry. I think I dialed a wrong number.”

“Ray?” said Jean.

“Jean?” said Ray.

“Yes,” said Jean. “Is that Ray?”

“Where are you?” asked Ray.

“On the landing,” said Jean, who was a little puzzled by this.

“I was trying to ring Jamie,” said Ray.

“He’s not here,” said Jean, who always found mobile phones slightly disconcerting.

“Sorry about that,” said Ray and rang off.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes and they would have to leave. She’d better get George ready then round up the troops.

She put the phone back down and opened the wardrobe in the corridor to fish out her scarf and very nearly had a heart attack when she saw Sarah looking back at her from between the coats.

“Hide-and-seek,” said Sarah.

Katie told Mumthat Jamie was still looking for Dad. Mum panicked. Katie reassured her that Jamie knew where the register office was. He could be heading there at this very moment. Mum stopped panicking.

They were all standing outside the house. The air was full of aftershave and perfume and Uncle Doug’s cigarette smoke and the mothbally scent of best coats. Was it sad or funny, Jamie missing the wedding? She couldn’t really tell.

Sarah and Jacob were sitting next to each other on the wall. He hadn’t found her hiding place, but she’d given him the twenty pence anyway. If he was any older Katie would have called it a crush.

“Dog’s bottom scrapings,” said Sarah.

“Poo from a horse,” said Jacob, laughing like a maniac.

“Dog’s bottom scrapings and a big jug of old lady’s wee,” said Sarah.

Katie walked over to Dad. “How’re you doing?” She tried to make the question sound neutral so he didn’t realize how much she knew.

He turned to her and took her hands and looked into her eyes and seemed almost tearful. He said, “My wonderful, wonderful daughter,” which made her tearful, too, and they hugged briefly, which was something they hadn’t done for quite a while.

Then Mum looked at her watch and officially gave up waiting for her son to arrive and the tension broke and everyone poured toward the cars.

Jamie should have beenheading back to the house by now. But what was the point? The wedding wasn’t going to happen without Dad. There was nothing to be late for.

He was standing on a muddy track in Washingley, having run like a headless chicken up and down every footpath just south of Folksworth. His trousers were covered in mud, he’d torn the sleeve of his jacket on barbed wire and he felt like shit.

He was the person his father had confided in. He was the person who had failed to stop his father doing precisely what his father had said he was going to do. He was the person who had fucked up his sister’s wedding.

He now realized what a stupid idea it was looking for his father like this. His father could have set off in any direction.

He had to explain to everyone what had happened. He had to inform the police. He had to apologize. He walked back to the car, put a plastic bag on the driver’s seat, got in and drove home.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he arrived. There were no cars. He parked and walked to the front door. It was locked. He rang the bell. There was no answer. He looked through the windows. The house was empty.

Maybe Ray had told them what had happened. Maybe they were all out looking for his father. Maybe they’d found him. Maybe everyone was at the hospital.

He tried not to think about these things.

He’d lost his mobile. He had to get into the house. If only to find a phone and some dry trousers. He tried the side gate. Eileen and Ronnie’s dog threw itself against the far side, barking and scraping the wood with its claws. He turned the handle. It was locked.

Oh well, his trousers were already knackered…

He grabbed hold of the post and put his foot into one of the grooves in the stone wall and hoisted himself up. He hadn’t done this kind of thing for many years and it took three attempts, but he finally got himself straddled uncomfortably over the top of the gate.

He was looking down on the other side, wondering best how to negotiate the long drop and the crazy dog when someone said, “Can I help you?”

He turned his head and found himself looking at an elderly man he vaguely recognized. The man was wearing a Shetland jumper and carrying a pair of garden shears.