Ice Dancing Episode 77

“He’s had a hard time. My lovely brother.” I nodded. He’d had a harder time than she knew. Occasionally, over the past few weeks, I had tried to broach the subject with him again. “You ought to tell your family what happened to you,” I would say. “You ought to tell your sister at least.”

But he would only sigh. “I don’t know.” “Why not? You’ve told me. You’ve made a start. It would explain so much for them.” “It’s not the same.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because my mom and my sister would blame themselves, wouldn’t they?”

“Oh Joe,” I had replied, thinking of the way I felt about my daughter. “I expect they’re blaming themselves already.”

“Has he told you?” Frankie asked now, staring at me with candid brown eyes, just like her brother’s. “Has he told you about his problems over the years?”

“A bit. He could hardly keep them a secret could he? There’s too much online. The kids round here ferreted it out.”

“You can never live your past down now, can you? It’s online forever. Poor Joey. He’s been such a mess and we never quite figured out why. Mom reckons it’s because we lost our dad so young. You can get over divorce, but you’ll never forgive a parent for dying on you. But he’s his own worst enemy. He started out with so much promise.”

“He still plays a great game.”

“He does, doesn’t he? So why should he go off the rails with so much determination, Helen? Too much success too soon, maybe?” “Maybe.”

I ached to tell her but there was nothing I could do. The revelation, if it came at all, had to come from Joe himself.

“I love him dearly but I could never really help him. We hated to see it. All that anger. There seemed to be so much rage in him. But, you know, it seems to suit him over here. He’s calmer than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“He’s been severely concussed,” I said. “His head is probably all over the place.”

“Oh I know that. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Is there?”

“Oh sure. He’s more in control. Happier, suppose. I haven’t seen Joey really happy like this for a long, long time – maybe not since our dad died. Even with a face like a piece of raw meat, he’s happy. Well, happier. I don’t know why that should be. He says it’s all down to the place and the people here. But I think he means it’s all down to you, Helen.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I’m sure I blushed. Hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“I don’t know,” I said, cautiously. “He’s been very popular with everyone in the village. He’s made a place for himself here. We all hope he comes back. We hope he doesn’t sell the house.”

“Oh no. I don’t think he’s going to do that in a hurry. He tells me he wants to hang on to his little piece of Scotland, even if he doesn’t play hockey here next year.”

He planned to go home, see his family and spend as much time with Alicia as Carrie would allow. He had bought himself a laptop. Well, I’d ordered it for him online.

Reconciliation

Now, with Carrie’s blessing, he spoke to his daughter every day or so. At least his accident had prompted that much of a reconciliation and I was glad of it.

Most of the time, even after Frankie went home, I tried to avoid talking about the future, his future, because it filled me with dread. “I know you’ll look after him for us, Helen,” she had said just before she left.

I wanted to drag my feet to slow time down as I had that day at Poldarrach, and yet I was desperate for him to be well.

He seemed equally reluctant to talk about the future, said he needed to explore a few job opportunities that had presented themselves in Canada, but he might decide to come back to the Kestrels next year.

The offer was there if he was fit enough. He still couldn’t make up his mind what to do for the best.

“Hell,” he told me despairingly. “If I can’t have you, I don’t know what I want.”

But I think we both knew that he really ought to stay in Canada. It would be safer for both of us if he stayed there, even if he allowed himself the luxury of an occasional holiday in Scotland.

And maybe by the time he came back, we would both have come to our senses. That was the unspoken agreement between us, or so I thought.

For the time being, though, we just lived in the present. I had plenty of excuses to visit him and the cottage became our refuge, but we had the satisfaction, or frustration, of behaving impeccably most of the time too. For several weeks, Joe’s poor health would hardly permit anything else.

Fool’s Spring

Poor Joey. He’s been such a mess and we never quite figured out why. Mom reckons it’s because we lost our dad so young...

Time passed inexorably and soon there were signs of spring everywhere: daffodils on the grass verges around the village and the dense white embroidery of blackthorn blossom on all the hedges.

Usually, I was glad to see these things, but this year they filled me with dread. Fiona was at home on study leave, working hard. She was due to sit her sixthyear exams when she went back to school. I love spring, love the steadily lengthening days. Every year I find myself full of a sort of unfocused and unspecified hope for the future.

But the last week of Joe’s stay was one of the worst times of my life. It was right up there with Louise’s death and the heartbreak of my dad’s stroke and my mother’s final illness. I had this constant pain in my chest, a physical hurt.

Sometimes I felt like marching straight down to the cottage and telling him that yes, I would go back to Canada with him now, right away. Just let me get the ticket. But then the misgivings would start.

He was still a young man. The years between us meant very little now, but what about when I was 60 or 70 or 80 and he was 10 years younger?

What if he wanted more children? It wasn’t out of the question for me, but I was full of uncertainty. What if he could never really come to terms with his past? What if the drinking started again?

And above all, how could I betray Sandy, when he had done nothing wrong?

More tomorrow.

Ice Dancing by Catherine Czerkawska, Dyrock Publishing, £9.99 and Kindle E-reader from £2.99. For more of her books, including The Posy Ring and A Proper Person To Be Detained, see saraband.net

By Catherine Czerkawska