Page 90 of Loving Netta Wilde

She turned her back to him and faced the wicker chair and the shed. Her head was bent, and her hands clasped in front of her. He realised she was praying. She stayed in that position for a few minutes, then she took something out of her bag and stuck it into the wicker weave. Was it a Jamaican flag? The object was small, and it was hard to tell from this distance. When he looked away from it, he saw that she was coming towards him. He rushed forward to help her back to the better path.

Priscilla allowed Clyde to escort her out. They stopped occasionally for Clyde to point out different plants to her. She was a lot more patient than you’d imagine. She almost seemed to be enjoying herself.

Doogie and Ursula followed a few paces behind. ‘Arthur told me about Colin’s breakdown. How is he?’ she said.

‘He’s going through a bad patch at the moment, but I think he’ll get through it.’

‘I’d like to see him again before I go away.’

‘I’ll tell him. He wants a chance to say sorry to you.’

‘Then we should make it happen.’

They’d reached the car. Doogie held the passenger door open for Priscilla. She nodded at Ursula. It wasn’t exactly friendly but probably the nearest it was ever going to get.

Clyde helped her in. ‘Goodbye for now, Priscilla. I might call on you after Doogie’s gone back home. Just to check up on yer.’

‘I don’t need no checking up on, Clyde Wilson, but you can come. Just don’t get any ideas.’ She pointed at Doogie. ‘Me got enough of that with that scallywag.’

The corners of Clyde’s mouth turned up. ‘I can assure you Madam Sweeting, my intentions are honourable. I’ll be seeing you.’ He shook Doogie’s hand. ‘Samuel can rest now.’

‘What did that old fool say about Samuel?’ she said when Doogie got back in the car.

‘Nothing. Did you sort things out with Ursula?’

‘Depends what you mean by sort things out. We talked. It was enough. That cup you gave me, where did you get it from?’

‘Ursula’s shed. Why?’

‘It was one of mine. Samuel must have taken it there.’

Doogie sighed. Every time he tried to do something good, he fucked it up. ‘I’m sorry. Do you feel better for going there though? Being able to say a prayer for Samuel, did it help?’

‘The prayer wasn’t for him. It was for me. I was asking the Lord for forgiveness.’

‘I don’t understand. Why do you need forgiveness?’

She pulled her bag up against her chest. ‘Because I threw my husband out two days before he died. Samuel spent the last days of his life in that shed when he should have been with his family. If he hadn’t been alone in that damn place, we might have got him to a hospital and saved him. I took him away from them.’

‘But I thought you said he wasn’t interested in them?’

‘He wasn’t. But that could have changed. Ursula said he talked about us all the time. But he never talkedtous, Dougal. All he ever talked about was vegetables and that place. The fool. The stupid idiot fool.’

‘Look, Priscilla. Samuel made his choices and there’s no reason why you had to put up with them. You didn’t do anything wrong. You gave him plenty of time to change.’ Doogie was thinking of his mum. She’d been like Priscilla once, waiting for his dad to be a different man. Until she decided it was a waste of time and she was better off without him. It couldn’t have happened soon enough for Doogie. The way she always played second fiddle to Monique used to really get to him. So did the way his dad kept everyone in their safe little boxes. Safe for his dad that is. Doogie was the only one allowed to cross the divide. No, that wasn’t actually what happened. Doogie was the only oneforcedto cross the divide. He’d been the one with no choices. It was kind of ironic that he’d ended up doing the same thing as his old man, given that he’d hated having it done to him. ‘My daughter and her mum tell me I’m a compartmentaliser.’

‘A what?’

‘I put people into boxes. Keep them apart. It’s a way of not having to deal with stuff that’s going on inside my head.’

‘Hmm. And are you?’

‘Yeah. I’ve always been that way. Do you think Samuel might have been too.’

Priscilla clucked her tongue. ‘That’s all modern claptrap. My generation don’t do com-part-men-talising. We just get on with things.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And if he was one of them, the box he put his family in was the smallest one of all. The Lord probably forgave him for it, but I can’t. No more fool talk now, Dougal. Tek me home.’

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