Page 60 of One Step Behind
‘A little at night. It’s the humidity. It was the same when I was stationed in Africa with the army.’ He lifts a shaking hand and points to a row of photos on the mantle. ‘Best years of my life, they were.’
‘What about pain in your arms?’
‘Well, I pulled a muscle in my left arm mowing the grass the other day.’
‘Can you describe the pain for me?’
‘It’s an ache. I’ve pulled enough muscles in my time.’
‘Bernie,’ I say. ‘I believe you’re having a heart attack. I’m going to call an ambulance to take you to hospital. They’ll run some tests to confirm it. Have you got any aspirin in the house?’
He shakes his head, amused rather than frightened.‘Oh my dear girl, your generation do know how to overreact, don’t you? It’s the heat. As soon as the weather breaks I’ll be fine again. If I was having a heart attack, believe me, I would be the first to know.’
He really wouldn’t. Heart attacks can be sneaky and slow and just as deadly as the fast chest-gripping ones portrayed on TV.
‘Well, just to be on the safe side,’ I say, reaching for my phone, ‘I’m going to call an ambulance.’
I spend a few minutes on the phone and give my name, too focused on Bernie and his condition to realize I should’ve lied. There’s a trail now. A note on a file that shows I’ve been here, but I can’t worry about that now.
I find some aspirin in a drawer in the kitchen. They’ll thin his blood and will help to limit the damage to his heart. When I return, Mr Barnaby saunters into the living room; his purr is like a small motor engine. He brushes his body up against me and I stroke his silky back.
‘He’s missing Matthew,’ Bernie says as the cat curls up on his lap. ‘I’ve never seen a boy fuss so much over an animal before. I told him to get his own damn cat but he didn’t want to upset Mr Barnaby. You think you’re the lord of the street, don’t you, puss?’
‘Have you lived next door to Matthew for long?’ I ask, moving to the window to watch for the ambulance.
‘Oh yes. Years and years. Matthew moved here, oh, about seven years ago. I remember because it was quite soon after we moved in here. He keeps to himself and doesn’t say much. My late wife, Doreen, would’ve described him as a loner. You know the type? Living on the fringes of society rather than part of it, but he’s harmless.’
No, he’s not, I shout in my head.
‘I’m forever telling him to get out more and get a girlfriend,’ Bernie says. ‘He works funny hours at the restaurant though, and such a shy one. He did have a girlfriend for a while. I saw her coming and going. He didn’t mention her and I never asked, but one day she stopped visiting. She was a bit old for him, I thought.’
‘What did she look like?’ I ask, trying to sound casual, as though it’s a normal question to ask.
‘Blonde. Pretty for her age.’
The flashing blue lights of the ambulance pulse through the window, stopping me from asking more questions.
‘They’re here, Bernie. I’m going to open the door for them. Is there anyone I can call for you?’ I ask.
‘My son lives in a village five miles away, but there’s no need to trouble him. He’ll be at work now. I really don’t want to be any bother.’
‘Still, perhaps you could tell me how I can reach him, just in case.’
Bernie points to a phone book. ‘His name’s Sam. He’s a P.E. teacher. He always dreamed of being a professional tennis player, but it didn’t work out.’
I lead the paramedics into the living room and update them quickly on Bernie’s condition. They fit an ECG and watch the output for a few minutes, talking in low voices to each other. It’s only when Bernie is strapped to the stretcher that he bites his lip and starts to look hopelessly around the room.
‘Will you call Sam?’ he asks.
‘I’ll do it right now,’ I tell him.
‘And put three scoops of food down for Mr Barnaby too.’
‘Of course.’
I watch the ambulance pull away, flashing lights but no siren. I call Bernie’s son and explain what’s happened. Then I search through the cupboards and find Mr Barnaby’s food, adding an extra scoop on top of the three, just in case.
Out in the sunlight, I stare up at your house. Images of your bedroom flash in my mind. I touch the photo of Rachel in my pocket. I took it to show her proof of what you’ve been doing, but now I wonder if there is any need to show her.
