The Life and Afterlife of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 1) (21 page)

"I wish that were true... it would be a damn’ sight easier, believe me," he said belligerently.

"You're in love with Lucy too?"

I found it hard to keep the shock out of my voice. 

He paused for a while before answering. When he did speak it came out as a whisper and afterwards I could never be sure whether I’d heard him correctly.

"Deeply."

I could see by the look on his face that it was the truth and my heart sank.  Our friendship was truly over.

"So why all the verbal abuse that night?" I asked, suddenly angry.

"I don't know.”  He shrugged.  "Too much booze? Bruised ego? Rejection?" His voice trailed off.

What I was hearing was surprising but deep down I think I’d guessed all along.  I started to wonder whether Lucy knew how Russ felt about her.  He answered my thoughts with his next sentence.

"Don't worry, though. I'm nothing more than a friend to her.  She doesn't see me in the same way," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"How do you know?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"Have you told her how you feel?"

"Have you?"

"Not exactly," I said, regret in my voice

"Me either, but if she felt the same way she would've kissed me back."

I nodded while I tried to damp down the jealousy burning within me.

"Do you intend telling her how you feel?"

"One day."

Silence fell over the room. Only the sounds of the crackling fire could be heard.  We both stared at the floor as we realised that our friendship was now at an end forever.  Our lives had suddenly become more complicated.  Russ raised his head and looked me straight in the eye.

"This changes things, doesn't it?" he asked gravely.

"Yeah," I admitted with a heavy heart.

Chapter Nineteen

I was the spy in the room, an unseen visitor − it was quiet, clinical and contained the person I held most dear.  I listened to the steady beeping that resonated off the bare white walls and was grateful for the sound.  It meant that Lucy's heart was still beating.  She lay in a hospital bed, unconscious but breathing unaided.  The doctors had put her into an induced coma so that they could determine the damage to her head and spinal cord.

My eyes drifted over to the crumpled figure waiting beside the bed.  He sat hunched over in a hospital chair that had seen better days.  His hair was ruffled from him repeatedly running his hands through it and his eyes were fixed on Lucy in the hope she would wake up at any second.  I stared at my two best friends, both of them in so much pain, and wondered how it had come to this.

A doctor entered the room and stood behind Russ for a short while before interrupting his anxious thoughts.  The doctor was young − around the same age as Lucy and Russ − blond, clean-shaven, with a kind face and a calm, sympathetic manner.  My mother would have described him as a handsome man.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Whitman," he said, shaking Russ's hand. "Are you Lucy's husband?"

My eyes closed in pain at that thought.  I was reminded once again of what I had almost had before my life was cut short.

"No, I'm just a friend. I was with her when she fell."

"I apologise. You've been sitting here for hours, I assumed you were the patient’s partner."

"No, just a very close friend," Russ said, with a touch of sadness to his voice. "Is she going to be OK? What have your tests found so far?"

"Well,” the doctor said in practised tones, “I can confirm that she has broken a few ribs, her spinal cord is still intact but she has a fractured skull and collarbone.  You'll be glad to hear she has no brain damage but we will be keeping her in for a few weeks for monitoring."

Russ rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with his hands.  He released a sigh that indicated he had been holding his breath.

He looked at the doctor with blurry eyes. "How soon will she come out of the coma?"

The doctor placed one hand on Russ's shoulder. "Very soon," he said, and left the room.

Russ took one of Lucy's hands in his, raised it to his lips and closed his eyes as if in prayer.  His mouth moved against her hand as he whispered something that was meant for her ears only.  But I caught it.  Three whispered words that twisted my heart with torment.

I felt I had trespassed long enough in their world. My Earthly observations only brought me pain and I began to wonder if I was being fair to myself.  The suffering I saw had become too much for me to bear. I could understand why Lucy had needed to close the door on my death.  I recognised that I too had a similar task ahead of me.  The future ahead of my friends was beyond my control.  I began to realise that if I wanted to live in harmony and peace, I had to let them go.  I vowed to myself never to visit their world again, to let go of a life that was never meant to be.

I returned to my treehouse with a lighter heart and a happier soul.  Once again I could see the beauty that surrounded me.  I realised that my focus could only be in one world at a time and now I had cut my attachment to Earth, I could finally appreciate the new world that I had accepted as my home.  The fog of grief had lifted and I could see clearly again.

I saw a small, familiar figure sitting at the base of the tree that supported my house.  He stood up as I approached and ran to me.

"Charlie, where have you been? Can we play now?"

I looked at his excited face, amazed that he had forgiven me so easily for abandoning him.

"Yes, we can play now, Timmy."

After that he and I played every day and explored every nook and cranny of Heaven together.  Looking at it from the perspective of a four-year-old boy allowed me to see things differently.  Everything was a new adventure for us both.

I taught Timmy to swim in a beautiful rainbow-coloured lagoon and celebrated with him when he achieved his first dive.  I still found it hard to believe that this child was all alone and it seemed odd that he never talked about his life on Earth or his family.  Was there nobody he missed?  I knew he had had a tough life as God Himself had revealed this to me, but what I didn't know were the details.

That changed one afternoon while we were exploring a succession of waterfalls from which there was a breathtaking view of a mountain range in the distance.  We had climbed the slippery rock face and plunged under the gushing torrent of the last waterfall to find a small cave where we could shelter.  We sat in our private den and let the sound of the water lull us into a relaxed state.

Suddenly Timmy sat bolt upright.

"Charlie!" he shouted excitedly, and pointed to the roof of the cave.  I looked up and saw at least a dozen bats all hanging from on the highest point of the cave.

"Ah, it looks as though we've stumbled upon Batman's cave," I joked, "Did you have any Batman toys on Earth?"

Timmy looked sad and shook his head.

"I wasn't allowed toys," he said quietly.

I was shocked. A child who wasn't allowed toys?  What a strange thing. My curiosity was piqued but I also felt a sense of uneasiness at his reply.

"Why weren't you allowed toys?"

"I'm too naughty for toys. Mummy said toys are only for good boys," he said, looking at the puddles on the floor of the cave.

I found it hard to believe that Timmy was even capable of bad behaviour.  I had spent a lot of time with him and had never received that impression.  My mind ran wild as I imagined the kind of mother she must have been. I felt sick to my stomach as I asked my next question.

"Did she hit you Timmy?"

He nodded solemnly.

"How often?"

"Lots," he said glumly, "I would try to be good but she would still hit me.” He paused and I waited patiently for him to carry on. “It hurt and I had to stay in bed until it didn’t hurt anymore."

I shook my head as I realised he’d been a victim of child abuse. It sickened me to my core.

"When was the last time you saw your mum and dad?" I asked.

"Just before I woke up here." He looked confused, "She was hitting me and then I woke up here.  I don't have a daddy.  God said He saved me." Timmy started to grin at this last statement.

My eyes closed as the gravity of what he was saying registered with me.  Timmy's mother had killed her own son. I was shocked to the core. Even in the afterlife he had no parental figure and was living in an orphanage with thousands of other children.  What he needed was a parent, someone who would show him love and guide him as he grew into an adult, someone who would make him a priority and always put him first.

I looked at Timmy and saw the complete trust he had in me.  Innocence shone from his face and I had an overwhelming urge to protect him.

"You're safe now, bud," I said softly.

Timmy moved closer to me and I put an arm around him and lightly kissed the top of his head.

"I wish you were my daddy."  His voice was muffled against my t-shirt.

I had already made my mind up that I would have Timmy live with me from now on.  I had to do something for this lost, mistreated soul.  I would be the rainbow after the storm, I would be his protector and defender, and I would do everything in my power to ensure this abandoned little boy experienced happiness and joy.  To sing and dance and play, and to have a family who loved him.

My mind was made up.  I would take him from the orphanage and adopt him myself.

The night Timmy moved into my home was an exciting one.  I had always wanted children and was very grateful for this opportunity.  It felt as though we were both being given a second chance. In the days leading up to my adoption of him I had made the house childproof and decorated a bedroom I had designated as Timmy's.  The fact that I could conjure up objects and change any decor at will made the process so much easier.

Timmy was a lover of astronomy and space so his bedroom had planet mobiles hanging from the ceiling and tiny lights forming constellations that glowed when the bedroom light was turned off, acting as a fascinating night light.  His room also had its own escape route in the form of a slide that was hidden beneath a trapdoor.  I even had a telescope installed so we could do a bit of stargazing.

A huge toy chest was placed in the room containing action figures, cars, teddy bears and any other toys I could think of.  He had his own library that connected to his bedroom and it was stocked to the brim with children's books, hammocks and hideaways.  It was safe to say that, for the first time in his life, Timmy was one spoilt little boy.

On his first night in the treehouse we huddled together on the huge, squishy sofa, giggling away at a kid’s film.  I felt happy for the first time since I'd arrived.  Timmy and I were lost souls who had found each other and I wondered whether he was my real reason for being here, whether this mission had been assigned to me long before I turned up.

As Timmy grew older the bond between us deepened. One day while I was teaching him how to ride a bike he called me something I had never thought to hear.  Timmy, after some over-zealous pedalling, had managed to overturn his bike and become trapped beneath its weight.  Knowing that he was prone to panic attacks, I rushed over to where he lay and lifted the bike off him.

His chin started to wobble as I checked him over for injuries.  The navy blue trousers he was wearing were torn at the knee.

"It’s OK, there's not too much damage," I soothed.

Timmy appeared to have his tears under control; I could see in his eyes that he trusted me.  I wiped the dirt from his wound and suddenly realised that I had the power to repair the torn trousers that were causing him some distress, presumably because in his past life he would have been in trouble because of them. I concentrated my mind on repairing the tear.

"You just did magic," he told me.

I laughed at his statement. "Well, we can’t have you going around in torn trousers."

Timmy smiled at me, got back on his bike and then casually called over his shoulder, "Thanks, Dad."

Chapter Twenty

Another year passed in the village.  More snow arrived in the winter months, to be melted by the spring rain, which inevitably changed to summer rain, which eventually turned into a heat wave which, of course, caused a shower of complaints from the locals.

"Eeeh by gum, I can't take much more o' this heat.."

"By ‘eck, its reight warm... I'm sweltering in me britches."

"Bring back that there snow, that's what a'  say... it might’ve bin a bit parky but it were a damn’ sight better nor this 'eatwave."

"Oh, 'eck, sun’s at it again!"

I was the only one not complaining about the warm weather as it meant I could work faster on my treehouse projects.  The business was doing well and before long I had hired two employees to help with the workload.  Word had got around about my treehouses and I was finding that the reason customers came to me for a quote was changing.   Whereas before I was getting enquiries from parents who wanted something a bit different for their son’s or daughter’s birthday, now I was working for a new category of customer.  Middle-class couples who wanted a spare room or somewhere unique to entertain guests, were now contacting me about commissioning luxurious adult treehouses and were willing to pay top dollar.  Before long I was charging £30,000 per house and getting richer by the day.

My business was expanding and it wasn't long before I had paid off the mortgage on my poky cottage.
In true Yorkshire style, every penny I earnt after that was swiftly transferred to savings accounts where the money could earn interest. 

Not long after I’d paid off my mortgage I found myself in the market for new accommodation with a view to renting out the little cottage where I currently lived.  I knew business was booming and couldn’t see any risk of work slackening off so I began to search for a bigger home for myself.  Somewhere slightly better suited to a successful businessman.

One day, after completing a particularly extravagant commission, I came across a rundown mansion with a For Sale sign outside its front gates.  The five-bedroomed house was just on the outskirts of the village in an elevated position that provided breathtaking views over the rolling hills all around.  I noted the crumbling interior walls and bad electrics quite undeterred. I began to visualise the magnificent home it could become.  There was no denying this old Edwardian house was steeped in history and had heaps of potential.

I put in an offer in that afternoon and it was accepted within minutes. The owners were keen to sell as soon as possible.  I begged the help of my dad and a few of his friends to meet the challenge of restoration.  After I had earnt more money than I knew what to do with, I’d offered to pay off my dad’s mortgage as a thank you for all his help with the house.  He refused, as I knew he would, and told me that my money was mine and he wouldn’t feel right taking something I’d worked hard for.  So I saved it instead, only spending money on essentials.  I guess an affluent lifestyle was something I hadn’t yet grown used to.

I did indulge in one piece of extravagance though.  I bought myself a 1964 Aston Martin DB5 in which I drove around the winding roads of the Yorkshire Dales at stupidly dangerous speeds while trying to forget about Lucy and the hole she had left in my life, and the best friend I no longer had any contact with.

My new employees, Darryl and Ben, provided me with company on nights I couldn't stand to be alone, but they in no way replaced the presence of the childhood friends whom I missed.  Apart from the odd meal at my parents’ house, my life revolved around work, which I threw myself into wholeheartedly every chance I got.

I would occasionally bump into Russ as I ran errands in the village and we would nod to each other wordlessly and carry on our separate ways.  I wondered whether he had any contact with Lucy; wondered if he was missing our friendship too.  I yearned for contact with both of them and couldn't shake the feeling that Lucy needed me, but I knew that if I contacted her she would just reject me again.

However, one warm and humid night in late June my luck started to change.  I was woken from a dreamless sleep by a buzzing sound.  In a daze I swatted at my head, thinking a fly had got in through the open window, and then I realised the sound was my mobile vibrating on my bedside table.

My voice was groggy as I answered.  "Hello?"

"Is that Charlie Brackwood?" an unfamiliar female voice asked.

"Yes, who is this?"

"I am a nurse at Royal United Hospital in Bath, I am calling on behalf of Lucy Elliot."

I froze with the phone pressed so tightly to my ear that it began to hurt.  My heart rate quickened. I felt a pang of fear.

"...Are you still there?  Do you know her?"

"Er... yeah... yes, I do.  Is she in the hospital? Is she OK?"

"She will be, only we need you to pick her up."

"OK... yes, but I'll be a few hours.  I'm coming from Yorkshire."

"That will be fine."

I stared at the wall as the dialling tone echoed loudly in my ear.  Then I shook myself into action.  I looked up the hospital’s address on the internet and printed out a map to follow. It was 2 a.m. Traffic should be sparse. If I broke a few speed limits I could get there for around 5.

What was Lucy doing in hospital?  Was she seriously injured?  Was it self-inflicted?  Why was I the person the nurse had called?

I started to tell myself that Lucy couldn't be too badly hurt if I was required to pick her up.  Surely it meant she was being discharged.  I clung to that thought as I sped down the fast lane of the motorway.

As I entered Bath the old city was just coming to life in the warm light of early morning.  It truly was a place of beauty. I understood Lucy’s attraction to the place.

The hospital was thoroughly signposted and I found it easily.  I parked the car and enquired after Lucy at the front desk; I was pointed in the direction of some stairs and told to follow the signs for Ward 2b.  The temperature inside the hospital was unbearably hot.  It seemed unnecessary given the heat wave we were currently experiencing.

I reached my destination still breathing fast from taking the stairs two at a time.  I saw Lucy lying on a metal-framed bed with her back to me.  She was fully dressed in a t-shirt and tight-fitting jeans and I realised how much weight she had lost since I’d last seen her.  Her naturally curly hair looked limp and was now cut short in a bob.

"Lucy." My voice came out in a whisper.

She turned over to face me and flashed me a semi-smile.  I grabbed the chair by the bedside and sat down close to her.  Her face looked drawn and pale.  She was having difficulty meeting my eye.

"Hi," she said, looking embarrassed.

"What happened?" I said, reaching for her hands and realising that one of them was still hooked up to an IV.

Tears sprang to her eyes then.

"I'm too ashamed to tell you," she sobbed.

I decided not to push her but instead moved closer to rest my forehead against hers.  I told her it was OK, the relief of seeing her still breathing was enough for me.  We heard footsteps approaching, the sound of the nurse clearing her throat.

"OK," she said in a sing-song voice, "Are we all ready to go home now?"

I looked at Lucy, who nodded.

"Right, if you could just let me know your address… will you be going back to your hall of residence or...?”

The nurse's question hung in the air and an idea began to form in my mind.

"Could you just give us a minute?" I asked.

"Certainly," the nurse said pleasantly, and walked away.

I turned back to Lucy. "Stay with me," I pleaded, "Don't go back to halls.  Your exams are over anyway aren't they?  You'll be returning to the village soon." She stared at me with a confused expression.

"But my parents will be upset with me if they find out I'm staying with you." 

"We'll keep it a secret until you feel up to seeing them, I really don't think going home will help you Luce.  Stay with me," I said again.

Her shoulders slumped and she nodded her head slightly as she admitted defeat. "OK," she whispered.

After Lucy had filled out the various forms required of her we made our way to my car and I held the passenger door open for her.

She stopped in her tracks and stared at me. "This is yours?" she asked.

"Yeah." I grinned.

"Where's the Mini?"

"In storage"

"You really bought this car?"

I looked at her with a serious expression on my face. "You've missed a lot, Luce."

Before long we were back on the motorway and this time I was obeying the speed limit.  I glanced sideways at Lucy from time to time, so many questions racing in my mind.  It wasn't long before I cut through the silence.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Not really," she replied flatly.

"OK," I said, feeling exasperated. "Do you want to tell me what medication you're on so that I can monitor you properly?"

"They gave me something... I don't know the name of it."

"What was it for?  You need to give me more −"

"Fine!" she spat. "It was for a drug overdose, OK?  The last thing I remember is being in my room with a needle in my hand."

I kept my emotions under control and my voice calm as I asked, "What did you OD on?"

Silence.  Then a sigh.  "Heroin," she said quietly.

"Heroin?" I choked on the vile word. "You overdosed on heroin? How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know... a few months... a year maybe."

"A year? Lucy, you could be dead... you could've killed yourself... do you not see how stupid this is!" I raised my voice. "Do you not see what you're doing to yourself? Do you not even value your own life?"

I glanced at her, waiting for any form of reaction..  She sat stock still, staring into space.  But her eyes, full of sparkling tears, gave her away.  One escaped and made a track down her cheek.  I instantly started to regret my outburst. She was clearly in pain and my attitude wasn't helping matters.

"Look, Luce," I said gently, "I say these things because I care about you, you know that."

She sniffled and nodded. "I can't go on like this," she admitted.

"You don't need to," I said.

We drove the rest of the way in silence and eventually the familiar sight of Burnsall's rolling hills rose before us in the distance.

"I've not been home in so long," she stated.

"Has it changed much?" I asked with a grin.  She drank in the familiar landscape.

"No, It'll never change," she said dreamily.

I parked on the gravel driveway outside the large, imposing mansion that was still undergoing renovation. When I opened the passenger door for Lucy she looked around, confused and in awe.

"You were expecting my parents' house?" I said

"Yes... but I like this.  It’s... old."

"Thanks," I said, grabbing her overnight bag from her as she continued to stare up at the decorative tiling and stained glass of my new house.  I knew she was wondering how I had bought it. Last time she’d seen me I was just a low-paid farmhand.  Out of politeness she kept her questions to herself. 

She followed me inside and I led her into the large kitchen where I made us some tea and something to eat.  I kept one eye on her as she wandered around the kitchen, taking everything in.

"I have a question for you," I said.

"Hmm?" she replied, studying some artwork I had bought at the local craft market in the village hall.

"Why did the hospital ring me? I mean... why
me
specifically?"

"You were down as my next-of-kin."

"Oh," I said, secretly pleased.

"Is that OK?"

"Sure."  I smiled. 

I found myself wondering why she had put down my name and not her parents’, and then I realised the grief she would get from them in a situation such as this.  I guessed she'd put my name down before she stopped speaking to me.

I gave her a steaming mug of Yorkshire tea and set a cheese and Marmite sandwich down next to it.

"You remembered," she said with a brilliant smile.  A smile I'd waited two years to see again.

"Of course. You're the only one I know with a favourite sandwich  most people would find grotesque."

Lucy laughed and took a sip of her tea.

"So how's Russ?" she asked brightly.  I knew she was asking me questions in order to avoid talking about her own problems.

"I don't know, we're not really talking," I said, embarrassed. "We've barely been in touch since the night I punched him."

"Oh."

"Have you heard from him?" I asked, wondering if he had told her how he felt.

"Yeah, all the time... he came to visit me actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he was acting weird though... like he had something on his mind."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  In the end he went home early.  Said he was all over the place.  My flatmate was devastated.  I’d spent most of his visit trying to set them up.  She's just his type too... but he never made a move."