Chapter 27
Community Hall Clinic, Morley, Leeds
Tuesday 29th October, 2024
What is it about nights growing dark by five 'o' clock that some people seem to find depressing? Gus can't work it out. He drifts along the main road with Scooch at his heels, hypnotised by the psychedelic warm white headlights of the oncoming rush-hour traffic. He's humming Toto Cutugno song lyrics, which explode out of his nostrils in short icy bursts. His waterproof coat is zipped up to the neck and the fur-lined hood hugs his head like a tea-cosy tight to a tea-pot - he's never experienced Northern England in Autumn before now and it's a far cry from the twenty degrees he favours in Bologna, but there's still a grace about the place, even if it stings his face.
Morrisons car park is chaotic with growling engines and panicked parents stocking up on multi-pack bags of Haribo sweets, soon to feed the bellies of mini witches and werewolves - it's been a long time since Gus was sober enough to enjoy Halloween as opposed to upstaging it, and he smiles affectionately, remembering the taste of Rosa's torta di zucca - a delicious family recipe passed down from her nonna's nonna. Nothing said Halloween Night in the noughties like the smell of her spiced custard, and now Gus sighs, regretful that Rosa wasn't given the chance to teach her own children how to perfect a pumpkin pie crust before she was killed.
He sits on the wall of the Community Hall Clinic overlooking the bustling supermarket and silently weeps for his deceased wife, preparing himself for his third session of treatment here.
Gus: I'm so sorry, amore mio.
Kit: Papà?
Gus lifts his head to see both of his babies, no longer babies, beaming down at him with purple lips and rosy cheeks. Kit huddles beneath a mid-length woolen pea-coat, over the top of a slim black blazer and a crisp white shirt. Maura's arm is linked with his, and she shivers from under a Superdry parka.
Maura: I'm sorry we are behind time - there was a queue at the job center which made me late picking Kit up from work, and then we hit a mile of backed-up traffic - a lorry tipped over the roundabout, can you believe it? I hope no one was injured.
Gus shakes his head and wipes his eyes dry, although it takes all his strength not to cry harder with pride; against all odds, his babies remain hard-working, resilient, and so fiercely caring. They get their best parts from their mother.
Gus: Frightful - in true spirit of the season! But you are here now, we will pray no one else was hurt in the accident! My appointment with Dr Mendy isn't yet for another twelve minutes - plenty of time, so come, let's sit inside. And tell me about your first day at work Kit, did the customer's love you? They'd be crazy not to love my talented son as their new bartender - a wizard in the world of Piña Colada's and Passoã potions!
Gus: That part, he gets from me.
The Martucci's bundle inside the Community Hall Clinic, uniting as a family in the face of recovery.
Kit sits in with Gus, and Maura seats herself on a spongey leather sofa in the waiting area. She browsers at the self-help guides and success stories neatly pinned together, and, after five minutes of no head scratches from Maura, Scooch finds a beanbag to flop over and shut's his eyes. Finishing the newsletters kills almost an hour, but to her dismay, it only takes the next fifteen seconds of boredom, before memories of Norris' stony-pale face pool her head, followed by a shirtless Angel throwing her around between his bedsheets.
She succumbs to the twisted torture of her own mind and looks back on their last morning together, folded into the bath tub amid the chaos of The Castle Inn's renovation - bathing and scrubbing for nearly an hour seemed pointless, on reflection now, when the after-fuck was so dirty.
She feels the utmost guilt for missing him and the lives she was slowly rebuilding. Sick with constant heartache, Maura shakes her head, resetting her brain's etch-a-sketch, and stands to occupy herself with the present, and not her past.
She wanders over to the framed certificates hung outside the Dr's office door.
One qualification reads: Dr Jabari Malik Mendy, BSc (Hons) Degree in Counselling and Mental Health from the University of York. Another reads Dr Jabari Malik Mendy, Doctor of Philosophy in Criminology and Psychological Studies from the University of York. And another says Daddy, World's Best Daddy from Kianga and Terrell.
She smiles, sweetly, as the office door gently opens.
Scooch raises his head, and then lets it slump, uninterested.
Jabari: This certificate still costs me more money than those two degree's did put together.
He points to 'World's Best Daddy'.
Maura: But I bet they're so worth it. Bless their hearts, what little angels...
Maura: Even your sub-conscious left-hemisphere is obsessed with him, Maura. What are you playing at?
Jabari smiles a beautifully caring smile and Maura kicks herself for not finding him more attractive.
Maura: I bet this man doesn't collect guns or the teeth of strangers.
Jabari: Even their tantrums are priceless. They're twins, so they gang up on me alot.
Maura: Well, I bet mum and dad don't stand a chance then, do they?
The doctor smiles again, but this time apologetically.
Jabari: No mum - it's just dad. It's character building, I'll tell you that.
She bites her lip, embarrassed by her assumptions. She can relate to both Jabari, Kianga and Terrell all at once - no mother around? Check. Shouldering all the responsibilities of both parents? Check. Worlds best daddy? Erm, check please...
It's hard to guesstimate much else about the doctor - his rich, ebony skin is pore-less, unwrinkled, scar-free - there isn't a crack in sight, but based on his impressive completion of two doctorates, Maura presumes he must be at least thirty-something. He has wide nostrils on a flattish face, and chuck-hazel eyes under an umbrella of sinking brown brows. His buzzcut is soft and frames his face perfectly; Jabari has the potential to be one of the most handsome, potentially romantically-available men she's ever had the pleasure of not flirting hard enough with. But instead, Maura's stubborn psyche is already bound inexhaustibly to the most damned-some, romantically-unavailable bully she's ever had the displeasure of obsessing over - Mr Angel O'Hare, Crockenhill's vilest Batchelor. And that is exhausting.
Maura: What's your professional opinion? Is my father progressing well with your treatment?
Jabari purses his lips coyly and tilts his head from left to right.
Jabari: I stepped out to give him and your brother some privacy. He's definitely got alot of work ahead - he has lots of thoughts and feelings that only he understands, remember that. But you should be so proud of Gus for finally finding the courage to start therapy.
Maura: It was someone else's idea, originally. My father was part of Dr Tate's One-Step Fellowship programme, before we relocated. Maybe you've heard of that?
A look of shock sweeps across the doctor's face.
Jabari: Interesting - I wondered when that trial would surface. I did some research into it myself for my PhD. It seems pretty epic. Extortionately expensive. But epic.
Maura: We got accepted for government funding, actually.
Jabari's face twists in confusion, as though he hasn't heard her correctly.
Jabari: For a private trial like that? Impossible.
He is about to object when Kit opens the door, followed by his teary-eyed father.
Gus is clutching a plastic wallet and a prescription slip for acamprosate.
Gus: Thanks, Doctor Mendy.
Kit: Yes, thankyou Doctor. Scooch? Come here, boy.
Jabari beckons them towards the main counter where a red-headed chemist is waiting to process Gus' medication. Maura begins to follow, until Jabari asks her to stay for a moment longer.
He blushes, and apologises for being brash enough to ask, until Maura abruptly cuts him off.
Maura: I'm not available.
The doctor is confused.
Jabari: I was simply going to ask whether you think you might benefit from a few sessions here at the clinic too? You've lost people aswell. We have some exceptional clinics which really help ease some of the symptoms of post-traumatic-stress-disorder. Nightmares, flashbacks and zoning out. Low to no appetite?
Maura's stomach rumbles in support, right on cue.
Jabari: That, and we are just really good bloody listeners. I'm here if you decide to explore those options.
Gus looks over his shoulder at Maura and shrugs, apologetically, as if invasively divulging her symptoms has landed her in deep trouble. She exhales in bewilderment - it isn't something she has considered for herself, in all honesty, but perhaps he's right. Maybe it can cure her of her post-traumatic-Angel-disorder, too.
Jabari: You don't have to make any final decisions yet - just stop by one day this week and we can discuss a few options over a coffee. Nothing formal. But I'll put you on my list.
He smiles, reassuringly, and then waves towards Kit and Gus before disappearing back into his office.
The Martucci's walk back to Maura's car and strap in.
Gus: Are you mad with me?
Maura squeezes his hand tightly, and looks into his eyes - his beautiful blue eyes flecked with jade green and guilt, not pond-scum and solvent. She shakes her head and starts the car's engine.
Maura: Never.
She presses play on the car stereo and smiles at Kit in the rearview-mirror.
Chip Taylor's husky voice serenades them with 'Love You Today' on repeat, until they get back to their three-bed-semi detached home on Springfield Road.
YOU ARE READING
Trestle
Mystery / Thriller**SMUT warning** Following the death of his racketeer father, Angel is left to manage the O'Hare family's rugged affairs. He vows to worship his girls and protect them from the threat of poverty, sin, and dangerous men like himself. But when debts c...
