Consequences Unforeseen

Cannes, the French Riviera - April 10th 1974

Cannes, the French Riviera - April 10th 1974

Until yesterday that was!

The knocking at his hotel room door failed to bring him instantly awake. In his dream it was Lynda bugging him to get out of the shower. Pleading with him to come walk with her on the Quai and eat some fish soup one last time.

He struggled to let these thoughts leave him, because somewhere deeper in his subconscious he knew with certainty that if he opened his eyes he had lost her again and this time it was forever.

As this sobering realization hit him full force he became aware abruptly and heard the unmistakable Australian brogue of Joe Smith urging him to respond and open the door.

“Joe, Joe, I’m sorry,” he shouted and grabbed a blanket around him at the same time. “I’m an ignorant bastard leaving you out there. How long have you been there?”

“Not long Billy boy,” he responded. “But you looked so much like shit yesterday that me an’ the good lady have not slept easy thinking about you. Open this bloody door and let me speak with you proper like.”

The door opened and allowed a bedraggled and bleary eyed young man to face once more, the sad eyes of the man he’d come to respect all those years ago. The man who’d assumed the worst of a randy teenager and his beautiful girl.

The two said nothing. They stood there frozen in the moment, like the two helpless souls they had become. Joe in the past couple of weeks, and Bill in the 96 hours he’d had to grasp Lynda’s death, travel to and face the ensuing funeral.

The call from Australia with the familiar voice from the past had been shock enough, but to be told that Lynda had died and to learn that her last cognitive wish had been to be cremated in Cannes, was more than even his combat hardened heart could take. That she had further insisted that he be asked to attend and to speak for her one last time had been mind numbing.

The two guys fell into each others arms and hugged like bears. Both unable to prevent the tears they had held back all of yesterday. They stumbled and clattered into the room. Eventually they crashed through the table, tripped and ended up sitting on the floor like two drunks. Crying and laughing and laughing and crying. Unable to get a sensible word out between them.

The arrival of housekeeping in response to the noise brought the two back to their senses remarkably quickly. Bill Douglas excused himself, grabbed his rumpled clothes and headed for the bathroom and shower and emerged some ten minutes later fully dressed and ready to face whatever Joe had to say.

He looked up as Bill came back and said, “My wife and I have one more thing that Lynda asked us to bring to you. We’d like to give it to you together, so she’s waiting for us down in the bar and I’ve told her that a whisky on me is in order. Hell I’ve told her a bottle of whisky is in order!

I’m not very good at making speeches Bill, and this is not what this is supposed to be; but before we go down, I just want to tell you, man to man, some of the things I’ve felt over all these years, and during the time we watched our daughter die.”

Bill shook his head sadly and said, “No need to spare me Joe. I’m the idiot who didn’t follow through.” But Joe just shook his head and said mildly but with firmness.

“Shut up laddie! You have nothing that you should be feeling guilt over. Hell, it was me who dragged her away from you - making excuses about her needing to heal. Jesus Christ, she never did fucking heal! It took her eight agonizing years to die Bill.” He was struggling now to continue, but continue he did.

“Truth of the matter was that I was totally fucking afraid of you and I blamed you for what had happened to her here in Cannes! God alone knows what you did for her then and now we’ve all lost her.”