Read Online The Candle Man by Alex Scarrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alex Scarrow
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bed, frowning at the morning paper. The dressing on
his head had been replaced a couple of times, on each occasion with somewhat less wadding, so that it looked not quite so comical now.
‘Good morning, John!’
Argyll looked up at her, his tanned face splitting instantly into a broad smile. ‘Am I happy to see you. This damnable word right here is driving me crazy. What is it?’ he said,
pointing to the column of text for an article about domestic sanitation. She leant over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the word his finger was hovering over.
‘Basin.’
He squinted and leant closer. ‘Good grief, I think you’re right!’ He shook his head, confounded and annoyed with himself. ‘I kept looking at it, spelling all the letters
out correctly, and yet just couldn’t make sense of the damned thing!’
‘You shouldn’t fret about it, John. You know what Doctor Hart said: that there might be things that don’t make sense to you at first. But they’ll come back to
you.’
He nodded. ‘I know, I know, but it’s the fact I can read all the other words. It’s just so damned irritating. Doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Your damaged mind will get better.’ She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. ‘It will, love.’
But, please, not too quick.
She sat down in the visitor’s chair by his side. ‘You’re remembering things better now, aren’t you? What about the things we talked about yesterday evening? Can you
remember?’
They’d been playing cards – cribbage – and speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the others in the ward. Argyll had been asking about them, what they had meant to each
other before the incident, how they met, where they lived, what he did for work. A million and one questions that Mary had managed to answer cautiously. The surgeon, Dr Hart, had suggested it best
that, at first, she should not tell him the answers to too many things; that she should let him ask the questions, then try and reach for the answers himself. It might be better for his healing
brain to be worked rather than spoon-fed. And at the very least, if he started to learn things about himself that he hadn’t been told, then it would be a sign that some degree of his amnesia
was clearing up.
He nodded proudly. ‘I remember everything from yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘I remember you cheated at crib.’
Her jaw dropped in mock horror. ‘John! How could you say such an awful bad thing? Me? A cheat!’ Her horror dissolved into a polite giggle as she squeezed his hand.
‘I remember how little I know about us,’ he said after a while. Sadly. ‘I wish I could remember how we first met, how we felt . . .’ He shook his head.
‘The doctor said I have to let you see if you can find those things yourself. I’m sorry.’
He stroked his chin, thick with bristles, much in need of a wet shave. ‘But you, Mary, you have it all in your memory. You remember us.’ He looked at her. ‘And . . . and did
you . . . ?’
Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Did I love you?’
He looked desperately hopeful. Puppy-dog pitiful in his pyjamas.
‘Yes . . . yes, I do, John.’
Relief spilled across him. An odd expression on such a mature face. Mary supposed the man must be in his mid- to late-thirties; crow’s feet arcing down across sun-browned skin that she
imagined had seen a lifetime of wonderful and exciting things in America. And yet there was the smile of an innocent child on his craggy cheeks.
‘I’d be so lost without you.’ He looked around at some of the other men, old and young, in the row of beds opposite. Some of them had yet to receive a single visitor, as if
they were entirely alone in this world. Unmissed. Unnoticed. But he was lucky. He had this wonderful young lady. A breath of fresh air, a spoon of sugar in a bowl of oats. Her chirruping voice
lightened the oppressive gloom of the ward, which was otherwise a sea of sighing breaths, moans and sleep-talking threats and
his head had been replaced a couple of times, on each occasion with somewhat less wadding, so that it looked not quite so comical now.
‘Good morning, John!’
Argyll looked up at her, his tanned face splitting instantly into a broad smile. ‘Am I happy to see you. This damnable word right here is driving me crazy. What is it?’ he said,
pointing to the column of text for an article about domestic sanitation. She leant over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the word his finger was hovering over.
‘Basin.’
He squinted and leant closer. ‘Good grief, I think you’re right!’ He shook his head, confounded and annoyed with himself. ‘I kept looking at it, spelling all the letters
out correctly, and yet just couldn’t make sense of the damned thing!’
‘You shouldn’t fret about it, John. You know what Doctor Hart said: that there might be things that don’t make sense to you at first. But they’ll come back to
you.’
He nodded. ‘I know, I know, but it’s the fact I can read all the other words. It’s just so damned irritating. Doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Your damaged mind will get better.’ She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. ‘It will, love.’
But, please, not too quick.
She sat down in the visitor’s chair by his side. ‘You’re remembering things better now, aren’t you? What about the things we talked about yesterday evening? Can you
remember?’
They’d been playing cards – cribbage – and speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the others in the ward. Argyll had been asking about them, what they had meant to each
other before the incident, how they met, where they lived, what he did for work. A million and one questions that Mary had managed to answer cautiously. The surgeon, Dr Hart, had suggested it best
that, at first, she should not tell him the answers to too many things; that she should let him ask the questions, then try and reach for the answers himself. It might be better for his healing
brain to be worked rather than spoon-fed. And at the very least, if he started to learn things about himself that he hadn’t been told, then it would be a sign that some degree of his amnesia
was clearing up.
He nodded proudly. ‘I remember everything from yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘I remember you cheated at crib.’
Her jaw dropped in mock horror. ‘John! How could you say such an awful bad thing? Me? A cheat!’ Her horror dissolved into a polite giggle as she squeezed his hand.
‘I remember how little I know about us,’ he said after a while. Sadly. ‘I wish I could remember how we first met, how we felt . . .’ He shook his head.
‘The doctor said I have to let you see if you can find those things yourself. I’m sorry.’
He stroked his chin, thick with bristles, much in need of a wet shave. ‘But you, Mary, you have it all in your memory. You remember us.’ He looked at her. ‘And . . . and did
you . . . ?’
Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Did I love you?’
He looked desperately hopeful. Puppy-dog pitiful in his pyjamas.
‘Yes . . . yes, I do, John.’
Relief spilled across him. An odd expression on such a mature face. Mary supposed the man must be in his mid- to late-thirties; crow’s feet arcing down across sun-browned skin that she
imagined had seen a lifetime of wonderful and exciting things in America. And yet there was the smile of an innocent child on his craggy cheeks.
‘I’d be so lost without you.’ He looked around at some of the other men, old and young, in the row of beds opposite. Some of them had yet to receive a single visitor, as if
they were entirely alone in this world. Unmissed. Unnoticed. But he was lucky. He had this wonderful young lady. A breath of fresh air, a spoon of sugar in a bowl of oats. Her chirruping voice
lightened the oppressive gloom of the ward, which was otherwise a sea of sighing breaths, moans and sleep-talking threats and
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