Reunited At The Altar

Was he punishing his mother and his twin?

‘Stubborn, refusing to see any other point of view except your own. That’s what killed your dad.’

No, what had killed his dad was Brad’s selfishness.

He should’ve come home for the weekend and gone out on the boat with his dad, instead of going off with Abby for a romantic weekend away. OK, so she’d won the trip in a competition, but she could’ve taken Ruby with her instead and made it a girly weekend: and then Brad would’ve been there for Jim. He would’ve made sure that his dad had his angina medication with him on the boat. He could’ve administered it, bought time until the emergency services could get to them.

Though he was horribly aware that Abby had said pretty much the same thing. If only Jim had listened to his doctor and taken his medication with him. If only Jim had waited.

But everyone knew that James Powell was a Type A personality and the word ‘wait’ simply wasn’t in his vocabulary. Jim was a larger-than-life character, a sharp barrister who’d lived for his job and been bored stiff being stuck at home. Of course he wouldn’t have waited to go out on the boat until someone else could be with him. He would’ve argued that he was perfectly capable of crewing the boat alone. He’d hated the whole idea of having to retire early on the grounds of poor health. Being diagnosed with a heart condition that could kill him if it wasn’t kept under control had been the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. He’d needed something to fill his time, and the boat was the one thing that had stopped him going crazy.

If Brad had only come home, that weekend...

But he hadn’t.

And Jim had taken the boat out on his own. He’d had an angina attack and collapsed. The chest pain had been so bad, he hadn’t even been able to call the emergency services; he’d only been capable of hitting the last number redial on his phone.

Brad’s number.

‘Chest. Hurts. On boat. Call coastguard,’ he’d gasped.

‘I’ll do it now. Where’s your medication, Dad?’ Brad asked.

‘Home.’

Meaning that there had been nothing to help with the pain.

Abby had been in the spa, having a facial, but thankfully she’d left her mobile phone in their room. With shaking hands, Brad had put his dad on speaker on his own phone and called the emergency services from Abby’s.

‘I’m getting someone to you now, Dad.’

‘Should’ve waited.’ Jim had squeezed the pain-filled words out.

‘That doesn’t matter now, Dad. Stay with me. Stay with me. It’s going to be OK. I’ve got help coming. I know it hurts to talk, so I just want one word from you every couple of minutes so I know you’re still with me. OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stay with me, Dad. I love you. It’s going to be all right.’

But Jim had been in trouble way before the helicopter and the lifeboat had reached him. Miles and miles away from the coast, knowing it would take him hours to drive to Great Crowmell even if he left the hotel that very second, Brad had been unable to do anything to help. He’d heard the clatter of the phone onto the deck and guessed that his dad had dropped it.

‘Dad! Dad! Stay with me. Pick up the phone. Please pick up the phone,’ he’d pleaded.

But Jim hadn’t answered. All Brad had been able to hear was the hum of the engine and the screaming of the seagulls, until finally the phone had been picked up by one of the lifeboat crew.

‘This is the lifeboat. We’ve winched down the paramedic from the helicopter. You’re his son, who called us out, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. We’re going to fly your dad back to hospital. Can you give us some information?’

‘Anything you need,’ Brad had said, and had gone through his father’s medical history.

But it had been too late.

Jim had had a massive heart attack in the helicopter and the crew hadn’t been able to resuscitate him. He’d died on the way to hospital.

Stop wearing that hair shirt and thinking you have to atone for something that really wasn’t your fault.

Now that was where Abby was wrong. Brad didn’t blame himself for his father’s death. Even if he’d been there, if he’d given his father the medication, there was a very high chance that Jim would still have had that heart attack and died on the way to hospital.

That wasn’t what crucified him every single day.

It was the fact that he’d been the last person to speak to Jim while he was still alive—while his father was still conscious—and he’d known that he couldn’t do a thing to save his dad. That the lifeboat and the air ambulance wouldn’t get to him in time. And then, in the days after the funeral, he’d realised that he would never get the chance to prove to his dad that he’d made the right career choice, following his heart to become a scientist rather than following in Jim’s footsteps and becoming a barrister.

Brad just hadn’t been able to cope with it all. To keep himself functioning, he’d had to build a wall round his heart. And that hadn’t been fair to Abby: so he’d done the right thing by the love of his life. He’d set her free to find happiness with someone else.

And she thought he was being self-indulgent and wearing a hair shirt?

He stared into the darkness.

If only things had been different.

If only.

Eventually, he slept. His dreams were vivid, to the point where he actually reached out for her, the next morning, thinking she was curled up in bed beside him.

Of course not. How stupid of him. Those days were long gone. She wasn’t next to him, she was next door. There was only a single brick wall between them, but they might as well be on different planets.

Brad dragged himself out of bed and had a hot shower, but he didn’t manage to scrub away the guilt and remorse. Or the sick feeling that today he was going to have to face everything he’d spent years avoiding.

Toast and coffee—thanks to the supplies Abigail had left him—made him feel more human.

OK.

He’d do the hardest bit first.

He headed into the centre of the town to renew the ticket for his parking space, then went to buy flowers. It meant he had to walk past the quay, and he could see another boat moored in the place where his father’s used to be. Well, of course there would be. His mother had never really been into boats, so there was no reason for Rosie to keep the boat or the mooring after Jim’s death.

But it still felt as if a little piece of his dad had been wiped away.

He bought a bunch of flowers from the shop in the middle of the high street, then walked to the church on the edge of town. It was a big old barn of a place, built of flint, with a massive tower, a lead roof and tall arched windows.

What he liked best was the inside of the church, and not just because it was full of light from those enormous windows. He turned the massive iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. He could remember coming here with his father, who’d showed him the ancient graffiti of the old-fashioned sailing ships scratched into the stone pillars, explaining they were probably prayers of thanksgiving for safe returns from long voyages.

If only James Powell had made a safe return from his last voyage.

But you couldn’t change the past.