THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Five - Part Five

It was a moment, like many in her life, where Clare had not the slightest clue how she was meant to feel.

The best and the worst relationships evinced extremes of cataclysmic emotion: tremendous highs or debilitating lows. But the relationship they had shared a decade and a half earlier hadn’t fallen into either of these categories. It had fallen into both.

Mike shuffled to meet her, like he was walking backwards on an airport conveyor belt, one foot back for every two steps it carried him forward. There wasn’t a smile on his face – it definitely wasn’t that – but he was clearly affected by seeing her: it wasn’t indifference in his eyes. If it was possible to cower, but only in terms of a facial expression then that was what he was doing. It made her wonder what face she was wearing, until she realised she didn’t want to know.

“Hi,” said Mike.

The silence extended clearly further than he’d been expecting but Clare left him hanging on that one word; partly because his discomfort was something that ought to have given her pleasure; partly for fear of what might come out from her lips if she opened them. Joey had stood up with her. He stood to her back flank, out of her field of vision but close enough to be sicced on this man who had hurt her so badly if he was needed. She didn’t know Joey well but it was comforting to have him there.

“I... How are you?” asked Mike.

Clare shrugged. “Fine. How are you?”

“Me?” He seemed startled by her response, nudged off-balance by it, despite its neutral predictability in any other surroundings. “I’m fine too. Great I guess.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Well...”

This wasn’t going anywhere. Clare wished she hadn’t seen him, or had at least pretended not to. She wondered if it was too soon to break off; go back to her magazine; wait for the doctor. She painted a smile, something she normally despised doing, and said, “Well—”

“I heard you got married,” said Mike.

“Yes,” replied Clare, “I did.”

He glanced away then looked back at her. “Are you still together?”

“No. He died.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously Clare; I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Forget it.”

Another awkward pause.

“How did he die?”

Her mind went blank. Firstly she couldn’t believe that he’d asked it: more of his famous tact; something that, when they’d been together, had been equal parts endearing and irritating. Secondly, Joey was there and she couldn’t for the life of her remember what, if anything, he had heard about it. Suddenly she had to tread very carefully; not for Mike’s sake but for her lodger’s. She didn’t want to be caught in a lie. And Mike had always had the superhuman ability to sniff her lies out (of course he had: he was the world’s expert at lying himself!).

How did he die? A simple question requiring a simple answer, and soon. “In a train accident. Travelling on business.”

There was a moment, then Mike said, “Shit Clare, that’s awful,” but she didn’t know if the moment had been him sussing her out, spotting the falsehood she’d just told. But what did it matter? She wasn’t going to see him again. She made herself put it aside and quickly changed the subject.

“Who’s this?” She looked down and smiled at the little girl who was clearly with Mike. She was a pretty little thing but obviously exhausted, and a little bit soiled, which made her wonder if Mike showed the same regard for her as he had for the other women in his life.

“This is Rosalie,” said Mike, instantly dropping any discomfort in his voice as he took her up in his arms. “Say hello to Clare sweetheart.”

“Hello,” said Rosalie, clearly wanting to drop to sleep in his arms. Her comfort and ease contradicted the thought Clare had had a moment earlier. This was a little girl who clearly loved her daddy; felt safe in his arms. And the body language coming from Mike in the opposite direction was the same. It made Clare think of her own father. It made her lower her defences a little.

“You’re a lovely little girl. How old are you?”

“Six.”

Clare glanced round the waiting room. “Is your mother here too?”

“No,” she said quietly.

Mike caught Clare’s eye behind Rosalie and gave the tiniest shake of his head: don’t talk about that. It was the old rapport they’d had; the sub-vocal communication that hadn’t been there at the same level of subtlety with any lover she’d had since. It felt slightly unpleasant, but also quite thrilling to feel it again; but at the same time it beggared the question of what had happened to Rosalie’s mother because surely it was something bad. And why the note of panic in the tightening muscles on Mike’s neck?

Clare wanted to ask more – if the little girl hadn’t been there she might have done – but she had to respect Mike’s reticence. He was clearly protecting her. Perhaps at the same time as protecting himself. It was more intriguing than Clare felt comfortable with but she dutifully changed the subject again onto something both relevant and safe. “Why are you here in casualty? Some kind of accident? You both look okay.”

Mike glanced back at the receptionist’s station. “Yeah. That’s funny. I was just talking to the lady over there...”

“I’m here with— Sorry I should have introduced you.” She smiled up at Joey and took his arm, guiding him forward. “This is Joey. I run a boarding house now. He’s one of my tenants.”

“Hi there,” said Mike, extending his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Joey hesitated before shaking it and mumbled a brief, “Hullo.”

“Yeah, I was talking to the receptionist woman when I came in,” said Mike, “and it’s the freakiest thing.”

“What?”

“She said that you and... Joey... That you and he were here because you’d both had...”

“I had a seizure,” said Clare. “And Joey did too. Right?” Joey shrugged.

“A seizure; yeah.” Mike set Rosalie back down on the floor. “The same thing happened to us.”

“The... What?”

“Earlier this evening, not too long ago: first Rosalie, then me. A seizure. That’s the perfect word to describe it.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“No. I’m serious.”

“Oh my God,” said Clare, looking from Mike down to Rosalie and then right up to Joey’s hood-shadowed face. She hadn’t noticed it at first – there was no reason why she would have – but they all had it: they all had the same sun-kissed faces. It couldn’t be just a coincidence. There was no other explanation. What had happened to her and Joey, and to Henry, had happened to Mike of all people and his sweet little daughter.