Little Boy Blues. Mary Jane Maffini
to arrive. Eight minutes by my watch. Eight hours by my emotional state.
Long enough to notice no light flashing on Alvin’s answering machine. Looked like he’d picked up his messages.
• • •
As the paramedics were peering under Alvin’s eyelids with little lights, he popped his eyes open and sat up.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“You tell me,” I said, perhaps too forcefully, because the paramedics asked me to step out of the room. “Not a chance,” I said.
I found myself being propelled by the female paramedic. She could have bench-pressed some serious numbers. I relied on the Cape Breton solution and made tea in Alvin’s grandmother’s pink and white china teapot. The tea had reached the bracing black stage when the bedroom door opened and the paramedics emerged. Lines of sweat ran down their faces. “Looks like he’s all right, Madame,” the male said. “He’s making sense. It’s probably the heat, but you should check with his doctor.”
“He had a bit of a shock. I think he got a phone message that a family member has gone missing.”
“That may be. But it is dangerously hot in here.”
“Is that tea?” the female attendant said.
“Would you like some?”
She shook her head. I heard her mutter something like anglaise, tête carrée.
I had no idea who Alvin’s doctor was.
“You should get him someplace cool and make sure someone stays with him for the next twenty-four hours.”
I’d already figured that one out myself.
“And no tea.”
When the door clicked behind them, I turned to face Alvin. He clutched a silver-framed photo.
“What happened, Alvin?”
Alvin emitted a low keening sound, raising goosebumps on my arms. He slumped to the floor.
I dropped to my knees beside him.
“Alvin.Alvin.”
“He’s dead,” he whispered.
“What?”
Tears streaked his cheeks and dripped onto the black floor. “Our Jimmy’s dead.”
“Alvin, he’s not dead. Nobody said he was dead. He’s missing, and they’re worried because he left his medication and what’s-its-name, the dog. I just spoke to your family no more than an hour ago, and they are out searching for him.”
“I know Jimmy’s dead. And it’s my fault.”
Four
Warmth and sympathy don’t come naturally to me. But after this tragic news, even I knew Alvin needed a cool spot and someone to look after him.
I arranged for a cab. I called Gadzooks and explained there’d been a death in Alvin’s family. I alerted Mrs. Parnell and told her to expect company. Finally, I took a deep breath and tried the Fergusons. Busy.
Forty minutes later, Alvin was settled on Mrs. Parnell’s black leather sofa. His breathing was deep and ragged. Vivaldi played soothingly in the background. Every now and then, the lovebirds Lester or Pierre gave a war cry.
The Fergusons’ line continued to be busy.
I filled Mrs. P. in on the background. I figured she’d be baffled too. She surprised me. “Poor boy. He’s lost his favourite earrings.”
“That’s the least of his problems.”
“Perhaps, Ms. MacPhee. My point is, young Ferguson is meticulous about his appearance. He must be terribly disturbed to have left home like that. Of course, that’s one of the symptoms.”
“Symptoms? Of losing a relative?”
“Shell-shock.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not in the least. I saw a lot of it during the war. Many lovely boys were ruined. We mustn’t let that happen to young Ferguson.”
“Wait a minute, Mrs. P. Alvin hasn’t been in a war. He’s upset about his brother. I guess they must have found his body and reached Alvin to tell him. Alvin was too distraught to give me the details. But anyway, I can understand his reaction.” My hands were shaky. I far preferred my old familiar Alvin, the gold-plated pain in the arse, to this fragile being.
“This is not the way people act when they hear about a death. They might be shocked. They cry and carry on. Many keep a stiff upper lip. This is much, much worse, Ms. MacPhee. I can tell by the eyes.”
“His eyes are closed. And what could be worse than losing a family member?”
“If you had seen what I have, Ms. MacPhee.” Mrs. Parnell inhaled deeply. “We must stand by our fallen comrade.”
I wasn’t in the mood for Mrs. Parnell’s endless allusions to World War II. But I did have to admit, it wasn’t like Alvin. “You know, I would have thought he’d already be on the plane heading home to comfort his mother. Whatever you can say about him, he’s great in an emergency.”
“My point exactly. Something else is at work here. Something evil.”
Alvin cried out in his sleep. “Forget the stupid ducks.” He flailed his arms about, staring wildly at nothing. The framed photo tumbled to the floor.
Mrs. Parnell bent over and picked it up. “Beautiful child. What a shame, to die so young.”
I took a look myself. If that was Jimmy Ferguson, he had indeed been an attractive young man. Wide spaced blue eyes, short dark hair, broad forehead, narrow chin, a smile to break your heart. Even the broken glass couldn’t hide that. It was hard to believe anyone with that combination of innocence and good looks could have been fished out of the same gene pool as Alvin.
“The main thing is to get him home to Sydney. Fast,” I said.
She shook her head. “I am fond of young Ferguson. I’ll do anything for him. This is more than grief.”
“You haven’t talked to him yet. How can you be so sure it’s more than grief?”
“I know it when I see it. Young Ferguson has it in no small measure.”
“I’ll keep trying to get through to the family. They must be devastated about Jimmy, and now they have to worry about Alvin, too.”
Mrs. Parnell stiffened. “It’s their duty to worry about him.”
I took a deep breath and dialed. A little of the Fergusons goes a long way. This time Tracy answered on the first ring. “Tracy,” I said, “let me tell you how sorry I am.”
“How sorry you are?”
“Yes. I can only imagine how devastated you must be.”
“Devastated?”
“How is your mother?”
“My mother?”
“Yes, your mother.” What was the matter with these people?
“She’s not too well.”
“Of course, she isn’t. Please give her my sympathy.”
“Your what?”
“I want to assure you Alvin will be home in time.”
“In time for what?”
I couldn’t believe this girl could be allowed to teach school. Alvin, for all his faults, was at least intelligent.
“Well, for the funeral.”
“What