CHAPTER 91
Bert had his own sources of information, god knows where, and he simply told me to stay home until the funeral was done. No questions, no options, just a simple and clear instruction to take what time I needed. The papers were going ballistic over what sounded like open warfare at some MCC’s ‘family-friendly event, and among all the sensationalism were an awful lot of stupid editorials demanding that Something Be Done, and I was utterly in agreement with Bert regarding my fitness to drive.

He knew what my temper was like. By coincidence, we had a visit from Dr Thomas that week, and once he had finished with my girls, he simply asked me to step into the first kitchen for a chat.

“Almost finished today, Debbie. Your girls are all doing so well, I almost feel redundant”

“Almost? Twice you have used that word”

“Well spotted. Debbie, I read the papers, I watch the news, and I have just finished talking to people who love you. It would be nice if you could spare a few minutes to talk to me. Please”

“I can manage, Doc”

“No you can’t. Trust me, I’m a doctor, I know these things, and I have seen it all before. Particularly in a former patient…”

He looked at me, and it was clear he was juggling choices before coming down on the side of ‘If I don’t use their name it’ll be okay’.

“Debbie, another patient of mine presented in a similar way. She was lucky: strong family, support she could never see that she had always had. Deeply caring… No. Too much info, there. The layman’s term would be clinical depression. She had it. I believe you have it as well”

Suddenly, Doctor Quayle was there in my memories, diagnosing clinical depression with the words ‘Broken heart’, and I had to fight to keep myself steady. I looked at Doc Thomas, and found a false smile.

“So what do you suggest, Doc? Dose myself on happy pills?”

He sighed.

“There are actually some very effective medications available these days, Debbie. I have my own view on them, and in the right circumstances they can be very useful. Unfortunately, what they work for is endogenous depression, not a state arising from a perfectly natural and normal reaction to external events”

He grinned, in a rather sad way.

“I don’t like using the word ‘normal, Debbie, but it is absolutely normal to feel deeply depressed when life craps on you. That’s where I don’t like handing out what you call happy pills. I prefer to look at the source of the problem, try and deal with that and let the depression go with it”

“How am I supposed to do that, Doc? I mean, Cooper’s banged away forever now, so I can’t exactly go and slice his balls off, can I? Bit frowned on, that sort of thing”

He gave me a long, flat stare.

“I will merely observe that just because I am a medical professional, it does not mean that I cannot share that particular dream with you, Debbie. I am also unable to sort your issues out, but I am still here to offer my care, my help---my affection, even. You have made such huge differences for the better in so many young lives, it would be difficult to avoid developing a bit of a soft spot. No: you have issues in your life that need facing, we know that, but it doesn’t necessarily mean having to fight them. What I would ask is that you take some time and evaluate your life, and in particular your choices. I will leave you with that thought”

He pulled on his familiar long coat, then looked at me once more, head tilted.

“I believe there may be choices available to you that you haven’t recognised, Debbie. Not ones you can’t recognise, but ones you haven’t spotted. Do this for me, please, and for your girls”

He was off, a firm handshake before he went, and I was left with my thoughts. For a head shrinker, he had some really glaring blind spots. No idea at all…

I was ready far too early that Saturday morning, fretting until Paul arrived with his lover in a white car rather than his official one. He asked if I had fully comprehensive insurance on my van before handing me his keys, with a strained smile of the type that was getting far too familiar.

“I assume you’ll be driving. I know about class, love. I’ll direct you to Di’s. I… I had assumed the invitation was about Paula, but it’s you, isn’t it? You… You and Pig, am I right?”

I was barely holding it together by then, so kept it to a nod before setting out for the Sutton house, Paul directing from the back seat and staying well away from asking too many questions. I had my old leather on, cut-off over the top, comfy jeans and para boots below. Di’s place wasn’t that far out, in the West of the city, and once Paul had pointed out the door, I rang the bell.

Professional Diane was there, looking far too CID for my taste, in a trouser suit and flat shoes. She nodded to me and settled herself in the front passenger seat, as Paul explained his back-seat driving.

“Class. Deb drives. Deb decides how”

I pulled away once she was settled again, and explained my plan.

“Done a wreath, girl, but it’s with the hearse. No worries about you two being seen with it”

I caught Di’s nod from the corner of my eye, but I was a professional driver, so my gaze was where it needed to be. She spoke, then clearly understanding why I wasn’t going to look at her.

“Ta, love. Where are we off to?”

“Carl’s old place in Dinas Powys, then off to Caerau”

Enough talking for now; I used my driving as an excuse for silence, as I wondered whether I should have taken up Doc Thomas on the happy pills idea. Past the station and into the Community Centre parking area, a solid mass of metal filling every available space, and then Rufus turned up with his quike, a hearse-style glasshouse built over the flatbed, Carl’s coffin there under…

I found myself crushing the steering wheel of Paul’s little car, as I saw my own wreath in pride of place next to the hollybush of a boar that some artist had made for us.

“Paula? We need to say hello”

Out of the car and over to the club, no Carl, no Oily, no Horse, no fucking Sam, and all the right words were said, the hugs and handclasps given and taken as they were meant. My people there for me, and they bloody well understood what the day meant, in ways that straights never could. My man. Paula looked a little lost, but a couple of the lads mentioned her book, with smiles and true warmth, and I saw her settle.

Back to the car, my stomach churning, as much with emotion as with the thunder of hundreds of bike engines, hair and beards blowing as free as the wind over the Brocolitia moors as we made our way without any obstructions of any kind from car drivers, as they clearly read our mood. Over to the Western Cemetery, and there was Rolf. The duty prospects parked up and spread out for their security role, and I was starting to lose it as the finality of everything hit home. Di’s hand was on my forearm, and now I could turn my head properly, I could see nothing but concern.

Just a bit of a smile for her, the best I could manage. Keep her safe, Petrie. Not her turf.

“Showtime, Di. Stay with me, OK?”

Out and walking, two couples linked arm in arm, even though my own life could never be like Posh and Paul’s, and there was Rosie, face set like stone.

“Debs”

“Rosie”

That was when I lost it, yet again, so bloody weak for a so-called biker, and it was Di who kept me upright, just, as Rosie’s glacial expression met Diane’s ‘Professional’ face.

“You’re that copper”

“Yes”

“You were there. Tell me our Carling died well”

Di tried to take control just once.

“I don’t think…”

“Not a request, girly”

Di took a couple of calming breaths, then gave her answer, as Rosie tensed.

“He sang to me just before, yeah? So, yes. He died well. He died with courage”

“What did he sing? No lies. I will know if you do. Stand up, Debs. Time to be strong”

Rosie took my hand, and I clung to her as Diane tried to work out whether she was about to get a kicking.

“I don’t know the song. He was talking about Glen Campbell?”

“Ah. It’ll be Wichita Lineman, then”

Diane struggled for a second, and then sang, in an off-key way.

“I hear you singing in the wires…”

That was what broke Rosie, as well as me, and I don’t know which of us was holding the other up, as we were both sobbing, and gradually, as a couple of the Culhwch steered well-wishers away from us, we found our class once more. Rosie held a hand out to Diane, once she was capable of coherent speech.

“Don’t think I like the filth, all of a sudden, but I will make an exception here. You, and that other copper behind you, aye? You looked after our sister here. You kept her safe. I know what you did for her in fucking Carlisle as well, and I don’t think that cunt has much time left to breathe. You two, I will make an exception for. For today only, though. Deb, darling, you walk with me. You too, Posh”

Rosie walked myself and Paula over to the side of an open grave, my heart sinking as that finality became clearer and clearer with each step, and Rolf was there for us, his embrace as firm as ever despite the loss of so much hair and the white of what was left. He kept his voice to a whisper, just for me and Rosie.

“Be welcome, Debbie. This is Pig’s day, his last one. This is where he goes on to the Warrior’s Hall”

He chuckled suddenly, that old humour of his breaking free.

“And you’ve done him proud, love: brought some straights for us to outrage. What more could our man, our brother, ask for on his final ride? Stand with me, both of you, and you, girl”

That last was addressed to Paula, who looked puzzled, and Rolf smiled warmly at her.

“There is courage in you. We recognise that, we cherish it. You showed the world that even those who seem the most broken can tell The Man to fuck off, and while Mo was not exactly ‘The Man’, he did a fucking good job at standing in for him. Be welcome, Posh”

We took our places, Paula and I either side of Rosie, and Rolf called for attention, his voice still as strong as ever.

“Brothers!”

He spoke of the Warrior’s Hall, of the Sky Father and of the open road, of brotherhood and loyalty, courage and class, and when he was done, someone stepped up with a lur, the business end refashioned as a boar’s head, and as they blew a series of loud blasts, Rolf turned to my sister.

“Shield maiden, it is time. He shall not leave this place unarmed”

Rosie stepped forward with the axe from their wedding, opening the coffin to place it beside our man for that final journey, and it was done. Into the ground, a handful of soil each, my tears flowing with hers, and then Paul, Paula and Diane were slipping away. The club had a pillion for me, and the bar didn’t close until the last of those not on duty had collapsed.

One more gone from me.

Rosie dropped me off at the House on Monday afternoon, after our hangovers had eased, and I understood that she no longer needed to keep that distance from me. The war was finished, and while the other side had lost comprehensively, our casualties had been too precious by far. I sat for half an hour, fretting at the inactivity, Doc Thomas’ words looping in my mind, until I found that choice he had mentioned, and it was so fucking obvious I felt both stupid and terrified. There were a couple of bits of rubble in the back alley…

The bike rumbled away underneath me, a lid keeping my hair in place now, and I made my way down to the Norwegian church by the lock gates, where I stood for a while, thinking back to days when it was all mud, Bert talking me through the birds I could see, adding to the lore I had picked up from Mam. I took out the broken piece of stone, as a couple scurried past for whatever reason or none, and I spoke to the lump.

“You are a fucking vile man, Charlie Cooper. You have ruined my life. No more, okay? So this stone, this is you and your stain on me”

As the piece of stone flew out across the water, I realised that my shout of ‘FUCK OFF!’ had stopped the couple in their tracks, just for an instant, before they left in a real hurry.

Back to the House, and a quick internet search, and… yes. Out at Rumney; that would do, but the bike wouldn’t. I dumped the leather for a fleece, and set off in the Transit, the destination as clear in my mind’s eye as that decision Doc Thomas had brought from me. I parked up round the corner, knocked on the door after seeing the ‘Closed sign’ and as usual, the bell rang as Frank opened the door, Gemma visible through the hatch into the kitchen. Frank went back behind the counter, where he was clearly cashing up for the day, concern showing in his face as I stood before him.

“Hiya, Debbie. Um, Gemma, well, she let me know about the funeral. You okay?”

I settled myself, feet wider apart. ‘Always find solid footing, a firm place to stand’, Dad’s ghost whispered to me. Gemma had moved closer to the hatch, eyes fixed on me and ears obviously straining.

“Frank, there are things you need to know about me”

He wiped his hands on a towel, looking down at his till.

“I know a lot of that already, Debbie. Couldn’t miss the trials, could I? Gemma’s friends? That copper woman?”

I nodded, but he hadn’t finished.

“There was the other one as well, Debbie. That Cooper bastard. Couldn’t miss that one, not with that footballer involved. Explained a lot, that did”

He shook his head, ruefully.

“Never could work that one out, woman. Bloody good night out”

“If you speak Welsh, Frank”

“Yes, well. My mistake, but that was never a bad enough one to explain why you ran off. Left me wondering what I had done, whether I had pushed too far, going for a kiss, and that”

Gemma was locked on now, her mouth hanging slightly open as I shook my head.

“No, Frank, It was a nice kiss. Only the second man who ever kissed me properly, you were”

“And the last one, I would guess. He really left you in a bad place, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

“Putting it mildly, you are. Been doing a lot of thinking, so I have a question or two for you”

“Go ahead”

“You know about me now. You know exactly what I am, as well as who I am, and why I am this way. Do any of those cause you any problems?”

He did a few more things with the till, before closing everything up and lifting his eyes to mine.

“Two questions, Debbie. First one is simple: are you still the same woman I used to ply with tea when she was dropping off at Tesco’s?”

“I think so. What’s the second question?”

“That’s one for you to ask, so rather than wait for you to ask it…”

He suddenly laughed, and it was a happy sound.

“My answer to that one is easy: all right, then! Where are we going?”

Gemma cheered, doing a double fist pump of delight, and after he had changed out of his chef’s kit, I drove out to the place in Rumney, where there was a folk night on, and… and of course, it was all in bloody Welsh.

That time, I didn’t care. We had chips afterwards, and the rest was even nicer. I had found my happy pill, it seemed.