The Written Heart

The Written Heart.

Olivia Dunnett

Lilly sat in the corner of the carriage, watching the countryside flicker by. Her knees were tucked up under her chin and her arms were clasped around them. The other passengers cast her disapproving looks from over their papers. And why shouldn’t they? When the looked at her they saw a woman in her early thirties,  smoking pensively and making no pretence at preventing tears from trickling down her cheeks. They didn’t know her story, her heartache, and she didn’t know theirs. It had been two years since the engagement, since she had married Nigel and thereby pledged her heart to him. She sniffed disgustedly at the memory, her idealistic notions of love and happiness. That was all gone now, the last traces of her naivety had slipped away leaving a derisive cynicism. She knew the truth now, she had seen them together and with it the brutal light of reality, there was no trust, no good, no evil, simply desire and hate; that was the world, and that was the way it would always be. She sighed and bit her lower lip trying to shake her head of the shouting, the cursing, the wordless anger.

Things had been alright originally, nothing wonderful and something had nagged at the back of both of their minds. It was two years later when things began to go wrong.  Little things at first, petty arguments over food, or money. He’d always make it better with a wisecrack or a shameless smile. But then she came back. Lilly had seen her at the hospital, her golden curly hair bouncing behind her as she walked. Nigel had not been with her then, at least as far as Lilly knew. He might have been capable of anything, his history with Angela had lured him back perhaps even months after he’d married Lilly. Lilly didn’t know, she didn’t want to think about it.

As the station slid into view she smiled wanly. Glasgow.  As far away as she could afford at the minute. She heaved up her bag and dragged herself out into the sunlight. She was going to stay in a hotel quite near the middle of town, the bookshops and cinemas should be relatively easy to reach from there. She called out to a cab and hauled herself to it.

Bernard sat alone, a pint of Guinness in front of him, his face expressionless and drunken. He had moved when Lilly had married, he knew he couldn‘t have bared to see her with Nigel. Eventually he’d decided against America, despite what he’d always told others and himself, he didn’t want to remember his past, it was too painful. He drained the glass, and thickly ordered another. The bartender looked dubious and thought about refusing, but after all this was the Bernard Morentan, how could anyone so famous not have problems? He slid the drink across the counter and waited for Bernard to pay. Bernard looked up at him blearily for a minute before realising what he wanted. Slowly he began fumbling in his coat pocket; empty. “Tell you what…” he croaked, “I’ll give you a free performance, here tomorrow, if you give me the next twenty drinks on the house?”
The barman grinned delightedly, “Great, thanks mate, it’s a deal!” he replied while mentally thanking the wonders of drunkenness.

Lilly pushed open the door to the dingy hotel room. Another tear slipped unconsciously from her already read rimmed eyes. Her lower lip shook slightly, she needed dinner. She stumbled down the tacky red carpet staircase. At the landing a freshly tacked poster caught her eye;


THE VOID
IS GOING TO PERFORM AT THE FRIESIAN PUB
TOMMOROW NIGHT AT 8:00
UP FOR SOME GREAT MUSIC? THEN COME!

There followed a map. Lilly smiled, that’s what she needed, something to cheer her up. She resolved to go, there’d be alcohol as well if it was a pub…

Bernard looked critically at himself in the mirror. The other band members stood in a bored semicircle around him. One of them cleared his throat loudly. Bernard frowned in annoyance, he looked al right. It would have to do at any rate. The four of them strode onto the specially erected stage beside the bar and a huge cheer rose from the audience. The rest of The Void had been furious with their singer for arranging this gig without telling even one of them about his intentions. But he’d done it now, and they couldn’t back down and disappoint the fans.

Lilly looked up from the back of the pub at the men appearing on stage. At first she couldn’t see them but then… she froze; “B-Bernard?” she whispered. The man in front of her turned and gave her an odd look, but she didn’t care, was it really him? She had dreamed of him so often over the past years. Kicking herself for not seeing it was him she really wanted. She wanted to scream to him, to call him back to her, but as his beautiful brown eyes flickered across the room they didn’t rest on her, no recognition sprung up into his face. Lilly watched him, his every move in the closest detail. He raised his hand to wave to the congregation. They screamed accordingly. “Hello, Glasgow!” he called, although he highly doubted that even a thousandth of the population was here. Hey, he needed an opening line and he had to much of a hangover to be original. Lilly felt herself scream to. She wasn’t listening to most of what he said, she couldn’t hear or see straight anymore. After about ten minutes they began to play, and her heart stopped. The music spoke of pain. Her pain, his pain, all the pain imaginable. It  told a story, their story. And as he sung out his soul to them everything else seemed to melt away and she was left alone with him in the room, and he was crying out his soul to her alone. His heart was written within those words and she embraced them, she embraced him. Eventually the song drew to a close and Lilly stood completely still at the back of the room.

Bernard’s eyes were closed, and as he raised his head thoughts flashed across his mind. Memories of that woman. The reason why he was here, the reason why he had been in the bar that last night, drinking himself stupid. The reason he had ached enough to write that song, the reason he was in Glasgow at all. The reason for anything he had ever done or felt, and suddenly an impulse overtook him; he cried out into the pub, he called out of the name of his reason; “That song was dedicated to Dr Lilly Thompson, if she could ever hear this!” He looked around the shocked room, someone “ahhed” and soon everyone had joined in, but none of them mattered because Bernard had seen someone at the back of the pub. Someone with deep brown eyes, short dark hair and tears running down her cheeks. He stared at her for a moment, but no it couldn’t be her. He looked down at his fans again, some crazy girls were screaming at him, “I LOVE YOU BERNARD!” He shot them a smile and kissed one of them on the cheek as he dismounted from the stage, she fell screaming with delight into the rest of her friends. Bernard called back to the rest of The Void, “come on!”

Lilly began to push through the crowd, she had to get to him. He’d seen her, she was sure of it. She called to him. “Bernard!” But he couldn’t hear her, the roar of the others drowned out her words. She pushed a startled girl aside and clawed her way out into the street just in time to see Bernard and his band members clamber into a black limo. She ran after it as it started up but in a moment it was around the corner. Lilly stumbled and collapsed to the ground in a heap of tears. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see someone looking down at her, “Are you alright?”
“Who are you?” She gasped.
“What? I’m The Voids manager!” he grinned proudly.
Lilly stood up, he‘d probably been drinking, he wouldn‘t have told her otherwise, it didn‘t matter; “Really, oh my god, look I’ve got to see Bernard, look please you’ve got to let me see him, please!”
He grinned, “Why is that?”
“Because…” Lilly, bit her lip letting the reality of her emotions wash over her, “Because I’m in love with him!”
This however didn’t have the effect she thought it would, the man only laughed, “Sure Miss, and so are all the other Glasgow females, go home girl you’re to old to have celebrity crushes, what are you thirty five?”
“Thirty three!” Lilly sobbed indignantly, then remembered the situation, “But you don’t understand, I’m Lilly! I’m Dr Lilly Thompson!” She yanked out her oyster card to prove it. “LOOK!”
The man stared at her incredulously, “He called out your… Oh, look you’d better come with me, I‘ll buy you a drink!”

They sat at a corner table, two beers in front of them. The manager watched Lilly intently, “Right you’ve got your drink, now will you please tell me what’s going on, and why Bernard Morentan of all people yelled out your name after a live performance?”
Lilly smiled to her self; she wished it was that easy. “I was… engaged to Bernard once!” she choked, smiling at the memory, “he loved me… but I took no notice!” her voice oozed sorrow and Ron put a comforting hand over hers. “I threw him away for… someone else. I was stupid, naive. I came here after the man, the other one, had an affair. I wasn’t looking for Bernard, but I’ve found him, and Oh God I miss him! I, I love him so much!” A fresh wave of tears overcame her. She realized that now she was like yet another obsessive fan, her love was worthless. Ron put his arm round her shoulder; “Come on, you’ve still got hope, cheer up…this explains a lot.” He finished almost to himself.
“What do you mean?” Lilly sniffled.
He looked down at her; “Bernard arrived here two years ago. I was one of the first people he met. He was a ruin then. He did nothing but drink all day it was awful even being around him. I’d ask him what was wrong. But he’d never say. Once though, after a particularly dark patch he blurted something out, I was sitting next to him and he grabbed onto my arm and asked “Where is she? Why is she with him?” I didn’t pay any attention at the time; he was drunk, but now…”
Lilly’s jaw dropped, he had cared that much about her? Ron continued, “Ever since then… he’s been listless. He’s not drinking so much now, but I’ve never seen him smile like he means it.” Ron looked straight into Lilly’s eyes, “He still loves you, I know he does. Wipe your eyes and come with me, I’ll take you to him!”

The building wasn’t small. Ron lead Lilly blindly through the seemingly endless corridors, people stared at her from open doors, and looked slightly affronted if she smiled at them. Was she really that conspicuous? As they walked Lilly began to think about the next couple of minutes; what could she do? She couldn’t just breeze in and say; “Hello Bernard, I’m the one you’re still in love with, y’know, Lilly! Well, Nigel cheated on me and I want us to get back together!” What would he do when she walked in? Would he even recognize her at first? He hadn’t at the Friesian, why would he now? Would he be pleased or would she drag up too many old memories? Lilly bit her lip as she stumbled after Ron; what on earth was she going to say?

Suddenly something beeped. At first Lilly faltered, confused, but then Ron pulled a mobile from his pocket; “Hello… Really, Oh my God. Have they just not arrived then? Ok, I’ll be right there.” Fleetingly he turned back to Lilly, “Look I have to rush, Bernard’s dressing room is third door on the left! Good luck!” Then he sprinted up yet another corridor. Lilly looked around; third door on the left… Uncertainly she sauntered up to it. A huge, heavily muscled body guard stood in front of the doorway. She gathered up her courage and spoke, “Err, excuse me, is this Bernard Morentan’s dressing room?”
He looked down at her; “Not to you!”
Lilly drew herself up to her full height, “Actually, I’ve got permission from Ron Stephenson!”
The body guard lowered his sunglasses a little; “Really, prove it! I don’t see him, do you?”
“But you don’t understand… will you at least give Bernard a message?”
The man smiled a little and stood to one side, then pointed to a sign on the door. It was a photograph of the back of a clenched hand. The index and second finger were held up. Underneath a printed message read; “All visitors please take note!”
Lilly stared at him incredulously, she opened her mouth to speak, but realized that further protest would be futile. Her lower lip quivered, she took one last look at the surly body guard then ran away down the corridor, out of a fire exit and into a side street. Suddenly she couldn’t bare it any longer and she slid down the murky brick wall to the ground, tears coating her cheeks and making dark stains on her jeans. She’d lost him, there was no point she should just… Lilly’s head snapped round to face the street. There was a man there. Wearing a tracksuit. A knife glinting in his right hand. She whimpered and stood up, slowly backing away towards the fire exit. It was further than she’d remembered. In an instant the man was in front of her and had her pinned against the wall. His knife glinted horribly in the moonlight.

The window latch clicked open. Bernard smiled slightly at his handiwork. Slowly, careful not to make any noise he clambered out onto the fire escape, and from there to the street. He had needed to get out. If he’d used the normal exit he’d be forced to confront the body guard, who no doubt would follow him; stubborn bastard. Bernard could look after himself, he didn’t need some thug trailing after him. He looked dubiously at his cigarette lighter, but no, there was no point, he was trying to quit anyway; it was just that girl at the concert. The one with Lilly’s eyes, she’d shaken him up. It was nothing more than that. It had hurt seeing her there…he couldn’t believe he’d let himself remember, he couldn’t believe he’d managed to say her name, he couldn‘t believe how easy it was to make him ache again. He scowled, furious at himself for being so stupid, for dredging up all the pain. He’d tried so hard to forget… Bernard looked up from the cobbled pavement; he’d heard something.

Lilly screamed. The man was leering at her; she had nowhere left to run. On an impulse she tried to grab at her assailants weapon. He pushed her arm aside easily and raised the knife; it hung there above her in an instant of perpetual stillness, as if savouring the moment. Lilly went limp, and waited, waited for the agony, the blood, perhaps death: but it never came. Something catapulted past her and into the man sending both of them sprawling. Lilly couldn’t look, she hid her face in her hands and wept, listening to the sounds of the fight not meters from her.

Ten whole minutes had passed before Lilly realized all was quiet. Cautiously she let her fingers slip from her face. Two shapes lay motionless on the ground. The moon cast grotesque shadows about them, their contours becoming disjointed angles. Lilly crawled over to them, terrified of what she might find. One of them was clad in a grey tracksuit. She passed him by without a glance; her eyes were fixed on the other. He wore jeans, an all too familiar navy jacket and a white shirt… it was stained red. Lilly gasped and gripped the figures shoulders; “Bernard!” she shook him gently. One strand of curly black hair fell over his forehead. No response. An empty tear seeped from her eye and landed on his cheek; “BERNARD FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WAKE UP!”

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Lilly lay, motionless and expressionless on the bed, the sticky nylon sheets cold and clammy beneath her. She was waiting, waiting for the hundredth time. One more hour and she could see him. One more hour before the hospital opened for visitors. She counted the seconds. It was nearly a year since she’d come to Glasgow. She hadn’t planned on staying so long, but what did she have to go back to? Slowly she drifted into a light sleep, dreaming the same dream she dreamt every night. That same yearning, longing dream. Dreaming of him, her and him.

The alarm shrieked brutally out into the room, seven am precisely. Lilly sat bolt upright; her face was bland, cold, little beads of sweat had formed over her brow. As if automatically she swung her legs from the bed and felt the cheap carpet between her toes, the draft from under the door. She donned a coat over a top and jeans and slipped on some shoes. Scarf. Keys. The customary get well card. Identity. Without it they wouldn’t let her go into see the famous Bernard Morentan. Ron had given her special permission. She left her room and walked listlessly along the hall. She’d been eager, in a hurry for the first few weeks. Desperate to see him, check for signs of life; the months had sucked the hope from her. This visit was more routine than anything now. The doctors had said he wouldn‘t recover. The infuriatingly professional doctors, who never laughed, or talked, or fell in love. Lilly remembered those days when she had been like that, when a patient was just that. She had had no care for their lives, not really. She new nothing of them, or the pain their families endured.
Ron was paying for Lilly now. She didn’t cost much, it was nothing to the manager of several leading bands. Without him, she would have ended up on the streets.

It wasn’t far from her lodgings to the hospital, two minutes at most. She walked along the roads impartially, hardly recognizing them, although she took the route everyday. Somehow, she just never noticed. Her mind wavered and danced back to all the times she’d done this before:

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The room was lighted by a bright florescent strip that hung blandly from the ceiling. Machines sung out a cacophony of bleeps, drawing his life into single syllables of meaningless sound. His head lay among the pillows, cut, bruised and broken yet curiously serene, his black hair struck out in defiance against the featureless white of the walls and furniture. He could no longer cry or hurt; the pain had fallen away with his blood. His consciousness lost to the vicious city winds. His body was position less in the sterile hospital bed, frozen into a static still life. His limbs had sunken into the mattress after a while, and now the indent in the fabric cupped his shape, as if it had grown up around him. Few people had visited, those who had hadn’t stayed long; there was something terrible about his expressionless countenance, once so vibrant. It wasn’t just that though: there was a thought, that they pushed away in disgust whenever they let their minds wander to it, that they would not let them selves believe. They told themselves again and again that he had a life to wake up to. Fans; what good were those? As his  music wavered and dropped from the charts people lost their interest in the band, in Bernard. The visitors told themselves that his family cared, that he had family, that some one, somewhere must love him, that at least there was someone for him to love… yet the thought remained and crept guiltily at the back of the visitors minds. Because all though they rejected it, subconsciously they knew it was true, and it drove them from his bedside.

Yet none of this could hurt him, he didn’t know his life was now meaningless, and no one could tell him. And so he lay on in his surreal, timeless, heartless existence, never changing… never caring. Every night a nurse would stop at his door, and let the florescent light flicker out leaving him once more to his eerie silence.

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Lilly had reached the hospital, it felt dead, lifeless. No one stopped to wave to her, or looked up from the morbid reality of the test results in front of them. Bernard’s room was second floor, fourth corridor, fifth door along, room ten. She’d memorized it months ago. Her footsteps echoed slightly in the clean, sterile passageways. She turned in at the appropriate doorways until she got to his room, just like she did every morning.

The door was open. Lilly froze, her heart stopped. A sense of dread crept slyly over her. Her lip twitched, then suddenly she ran, flinging herself inside his sick room, waiting, hoping for the incessant bleeping of the machines, his calm peaceful face. But it wasn’t there. The get well cards that had littered his bed side were packed into a sombre little box. He was gone; the covers had been pulled over the top of the bed. Lilly stared, not quite believing her eyes. She remembered when she’d done similar things at East Hampton all those years ago, the memory turned her cold. He was dead. He must have died that night, alone, unaware that she loved him. What else could have happened? She waited there, waited for the horror to overcome her, the sorrow to envelope and consume her. But for some reason it didn’t, instead she felt empty, lost, pointless. She whispered out into the room, to make sure it was all real; “He’s…”
Rather rudely someone interrupted her; “Gone?” Lilly spun around to face that someone. Letting her eyes absorb his curly black hair, his mischievous smile, his warm, kind brown eyes, his written heart. He leant forward and murmured into her ear; “Miss me?”

Epilogue

STAR BERNARD MORENTAN HAS REGAINED CONCIOUSNESS!
Rock Legend Bernard Morentan from the successful band “The Void” had made a recent and full recovery from a life threatening cardiac injury. The singer was knifed out side his band HQ after attempting to save a woman’s life. The attack left him in a coma, and the mugger, who must remain nameless for legal reasons, dead. Dr Morentan was not held accountable for his death on a case of self defence.

He is now engaged to the woman whose life he saved and our hearts are warmed by this tale of real life romance and sacrifice!
Upon being asked whether he would regroup The Void and go once more into the music industry the ex-surgeon was heard to say; “Well, I couldn’t really say, of course it’s up to the boys but…”

The End.