Fool's Gold - Chapter 3

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=3 height=90 BGCOLOR="#3399FF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <FONT SIZE="7" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Times New Roman" ><I><B>Liz Berry Books</B></I></FONT><I><B> </B></I></div> <bR> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=160 BGCOLOR="#FFCC66" TEXT="#080000" background="08bd4c00dkelyh.png"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Liz Berry Books"><U><I><B>Home</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Meet Liz "><U><I><B>Meet Liz</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books"><U><I><B>Books</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id98.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Third Book/Creativity"><U><I><B>Third Book</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id29.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Messages"><U><I><B>Messages</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id30.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Bookstore"><U><I><B>Bookstore</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id31.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Liz"><U><I><B>Contact Liz</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id32.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Links"><U><I><B>Links</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0e185c01egerdp.jpg"> <div> <B>  </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Fool's Gold  - Chapter 3</B></div> <bR> <div> Ronnie slammed Dave's door behind him, shaking with reaction. He stood against it for a moment, his eyes closed. It was a mistake. Three people immediately appeared and began talking at him. He shoved past them and stalked along the corridor. It looked like Camden Market, ankle deep in torn-up paper, discarded clothes, used food containers and chicken feathers.</div> <div> Jeff, his personal assistant and roadie, came out of Ronnie's suite and waited for him, his eyes worried. 'Ron, there's a phone call from home.'  </div> <div> 'Okay, it'll be my mother. I'll take it in my room.' Ronnie turned into his suite, and slammed the door again, trying not to think about Dave and Janey. His head hammered with pain.</div> <div>  There was a girl he had not seen before lying on his sofa with her feet up, wearing a pair of black panties and nothing else.</div> <div> He ignored her and went across to the phone on the bedside table, sat down on the bed, and picked up the receiver.</div> <div> 'Ronnie, old son, this is your Uncle Ben.' His voice wavered. 'I've been trying to get through for hours. They wouldn't put me on to you.'</div> <div> 'We were doing a show.'</div> <div> The girl came and sat next to him and began unzipping his jeans, sliding her fingers against his skin.</div> <div> 'I'm afraid I've got very bad news, Ronnie.'</div> <div> He pushed the girl's hand away and stood up. '<I>Mum</I>?'</div> <div> 'She's been a bit off colour recently. Overwork, the doctor said. She's had a heart attack, Ronnie.We found her this last evening. She must have died in the afternoon.'</div> <div> The floor tilted sideways.</div> <div> 'Ronnie?  Ronnie!'  It was Janey's voice, urgent. He took a deep breath.  </div> <div> 'Ronnie, I'm here at your place. She died in her sleep, Ron. She was watching the television. It was still on. She just went to sleep in the armchair. She...she looked very happy...and peaceful...' She was crying.</div> <div> He had seen his mother so often, tired after a day's work, dropping off to sleep in the old armchair that needed a new cover. He stared at the rich hotel room, its thick carpet, white furniture, heavy velvet drapes and huge floral displays, at the opulent bed with a white fur cover, the expensive array of bottles in the open drinks cabinet. She had never been in a room like this in all her life, and never would now.</div> <div> 'Ronnie?'  It was his uncle's voice again, choked. 'Don't worry about a thing, we've got it all under control. Can you get back? There's the funeral...They say they can do it Friday.'</div> <div> Ronnie couldn't remember what day it was. He couldn't understand anything they were telling him.</div> <div> 'What's Janey doing there?' he said, stupidly.</div> <div> 'She came round to see your mother. Thought she might be lonely with you in America, and got worried when she couldn't get a reply. She could see the light on, you see. Could have had an accident. So she called an ambulance and the police, and they broke in, but it was no good, your Mum had already gone. Janey found me in the address book, and phoned me.  She's been marvellous, Ronnie. She took over and did everything. She said she's known your Mum since she was a kiddie.'</div> <div> 'Yes,' said Ronnie.</div> <div> Six year old Janey, eating ice cream at their kitchen table, very solemn and ladylike, her legs sticking out, too short to reach the floor. His mother, smiling down at her, her hand on Janey's head, stroking the glossy hair gently.</div> <div> 'It's a terrible shock. I wasn't much good, not being able to get about. Janey's seen to everything. We just have to confirm the arrangements, what you want...'</div> <div> 'I'll fly back straight away,' said Ronnie.</div> <div> 'I'm sorry, old son.' His voice choked again. 'My only sister. Younger than me. I couldn't believe it. Never saw her time out. You never even had the chance of seeing her one last time. It's not fair, is it?'</div> <div> The floor tilted under Ronnie again. He tried to put the receiver down, but it slid out of his hand and his knees folded helplessly. The floor came up to meet him in slow motion.</div> <bR> <div> Dave, Mike and Cliff flew back with him. They had all known and liked Mrs. Craig, who had given them unstinted encouragement through the early days of  Safety Rule, and later Night Mission. Of all their parents she was the only one who had been interested and helpful.</div> <div> The funeral was private. Gerry had managed to keep it out of the newspapers. </div> <div> 'You cremate me,' she had said once, laughing, 'When I go I don't want to be put down no dark wet hole and left to rot. And nothing religious either.'</div> <div> They stood around at the Crematorium, looking uncomfortable and unfamiliar in dark suits, with Janey, young and solemn in a dark coat and leather hat, clutching Dave's hand, the tears sliding down her cheeks. Ronnie's Uncle Ben was there, balancing on two walking sticks, a couple of neighbours, Mrs. Craig's old boss, and a knot of people she had worked with.</div> <div> The service in the small Crematorium chapel was brief, too brief. A few words, a hymn chosen for its short length, the final stark words of the Church of England burial service. The dark blue curtains closed as the coffin began to move. </div> <div> They came out immediately into the bright sunlight on the gravelled forecourt, and found the cars and the mourners for the next funeral already waiting outside.</div> <div> A conveyor belt, thought Ronnie, and remembered an old Willie Russell film showing a cremation, intercut with pictures of a council rubbish disposal tip.</div> <div> They walked along the rows of wreaths and bunches of flowers in cellophane, laid in an arc, waiting to rot in the rain, because even the hospitals didn't want them. The pain beat suffocatingly in Ronnie's chest. The words of the burial service echoed in his head. Death. Dust into dust. Dust into nothing left.</div> <div> 'You know something?' Suddenly, shockingly, he started to laugh.  'I just remembered. Becky Craig. Maiden name Rebecca Arenovskya. She was Jewish. Not practising.'</div> <div> 'Don't Ronnie...'</div> <div> He walked away, found the Gents discreetly hidden behind the Memorial Rose Garden, and was violently sick.</div> <bR> <div> The band flew back to the States immediately afterwards. There was a gig to play that evening, and fifteen more concerts to do. They had offered to cancel, but Ronnie knew it would be disastrous to all of them financially and professionally. They had to go on.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I><B>To be continued.....</B></I><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#FF0066" FACE="Times New Roman" > <img src="HTMLobj-422/aniGif.gif" border="0" align="bottom" width="66" height="121">  </FONT></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I><B>Copyright Liz Berry 2002.  All rights reserved</B></I></div> <div> __________________________________</div> <div> <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fools Gold"><U><I><B>Fool's Gold  </B></I></U></A><I><B>|  </B></I><A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books"><U><I><B>Books</B></I></U></A><I><B>  |  </B></I><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Liz Berry Books"><U><I><B>Home</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" width=125 BGCOLOR="#3399FF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fools Gold"><U><I><B>Fool's Gold</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fools Gold Chapter "><U><I><B>Chapter 1</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fools Gold Chapter 2"><U><I><B>Chapter 2</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <I><B>Chapter 3</B></I></div> </td> </tr></table></body>