I placed my hand on top of his, “and I will make sure that this beautiful little boy or girl will never forget the wonderful man that is their father.” I gently removed his hand from my belly, moving it up to my breast. “Tonight, I’m yours, Frank,” I repeated in a low voice, “tonight and forever.” I felt my nipple rise against his palm as his fingers caressed my flesh and stretching across, I found his lips with mine.
We lay quietly for a while, each caught up in our own thoughts. I’d taken off Frank’s pyjama top, my fingers playing lazily with his nipple as he held me, my breasts squished comfortably against his chest.
“Are you awake?”
He grunted in reply, “don’t stop,” he begged as my fingers stilled their journey around his nipple.
I obediently continued the expert manipulation and he groaned quietly in pleasure. “I can …um … move a little lower if you’d like,” I offered and slid my hand down below his waist.
Frank’s groan turned into a mouse-like squeak as I gently caressed him. “Oh, Kate. Is this what they mean by a dying man’s last wish?” His voice held a smile but he stilled my hand and moved it back up to his chest. “However much I appreciate the offer, I think the excitement might just kill me.”
His voice was weak, the effort it took to add a joking inflection to his words was obvious. I pushed myself up onto my elbow and looked at the ghostly shadow his face made against the cream pillow case. “Is there anything you want? Anything. Just ask and I’ll make sure it happens.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Just one thing,” he replied finally. “I want to fall asleep for the last time holding you in my arms.”
The tears running unceasingly down my face, I gave Frank one final kiss, long and hard, a lover’s kiss. “I do love you, Frank Jones, from the bottom of my heart.”
“Thankyou,” he whispered in reply. And as I lay my head once more on his shoulder and held him tight, a far away rumble of thunder sounded, almost drowning out his final, softly spoken words.
“I love you, too.”
Chapter forty seven
26 February
Death is a haze of activity. A never ending supply of things to do, people to see, arrangements to be made. It’s like that on purpose so people like me would have no time to think, to suffer, to mourn. And then, suddenly, it’s all over and those emotions you’ve been trying to suppress come flooding back, threatening to pull you under.
I balanced the little black hat on top of my head and stared at myself in the mirror, the long, black lines of my mourning dress contrasting sharply with the ghostly pallor of my skin. For the first time in months my nausea had returned, sharp and acrid, and I swallowed hurriedly, grabbing a glass of water from the dressing table.
Almost as soon as it had appeared, the sickness had gone, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of loss and an eerie sensation of anticipation. I peered at my reflection then shrugged complacently, pulling the ridiculous little hat off my unruly locks.
“Never did like that silly thing anyway.”
A sharp knock at the door and Martha poked her head in. “It’s time.”
I nodded, “I’ll be out in a moment.”
The last few days had passed in a blur of nothingness. Waking up next to Frank on Thursday morning …
Had it really only been three days ago?
… it had taken a few minutes before my brain had come fully into gear. I’d been reminded of that night in September; that night in the motel. The following morning had felt very similar to this, feelings of love and passion all mixed up and sprinkled with a large pinch of guilt.
I’d finally fallen asleep at dawn, my head still on Frank’s shoulder. He’d been quiet, at peace, the irregular rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still alive.
I’d awoken late the following day; last Thursday. The sun hidden behind left-over storm clouds, the bedroom grey and foreboding, accentuating my emotions. I could feel a hand on my bare shoulder, shaking gently, insistently.
“Go back to sleep,” I’d murmured, content to let the rain fall outside while we lay snug and warm, here in bed.
“Kate, wake up.”
Frank’s voice sounded funny; high-pitched, choked. He was still shaking my shoulder but harder now, more persistent.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled, “I’m awake.”
Too late I realised it wasn’t Frank’s hand on my shoulder.
“Kate, you have to get up. He’s gone.”
He’s gone.
“No!” I didn’t recognise the voice as my own at first, a stranger denying the inevitable.
“I’m sorry, Kate.” A pyjama-clad Paula was crouching beside the bed, her hand still resting on my back. “He’s gone.”
There’d been no tears, not then, the tears had come later. For now there was just a hollow feeling of loss, a small hole where part of my heart had once lived.
I’d climbed out of the bed and dressed, not bothering to hide my nudity from Paula, hardly noticing when the other woman turned away to give me some privacy. I didn’t want to look at the body on the bed, I wanted to remember Frank the way he had been … before.
“What happens now?”
Paula turned to face me. “He’ll be taken away. I expect they’ll do an autopsy, just to confirm the cause of death, and then his … body … will be released for burial.”
“Just like that,” I whispered.
“Just like that.”
Paula had been crying, my eyes as dry as dust, but for a few moments we had clung to each other for support.
And now, as Martha had said, it was time.
*
The funeral had gone off without a hitch.
The day was muggy, heavy with a threat of afternoon storms as I stepped out of the car outside Frank’s house. No, not Frank’s house anymore, since the reading of the will it belonged to my unborn baby.
It didn’t really matter who the house belonged to, the mourners would be descending very soon and there were still a few things to get ready. Having the wake at the house had been Frank’s idea, when he was still alive of course.
“There won’t be too many people to feed,” he’d said, a wry grin on his face, “most of the people I know don’t live around here. I don’t reckon they’d know I was dead until it was too late. If you cater for around ten, fifteen people, that should be plenty.”
I shook my head with my own wry smile, ten or fifteen thousand, more like. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration but I’d heard from at least fifty well-wishers over the last couple of days, displaying sorrow and shock over the news and I reckoned at least sixty people were soon going to try to cram themselves into Frank’s modest three bedroom home.
“Thank God for Martha,” I muttered as I watched my friend stride down the front path, frowning at the broken gate as she went past. I could also add Paula and Stuart to that list. Without their support I would more than likely have fallen utterly to pieces.
As people started to arrive and the house began to fill up, I found myself the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to commiserate, offer support and friendship, and express sincere pleasure at the news that Frank’s genes would live on. Everyone wanted to touch my belly.
It had been a long day and both Kensie and Tom had fallen asleep in the back bedroom. Checking on them, I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared for a while as well so, sidling furtively towards the back door, I escaped into the garden. The heavy, humid atmosphere had dissuaded all but the most avid outdoor dwellers from venturing out. A few drops of rain had also helped to keep the mourners inside and for this, I would be eternally grateful.
Despite the humid oppressiveness I suddenly felt freer than I had in days, as if invisible shackles had finally been removed. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair, suddenly feeling exhausted. A mental and physical fatigue that drained every ounce of energy. I staggered over to the garden seat in the relative shelter of the gazebo, sat down and closed my eyes, sighi
ng deeply as my tired limbs attempted to recuperate.
“I do not want to move ever again,” I declared, “not ever. And if anyone wants me … well, they can just go to hell.”
“Does that include me?” the quiet enquiry came from right beside me and I opened my eyes to find myself staring deep into two very familiar hazel orbs.
With a smile of genuine pleasure I looked at the man beside me. “I thought you’d gone,” I whispered. “I thought you’d gone for good. Thank you for coming back.”
Chapter forty eight
26 February
Turning to face him, I slapped him on the arm. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”
Angus grinned, “Kate, do I really have to remind you that I’m dead?”
I punched him this time. “Bloody smart arse. Where have you been? I thought you’d gone for good.”
The smile faded, replaced with a confused look and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So did I. When I left you in England I assumed I’d … well, I’d ascend, I suppose.”
“Ascend?”
He glared at me as I tried not to laugh. “Well, what would you call it?”
“Sorry,” I forced an apologetic look to my face. “So what happened? Why didn’t you … ascend?”
Appeased slightly, Angus’s good humour returned. “Wouldn’t have a bloody clue, to tell you the truth. I got stuck in that Limbo I told you about, where everything feels weird and time has no meaning. Remember?”
“So there was no tunnel of light? No mysterious voice telling you to come forth, young man, and meet your maker?”
Angus poked me. “Now who’s being a smart arse?”
“So what did happen?”
Angus leaned towards me. “I woke up next to you, my sweet.”
“What? When?”
“Just now. Here” He gestured towards the bench. “I woke to find you talking to yourself as usual.” He took my hand gently, “Kate, I’m sorry about your friend, I know how much you wanted him to be here for the birth.”
I took a deep breath, “thank you.” I peered around interestedly like a worm poking its head out of the dirt. “Is he here? With us?”
Angus shook his head, “no, Kate, Frank’s not here.”
“Will I see him again, like I see you?”
Angus shrugged, “no idea. I’m a bit of a virgin at all this, I’m afraid. Most of the time I don’t even know why I’m here.”
I snorted, “nothing much has changed over the years then.”
Angus frowned, “oh that’s nice. Really nice, woman. What is this, ‘pick on the dead guy day’?”
Abashed, I bowed my head. “I apologise,” I said formally, only a small smile giving my humour away. “So why are you here,” I asked at last, “lost another kid?”
“Very funny. I did want to thank you, though, for everything you did with Charlotte.”
“You came all this way just to thank me?”
Angus smiled, “no, actually I came all this way to tell you a story.”
*
“Once upon a time,” he was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how to begin. So I thought I’d help him out.
“Once upon a time,” I repeated, “there was a daddy bear, a mummy bear and a baby bear, and they all lived –”
“Kate!”
“Sorry.”
“Once upon a time …” he tried again, scowling at me, daring me to interrupt. I sat demurely, my hands in my lap, peering intently into his eyes. When he was sure I was being serious he continued, “… there was a young man. Let’s call him … er … Angus.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, coincidence, isn’t it. Anyway, Angus was a strong, handsome chap –”
“Of course.”
“—who had lots and lots of friends –”
“Are you drunk?”
Angus nudged me in the ribs with his elbow making me grunt. “listen and be patient, Kate Hunter, for once in your life. Now, Angus’s friends were not particularly savoury characters. They got into trouble with the police, took drugs, drank too much … well, you know the sort of thing.”
“You’ve already told me about your past.”
“Angus’s past,” he corrected with a twinkle in his eye.”
“Okay, Angus’s past.” I sighed, “I appreciate that you want to share his story with me but –”
“Patience, Kate. One day, I … Angus woke up and realised he was a loser. He decided to change and faced a long, hard road ahead. The drugs were the easy bit, Kate, for some reason I found it painless to drop the habit and kick the crap.”
I bit my lip and forced myself to stay quiet. Angus hadn’t even noticed that he had started to refer to himself in the first person and I wasn’t willing to interrupt and point it out. I was too intrigued to find out where this was going.
After a short pause, Angus continued.
“It was the alcohol that hit me harder. Damn that bloody stuff, it fucked me right up. I thought I could handle it by myself, you know, cold turkey, but I kept falling off the wagon. Then I’d jump back on, determined this time to succeed, just to tumble straight back off again. Finally, I admitted the truth and got the help I needed. My doctor strongly suggested a trip to AA.”
“Strongly suggested?”
Angus looked me directly in the eye and shrugged. “The doc reckoned I was on the slippery slope to my own death.” He chuckled suddenly, “I’ll bet he’s eating his words now … didn’t expect me to die in a car crash, did he.”
“Angus!” I was shocked.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
I raised my eyebrows at him, “did you go to AA?”
He nodded, “best decision I’d ever made. The doc was right, I wouldn’t have got through it alone. They knew exactly what I was going through and how best to help me. I was appointed a helper, a kind of mentor, and he was there for me day and night to guide me through the rough patches.”
“But you got through in the end.”
“After a couple of false starts and a lot of time with my mentor, Julian, I managed to kick the habit and stay right away from the booze. Julian was a long term addict who’d been clean for many years and he showed me all the tricks of staying sober.”
“He sounds like a life saver.”
“He was,” Angus smiled sadly, “he gave me every telephone number he owned, told me to call any time, day or night. He was my best friend at the time, in fact, if I was still alive he would probably still be my best friend.”
I frowned, “Angus, why are you telling me this now? Do you want me to find him?”
Angus grinned, “no, my impatient little possum, I want you to listen.” He shifted on the hard bench, turning towards me. “Unfortunately, my family frowned upon our friendship.”
I was bemused, “why? When all he was doing was saving your life?”
“Well, they didn’t know that. It was too painful to talk about so they didn’t even know about AA. Where they were concerned, my relationship with Julian was … let’s just say, it was a little too close.”
“Too close?” I bit my lip and tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny really but do you mean they thought you were gay?”
Angus nodded, “It was a tough time. My mum and dad hated Julian, thought he was a bad influence, a gay man who’d stolen their son. Quite ironic, really. One day they sent my sister to follow me.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“She saw us going into a meeting, an AA meeting. It was being held at the house of one of the members because our usual meeting place was having work done to it.”
“So they worked out what was going on? They must have been so embarrassed they’d jumped to conclusions.”
“Actually, they put two and two together and came up with a grand total of five. They assumed it was Julian’s house and that I was there for … well, their wild imaginations filled in a lot of non-existent blanks.”
“A steamy night of sex and passion?” I suggested
slyly.
Angus gave me a funny look, “yeah, something like that.”
“So then what?”
“Well, they confronted me the following day. Urged me to take precautions because Julian might have some horrible disease and suggested a holiday might be a wonderful idea. Alone. Without my boyfriend.”
“Ouch,” I grimaced.
“Ouch indeed. It took a bit of explaining to get them to understand that my relationship with Julian did not involve penises, fondling or snogging. Funnily enough, they seemed relieved when I told them I was an alcoholic.”
“Better to drink too much than have sex with another man? Parents can be very strange creatures sometimes, can’t they?”
Angus gave me a sideways look and smiled. “So can wives, Kate, very strange creatures. They jump to conclusions, abuse and accuse, then finally ask the questions they should have asked in the beginning. All a bit backward if you ask me.”
“Wife? I didn’t know you had one?”
Angus looked me full in the face, then leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I don’t,” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear. “I wasn’t talking about me, Kate, I was talking about you.”
Chapter forty nine
18 May
I grabbed Martha’s arm, tugging her out of the way before an errant cyclist knocked her off her feet. Scowling, I turned towards the retreating bike rider. “Arsehole, watch where you’re going you little prick.”
Martha glanced at me. “So, apart from swearing at eleven year old kids on bikes who really should be at school, everything has been going really well?”
I let go of Martha’s arm, grinned self-consciously and waved to the cyclist, who had halted twenty metres away. “Sorry,” I called. He responded by flipping me the bird.
“Bloody brat. Kids have no respect, these days.”
We laughed and continued our slow walk along the edge of the duck pond, me waddling like one of the ducks we had just finished feeding, my massive belly leading the way.
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