The Necessary Deaths

by David C. Dawson

  “I’d pay, of course. I’m not asking for a free ride. But I don’t quite know what I’m going to find when I get to Brighton. If you really don’t mind taking me down and it’s not inconvenient for you, I would be more than grateful.”

  And so it was arranged. Samantha would call Dominic on his cell when she knew if she could leave the hospital, and he would collect her.

  The call ended and Dominic sent a text to Jonathan: Might be down tonight. Have you got plans? xx

  Back came the response: TV and chocolate. New Miss Marple tonight. Bring food. xx

  Dominic and Jonathan had been an item for just over two years. It was not easy maintaining a long-distance relationship. To start with, their work had dictated it. Jonathan was a landscape gardener, which in theory he could do anywhere. But Jonathan also played walk-on parts at the world famous Glyndebourne Opera House nearby. To be ready for when a summons came, he had to live within a reasonable distance of the opera house.

  Jonathan was dismissive of the roles he had played over the years. “Second spear carrier from the left” was how he described his efforts when asked. In fact he had a classically trained tenor voice, a handsome face, piercing blue eyes, and a lean, muscular frame that should have been much in demand in modern opera casting. He was no longer hugely ambitious, or particularly pushy. He had been once, but had not succeeded in getting very far in the fiercely competitive opera world. He loved his landscape gardening, and he felt that, with his occasional appearances on the Glyndebourne stage, it was the perfect combination of work. Most importantly, there was not an office or desk in sight.

  By contrast, Dominic, in his own words, “flew a desk.” He was most at ease and in command when he sat in his dog-eared leather armchair, either on the phone or talking to clients across his oak desk. The majority of his clientele came from the rural counties around him. He also acted for a few large corporations with smart London addresses. He had first built relationships with them when he was a younger, mildly ambitious lawyer in the City.

  He and Jonathan had met at the opera. Their adjoining picnics on the manicured lawns outside the opera house at Glyndebourne had become somewhat raucous—unusual for the reserved and shy Dominic, but his friends had plied him with champagne to celebrate his birthday. Jonathan had always said it was lust at first sight, and Dominic had been flattered that such a glamorous and attractive man could have eyes for him. He still felt flattered, but also a little nervous that their relationship might go the same way as his failed, limited liaisons of the past. That was another reason he had so far chosen not to move in with Jonathan. Recently Dominic felt that he wanted the next step to be taken soon. He knew neither of them wanted to broach the subject for fear of upsetting the balance of love and companionship they had achieved.

  Was it actually love? Dominic hoped it was, but in truth, with this particular matter, he lacked confidence in the emotions he felt and preferred to allow his cautious, logical mind to manage his personal life.

  AS HE crossed the communal hallway of Ash House to go to work, Dominic had to pull back to avoid colliding with another resident, running down the stairs two at a time.

  “I’m most terribly sorry. I really should slow down. Delingpole, is it?” asked the man breathlessly. “Didn’t mean to barge in like that. In a tearing hurry to get to London.”

  Dominic had met with his neighbor very occasionally in the quarterly, interminable residents’ meetings. The man rarely attended. He seemed to be constantly traveling. He was a controversial political figure, a Member of Parliament for a constituency down in southwest England. Dominic usually only saw him on television, airing his provocative views on immigration, or how he thought Britain was being so unfairly treated in the world.

  “Oh, Mr. James,” replied Dominic. “How nice to see you. Are you well?”

  Randolph James MEP turned his tanned, boyish face to Dominic. “Dear chap, never better. Can’t stop now. You must join me for a glass of wine sometime.” With that, the flustered MEP was out the front door. Even with his tie askew and his hair looking like he had just fallen out of bed, Dominic considered him really something of a catch. It was a shame he was married. Dominic sighed and left Ash House to drive to his small office in the next town.

  Chapter 3

  IT WAS shortly after 2:00 p.m. when Dominic’s cell rang.

  “Mr. Delingpole? It’s Samantha Gregory. They’re letting me out into the big wide world. Does your kind offer of a ride to Brighton still stand?”

  “Oh, of course, Samantha. Shall I come to the hospital now?”

  “No, but thank you. I’m getting a taxi back to the apartment. I can’t bear to be in this place a moment longer, kind as they are. I only need to pack a few things, so I should be ready soon.”

  Dominic stood to put on his jacket. “I’m leaving my office now, so I can be home and ready to go in half an hour if you like. Have you found out any more about your son?”

  “I telephoned the hospital in Brighton before calling you. He’s still unconscious. There’s no change. I feel so awful that it’s taken me so long to be with him. If I hadn’t stupidly fallen last night, I would be there now.”

  Dominic walked out the door of his office and turned through the wide gate to the communal parking area. “Well, you’ll be there soon. Do you have somewhere to stay in Brighton?”

  “I can find a little guest house or something. It is December. I’m sure there’ll be lots of vacancies. The English seaside is always rather gloomy in winter, don’t you think?”

  Dominic resisted offering her the spare room at Jonathan’s. For one thing Lewes was nearly half an hour from Brighton, and Samantha had no car. For another he was not particularly open about his relationship with Jonathan in his hometown. He knew it was very old-fashioned of him, and when they were in Lewes, he and Jonathan were known as “the happy couple.” But here in Oxfordshire, Dominic preferred to be private and discreet. When he had worked in the City, homophobic remarks had on several occasions slipped from the lips of colleagues or clients he had been meeting. Somehow it was simpler to remain the enigmatic single man.

  “I’ll come and knock on your door in half an hour, then” was all he said before starting his car.

  THEY ARRIVED in Brighton shortly before 6:00 p.m. Dominic kept glancing at the screen of his sat nav to follow its directions to the hospital. He always had it switched to silent, as he found that with the volume turned up, the cold, authoritarian commands broke into all conversation in the car. When he was alone, it would be an unwelcome interruption to his stream of thought. He occasionally missed a turning, but at least it was preferable to being shouted at by a soulless computer voice.

  It was a very cold, wet, and windy evening in Brighton. The rush hour traffic moved slowly as the car inched toward the eastern end of the city and the Royal Sussex County Hospital.

  “I’m sure parking is going to be an absolute nightmare when we get there, Dominic,” said Samantha. The journey had given them time to relax formality on both sides. “So why don’t you just drop me at the entrance and then you can get on to your friends.” Despite relaxing formality Dominic had still not been forthcoming about Jonathan.

  “Well, I’m not due to see them until seven, so I’ll just come in briefly with you. You’re only just out of hospital yourself; I really don’t want to simply leave you on the doorstep. I can ring around and find you a place to stay while you see your son and talk to the hospital staff. I’m sure it’s not going to be very easy for you.”

  Samantha turned to him and rested her hand briefly on his left thigh. “Dominic, that’s very kind. I won’t say no.” She turned to look out of the window, perhaps to hide the emotion in her eyes. “At the moment, I really don’t know what I’m going to do next.” She lifted her hand from his thigh and pointed to a turning up ahead.

  “There it is. The car park sign points over to the left. Let me find some coins. This rain is just ghastly.” She busied herself with the practical matter
of searching for her change purse in the depths of her handbag. Then she looked up. “Two hospitals in twenty-four hours. It’s really not a very good record, is it?”

  THE SHORT walk from the car to the main entrance of the hospital left them damp and cold. Dominic followed Samantha as she led the way to the ward where the receptionist at the main desk had said her son had been admitted. As they waited at the ward’s reception desk, she turned to him. “Dominic, would you mind awfully coming with me? Just for a moment? I’m sure I’ll be fine, but….”

  A nurse standing next to them interrupted her. “Mrs. Gregory? I’m one of the nurses in charge of your son. We moved Simon up to intensive care half an hour ago. I’m afraid he got a little worse, but it’s just a precaution. His kidneys are having a bit of a struggle at the moment,” she added. “Let me take you there now.”

  Samantha swayed slightly, and Dominic put his arm around her waist to stop her from falling. “I’m here,” he said. “Come on, let’s see him now.”

  The nurse took them to the elevator and up to the second floor of the building. The ICU occupied the whole of the floor of this wing. Patients had their own rooms, festooned with electronic equipment. In the third room to their right was Simon Gregory. Through a glass wall, they could see his face covered by an oxygen mask, his bare chest wired to flashing monitors, and a drip attached to his right arm. Sitting at Simon’s bedside was a young man with a mop of curly hair, wearing a torn T-shirt and jeans.

  “He was doing quite well until about half an hour ago,” said the nurse in a low, sympathetic tone. “Then his kidneys seemed to be having a little difficulty, so we brought him up here, just as a precautionary measure. We’ll see how he goes in the next twenty-four hours. His friend’s with him at the moment, and I’ll have to ask him to leave while you’re here. Patients can’t have more than two visitors when they’re in the ICU. Wait here while I speak to him.”

  The nurse entered the room, and as the door swung open, they heard the multiple beeps of the machines hooked up to Samantha’s son. A few moments later, the nurse emerged with the curly-haired young man.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gregory. I’m John Fraser, one of Simon’s housemates. It was me who found him yesterday. I’m very sorry.” The young man’s voice was flat and monotone. He looked tired, and Dominic thought his eyes were probably red from crying.

  “Thank you so much, John, for being with him,” said Samantha. “I’m so grateful for what you’ve done. You don’t have to leave now. You can come in again with me if you like. This is Mr. Delingpole. He’s my neighbor. He’s been kind enough to bring me down in his car, but he’s leaving now to go meet with his friends.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Gregory, but I ought to get back to the house,” replied John. He stood up and dragged a battered leather jacket from the back of his chair. “I need to tell the others what’s been happening. I’ll come back again tomorrow when I’ve had a bit of sleep.” Before he left, he exchanged cell phone numbers with Samantha.

  She turned to Dominic. “You really don’t need to stay any longer. You’ve done so much for me already. Off you go. I’ll let you know when I have some news.” She reached forward to kiss him gently on his cheek; then she looked back through the window at her son as she said, “Believe me, Simon doesn’t take drugs, and he wouldn’t try to kill himself. I know my son.”

  Dominic watched as she entered the room and leaned across Simon’s unconscious body to kiss him tenderly on his forehead. Much as he admired Samantha’s loyal support of her son, Dominic wondered if she really knew Simon as well as she claimed. Perhaps his mental state had changed since he became a student. But then, perhaps her conviction that he was not just another attempted suicide statistic was more than simply blind faith.

  Chapter 4

  AS DOMINIC left the hospital, he spotted Simon’s roommate emerging from the shop in the main entrance with a bottle of water in his hand.

  “Can I offer you a ride somewhere, John?” Dominic asked. “You must have been through a lot in the last day.”

  “Thank you. I… well, actually that would be great if it’s not too inconvenient for you. The buses here are rubbish, and we’re a bit of a trek. The house is beyond Kemp Town, so it’s a hell of a walk. I’d be very grateful.”

  The rain had stopped, but the wind seemed to be getting stronger as they headed across the car park to Dominic’s Mercedes SLK. Jonathan frequently teased him that it was a very gay choice of car, but it was an indulgence he had never regretted.

  “How long have you known Simon?” he asked by way of conversation as they closed the car doors against the winter wind.

  “We’ve been sharing the house since the start of term,” replied John. “There are four of us. We got put together. We’re the outies—out of halls. We didn’t get places in a hall of residence, so we’re in this rented house. It’s not bad, but a bit grubby. Don’t think my mum would approve—if she ever got to see it.

  “We’re all doing way different courses. Simon’s doing journalism and media studies, which seems like a complete doss, and I’m doing biochemistry. Then there’s Gemma doing English, and Jay, who’s doing a postgrad in pharmacology. We’ve all really hit it off, thank God, although we hardly see Jay. He’s often working late here at the hospital. Si’s the resident joker. I think he’s a frustrated drama queen. He’s a great guy—really great guy.” John broke off, as though he was about to say more but chose not to.

  Dominic decided to change the subject. “You’re going to have to give me directions. How far beyond Kemp Town is it?”

  John peered through the windscreen at the rain-washed road they were following. “Take the second left down there and then the first right into Green Street. There’s a fiddly turning, and then it’s our street.”

  Dominic negotiated the narrow suburban streets crammed with terraces of neat little houses. After a few hundred yards, he turned the car into a shabby street of larger, run-down Victorian terraced houses.

  John pointed to a house up ahead. “Ours is the one with the skip outside. The people opposite are using it to dump the crap in from their building work. It seems to be a permanent feature. Thanks a lot. Cool car by the way.” He was unbuckling his seat belt when he turned and asked, “How do you know Simon’s mum?”

  Dominic pulled the car over to the curb. “We’re neighbors. When she got the news last night, I thought it was the least I could do to bring her down here. She’s very upset, even though she appears quite calm.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised. This isn’t Simon. He doesn’t do this stuff. He’s not suicidal. He doesn’t do drugs. I know it sounds weird, but none of us do. I mean, the occasional smokes, but not what they’re saying Simon took. He didn’t do it, I know.” John turned to Dominic and looked him straight in the eyes. “I know Simon. This isn’t what he’d do.”

  “Then what do you think happened?” asked Dominic. “I presume it’s the police who are saying he took the overdose?”

  “Yeah, the paramedics and the police all kind of came together. The police have questioned us all, and the hospital says they pumped out his stomach. But it’s all wrong. There’s never been any stuff in the house like that. I know that.” John stopped as he had before, as if he wanted to say more but was holding back. “Look, I’d better go and see the others. Thanks for the ride. I’ll go and see Simon again in the morning.”

  John jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and was gone.

  Dominic waited to see John safely inside the house. He reflected that it was quite normal for John to refuse to believe his friend had tried to kill himself. But John’s insistence seemed to go much further. There was something he seemed to be avoiding saying, and now Dominic was curious. He put the car into drive and headed back to the main road and Jonathan’s little hilltop Victorian terrace in Lewes. The last forty-eight hours had been unusually eventful for Dominic, and he badly needed a glass of wine.

  “FIRE’S LIT and the wine’s open. What did you bring for supper
?” Jonathan’s voice boomed from the kitchen as Dominic opened the front door.

  “I’m afraid it’s not very imaginative,” Dominic replied. “Mussels and french bread. I hope you’ve got some decent salad because it all looked a bit sad in the supermarket.”

  Dominic put down his overnight bag and paused to absorb the warmth of the fire as Jonathan entered the small front room. “Perfect, lover. Lettuce and tomatoes left over from the Glyndebourne kitchen and the last of our garden radishes. A feast!” He wrapped his left arm around Dominic’s neck and planted a kiss full on his lips, at the same time grabbing Dominic’s crotch with his right hand. “I’ll pour you a glass of pinot while you take the weight off your feet and tell me about all the excitement.”

  Jonathan was a complete contrast to Dominic. Loud, large, and not at all inhibited. Dominic loved and admired his partner’s ability to embrace life and ignore the hurdles it seemed to throw in his path.

  For life had not been easy for Jonathan. His mother died when he was just two and his traditionalist Protestant father gave up the struggle of parenthood soon after. Jonathan was taken into care, and a succession of foster parents helped him develop a strong sense of independence and an expectation that relationships always failed. He left the last of his foster parents at the age of sixteen and moved from Sussex to London, where he lived a life rich in experiences, more than a few of them sexually dubious.

  His singing voice was to be his savior. By age twenty-one, he was working in a Soho bar that was popular with the theater crowd. When Jonathan did the morning cleanup of the bar, he would replace the cheesy 70s mix tape on the stereo with his own recordings of Puccini operas and sing along to them. One morning the music director of the London Symphony Chorus walked in and took a shine to both Jonathan and his raw tenor voice. Reginald Hanes CBE offered to coach Jonathan and also offered him a room in his grand but faded London Marylebone apartment. Jonathan accepted and moved in. Within three months he was a member of the chorus and within six months was auditioning for roles with the principal opera companies in London.