TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy)

by Sydney Jamesson

  Having completed it, she throws back the dregs from the glass and folds the notepaper in two, her dirty fingerprints serving as a seal of sorts. She places it in her bag and stumbles as she steps over the tattered pieces of meaningless flotsam; all that remains of a world now in pieces.

  She grabs one of the sharpest knives out of the kitchen drawer and drops it into her bag, taking a lingering look at herself before she reaches the front door. Her brown eyes are framed in mascara that has become smudged and runs like grey scratches down her cheeks. Even her blouse is spattered with dusty black patches from lifting boxes down from the loft.

  “What a fucking mess,” she exclaims, throwing down her bag. “I can’t face you looking like this.”

  She makes her way across the corridor in the direction of her bedroom, dragging herself along one step at a time, through a drunken fog that clouds her vision and numbs her senses; smearing the wall with dirty fingerprint. Not stopping to close the curtains, she tears off her clothes and sorts through her wardrobe for something suitable for the occasion. She finds a figure hugging black dress just above the knee with a neckline that shows off her ample bustline. She sniggers, “You’ll love this.”

  She ties back her hair and washes the smudged make-up from around her eyes and from her cheeks with a flannel until only the palest of canvases remains. As per her routine she applies moisturizer, foundation, blusher and eyeliner with trembling hands and a body that sways like a boat lost at sea. The crimson-coloured lipstick is the final touch.

  She smiles into the mirror, having intentionally transformed herself, incorporating everything Ayden despises in a woman. She knows what men want; she worked that out at an early age, too early. He’ll see her as she is: flirtatious and brazen to the core. High heels and a couple of squirts of heady perfume and she’s done.

  She grabs her bag and car keys and leaves the apartment, wobbling on black stilettos as she descends three flights of stairs. She flings back the exit door, leans into the icy wind and prepares to right all wrongs.

  3

  No matter which way I turn I cannot sleep. I’m haunted by the memory of Ayden’s panic-stricken face. I had no right to say the things I did. It was a knee-jerk reaction that I should have thought through, considered with a level head and a less troubled heart. I’ve hurt him badly with my flippant disregard for his feelings. Why must I continue to be plagued by my own insecurities and subject him to them? What possessed me to send him away?

  I’m attached to these tubes and electrodes like a woman on her deathbed but I have to get them removed. I press the buzzer by my bed and wait for the nurse to arrive.

  When she does, she instantly recognises my unease and begins to fuss with my bedding.

  I draw her attention. “Will you get me my phone, please? I need to make a call.”

  “I think you should be resting, Elizabeth. We don’t want you worrying about making phone calls.”

  I’m shaking my head. “I really do need to call my husband, right now.” I’m becoming more distressed with each word; my breathing is becoming jagged and uneven.

  She takes my hand. “Elizabeth. Your husband is very worried about you. He has probably gone home to collect clothes and toiletries.” She starts to pat my hand. “Now can I get you a cup of tea or anything?”

  I feel helpless but I’m too physically and emotionally exhausted to put up a fight. “A cup of tea would be very nice. Thank you.”

  Ayden will be back soon …

  Sedated by hot tea and a nurse’s affirmation that all’s well, I’m listening to the radio, allowing myself to paint pictures in my mind. A fifties classic by the Flamingos voices my thoughts. I Only Have Eyes for You.

  From beneath grey clouds, hanging like dirty laundry obscuring a clear blue sky appears a terracotta landscape and a technicolour slide show of our Vegas trip; images that comfort me and help to reshape my bruised face into a smile. I hear Ayden’s voice and feel his lips on mine but then … my artistic endeavours are abruptly halted by the sound of irate female voices outside my door that are increasing in volume.

  “I know what bloody time it is. This is important …”

  “I’m sure it is, Miss Miller, but Mrs. Stone is sleeping.”

  No I’m not

  “Believe me, she’ll want to know what I have to tell her. Get out of my bloody way!”

  Only Charlie would cause such a commotion and unsettle the still evening air with the velocity of a tornado.

  The door opens.

  “Move out of my way!”

  I turn to face them both. “It’s alright nurse, I’m not asleep. Let her come in.”

  She closes the door behind her. “They’re like the friggin’ Gestapo in here!”

  I see something in her eyes that worries me. She is the bearer of bad news, I just know it. “What’s up Char? What’s got you so fired up?”

  She flops herself down on the bed on my right side and reaches for my free hand. “I’ve been here a few times while you’ve been out of it and you’re looking better every time I see you.”

  She’s stalling.

  “And you caused such a fuss to come here and tell me that?”

  There’s more …

  Her eyes evade mine, momentarily. Then she faces me square on. “There’s been an accident and I don’t want you finding out off some friggin’ nurse.”

  What little colour I have on my cheeks begins to fade as I am gripped by fear. “What do you mean, accident?”

  “It’s Ayden.”

  Air fills my lungs in a gasp and a whimper leaves my open mouth. “What!”

  “He was driving Jake’s car too fast on the motorway and it hit the central reservation and then careened off onto the hard shoulder. It came to rest in a ditch.”

  “Oh my God!” I’m clenching my fists, trying to hold onto the desperate thought that he’s okay. “Please tell me he’s alright!” I grip her hand much too tightly.

  She glances at the heart monitor that is beeping, recording my anguished state. “Beth, you’ve got to calm down.”

  “Just tell me he’s alright,” I plead, seeing her through eyes that are bubbling with tears.

  “He’s alright but …”

  “But what? Tell me!” I’m shouting.

  “He’s concussed and appears to have an injury to his face from the windscreen when it smashed. Also a couple of bruised ribs from the seat belt …”

  “… But he’s not in any danger?” I’m thinking of the word fatal but I can’t bring myself to say it.

  She shakes her head and tries to reassure me with a flat smile. “He’s not in intensive care or anything, but he’s pretty shaken up.”

  I’m beginning to sob, torn apart by both relief and guilt. “It’s all my fault!” I mutter, weakly.

  Charlie grips my hand. “No it isn’t your fault. How could it be? He was driving recklessly. Too fast. Why the hell was he driving Jake’s car, anyway?”

  I know why.

  “I made him leave. I said some horrible things to him and he was so distraught. I tried to call him back but he rushed off and took the car keys.” I shake my head despondently. “I was so worried that something like this might happen.”

  “Even so, you shouldn’t blame yourself. That’s just not right.”

  “But I do. He wanted to stay. Oh Char, what am I going to do?” I look into her eyes in search of an answer but I see only compassion.

  She reaches around me and I rest my head on her breast, only for a moment before she leans back and strokes my hair. “The first thing you’re going to do is get some rest and get yourself better. He won’t want you worrying about him. He’s physically fit and he’ll bounce back. You’ll see.”

  “I pray you’re right. He doesn’t deserve to suffer like this, not after all he’s done for me.”

  “He’s not suffering. They have him here in the hospital and they’ve done every test known to man. Jake’s had them running around like ants.”

  I’m s
uddenly alert. “He’s here, in this hospital?”

  She nods. “Jake had them bring him here. The Cromwell Hospital is recognised as one of the best in London.”

  “I didn’t think to ask what hospital this is.” I feel like such a fool.

  “Well now you know.” She’s smiling, affectionately.

  I have an idea. “Then I want to see him now.”

  She’s shaking her head. “You can’t. It’s late. You’re all wired up.”

  “Then go and get someone to unwire me!”

  “Beth …”

  “I mean it Charlie. I have to see him.” I lift my left hand, watching the tubes to the IV bag sway and jiggle around.

  “Whoa! Be careful. I’m going, I’m going. Jeez!”

  When she returns she isn’t alone. A rather disgruntled nurse is pushing her aside to check the cannula inserted into the top of my left hand is intact.

  “Mrs. Stone, you really should calm yourself.”

  “As you can see from the machine I am calm. Now I want you to disconnect me from it so I can go and see my husband. He’s been involved in a car accident.”

  She prepares to speak but recognising my dogged determination, reconsiders. “I can’t do that without authorisation from a doctor, I’m afraid.”

  “Then go can get the doctor,” I instruct, unwavering in my stare.

  She’s shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I didn’t ask you for your opinion. I just need to be disconnected, now. So I can leave this room.”

  She leaves the room in a flurry or disapproving sighs.

  “Charlie. Get my bathrobe and slippers from the wardrobe please.”

  She places the fluffy robe on the bed.

  “Go see if you can get a wheelchair from somewhere.”

  Now she’s blowing a strand of hair off her face. “For someone who’s supposed to be sick, you’re friggin’ bossy.”

  All I can do is shrug my shoulders.

  After a ten-minute conversation between the Head Nurse and my consultant, Mr. Roper, I’m separated from the heart monitor, but the cannula must remain.

  With extreme care, the IV bag is pulled through my left sleeve and in 30 minutes I am dressed in my nightie and bathrobe, ready to be wheeled across the hospital to Ayden’s bedside.

  The night nurse leads the way and Charlie pushes me down empty corridors smelling of disinfectant and floor polish, taking long strides to keep up. We take the lift up two floors and, when the doors open, we are greeted by the duty nurse.

  “This way, Mrs. Stone. Your husband is comfortable but unconscious at the moment. Sometimes this can happen after a serious accident.”

  Fearful of her answer, I ask one question, “When will he wake up?”

  “It’s difficult to tell.” She smiles apologetically.

  “I have to see him.”

  She stretches out her hand to open the first door on my right. “This is his room.”

  Before entering I close my eyes, saying a silent prayer. I feel Charlie’s hand on my left shoulder, squeezing it gently. Instinctively I hold onto it with my right hand. Ayden’s words resonate in my head like a song.

  “Be bold baby.”

  He is lying beneath a single light, looking like a sleeping prince in a fairy-tale; his hands by his side, fingers outstretched, motionless. The familiar beep, beep of the heart monitor is reassuring. At least he’s alive.

  Silently, Charlie wheels me over to his bedside. Across his forehead are small scratches like splashes of red paint, but most shocking of all is the pad of white lint covering his right cheek. The last time I looked upon him like this was in Rome, when I awoke and observed him sleeping, dreaming. We watched the sunrise over the rooftops and met the new day with confessions; we made love and conceived our first and probably only child. And now, here we are, all that shot to hell.

  There are things I need to say to him, alone. “Will you give me a minute please?” I whisper, not really asking at all.

  Charlie kisses the top of my head. “We’ll be right outside.”

  I nod silently.

  Ever the professional my nurse leans into me. “Please don’t stand, Elizabeth. I don’t want you to fall.”

  I nod again.

  Once the door clicks shut behind me I crumple like a pack of cards. Quietly sobbing, I wheel myself nearer to him. I take his right hand between mine, comforted by the warmth of his fingers against my cheek. But it’s a dead weight and I must hold it in place, wrapping my thumb around his, folding his fingers around my hand in a tender embrace.

  After a hard swallow I begin. “Ayden, I’m so sorry for sending you away. I don’t know why I said the things I did. I love you so much and I want you to have everything. That includes a family. But we are a family, I realise than now. You’re my family, you’re the family I’ve never had but only dreamed about, waited for. And I’m yours. I have always been yours.”

  His eyes flicker. There’s a slight increase in the heart rate displayed on the monitor, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

  I wipe my tears on my sleeve. “We created life and it was the best of both of us, and it’s gone. But I’m still here, you’re still here and the best is yet to come. I just know it.” In a faltering voice I prepare to address my promise; the promise I made on our first date. The one I have broken.

  “I promised to take care of you, Ayden, to always be here for you however you needed me. Please forgive me for forgetting my promise and come back to me. I can’t live my life without you.”

  I bow my head and reach out to brush the left side of his face with my fingertips but I can’t reach and settle for bristles masking purple coloured bruises. “You’re still my beautiful Saffi, my husband, and the only man I will ever love.”

  In an act of contrition I bow my head, resting it on his bed and cry so woefully I think I may drown in my own tears. Like a miracle, I feel his fingers against my hair, the gentle caress of a lover raised from the dead.

  Yet, when I lift my head, he’s motionless, statuesque in his gentle repose. His right hand rests on the covers, in the same place. Did I imagine it?

  Having regained a little composure, I run my fingers under my eyes. “I know you can hear me and I know that, when you’re ready, you’ll come back to me. Because what we have Ayden is bigger than both of us. We have to get through this … together.”

  I pull up the covers around his chin and wheel myself backward. “I can hear you saying I love you, Beth so I’ll say I love you more. Goodnight sweet prince. I’ll come back tomorrow and awaken you with a kiss. You’ll see.”

  The door opens behind me and I signal my desire to leave.

  “Ready to go back?” Charlie asks, resting both hands on my shoulders, offering her support and understanding.

  “Yes. I’m tired.” I have one last look and lean back into the chair. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  In no fit state to drive, Elise Richard starts up the engine and heads in the direction of Cromwell Hospital. She plans on visiting a patient there who may be less than pleased to see her but, ‘What the fuck,’ she muses. ‘It’s about time we had a little chat about a couple of things.’

  She parks carelessly in a disabled parking spot and flips down the mirror. Pleased with her appearance she ruffles her hair to give herself a ravaged look and licks her lips, hungry for physical contact of the sexual or the painful kind, preferably both at the same time.

  Not bothering to lock the car or turn off the engine, she staggers in the direction of reception, steadying herself as she reaches the doorway.

  Like a man possessed Ayden pushes past her, looking once then twice before recognising her. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He storms off, not waiting for a reply.

  Regaining her balance she trots after him. “Ayden, wait!”

  “I’m not in any mood for your fucking mind games, Elise.” He shakes off her hand as she makes a grab for him.

  “Slow down
. Where are you going?” she calls out, breathlessly.

  “That’s none of your business.” He turns to face her. “I told you we’re through. You won’t be getting anything more off me so you may as well get on with your life and I’ll do the same.” He inserts the key in the Shelby Mustang GT 500, Jake’s prized possession. Before he can start up the engine Elise slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut.

  “Why are you driving? Where’s Lester?”

  He flips over the key and the engine begins to purr. “I gave him the day off,” he answers harshly. “Now, get out of the car.”

  She shakes her head. “Not until I’ve said my peace.”

  He inhales deeply and catches the odour of hard liquor. “You stink of whiskey. You’re pissed!”

  “I might have had a couple of drinks, so what do you care?” She tries to fasten her seat belt but gives up after a couple of bad-tempered tugs. She reaches for the radio, instead.

  He’s shaking his head. “Have you driven here in that state? It’s a wonder you weren’t arrested.” He shifts into reverse, pushing her hand away from the dash. “Leave the fucking radio. I’m taking you home.”

  Feeling suddenly unsure of herself, she flattens her hair and sits back in her seat. “That’s kind of you,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “Aren’t you the gentleman?”

  Ayden gives her a sideways glance. “Just shut the fuck up, Elise, and enjoy the ride.”

  She begins to giggle, the way a deranged woman might on the verge of something catastrophic. “I always do, Ayden. You know that. In fact I have the video to prove it!” She begins to laugh hysterically and runs her hand along his collar.

  He shakes his head free. “For fuck’s sake. Just sit down and behave yourself.”

  She turns to face him. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, for me to bend over and take it like a good little girl? Like Elizabeth Parker - or should I call her Frances? What name does she go by these days?”

  Shocked by her outburst, Ayden fights to compose himself, tensing the muscles in his jaw, containing his rage. “Look, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but forget it and don’t mention Beth, again.”