by RJ Hunter
"William, please wake up, we have to get back home to wake Penny up for school. It's her sports day next week, and she's such a fast runner."
The nurse was about to intervene, but the doctor motioned for her to wait.
Sally reached for William's blackened hand, and gripped it tightly.
"Look, he's not dead, he can't be."
Dr. Irving shook his head, his face distraught.
"Please, Mrs. Peddlescoombe, you must leave your husband now."
"I can't leave him, I'll never leave him." Sobbed Sally, "Look, he's clutching my hand. I told you he wasn't dead. Not William - we said we would never leave each other."
Both the doctor and the nurse glanced over at the monitor. It was still switched on, but there was no movement, the line was flat.
Sally began to wail uncontrollably into William's chest. It was a cry of such anguish, and one they had never heard before, or wanted to hear again. It was a cry that touched their very souls.
Lizzie, forcing herself to stay in control, thanked the doctor, as he and the nurse left. She then went over to Sally, who was still cuddling William, the roses, now crushed between their bodies. Lizzie put her arm around Sally, and placed her head on her friend's shoulder. She then wept huge tears of grief for the woman she had known for half her life, and for the man who had been her husband.
The cowgirl was absolutely stunning. Dressed in a rhinestone bikini and Stetson, she took to the stage accompanied by the sound of Roxy Music's 'Love Is The Drug'. The mainly male audience were in raptures, and cheering her on wildly.
Flicking her mane of Barbie-doll blonde hair, she caressed the pole, and gyrated her shapely hips as if she's done it a million times. Half way through the song she unclipped her top and tossed it to a lucky customer in the audience.
The volume of the music was turned up and the atmosphere at Billy Joe's Bar and Grill grew in intensity.
David was simply trying to leave. He was unsteady, and was feeling the effects of several day's drinking. The exit sign was just a blur on the wall, as he pushed his way through the heaving crowd to make his way back to the motel.
"Hey, cowboy, don't you like my dancing?" Shouted Ellie from the stage, as she writhed her curvy body back and forth.
The crowd laughed and jeered as they turned their attention to the limping Vietnam veteran.
"I gotta go," he called back, desperate to find freedom.
"Hey, that's downright rude." Continued Ellie." I need someone to help me get my boots off!"
It didn't take long for the other customers to take the initiative and push the drunken David forwards towards the stage. Giggling, Ellie pulled up a chair, and sat back, presenting a cowboy-booted foot to David. With the spotlights shining brightly, and not wanting to disappoint or cause a scene, David staggered forward and took hold of Ellie's boot. The crowd roared him on as he struggled and eventually pulled the boot from the dancer's dainty foot. She then presented him with her other boot, and he duly began to oblige. However, that last shot of bourbon must have really hit home, for he began to see stars and lurched forward, plunging into the bare-breasted Ellie, sending her tumbling back onto the floor, with him coming down hard on top of her.
Within seconds, two burly doormen were dragging David outside. He tried to protest his innocence, but his words fell on deaf ears.
"Listen buddy, you know the rules - no touching the girls, got it?" Shouted one of the men aggressively.
"I didn't mean to, I fell." Muttered David, his speech slurred.
"It didn't look like that from where I was standing, pal."
"Please take your hands off me, I'm disabled."
"Disabled, my ass! Are you gonna go quietly, or do we have to get rough?" Replied the doorman, taking David by the lapels of his jacket.
"You can't treat me like this. I want to speak to the manager."
"Well, the manager don't wanna speak to you, and I'll treat you any way I want, you flea-bitten bum." With that, the man hit David hard in the stomach with his fist, and watched grinning as his victim dropped to the floor. It was only when the doorman went to kick David while he was down, that he noticed the injured man's artificial leg.
Somehow David managed to eventually stagger back to his room in a nearby cheap motel, where he downed the remains of a bottle of scotch, before passing out on his bed.
He woke early and paced the room. He was broke and desperate for a drink. The demons were taunting him for being so weak, telling him to work, beg, steal or borrow, whatever it took to get the liquor he needed to blot out reality, and drift through another day of unrelenting oblivion. The truth be, he had exhausted all the employment opportunities in the small town. He had wandered from bar to restaurant washing pots, clearing garbage, anything to buy drink. Then, when he was either too drunk or hung-over to work, he was fired.
Finding some small change in his jacket pocket, he went to call his mother. He hadn't been in touch with her for several weeks, unable to bear the ranting about his shortcomings from a woman who loved her son and wanted him home.
"David, is that you?" Called out his mother in a surprised voice.
"Yes, Mum, it's me. I want to come home."
There was a long silence at the other end of the line. It wasn't like his mother not to speak.
"Mum, is there something wrong?" But all he could hear was his mother weeping. "Please, Mum, what's happened, is it Dad?"
"No David, your father is still sick, but he's here with me."
"Mum, can you send me some money to get back? I'm in South Carolina."
"David, I've been trying to contact you, but nobody knew where you had gone."
"Please tell me what's wrong?"
There was another pause before his mother managed to find the words.
"It's William. There was an accident. He was killed."
David let out a heart-wrenching cry and slumped against the wall.
"What about Sally, is Sally alright?"
"Sally wasn't involved." Sobbed Joan Peddlescoombe. "William was alone when it happened. The funeral is in two days. I'm flying out tomorrow. There's no time for you to come home David."
This time it was David who couldn't speak, but when he did, it was more than his mother could bear.
"I killed William, Mum. I kissed Sally, I wanted her for myself, I fell in love with her. I hurt William so badly. It was me who killed him."
"Please, David, you mustn't say that. William died in a car accident. It wasn't your fault. You aren't being rational, you didn't kill him."
"Please forgive me, Mum."
"David, there's nothing to forgive. Please be strong. Now give me the details of where you're staying and I'll send you enough money to book a flight to London, get a room and buy a suit."
"I can't go Mum. It wouldn't be right."
"William was your brother, and he loved you David. I expect to see you at Mortlake Cemetery on Wednesday."
David went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He was under-weight, unshaven and gaunt-looking. What had he become. His hands were shaking as he turned on the shower and stood under the refreshing stream of warm water. He washed his face, his hair and his body, and let the tears he shed for his brother, fall from his eyes, and mingle with the trickling water.
Hardly a word was said in the Peddlescoombe household. It was eerily silent and depressing. Sally had been the first to get up from her lonely bed. She hadn't slept well, in fact she had survived on the bare minimum of sleep since learning of her husband's death. She didn't want to wake the girls or Jonathan. She couldn't bear to see their sad faces, or talk to them. She had no energy left. She couldn't explain to them what or why it had happened. All of them were in a daze, in shock, unable to comprehend the reality of what had occurred.
Sally went to her wardrobe and took out the three black dresses that Lizzie had made for her and the two girls, along with the suit she had made for Jonathan. The dresses were beautifully made and looked classy,
but Sally felt abhorred at the very thought at having to wear one. For some reason she hadn't been able to leave such symbols of the frailty of human life in the children's bedrooms. She preferred to wait until the morning of William's funeral, and give them out then.
Sally showered and washed her hair, before going down to the kitchen in her dressing gown to try and force at least, a cup of coffee inside herself. Her weight had plummeted, as with the girls and Jonathan in the past week. She felt weak, frail and emotionally unable to cope with the demands of the day ahead of her.
As it happened, the children were all awake, and like their mother, unable to sleep. Penny had made her own wreath for her father, using brightly-coloured paper flowers, along with leaves and twigs she had collected from the garden. Laura was probably coping the best out of all of them, maybe it was her staunch character, her nurse training, or maybe it was just a brave face she presenting to the world, time would tell. Jonathan, like Penny needed constant re-assurance and seemed to be having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that he would never see his father again.
A little after eight, the doorbell began ringing, as flowers and tributes started to arrive in a continual stream. After reading the attached condolence cards, Sally placed them in the front room, and by ten o'clock the whole of the table, and carpet were a sea of floral colour.
One-by-one, the children appeared, looking sombre in their black outfits. Sally tried to insist that they eat breakfast, but like her, no-one could touch a thing. During mid-morning the telephone had rang twice, but the caller couldn't or wouldn't speak. Sally wondered who it might be and tried to coax the person to talk, but to no avail.
At midday Lizzie and Jeremy arrived. Sally was more than glad to have the support of her old friend, and greeted her as warmly as she could.
"We're all going to get through this, Sally, you, the girls, Jonathan and myself." Said Lizzie as she gave Sally a much-needed hug.
"I just feel dead inside, Lizzie. I keep thinking that William will just walk in, and I'll wake up from the worst nightmare I've ever had."
"I know Sally, I feel the same. How are the girls and Jonathan coping?"
"Every day is different with them, but they are mostly very subdued and deep in their thoughts. But I do hear them crying in their rooms, especially Penny."
"The poor love. I'll speak to them. Sometimes it's good to talk these things through with someone whose not quite so involved."
"Perhaps you're right. I do try to chat to them, but they are keeping their grief to themselves at the moment. I don't feel like I'm helping at all." Replied Sally, her voice full of emotion.
"Has there been any word from David?" Asked Lizzie, changing the subject.
"No, not directly. Joan rang me and said she had spoken to him, and that he was coming over."
Lizzie didn't want to push matters further regarding William's brother and took it upon herself to gather everyone around to see what kind of mental state they were in.
At twelve thirty the funeral cortege arrived. It consisted of a magnificent Rolls Royce hearse, bedecked with bouquets of all shaped and sizes. This was followed by a stretch limousine, with another smaller one bringing up the rear.
The immaculately attired Funeral Director was courteous, respectful and thoroughly professional as he and two bearers came into the house to collect the tributes from the front room. These, they placed inside the hearse around William's coffin, and attached the rest to the roof of the vehicle.
The journey to the cemetery would take about twenty five minutes from Sally's home, and Lizzie and Jeremy would travel in the same limousine as Sally and her family. It was a grey cloudy day, with a slight breeze, but no rain had been forecast.
There were a little over a hundred mourners for William's funeral, and Sally tried her best to greet as many of them as possible, while fighting desperately to keep her emotions in check.
Sally, Laura, Penny, and Jonathan took the pews at the front of the chapel, along with Lizzie, Jeremy and William's mother, Joan, while the other mourners filed in behind them. The atmosphere was surreal and Sally, along with each of her children searched each other's eyes looking for comfort, solace and answers to so many unanswered questions. Sally gulped and felt her heart drop as the sound of organ music filled the small chapel. Along with the others she then rose to her feet when her husband's wicker coffin was carried in by four bearers. The whole exercise was carried out in a smooth, quiet and calm manner overseen by the director himself. Sally and the children stood together, and reached out to grasp each others hands as they watched the coffin being placed on the bier. The priest conducting the memorial service then motioned for everyone to stand as he consulted his notes before commencing the funeral oration. The words he spoke brought a certain degree of comfort to Sally, the girls and Jonathan, especially when he told of how William had worked relentless to provide for his family and was looked upon as a pillar of the community, respected and loved by all those he met.
Sally glanced across to where Joan was sitting. She was tearful beneath her veil as she looked into Sally's eyes. But there was no sign of David, which disheartened both Sally and Joan alike.
David had got a flight into Heathrow the same evening after speaking to his mother. It was a night flight that saw him in London by noon the next day. He made his way to Richmond and booked into a small hotel near the green. His mind was working on auto pilot, as he tried to think about what he needed to do. His brother's funeral was for the following day and he had to buy an appropriate suit, make contact with his mother, and lastly and most importantly, he had to see, or at least speak to Sally. The mere thought of seeing her again, hearing her voice and being captivated by her smile lifted his heavy heart.
The black suit he brought in a town centre shop certainly wasn't the most expensive, but it looked smart and made him appear more confident and focussed than he could really admit to.
With shaking hands he rang the hotel in Central London where his mother had chosen to stay. She had travelled alone due to her husband's ill health, and desperately wanted to see her last remaining son.
"David, is that you, are you in England?"
She sounded old and her voice weak, trying to speak to her only added to his distress even more.
"Yes, Mum - I'm in Richmond."
"That's good. Did you manage to get something to wear?"
"Yes, I got a suit today. How's my father?"
"He's not good, David. The doctor said he has angina and has to take things easy. To be honest, I think this could finish him."
David hated what his mother had just said. She was known for speaking her mind, but she was right. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children, and his father would have to have a strong constitution to overcome the death of his eldest son.
"I'm coming home to be with you both after this, Mum."
"That's good David. Perhaps we could fly back together. I want to see you before the funeral. I feel so alone."
David knew he should go to her. It was his duty as a son, but he was desperate to see Sally, and put his mother off.
"I'll be there early tomorrow Mum, I'll see you then."
"Yes, alright David, but how will you get to the cemetery?"
"I don't know yet," he replied in need of a drink. "I'll get a taxi I suppose."
It was early evening and David had to get out of his small, claustrophobic hotel room. He walked along the towpath and went into a pub called The White Cross. He had tried to avoid drinking, knowing that it was his enemy, knowing that it destroyed every decent thought and emotion in his head, but he needed the drink to numb his pain. He couldn't live with it, but he couldn't live without it. At first, he just stuck to beer, but soon moved on to whiskey. There was a payphone in the pub, and he thought about calling Sally. What would he say to her? How would she react? He decided to have another drink before calling, then another, and another until he was too incoherent to speak. He felt ashamed for letting himself down a
gain, and trudged miserably back to the hotel. He consoled himself that he would call her in the morning, and would see her later at the funeral. He would be alright by then, the alcohol would have worn off, but he would need more. He switched the light off, and lay back in bed, the demons returned to haunt him. The young boy's face, when David had agreed to let him go ice fishing with him, the soldier under his command who died in Vietnam, the mine that blew his leg off. He was only half a man now. What would Sally want with him, a screwed up, drunken cripple who once had designs on his brother's wife. But now his brother was out of the way, deep down he knew he could never match up to William or step into his shoes. David allowed his demons to torment him, he no longer had the strength to fight them off. Pessimism had won over optimism, loathing over pride, and worthlessness over his feelings for Sally.
The morning was no better for David. Although, he'd sobered up somewhat, the mere thought of actually seeing his mother, Sally and the rest of her family brought him out in a cold sweat. He tried to call Sally that morning, but when she answered the telephone and he heard her voice, he failed miserably to even speak to her.
The taxi took him directly to the cemetery, where he asked the driver to pull over away from the others. He saw them all dressed in black, some crying, some shaking each other's hands and offering condolences. He felt a few drops of rain on his face as he alighted from the taxi and tentatively began to walk towards the large group of mourners beside William's grave.
He saw Sally standing between her daughters. They were sobbing and holding onto each other for support. Lizzie and Jeremy were also there, standing close by, their faces drawn and ashen. He could barely make out the words the priest was saying, but knew them to be poignant, emotional and comforting. It was then that he noticed his mother. Someone had found her a chair, and she sat composed and regal-looking, never letting her demeanor drop. Although her face was veiled, David recognised her immediately, and she him. At first, she lifted her arm, as if to beckon him over. But then she hesitated, and lifted her veil slightly so he could just about make out her tear-filled eyes. She must have seen the look of torment etched into his face, the pain, the anguish, but she didn't motion for him to come closer. For Joan understood her son, and was just relieved to see him there. The knowledge that she wasn't alone gave her the hope, strength and impetus to come through the worst ordeal a mother could ever face.