She felt the hand on her waist.
‘Come on,’ his voice close to her ear, ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, I know you’d rather have a drink, but you drink a little too much I think. It’s not good for you. And there won’t be anymore going out at night, now will there.’ His hand manoeuvred her round to face the open front door, and leading her in he whistled for the dogs before kicking the door shut behind them.
.
Chapter Nine
While Sarah sat waiting for Dr. Short to see her, her mind drifted over the last three months and all that had happened. She finally started to feel better and settle into a routine despite the sickness.
The house was looking good. After dusting down the dining room and decorating the rest of the house, she decided to leave her mother’s room just as it was; keeping the door and curtains closed. She didn’t want anything to disturb her mother now. She had found a new comfort in going into her mother’s room to let her know what was happening. She would tell her all about her day, what she had been doing, just as she always wanted to know. It was strange how now she didn’t need to lie, she could tell her mother anything, she had finally got the mother she always wanted.
And telling Stephanie, what a release that had been. She felt as light as a feather walking out of her office; confession was good for the soul. The magazines had at least got that right. There had been a few police interviews and she was surprised how easy it all was, especially with that nice kind doctor. He was so gentle and had a beautiful smile. His statement to the police corroborated everything she said, and he had the photos to prove it; he helped her give her statement, filling in the gaps when she seemed reluctant to say what happened. It was a pleasant feeling to be believed. Her mother had taught her well.
She thought about asking the doctor round for a meal. That would be nice. He obviously liked her, otherwise he wouldn’t have done so much for her. There was something between them; the magazines called it chemistry. She felt it when he took her hand, encouraging her to speak whenever she faltered. If he had not been there she wasn’t sure if she could have carried on with it. But once the police discovered someone was blackmailing Robert, they hardly needed her, and wouldn’t tell her anything about it. It was all over the papers, but her name was not allowed to be printed. The police advised her not to tell anyone except her own doctor.
The door bell rings and she walks slowly to the door in her new cotton dress. The pale green suits her hair, she knows because the shop lady told her. She reaches the door and opens it. The doctor stands smiling at her, he has a bouquet of red roses in his arms. So big she can hardly see his face. He hands them to her, and she asks him in. He follows her into the lounge and she offers him a drink. He asks for a glass of red wine and she goes to the kitchen to get it for him. When she returns holding two glasses, he is seated on the settee, still smiling. She hands him a glass and he stands to be beside her, then holds his glass out and says, To Sarah, you look beautiful tonight, and the food smells delicious.’ She sips her drink. ‘I hope you like it, it’s stew, one of my favourites.’
Yes, she would phone him later. After she had sorted out this sickness problem. He had been insistent about her having his phone number. He definitely liked her. She would call him when she could eat again.
She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. When it started she thought it must be something she eaten, but when it didn’t go away, she thought maybe it was the paint fumes? A month ago when she had mentioned it to Dr. Short, he suggested it must be stress; her mother’s death, the inquest and the court case. He explained how it was a lot for one person to deal with and was bound to cause a reaction of some sort for her. She felt so tired.
She let her eyes close and an image of last week’s funeral came into her mind. Yes, maybe it was all stress, she thought.
She was so disappointed and not a little surprised, the funeral was nothing like her vision.
She cried.
Tears sprung to her eyes and flowed down her face as four strangers carried her mother in. Wiping the snot from her nose with the back of her hand, she could smell the new wood of the casket, the cheapest the funeral directors had. She’d wanted a cardboard coffin, but this particular firm didn’t stock them and she really couldn’t be bothered to phone around. It had all taken so much longer than she expected, she just wanted it done as quickly as possible. She imagined her mother’s body laying in it as they slow marched past her to place the casket on the trolley before the incinerator.
She wondered what clothes they had chosen for her. The funeral director had been kind and gentle with her when he came round, asking her to choose some clothes, suggesting the night dress may not be appropriate attire to rest in. Sarah thought it was entirely appropriate, but refrained from saying anything. Assuming she was too devastated to cope, in the end the funeral director went into her mother’s bedroom and chose the clothes she would burn in.
Dr. Short stood beside her, patting her arm as the tears flowed. He didn’t actually say ‘there, there,’ but she could hear it in her head as his eyes looked at her shoes refusing to look up at her face.
There were no hymns and only a short eulogy. The priest said a few words, mostly repeated from what she had told him and while he spoke she counted the bricks, working out how high the building was. The doctor must have spoken to him as well, because the priest added in some family stuff she had definitely not mentioned, especially about her grandmother. It was at the mention of her grandmother, she stopped counting and cried again.
Grandma had been kind to Sarah, when she was allowed to see her. Her mother prevented most contact between them but had not been able to stop her grandma giving Sarah Christmas presents and birthday presents while she was alive. The only ones she got. Her mother even managed to turn that to her advantage by trying to claim they were from her. Sarah knew though. She always knew. And when her grandma died, so did the presents.
She listened to the whirring sound as the casket was wheeled electronically through the curtains. She was gone. She really was gone. Dr. Short touched her arm gently, finally murmuring words she did not want to listen to, his eyes still refusing to meet hers. Why didn’t she feel a sense of euphoria? She was gone! Gone for good, never coming back!
She looked around at the empty room, the uninviting empty seats she had imagined would be full of people who knew her mother. Only the two of them present. No one else came. No one to see Sarah in her lonely sadness, to admire the way she stood erect, to sympathise as the tears flowed. The tears hadn’t been in her daydream, but other people had. The hat she had wanted to wear had also been elusive, so she stood bare headed. She stamped her feet. This was not how it was supposed to be!
‘It’ll soon be over, and then you can warm up again,’ the Doctor whispered.
No relative arrived. Dr. Short had advised her to put a notice in the newspapers to alert anyone who would like to come. Sarah had complied, putting notices in all the local and nationals although she wasn’t sure if she actually had any relatives. She read various different newspapers, reading the obituaries. Finally deciding to list her mother’s name, the address she had lived at all her life, and the date she died.
She prayed her father would turn up. Surely now she was dead he would come back. Where was everyone? It was a cold room and she shivered as she looked up at the huge coloured glass window, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Waist high vases containing white carnations and lilies stood in each corner of the room; their scent faintly noticeable against the clean sterile smell. She wondered how old the building was, deciding from the décor and style it could only be about twenty years old. Her eyes moved back to the space where the casket had lain, the curtain back in place as if nothing had taken place.
Gone. Nothing but a few ashes remaining. She searched for feelings and emotions but found none. Nothing but emptiness and the sound of her own heart.
The doctor drove her home. He stopped outside her house, turning the c
ar engine off, but not looking at her. Instead he looked down at his hand on the brake handle. He asked if she would be alright on her own. She stared at him before quietly speaking.
‘You guessed what she did to me. Didn’t you? You ask if I’ll be alright alone. What do you think?’ She paused, then continued when he did not answer. Sarah opened the car door and as she got out she heard him say.
‘Come and see me tomorrow, will you? After surgery, so no one else needs to know. We can talk about this, and are you still being sick?’
‘It comes and goes, but mostly in the mornings.’
‘Come in about six, when everyone else has gone, tomorrow? Can you do that?’
Sarah nodded her head, before getting out of the car.
Walking up the drive she didn’t feel anybody’s eyes on her, no neighbours looked through their windows to watch her. No one cared her mother was dead. Except her. Except her, she thought to herself. She cared. She cared how it was going to affect her life; how it was now going to change; how everything was going to change.
She cared enough. The next day she returned to the crematorium to collect her mother’s ashes. She took them home; she took them upstairs to her mother’s bedroom and there, carefully she sprinkled them on the bed, under the sheet as much in the shape of her mother’s body as she could manage, leaving just enough to put some on the pillow. When she had finished she went downstairs to the dining room and took one of the mahogany chairs. It was heavy, but she carried it up the stairs. Now her mother was home again, Sarah could go and speak to her every evening, relating to her mother the day’s events, what she had been up to, what she would do the following day. She could spend the evening in perfect conversation with her mother. Her mother listened, Sarah talked.
‘Sarah, I’m ready for you now.’ Dr. Short called.
She followed him in to his room, she hadn’t been in there for a long time avoiding it as much as possible once she worked there. Too many memories of the visits as a child. It had hardly changed. The same posters on the wall, his old desk, covered in notes and papers. The only real difference was the computer on the side.
‘So how are you feeling? Do sit down Sarah. Here.’ He pulled the chair out for her, and went to sit behind his desk. ‘Have you lost weight recently?’
‘I’m still being sick and find it hard to eat, so I assume I’ve lost weight. And I feel tired all the time. I thought it might be a bug.’
Dr. Short came round the desk to stand beside her, and took her blood pressure. When he had finished, he went back to his seat and asked a few more questions. Finally he cleared his throat and coughed.
‘Um, Sarah, you told me a little about the events concerning Robert. But I’d like to know, have you got a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Um, well, I just need to ask you, just to make sure.’ He cleared his throat again, and looked at the notes on his desk. ‘And it is correct, you did have sex with this man?’
Sarah looked at him, her face flushed scarlet. What had it got to do with him? It wasn’t his business. When she didn’t answer, he continued,
‘Sarah I have to ask you this,’ he paused. ‘I think you may be pregnant, Sarah. We need to do some tests, but I think you’re going to have a baby.’ He looked up at her.
Sarah stared at the floor for a moment. And then, looking up at him, she smiled.
Slamming her foot on the brake the car came to an abrupt halt. She could hardly recall driving home. Thoughts tumbled around her head in complete chaos. She had been aware of a few car horns, but took no notice of them. She was going to have a baby. A little girl. Of course it would be a girl. It could not be anything else. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother. She had so much to do.
She got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked quickly up the drive remembering all the daydreams, and suddenly they appeared to have come true. The house looked clean and fresh, the front door remained shut. She slowed down, enjoying the sensation of freedom. A curtain twitched in the front room. She froze. Then she smiled, noticing the window ajar; just a gentle breeze blowing through the house. She continued to the front door and enjoyed being able to put the key in the lock. Slowly opening the door she recognised the taste in her mouth. A voice whispered. She didn’t shake her head to rid herself of it, but listened. Listened to both the voice and the silence of the house. She let the voice come, as she walked to the kitchen. She would tell her mother the news later. After she had phoned that nice doctor and asked him to come to dinner. The baby was going to need a father.
THE END.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Part One Losing Control
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Part Two Taking Control
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Just Like a Woman Page 22