The Heights

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The Heights Page 21

by Juliet Bell


  Edward froze. He should be shocked, but he knew Heathcliff. He saw him more clearly than Isabelle, or even Cathy. He knew what would happen next. ‘He’ll come after you.’

  Isabelle looked up at him. He could see the fear in her eyes. ‘But I’ll be safe here. You’ll protect me, won’t you?’

  Edward closed his eyes. She was his sister, but if he sheltered her here, Heathcliff would come, and if Cathy saw Heathcliff… Edward swallowed down his jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. The doctor said Cathy shouldn’t be stressed. That was all he was concerned about. He looked across the room at his pale, weeping sister. He couldn’t protect them all. Isabelle had rejected his protection when she ran away to get married. She’d looked at Edward and at Heathcliff and she’d made a choice. Now Edward made his.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad’

  ‘What?’

  ‘All marriages have teething troubles, and you’re not used to living with Mick and his son yet. You need to give it time.’

  Isabelle was staring at him in disbelief. ‘Please.’

  ‘And I don’t want him marching over here and the two of you upsetting Cathy again.’

  There were tears still flowing down his sister’s cheeks. ‘I won’t go back. I’ll find somewhere else to stay. Just give me some money. I can’t go back.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘He’ll still come looking for you here.’

  ‘But he beats me.’

  The cry nearly broke Edward’s heart. He hated himself for what he was doing. Isabelle was his sister, but Cathy was his wife. And there was the baby to think about.

  ‘Give it another try.’ He hardened his voice. ‘You’re not a little girl, Isabelle. You can’t always run away.’

  ‘He’s not going to change.’

  Edward knew she was right, but he needed Heathcliff to stay away. ‘Give it a few more weeks.’

  Isabelle was staring at him, her eyes wide with shock. She opened her mouth to speak, when a sudden sharp cry from upstairs froze both of them.

  A terrible cold fear grabbed Edward. ‘Cathy!’ He spun and sprinted for the stairs. ‘Just go home, Isabelle,’ he said. ‘Go home before he finds out you’ve left.’

  Isabelle wanted to stay. She wanted to warm herself some more by the fire. But instead she walked back into the hallway and retrieved her coat. She glanced up the stairs. She could hear Edward’s voice. She remembered when her big brother could always outsmart her. Now he was so transparent. So long as he was keeping Heathcliff away from his precious Cathy, Edward didn’t give a fuck about his sister.

  Cathy. It was always Cathy. Isabelle could hardly believe she had once thought Cathy was cool and interesting. She was a selfish cow and Isabelle hated her with her whole heart and soul. Heathcliff would be waiting for her at home. He didn’t come to her room any more at night. He’d left her alone in that way since they’d returned. But he was pretty good with his fists if he caught her looking at him the wrong way.

  Upstairs, she heard Edward scream something about getting an ambulance. She moved to the phone and then stopped herself. She’d come to him asking for help and he’d refused her. Let him taste his own medicine.

  She let herself out of the front door.

  It was hard work fighting her way back to the estate in the storm. The wind had picked up and the snow stung her face with every step. She was staggering by the time she reached the bottom of the Heights. She turned and looked back towards the Grange. The snow almost blinded her, but she could see the reflection of the blue flashing lights somewhere down the hill.

  Heathcliff was not at the house when she got in. Mick was asleep on the sofa, a cluster of empty beer cans on the floor around him. She was picking them up when a sound made her turn. Harry watched her with hooded eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’ she hissed.

  She took the empty cans through to the kitchen. If Harry was here, Heathcliff wouldn’t be far away.

  She waited until they were all seated around the big table, about to start their supper.

  ‘I saw an ambulance pull into the Grange earlier,’ she said.

  ‘What were you doing down there?’ Heathcliff’s voice was quiet but menacing. He didn’t shout at her very often. He didn’t need to.

  ‘I wasn’t there. I was at the shops. I heard them say your sister…’ She carefully looked at Mick as she spoke. ‘…Isn’t handling the pregnancy very well. They say she might die.’

  She didn’t really expect Mick to react. She doubted he was sober enough to really understand the implications of what she was saying. But Heathcliff’s reaction was everything she could have wished for.

  ‘What do you mean?’ His hand suddenly shot out and gripped her wrist so hard she thought he might break it. ‘What do you mean, die?’

  ‘Well, they sent an ambulance, but in this weather, well, who knows if they’ll get her to hospital?’ She tried not to sound gleeful but it really didn’t matter. Heathcliff wasn’t listening any more.

  He flung back his chair and left the room. He barely paused long enough to grab a coat before Isabelle heard the door open and slam shut.

  She smiled.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  December, 1990

  The noise of the machines was annoying. All the tubes were really uncomfortable and there was no privacy here. None at all. People just walked in and out of her room without even saying excuse me.

  ‘I hate it here. I want to go home.’ Cathy sniffled. For once there was no one here to listen. Edward had been by her bedside ever since they’d arrived at the hospital, but even he was gone now. He was on his way back to the Grange to get some things she’d said she wanted. She hadn’t really wanted anything other than to be left alone in her misery. But now she was alone, she didn’t like it at all.

  The ambulance people had acted like she was really sick when they brought her here. They’d even talked about rushing her straight to Leeds, but given the weather they’d decided the nearest hospital was the safer option. Cathy wriggled uncomfortably in the bed, trying not to disturb the tubes and wires they’d hooked her up to. She was scared. The doctor had said she might need surgery, and they might not be able to do that here. She really needed to be in a bigger hospital, but outside the window snow continued to fall. For the time being she was stuck here with doctors who avoided her eyes when they told her they were doing what was best.

  And doing their best seemed to involve a stupid machine that made a really irritating humming noise, and lots of uncomfortable tubes. Her head was pounding again. Worse than it had ever been before. She closed her eyes, and took deep breaths, trying to ease the pain. It wouldn’t stop.

  She’d had enough. She managed to slide part of the way out of bed, and started flicking switches on the machine, trying to turn it off. That only made matters worse as the beeping got louder and more frequent. Tears of frustration started to fall. She slammed her hand against the metal shell of the machine.

  ‘Now, Mrs Linton. Stop that.’ A nurse rushed in and placed two hands firmly on Cathy’s shoulders.

  ‘Make it stop. Make it stop,’ Cathy wailed. ‘I want to go home!’

  ‘We all want to be home. It’s nearly Christmas,’ the nurse said as she pushed Cathy back into the bed. ‘But you’re too sick. And you’re only going to make yourself worse if you carry on like this.’

  Cathy lay sobbing as the nurse straightened the bedclothes and reset the machine. She winced as the nurse roughly checked the drip in her arm, and then turned the dial that controlled the flow of medication.

  ‘Now just lie there and rest. You’ll feel better if you lie still. I don’t want to have to come back in here again like this. I don’t have time for your tantrums.’

  ‘Then get out and I’ll look after her.’

  She would know that voice anywhere. ‘Heathcliff!’

  He appeared by the bed, pushing past the angry nurse. ‘Cathy.’ Her name on his lips was almost like a benediction.

  C
athy felt as if her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

  ‘Heathcliff. You came back.’

  ‘I will always come for you.’

  She reached out her hands and grabbed his. ‘I thought you’d left me for good.’

  ‘Never. I will never leave you again.’

  ‘Sir. Sir. I need you to step outside,’ yhe nurse said forcefully.

  ‘No!’ Cathy almost screamed. ‘No. Let him stay. He has to stay.’ She gripped his hand so hard she felt as if her fingers would pass through his flesh and she would become part of him.

  ‘Sir,’ the nurse said. ‘She is heavily medicated. She needs to rest.’

  ‘She will rest better if I am with her.’

  ‘I will. I will. I’ll lie here and be still. I promise,’ Cathy begged desperately. ‘Please, Heathcliff. Don’t leave me.’

  ‘Never.’

  Cathy felt suddenly tired. ‘Not now…’ she said. ‘I need to stay awake. Heathcliff.’

  ‘Cathy…’ His voice faded as the drugs took effect.

  When she woke, the first thing she saw was his face and the dark eyes looking at her with more love than she had ever known in her life. She reached out a hand, hampered by the drips and tubes, but hesitated with the fingertips just an inch from his skin.

  ‘I’m afraid if I touch you, you’ll disappear,’ she whispered.

  ‘Never.’ His voice cracked with emotion as he leaned forward to place his cheek into the palm of her hand.

  ‘I can hardly feel you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m here, Cathy.’ He covered her hand with his own. It was warm.

  ‘Yes. I can feel you. Heathcliff, your cheek is wet. Are you crying? You never cry. All those times Mick hit you, or when the kids at school bullied you. Or even that time you fell out of the apple tree in the old orchard by the Grange. You bled so much I was afraid you were going to die. But you never cried. Don’t cry now, Heathcliff. Please.’

  He didn’t say anything. He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  ‘What are you doing here? Get away from my wife.’

  Heathcliff didn’t react to the angry shout from the doorway. He kept Cathy’s hand tight in his, pressed to his cheek. Cathy willed Edward to walk away and leave them together for ever.

  Edward appeared at Heathcliff’s side. His face was scarlet with rage. ‘You heard me – get away from my wife.’ He grabbed Heathcliff by the shoulder.

  Heathcliff rose to his feet and turned to Edward. Cathy could sense his anger. It was like a flame burning her where she lay.

  ‘You did this to her.’ Heathcliff’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘I said get away from my wife,’ Edward repeated. Cathy wondered if he was frightened of Heathcliff. He didn’t sound frightened. He should be. When Heathcliff was angry he was dangerous. She was the only one he would never hurt.

  ‘Stop it.’ She tried to raise herself up on one elbow. ‘Go away. I don’t want you here.’

  ‘You heard her,’ Edward said triumphantly. ‘She doesn’t want you. Go away.’

  She wanted to tell him he was wrong. Edward was the one she wanted to go away. Not Heathcliff. Never Heathcliff. She would be fine if he stayed. But the room was starting to spin. Then she felt a great wrenching pain and she screamed.

  It sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. Edward froze for a heartbeat, then shouted for help.

  A nurse appeared. With surprising strength she pushed past both him and Heathcliff. She took one look at Cathy and reached above her head to hit the emergency button.

  ‘Get out,’ she ordered.

  Before either could protest, another nurse pushed past them. Then the doctor. Edward stepped back. A nurse pushed both Heathcliff and Edward back into the hallway and pulled the curtain across to block the view to Cathy’s bed. All Edward could see below the curtains were the feet of the doctors and nurses as they moved around the bed.

  Edward gripped the doorway, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He wasn’t even certain his legs would hold him up. From behind the curtain, he could hear urgent voices. He didn’t understand what was being said, but he did understand the tone of the voices. A nurse darted out from behind the curtain. In that split second, Edward saw that someone was holding some sort of mask over Cathy’s face. A moment later he was pushed aside as the nurse returned, wheeling a trolley of equipment that was terrifying in its complexity.

  Something was going very wrong. Cathy hadn’t made a sound, not since that first gut-wrenching scream.

  Then he clearly heard, ‘The child.’

  Why weren’t they taking her to an operating theatre? Surely that’s what they should be doing if something was going wrong with the birth.

  He heard a baby’s cry. His heart almost stopped beating. A baby. His and Cathy’s baby.

  Behind the curtain, everything fell quiet for a second, and then the voices started again. Orders and instructions Edward didn’t understand. A tiny crib was wheeled past. Edward stepped forward. ‘Is the baby okay?’

  The nurse paused. ‘Someone’ll be out to talk to you soon.’

  Eventually, the curtains parted. Edward struggled to see past the emerging doctor, but instead the man took his arms and forced him to step back.

  ‘Cathy? The baby?’ Edward said, straining to get past him.

  ‘Mr Linton…’ The doctor spoke slowly and clearly, as if trying to explain something to a small child. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Linton, but your wife… We’re not certain but it seems there was a brain aneurism. No one could have known.’

  Edward managed to drag his attention back to the doctor. What was he saying? ‘But Cathy’s going to be all right? I was just talking to her…’

  ‘An aneurism is a weakness in a blood vessel. We think there was bleeding into the brain. I’m sorry Mr Linton. Your wife has passed away.’

  Dead? Cathy was dead?

  ‘No. That can’t…’

  Edward was struggling to understand, when behind him, a slow keening began, like a wild creature calling for its lost mate. He was roughly pushed aside as Heathcliff darted across the room and pulled back the curtain. The doctor moved to stop him, too slowly, too late.

  Edward recoiled from the sight of the bloody bed. There was a figure lying in the midst of all that blood. A figure who looked shrunken and still. It couldn’t be Cathy. Cathy didn’t look like that. Cathy was too full of life to just lie there. So still…

  A sound came from Heathcliff – something almost like a growl dragged out of the very depths of his soul. He roughly pushed the nurses aside to cradle the lifeless figure in his arms. Edward wanted to scream at him to get away. To leave her alone. But he couldn’t. Because she didn’t belong to him. This picture would be for ever in his mind. That man, that animal, cradling Edward’s wife, possessing her like Edward never could. She belonged to Heathcliff. She always had.

  Heathcliff pulled a pocket knife from his jacket. Somewhere behind him, a nurse screamed and someone yelled for security. Or the police. It hardly mattered now. Paralysed with shock, Edward saw Heathcliff cut a lock of Cathy’s hair. Then he turned. His clothes were stained with Cathy’s blood. His face too. But his eyes were dark, burning pools. Edward wondered how a human being could be in so much pain and still live. Oblivious of all around him, Heathcliff walked out of the room and his footsteps faded down the clinic corridor.

  ‘Mister Linton?’ The nurse dragged his attention from the bloody bed where his dead wife lay. She was holding something in her arms. ‘Mister Linton. This is your daughter.’

  Edward held out his arms and the nurse placed a small bundle wrapped in a blanket into his arms. He looked down. The baby had blue eyes, like her mother.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  January, 1991

  ‘It was a lovely funeral, Edward. Just lovely.’

  Edward tried to focus on the face in front of him. He was only dimly aware of the person’s name. He mumbled what he hoped were the appropriate words, and wishe
d they would go away. They did. No one seemed to want to stay for long. Twenty-one years old and burying his wife – he supposed people didn’t know what to say.

  The storm that had raged the night Cathy died had passed. It had taken several days for the snow to melt and the roads to fully clear. But eventually they did, and Edward was able to take his daughter home. Christmas came and went without Edward noticing or caring. Then January came and he could, at last, lay his wife to rest.

  He vaguely remembered meeting people and signing paperwork to do with Cathy’s death and the funeral. And now it was nearly all over.

  He looked down at the small child cradled in his arms. He’d seen the look on some people’s faces. They didn’t think it was right to bring a child to her mother’s funeral. He could have left her at home in the care of a nanny, but he couldn’t bear to be away from her. Not for a minute and certainly not for the hours this service and internment seemed to have taken. And besides, it was the last time the child and her mother would be together.

  He looked at the newly turned earth where Cathy now lay. Soon she’d be covered with a white marble slab. Cathy now lay beside his parents. He frowned as he remembered that his mother had never really liked Cathy. But he was sure she would have got over that. After all, Cathy had given him a daughter. Given them a grandchild.

  He raised the bundle and kissed the sleeping baby’s forehead.

  He was alone in the churchyard now. The congregation had mostly been mere acquaintances, and none had stayed around long in this freezing weather. Heathcliff hadn’t come, and nor had Mick.

  He and the baby were the only family there to bid Cathy farewell.

  Then he saw someone approaching from the far corner of the churchyard. It took him a few moments to recognise his sister. She was even thinner than when he had last seen her. Her hair was unkempt and her clothes looked like they had come from a charity shop. It wasn’t right. Isabelle had always been so conscious of her looks.

 

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