Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  By the side of his bed was a photograph of Ethan. He was grinning and his front teeth were missing. For his sake, she had to visit her mother.

  Chapter 21

  Heat radiated from Brittany, rising from the gap in her blouse at her neckline, as she sat on a plastic bench in a bus shelter and waited for the bus. She felt unreasonably hot given it was a cool day; her skin was saturated and droplets of moisture dripped from her forehead, irritating her eyes. She wiped free the residue.

  Despite Jason’s agony, the last couple of hours had been wonderful, and a smile slipped to her face. She relived the intimacy of his tears and the trembling of his body, and she recalled the happiness creeping into his eyes as his hope was ignited. He was a wonderful man and an excellent father, and she prayed that his young son would survive.

  Prior to Ethan’s sudden decline, he had been a cheeky child, and oozed confidence and verve, but the last time she saw him his chirpiness seemed forced and his words were dulled. Back in the days when she had been ill, it had been the same, and she recalled her animation slipping away, something that had worried her parents. Even the things that had always generated her greatest enthusiasm, such as trips to book fairs or perusing her collection of Barbie dolls, failed to achieve little more than a smile. She did not care about the future, or if she lived or died, she only wanted the pain to go away.

  It was different looking in from the other side, and she felt as though she was developing an understanding. Jason was desperate to see an improvement in Ethan, so much so, he had admitted to being on the verge of loosing his temper, irritated by his persistently flat response. Her mother had acted the same. ‘You’re not trying,’ Michelle had said. Brittany had turned away, curling into the foetal position, and buried her head in the covers.

  Maybe she hadn’t tried, but her enthusiasm had been draining away and she had had little energy to stop it. She had wanted only to sleep, to take herself to a place of absolute tranquillity and to remove herself from nagging voices. Would the outcome have been different if she had feigned an interest in life? Maybe her mother wouldn’t have been so stressed.

  The bus arrived. With a concerted effort, Brittany forced stillness into her swirling eyes and stepped inside. Her legs were shaking and her heart pounding. It seemed to be deafeningly loud, and as she blanked out the chattering of voices and rumbling of traffic, she moved cautiously, holding onto handrails and backs of seats, and dropped into the nearest vacant spot. Concentrating her eyes forward, she focused on her journey.

  Her temperature increased and her breathing constricted. She opened her jacket and lifted the gap in her blouse, seeking air, and wondered why she was so hot. No one else seemed to be. A woman in the seats in front wore a padded jacket, and a man wore a patterned jumper.

  After what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time, and after a grating number of stops and starts that churned her insides, she arrived at her stop. The cool, fresher scented air was blissful. She removed her jacket, wafted her blouse, and pondered her options. Her flat was to the left and her mother’s house to the right. Driven by Jason’s obvious anxiety, she proceeded right. She needed answers.

  She made unhurried steps forward, lessening the sense that the ground moved, and considered their meeting. It was time she showed a little forgiveness, as it seemed as though Jason was in a similar position to the one her mother had been in, and he wasn’t motivated by a selfish need. He had given money to Dr O’Riordan out of love for Ethan. It must have been the same for Michelle. Otherwise, why would she have kept the photos, the memorabilia? Why would she be living locally? She must care, even just a little.

  Brittany gulped as her own wretched behaviour swelled in her stomach. She had been far too harsh and out of control, and she had been disrespectful to the woman who had raised her. How would Jason feel if Ethan turned against him at some point in the future? The pain, she surmised, would be intolerable.

  The ground was shifting and the houses at her side blurring. Determined to reach her destination, which was now within her view, she urged herself forward. A few more steps and she would be there. It was just a small incline, not far. She extended her arm to the house wall craving stability, and counted her steps, focusing her mind.

  Her lungs felt as though they were bursting and her head seemed to swell in agony. She raised her hand. She lost balance. She slumped to the ground.

  Chapter 22

  There was the faint call of her name. It was her mother’s voice and she was a little girl, laid in bed, drenched in sweat, and with a bucket by her side. ‘Just in case,’ her mother had said. She had wanted it gone, despised the smell of the plastic and the stench of her insides spilling into it, and had shifted it from view.

  ‘Brittany.’

  There was a tremor in Michelle’s voice, urging her to awake. But it was not her wish. She wanted to sleep, drift into nothingness and to a place where she was free from worries, and free to play with the other children without fear of catching a bug.

  ‘Brittany. Can you hear me?’

  Her mother’s cool fingers stroked her cheek. They seemed a bit rougher than usual but the aroma was the same, familiar, secure, and dependable. It drew her from her void, her serenity, and she opened her eyes.

  Her mother’s aging figure peered down on her. ‘Brittany. Thank God. Are you all right?’

  Beyond her head were fluffy white and grey clouds shrouding the pale blues. She tried to focus, tried to gain clarity, and was drawn to her mother’s anxious gaze.

  ‘Can you get up?’ Michelle asked.

  Brittany raised herself to a sitting position. Her neck was agonisingly tight, her head and stomach were swimming, and there was a metallic taste in her mouth.

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  She managed to stand and was guided to Michelle’s house. Once inside, her mother kicked the door shut with the edge of her shoe. It bounced away from the frame. ‘Bloody thing.’ She edged free and returned to the door. ‘It does that. I must get it fixed.’

  Having shuffled into the living room, Brittany slumped onto an armchair and rested her head against the back cushion. She was shivering with cold and her body was sticky with the damp. She pulled her coat tighter across her front.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go get checked out?’ Michelle asked.

  ‘No. A tea would be good though.’

  ‘Want anything to eat? I can do sandwiches.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘I’m glad I was at the window. I wouldn’t have seen you otherwise. What have you being doing for that to happen?’

  ‘I haven’t been doing anything!’

  Michelle’s disbelief hung in the air as their eyes locked, causing her earlier decision to be more understanding to slide from Brittany’s grasp. It was just like it always had been, with the blame for her illness and resulting inconveniences, thrust into her. She folded her arms and stared at a bit of grit on the carpet.

  ‘I am only asking because I care,’ Michelle said. ‘More than you’ll ever know. I could have just as easily sent you home.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better.’

  ‘Please don’t be angry. I may not always say or do the right things, but I am trying.’

  Holding her gaze, Brittany questioned the authenticity of her mother’s caring tones. She seemed genuine, but it was too little too late and one good act could not repair the years of damage. On top of that, the fussing was unnecessary. She had only fainted. It was just like her teenage years all over again, when everyone seemed to be waiting and hoping for something terrible to happen.

  Brittany shuffled to leave. ‘I should go.’

  ‘But you’ve only just arrived. The tea’s almost ready.’

  Encouraged by Michelle’s begging eyes, and relenting to her inner yearnings, Brittany slipped back into her seat.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ Michelle said, scurrying away.

  Her
mother was trying hard to appease, and Brittany had come with the intention of making amends, but it was harder than she had imagined and could not forgive so readily. The barrier, the one she had created years previous, remained impenetrable. Trying to settle herself, she took a breath and watched the rise and fall of her chest.

  Within a minute, Michelle had returned. ‘Remember when you were a little girl and I would pour a bit of my tea into one of your small plastic cups? You felt ever so grown up. You’d pretend to entertain people, and serve up the drinks with your toy tea set.’

  Brittany held an impassive pose.

  ‘You’d put on a posh voice then stick out your little finger as you drank it. Your father said you’d turn into a right little madam. He meant it in a nice way of course.’

  ‘He never forgave you for what you did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard him moaning during the night. He hated you for killing Scott Cole. One night, he kept saying “no”, over and over again, so I crept along the landing to his bedroom and peeked through the doorway. He was sat up on the bag and hugging his pillow. He was crying.’

  Stiffening, Michelle clenched her hands.

  ‘He had nightmares about it. He cut up all your clothes, shattered your CD’s, and ripped your books. He couldn’t cope with having any memories of you around – nothing at all. He despised the sight of you.’

  ‘I never knew.’

  ‘You really don’t have a clue how much you hurt him, do you?’

  ‘I never meant to.’

  ‘And he had a breakdown.’

  Michelle averted her eyes.

  ‘I came home from school one day and he was huddled on the bedroom floor, crying. He wouldn’t speak to me, not a word, and clutched a photo of the two of you with Scott and Lisa.’

  ‘W-what happened?’

  ‘He spent a few days in hospital and took a few weeks off from his job at the hospital. Soon after, he resigned. He said he couldn’t face everyone – the memories and shame were unbearable.’

  Michelle leaned forward, her hands tight under her thighs. There was a look of terror in her eyes, and even though it was nothing in comparison to how she and her father had suffered, it was enough to release some of her tension.

  ‘He was a good man and you ruined his life. He had to work as a street cleaner for a while, just to put food on the table. Then there was the job at the cigarette factory, and you know how much he detested smoking.’

  Brittany leaned back into the chair, soaking up the satisfaction of her mother’s pain.

  ‘He used to smoke,’ Michelle said weakly.

  ‘Not since his father’s death. He was devastated – vowed never to touch another cigarette after the cancer diagnosis. You must have known.’

  ‘We all have to do things we don’t like.’

  ‘Stop making excuses. You broke his heart and ruined his life, and you know it. Don’t try to dress it up as something else.’

  Michelle’s grip tightened around her mug. ‘He could have stayed with his job at the hospital.’

  ‘Really? You think? Everyday he had to deal with the sniggering and whispering. “He’s the husband of a murderer”, they’d say. They never left him alone.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘He didn’t need to.’

  Brittany gulped her tea and pondered her relationship with her father. Since her transplant they had grown especially close, and spent hours chatting or joking, playing games on the games console, or watching the same television programme, but rarely had he spoken of the reason for his failed marriage and much of it remained a mystery. She longed for answers.

  ‘Did you love him?’ Brittany asked.

  ‘Of course I did. I never wanted a divorce. I’d hoped he’d wait for me.’

  ‘I heard him tell someone that he never wanted to see you again. He said he couldn’t live with what you’d done.’

  Michelle’s staid expression collapsed and she brushed her hand across her face.

  ‘You ruined his life.

  ‘So you keep saying, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m sorry for everything I did, but I had to do it, and it was worth every ounce of pain.’

  ‘How can you be so callous?’

  ‘I’m being truthful. I never wanted to hurt either of you. I loved you both more than you’ll ever know. I still do. I’d do it all again in a flash.’

  ‘And why would you?’

  Silence.

  Brittany exhaled loudly and deliberately. It was futile. Michelle would never relent to her probing and give her the answers she really needed. She only hoped Luke could do a better job. ‘I will find out. I’ve hired someone.’

  ‘You’re wasting your money.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He’s already found out the renal department is corrupt, and I believe you know what’s going on. In fact, that’s why I came.’ She hesitated and forced the hostility from her voice. ‘I’m worried about Ethan. He’s not doing too well.’

  Michelle leapt to her feet and headed to the window. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘They have to find him a kidney and double fast. Or else . . .’

  ‘He’s going to die?’

  Brittany nodded. ‘I heard them talking. But that’s not what I’m worried about. Jason’s just told me he’s done something really stupid. I’ve found out he’s paid Dr O’Riordan.’

  Michelle had her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Did you give Dr O’Riordan money too?’

  Silence.

  ‘Has Jason just made everything worse?’ Brittany persisted.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘He was acting weird. He made me promise I’d keep an eye on Ethan if I wasn’t around. What’s going on?’

  Michelle stared, voiceless.

  ‘This is serious. A little boy could die.’

  ‘Ethan won’t die.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Michelle tightened her lips.

  ‘So you’re not going to help?’

  Silence.

  ‘Fine. At least I tried.’ Brittany stood up, reached for her bag, and headed to the exit. ‘I didn’t think you could be this callous.’

  Michelle’s unease thickened the air.

  ‘If he dies, it’ll be on your conscience.’

  Chapter 23

  Languid, Michelle leaned into the sofa, stared at the cream wall above the electric fireplace and mulled over her meeting with Brittany. Her daughter’s eyes had a yellow hint and her skin had been fatigued, lacking suppleness and sheen. She hadn’t looked at all well, and whilst her determination to continue with daily life was admirable, it was worrisome. She should have been taking more care.

  After Brittany’s abrupt department, Michelle had decided to follow her home. Careful not to be spotted, she hid behind parked cars and trees and tiptoed along the street, and watched Brittany trudge home, putting one painful step in front of the other. Twice, her daughter had paused for breath, and twice Michelle’s anxiety had deepened. She had wanted to hurry to her side and be there for her every whim and every necessity; she had wanted to lecture her on her neglectful behaviour.

  It would have been pointless, and as she shuffled a little lower down the cushions, she could almost hear her daughter’s outcry. She had always been a stubborn child, always thinking she knew what was best, and would not listen to her begging and pleading to take it easy. If Brittany were physically fitter, she may not be in such a poor state, but she had not listened to suggestions to exercise at ten years of age, and certainly would not now. It had never been part of her daughter’s agenda.

  Stretching out her legs, Michelle searched for a glimmer of hope. Could it be that she was making too much of Brittany’s condition? It was a wonderful thought but impossible to draw a positive conclusion. During their meeting in prison, Brittany had said her kidney was failing. It was as clear in her mind now as it had been then. In addition, Jerry O’Riordan had said the same. It had to be t
rue; Brittany was hiding her condition, determined to show her independence, and making a stance.

  A document resting on the armchair caught her eye. It was her completed will, and her anxieties flickered. She may be making plans for when her time came, but Brittany shouldn’t be, she shouldn’t be anywhere near. Pressing her palm upon her stomach, Michelle felt the rise and fall of her ribcage and, as she considered her plan, vowed to do everything in her power to prevent her daughter’s death. Realising she needed Dr O’Riordan’s help, she reached for her phone and dialled his number.

  He was doing his rounds.

  Michelle shuffled to the kitchen and placed the recently washed cutlery and crockery into drawers and cupboards, and all the time Brittany’s sickness lingered. She was still young, in her mid twenties, and should be having the time of her life; instead, her condition perpetually enervated.

  Michelle’s face scrunched and her abdomen tightened. She slumped onto a chair by the table, plucked the calendar from the wall, and stared at the months and dates and the perpetual blankness. Her lack of planned activities was not a concern, so long as Brittany was healthy.

  The trilling sound caused her to jolt. She picked up her receiver.

  ‘What do you want?’ O’Riordan asked.

  ‘How long has she got?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Brittany. How long?’

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  O’Riordan hesitated. ‘What you really want to know is, is there anything I can do to help when it happens.’

  Michelle gulped. Was she that transparent? ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Put it this way, I wouldn’t go booking any summer holidays.’

  ‘July? Or August?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Could it be sooner than that?’

  ‘It could be next week.’

  ‘Next week!’

  ‘I said it could be. Are we back on the same page?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Michelle asked.