by Daniel Hurst
I rush over to the fireplace and turn it off, before looking around and checking to see if anything else is not as it should be. But everything else looks normal. Nothing looks to be missing, and none of the windows seem to have been breached.
This is very strange.
‘Hello?’ I call out into the silent cottage.
I know I’m giving away any element of surprise I might have had by doing so, but I don’t care. If anyone is here, then I’d rather they know that I’m here too. Maybe that way they will just run away.
Maybe that way I won’t have to go upstairs and see if there is anybody lurking behind one of the doors.
But I get no response. If somebody is still inside, then they are keeping quiet. I look back at the fireplace, confused as to why it was on. Has somebody been using this place when I’ve not been here? Somebody other than me and my brother? The cheek of it. After all, I’m the one who has to pay the bills.
I snoop around in the kitchen but don’t see anything out of place there, and by the time I make it back to the open front door, I’m confident nothing has been taken. But I’m still not confident about going upstairs.
‘If there is anybody up there then leave now because I’m calling the police in two minutes!’ I call out in the direction of the staircase.
Again, there is no response. If somebody is still inside, then they are being stubborn.
But nobody is as stubborn as I am.
With that in mind, I head for the stairs and climb them quickly. I’m probably being extremely stupid to take this risk without any idea who might be up here, but after recent events, I’m so pissed off with the world that nobody is going to get in my way.
I reach the upstairs landing and look around, noticing that all the doors are closed except one. It’s the door to my bedroom, and it’s wide open. I decide to check that room first, mainly because it’s the only one that doesn’t involve me not being able to see what’s waiting for me inside before I get there.
I reach the bedroom doorway, prepared for just about anything.
Anything other than what I actually see.
There are two people lying in my bed, seemingly asleep. I don’t recognise the male, but I do know the female.
It’s Laura.
She’s in bed with another man.
‘What the hell?’ I cry out as I enter the room and grab the edge of the duvet, pulling it from the bed and uncovering the two sleeping beauties.
I notice straight away that they are both semi-naked and a quick look around the carpet surrounding the bed reveals several items of discarded clothing. They were clearly caught in a fit of passion and couldn’t wait to get under the duvet together.
I’m furious at my sister-in-law and what I have caught her doing, but I’m also a little surprised by the fact that she has been so sexually active so late in her pregnancy. I can barely get myself motivated to have sex with my husband these days yet here is Laura, just about ready to burst and she’s carrying on like a teenager.
But I’m not in awe.
I’m disgusted.
‘Get the hell out of my bed! What do you think you are doing?’ I shout, and I expect to see the two people on the mattress in front of me wake up with a fright and scramble to gather up their clothes from the carpet.
But they don’t do that.
They don’t move a muscle.
‘Laura?’
I step closer towards the side of the bed where my sister-in-law is sleeping and reach out to touch her arm. When I do, I feel that her skin is cold.
More than cold.
It’s freezing.
‘Laura?’ I repeat, more urgently this time, and I shake her arm to try and get any response from her that I can.
But she still doesn’t move. She doesn’t open her eyes.
I try doing the same thing with the man beside her, moving his arm and praying for a response. But he is just as still as the woman beside him.
‘Oh my god,’ I say as I step back from the bed and bring my hands to my mouth.
Walking in on a crazy burglar would have been preferable to this.
Anything would have been better than this.
I’m just about to turn and run out of the room to call the police when I look down at my sister-in-law’s exposed bump.
The baby.
Oh my god, is Samuel dead too?
I slowly reach out and put my hand on Laura’s stomach, feeling the same icy cold temperature that I felt a moment earlier when I touched her arm.
A tear runs down my cheek as I rest my hand on her skin, and I’m just about to panic even more and run from the room when I feel something.
I feel a kick.
50
ADAM
I’m woken up by the knocking on my front door, and the two empty beer bottles fall from the bedside table as I reach out for my mobile phone to see what time it is.
It’s early, but the knocking on the door doesn’t stop.
Who the hell is outside my house at this time?
I get out of bed and pull on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt before running down the stairs and reaching the door. Through the frosted glass, I can see two figures standing on the other side, but that doesn’t tell me much, so I unlock the door to find out who has disturbed my lie-in.
That’s when I see Detective Cleevely and another police officer standing on my doorstep.
‘Mr Stevenson. May I come inside?’ the detective asks me with a sombre expression on his face, and while I am extremely surprised to see him, I do have the presence of mind enough to keep my manners.
‘Er, yeah. Sure. Come in.’
I step aside and allow the detective in.
‘He’ll wait outside,’ Cleevely says to me in reference to the other officer who smiles at me just before I close the door on him.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask as the detective steps into my front room and looks around as if he is expecting to find something suspicious. But there’s nothing but sofas, cushions and a TV set in here, all of which have barely been used since Laura left this house.
‘We’ve found your wife,’ Cleevely says, turning to face me with a sobering look.
‘You have?’
How the hell did they find her so fast?
I wasn’t expecting this at all. But maybe it’s okay. Maybe my plan has still worked.
‘She was at your sister’s cottage. She went there this morning and found her.’
What was Kat doing going up there so soon after I left? She hardly ever goes to that cottage!
‘I believe you and your wife sometimes went to the cottage for a holiday? You had a spare key?’
‘Yeah, we did.’
‘It appears your wife used that key to access the cottage. You hadn’t noticed it missing?’
‘No, of course not. I don’t understand. Why would she go there?’
‘Erm...’
The detective stalls a little in answering the question, but I’m not really bothered about what he might say to that. I’m more concerned about him answering my next one.
‘Where is Laura now?’
‘Mr Stevenson, I’m sorry to tell you this,’ Cleevely begins, and I prepare to do my best impression of a husband who has just found out that his wife is dead. ‘But Laura has suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning sustained at the cottage.’
‘Oh my god, is she okay?’ I ask, putting my hand to my mouth to cover my shock just as I have rehearsed it so many times.
‘She’s in intensive care right now. They are doing everything they can to save her.’
They are doing what?
‘She’s still alive?’ I ask, and this time there is no need for me to fake my surprise.
‘Just about, but she is gravely ill. We will take you to the hospital right away. But I need to tell you something before we get there.’
‘What is it?’
The detective suddenly doesn’t look as serious as he has done for much of this conversation so fa
r. Instead, he now just looks awkward.
‘Your wife wasn’t on her own at the cottage when your sister found her.’
‘She wasn’t?’
‘There was a male with her,’ Cleevely says, avoiding my gaze slightly as if embarrassed.
‘Who?’
Cleevely stalls again.
‘Bradley?’ I suggest.
The detective nods.
I shake my head and lower myself down onto the arm of the sofa, giving what I hope is a convincing performance of a man who has just found out his wife had snuck away to his sister’s cottage to see the man she was having an affair with. It would be a lot to take in if it was news, which it isn’t for me, but I have to make it look that way.
‘What about our baby?’ I ask quietly after a silent moment has passed.
I look up at the detective expecting more news of a serious nature, but I’m surprised there is actually a little hint of a smile on his face this time.
What does that mean?
51
ADAM
I stare through the glass incubator at the baby boy inside. Several wires are coming out of him, and the hospital room around me is noisy, but the child is still and quiet. He’s a rare beacon of calm in this otherwise chaotic place, and I find myself unable to look away from him even though the sight of him should fill me with great anger.
I know this is not my child. I know this baby belongs to Laura and Bradley. Yet at this moment, I feel connected to this little person before me as he clings to life.
The doctor told me that the baby was delivered by emergency C-Section, and while there is no guarantee that he will be okay in the long term, for now, he is alive and breathing. That is more than can be said for Bradley, who I have found out has succumbed to the poisonous fumes in the cottage. Good riddance to him.
But what about my wife? Is she okay?
For now, the unfortunate answer is yes.
Laura is currently in a coma and being treated for what I am told are high levels of carbon monoxide in her bloodstream. She is being given oxygen and will have to undergo several tests to determine the full range of consequences on her brain, and there is no guarantee that she will pull through. The doctor says it is a miracle that mother and baby survived the ordeal considering the levels of monoxide that were present in the cottage and there is no doubt that they would not have made it were it not for my sister finding them when she did. The only explanation for her survival is that the effects of the fumes were likely shared between Laura and her unborn child, something which Bradley was not lucky enough to enjoy.
Due to the good fortune of the timely rescue, or misfortune of it in my case, Laura might live. I say might because the doctor has made it clear that she is expected to have suffered damage to her brain. Even if she wakes up, there is likely to be memory loss and effects that will linger for the long term. I made sure to express my devastation at this news, but my ears certainly pricked up at the mention of the words “memory loss.” Perhaps things might be okay even if Laura does come out of her coma.
Maybe she won’t remember who was the one who put her in it.
I step away from the incubator and return to the corridor outside where Kat is waiting for me. She looks at me with her tear-stained eyes and pulls me in for a hug which I accept, taking the sympathy from my sibling who has inadvertently screwed up my plan. Then she leads me by the hand back into the waiting room where we take a seat, and she wipes her eyes before fixing me with a devastated stare.
‘I had no idea that fireplace was so dangerous. I’m so sorry,’ she says, not for the first time since I arrived at the hospital.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I tell her, because of course it isn’t. She had a perfectly good throat plate above that fire which would have dispersed the fumes correctly if Gemma and I hadn’t switched it out.
‘It could have killed your family,’ she replies, and the tears are flowing from her again now. They’ve barely stopped since I joined her here, whereas I have been more focused on perfecting my ‘shocked stare’ to display my level of disbelief at recent events.
‘Kat, it was an accident. Nobody could have known.’
‘But it was my cottage. My fireplace. I should have had it checked more often. What if they die?’
Kat buries her head into my chest and sobs, while I fantasise about that last part. What if they die? I’m still hoping that is the case for Laura, although I have changed my mind slightly about Samuel. He is clearly a fighter, and perhaps that deserves to be rewarded. If only his real father had shown as much fight, then he would have been here now to meet him.
‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ I tell my sister as I stroke her hair. ‘It’s not your fault. You saved them. They wouldn’t have a chance if it wasn’t for you.’
That last sentence catches in my throat, not because I’m emotional, but because I know it is the truth. They definitely would not have had a chance if Kat hadn’t turned up there when she did. The medical professionals confirmed that.
Kat eventually pulls herself together and removes her face from my t-shirt, and I look down to see the wet marks where her tears have soaked into my shoulder.
‘Sorry,’ she says sheepishly, and I laugh.
‘Don’t worry about it. But I might need you to go to mine and get me a change of clothes soon.’
Kat smiles as she wipes her eyes. ‘Whatever you want. I’ll get Martin to go. I’ll stay here with you.’
I smile at my sister and make it clear that I appreciate her support through this difficult time, even though she has unwittingly made this time much more difficult for me than it ever should have been.
‘I can’t believe Laura was having an affair,’ Kat says as she takes out a tissue and blows her nose. ‘I thought you two were the perfect couple.’
‘Nobody is perfect,’ I tell her like some wise old sage.
‘I’m sorry for what she has done to you. I’m glad she’s alive, but I hate her for seeing that other man. And the cheek of them using my cottage to carry out that affair.’
Kat shakes her head, and her sorrow has quickly been replaced by an anger. It’s an anger I recognise well because it is the same one that I have internally battled with for many months. But getting angry doesn’t solve anything.
Only getting even does that.
‘Are you going to stay with her?’ Kat asks me. ‘If she gets better?’
I take a moment to think about my answer, not because I need to, but because I want it to look like it is a question that I am having trouble addressing.
‘I don’t know,’ I eventually reply, shaking my head. ‘We have a baby together. She’ll always be in my life whatever I do.’
‘But how could you ever trust her again after what she did?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Is the baby even yours?’
‘Of course it is,’ I reply, deciding to keep this one secret to myself and Kat apologises quickly.
‘That guy’s poor wife,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Not only has she lost her husband, but she’s found out he was cheating on her at the time he died. It’s just awful.’
My sister looks like she is ready to cry again, so I give her a playful nudge like I used to do when we were kids to try and cheer her up. Kat smiles and shrugs her shoulders before blowing her nose again and returning her crumpled tissue to her pocket. ‘What time can you see Laura again?’ she asks me as we watch two stressed nurses rush by our seats.
I realise then that I haven’t broken the news to Gemma that my wife is still alive. She is going to be just as shocked as I was to learn what happened shortly after we left the cottage, and I imagine she will be just as frustrated after that.
With Laura out of the way, Gemma and I should have been free to enjoy our relationship unencumbered in the future, yet my wife is clinging to life, and as long as she does that, our future is unclear. But Laura’s future is just as unclear right now.
Will she survive?
/> Will she wake up from her coma?
Most importantly, will she remember what happened?
52
LAURA
It feels strange to be in this house again, surrounded by photos of me and my husband smiling in happier times. It feels even stranger after having spent weeks in hospital undergoing so many tests that I was starting to feel like my only purpose in life was to be hooked up to machines and monitored by nurses in plain uniforms. But now I am home, back in my own bed, and trying to move on with my life after the grave ordeal I have been through.
I’ve been told how close to death I came. I’ve been informed about how my body has suffered the consequences of that. And I’ve been advised on how difficult life may be going forward. Basically, I’ve been told a lot of things by a lot of people who seem to think they know my body better than I know it myself. But they don’t. They have no idea what is going on inside me.
I take care to reach out for the glass of water by my bed and slowly bring it up to my lips, doing my best not to drop it and splash the liquid all over the duvet like when I attempted the same thing earlier this morning. I’m slowly regaining my strength and my confidence in doing the most basic of things, but after being in a coma and then lounging around in a hospital bed for so long, I’m not as spritely as I was. The very fact I even have to think about picking up a glass instead of just doing it automatically tells me that.
I return the water to the bedside table and wipe my lips, feeling a little refreshed and glad to no longer be craving the drink that I needed so much during my pregnancy. I haven’t had cranberry juice since Samuel was born and I wonder if I will ever have it again. But it’s not the only thing that has changed.
I run my hands over my flatter stomach and trace my finger over the scar that runs across it. I don’t feel bad about the fact they had to cut me open to get my baby out. I’m just glad that it worked. Samuel is still in the hospital, and he will most likely be there for a long time yet, but at least he is alive. I can’t wait to go and see him again, but for now, I must stick to the plan. I’ve been told that leaving the hospital and returning home may help with some of the memory issues that I have been suffering with ever since I came out of the coma. While I wasn’t happy about being further away from Samuel, I do understand that being in a familiar environment could only speed up my recovery, so I have been willing to give it a go. But it is frustrating because I want to be with my son, especially after all we have been through together. Hopefully, it won’t be too much longer until he is home and in my arms more often. But for now, it’s just me and my husband in the house.