Best Eaten Cold

by Tony Salter

  Well, no-one ever told me there were get-out clauses when I was being taught the rules. They certainly kept that quiet. But the internet exposes everything, however obscure.

  In any case, I wasn't serious about any of this. I simply found it strangely comforting to realise there were many people out there who were struggling profoundly with the ultimate question.

  If I wasn't serious, why hadn't I mentioned any of this to Dr Pettigrew? I made a mental note to make sure that I did at the start of our next session.

  Virginia and Sam had made a chocolate cake while I was out seeing Dr Pettigrew and Sam was very proud of himself. He'd laid the small table for four people – a place for Daddy when he got home from work – and he was being extremely sweet. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he was being deliberately kind to me, that he understood I was in a fragile state and was trying to help. Surely a two-and-a-bit-year-old couldn't behave like that?

  My relationship with Virginia was beyond repair. There hadn't been much warmth between us even before the Facebook posting and now it was gone for ever. In a way, it was easier and more honest to stick to formal social interaction rather than pretending we actually liked each other. Sam would probably notice as he grew up, but it wasn't the end of the world.

  I'd found my session with the psychiatrist draining; it was completely different from the counselling which I'd had before. Apart from anything else, the consultation had lasted two hours which was a long time to be in the spotlight. In addition, Dr Pettigrew seemed to have no desire or interest to support me or to be my friend. It may have been partly a difference in personality, but I knew in my heart that the goalposts had moved.

  I was no longer seeing a kind professional who would help me through a difficult period. I was now seeing a medical doctor who would cure me of an illness. There was no value in a soft bedside manner; what were important now were symptoms, diagnosis and treatment.

  Dr Pettigrew had known how exhausted I would be and had recommended I go to bed before seven o'clock. He'd also given me some strong sleeping pills in case I needed them. I noticed he had only prescribed two pills. I hadn't shared my deepest fears with him, but was he worried about me anyway?

  I desperately wanted to wait until Rupert came home before I went to sleep. I'd hardly seen him since our fight and, although I'd apologised for the things I'd said, he was still distant and I was fighting dark, terrible thoughts. Had something become permanently broken in our relationship? Had I lost him as well?

  I held on until six-thirty but, after my chin dropped for the third time and I almost knocked over my teacup, I gave in.

  'I can't stay awake, Virginia.' I said. 'I'm sorry, but I think I should put myself to bed.'

  'Don't worry,' she said. 'We'll be fine until Daddy gets home, won't we Sammy?'

  'Yeah Granny,' said Sam, pointing at the TV. 'Pat?'

  'Yes, I'm sure we can watch a little Postman Pat,' she said. 'Say night-night to Mummy.'

  'Nigh-nigh mummy,' he said, running over to give me a big hug and a kiss.

  I woke in the dark. Suddenly. The transition to consciousness wasn't gentle and gradual. One moment I was in a deep, exhausted sleep and an instant later I was fully awake, pumped full of adrenalin, my nerve ends singing.

  I was confused for a few panicky moments; I didn't know where I was or how I'd got there. A moment of genuine terror, but it faded quickly and, as reality pieced itself together around me, I heard the gentle rumbling of voices out in the garden. It was Virginia and Rupert and they were arguing about something while trying in vain to keep their voices low.

  The luminous numbers on the alarm clock told me I'd only been asleep for three hours. Not nearly enough. I would need to take one of the sleeping pills. Where had I left them?

  I didn't want to interrupt Virginia and Rupert and fumbled around blindly on the dressing table trying to find the pills. The voices were becoming clearer and I couldn't help overhearing what they were saying.

  'Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?' said Rupert.

  'Of course I do,' replied Virginia. 'I'm not a bloody idiot.'

  'Can you imagine what that would do to Fabiola?'

  'It would be terrible. But you must think of little Sam. What would you do if something happened to him? You'd never forgive yourself.'

  'Nothing's going to happen to Sam. Fabiola loves him more than anything.'

  'Of course she does, but how can you be so confident? I know you love her, but I worry it's making you blind. Surely the call from social services must have shaken you up.'

  I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. That bloody police woman at the post office.

  'You know it did. But taking Sam away from her? It would kill her.'

  'You do exaggerate sometimes, Rupert. There are ways to arrange these things so that it doesn't end up being so awful. I've asked your father to talk to a couple of his QC friends about it.'

  'You've done what?' said Rupert. 'Mum, you can't just stomp around in our lives like this without consulting us.'

  I could see them clearly through the bedroom window and couldn't believe what I was hearing. Were they seriously conspiring to take Sam away from me?

  'I'm sorry but I do think she might be dangerous,' Virginia said, with no intention of backing off. 'She's clearly got some sort of mental illness and I'm not sure you can afford to wait until her new shrink comes up with something. You must do what's best for your son. Haven't you noticed what she's reading?' She picked up the copy of The Bell Jar which I'd left on the garden table. 'It's bloody Sylvia Plath, for Christ's sake.'

  Rupert wouldn't have known who Sylvia Plath was if she'd dropped on his head from a great height, but it didn't take long for Virginia to share her interpretation of my reading choices.

  Inevitably I'd been having a lot of dark thoughts since my world started to implode again, but I can't believe anyone would have been surprised by that. After everything that had happened, it was understandable that I would wonder about the point of it all, but it didn't mean I was going to do anything about it. It just helped to read about other people's thoughts and experiences and allowed me to feel a little less alone.

  I'd been shocked when I saw the statistics about how likely most suicide methods were to fail and, worse than that, to fail painfully with long-term physical and mental damage. If I were ever going to do anything, I would do it properly. After all, the whole purpose would be to free Rupert and Sam, to give them a chance to live normal, happy lives without my illness dragging them down any further.

  Listening to Virginia calmly trying to persuade her son to accept defeat, unpick his life, and take poor little Sam away from me was a revelation. Much as I'd learnt to despise her and everything she stood for, she had a point.

  I was kidding myself. I wasn't going to get better and I might become much worse. What sort of life would that be for my two boys? They would never know what was around the corner. Every moment would be spent waiting for the next surprise.

  ... And the surprises would never be good.

  Each realisation slid smoothly into place with an audible 'whoosh' and 'thunk' – well-oiled bolts slamming closed and sealing tight the gate between before and after. There was no going back.

  My diary box was easy to find even though I was groping in the dark and, as I crept silently out to the bathroom, the rumbling voices from the garden faded to silence.

  Perched on the edge of the bath, my knees a clumsy desk, I made one final entry in my diary. My mind was clear for the first time, and my decisions made, but I wasn't passive or complacent.

  I didn't deserve this impossible choice and it filled me with rage. Was it God? Was it Fate? Whatever the reason, it wasn't fair!

  My diary was now at an end, but I had one more bittersweet task.

  I carefully tore out a single, blank sheet, laid it on top of the soft cover, and began to write. It didn't take me long – these were words which had been living in my mind for a long time.r />
  I folded the paper over itself three times and tucked it safely inside the diary.

  I was still thinking clearly as I walked into the living room.

  Neither Rupert nor Virginia noticed me as I walked up to the French doors and it was only as I pulled them closed and turned the key in the lock, that Rupert saw me.

  My wraith-like reflection floated beside him in the garden as he took a step towards me, but I stopped him with a raised hand. I knew he understood as we stood there gazing at each other. That was important.

  I'd convinced my conscious, rational self that I didn't have any intention of taking my own life but that didn't match with the preparations which I'd been making, almost subconsciously.

  A part of me must have understood that I needed to be ready – just in case – and I had everything I needed packed carefully in a bag.

  Looking down on Sam as he slept, I memorised every part of him, burning the image into my mind like a signet ring pressing into red, raw wax. It was all I had time for. I needed to go.

  Strange Bedfellows

  I'm standing in the shadow of a tree opposite Fabiola's house. I've been here on and off for four days now. Something's going on and it doesn't look good. As soon as I read her Facebook post, I knew there was a big problem.

  I can't believe Fabi set up that group and wrote something so stupid. She wouldn't do that. I know it. I don't know why or how, but my gut's been screaming at me that Jax is behind this somewhere.

  I only saw Jax once or twice in the weeks after Fabiola broke up with her, but I've never seen someone so totally possessed by anger and outrage. She won't have forgiven or forgotten. I'm sure of it.

  Whatever the truth of it, I can see that Fabiola is desperate and is getting worse. I can't just stand by and leave her alone as she crumbles. I'd never be able to forgive myself.

  A wedge of light stretches down the path as the front door opens. Fabi comes rushing out of the house, half-dressed, hair messed up and carrying an overnight bag. I know something is seriously wrong. It's after midnight and that witch of a mother-in-law is still there, cooking up some sort of evil no doubt.

  Fabiola jumps in her car and pulls out into the road with a screech of tyres.

  I have to do something, so I step out in front of the car, waving my arms. She sees me – I'm sure of it – but she keeps on going and knocks me flying across the bonnet of one of the parked cars. I'm thrown over onto the pavement and lie still for a few seconds checking to see if anything is broken. How could she do that to me?

  She must be shocked by what she's done because she stops the car, looking back with one hand over her mouth, her wide, frightened eyes scanning back and forth. The moment she sees me stand up and start hobbling towards her, she turns and accelerates away.

  I'm still in the middle of the street when Fabiola's husband, Rupert, comes running out of the house. He's clearly upset, out of breath and looking around wildly. He comes through the gate, stares at the spot where the car was and then looks up and sees me hunched over, still half-winded.

  'Daz? What the fuck are you doing here?' he says. 'What happened? Where's Fabiola?'

  'I tried to stop her, but she drove into me,' I say, trying to control my breathing. 'I've got no idea where she's gone. I only wanted to help.'

  Rupert looks like he's about to hit me – which wouldn't be a smart choice as mental health nurses probably spend more time dealing with unarmed combat situations than the SAS – but controls himself with obvious effort.

  'Why are you here?' he says after taking a few deep breaths. 'What are you doing hanging around outside our house again? You agreed to stop.'

  'I know,' I reply. 'And I did stop coming like I promised ... But when I saw that Facebook post ... She couldn't have written that.'

  'For fuck's sake,' says Rupert. 'More paranoia. This is all too crazy for me, but it'll have to wait. Which way did she go?'

  I point down the street.

  'I need to get after her,' says Rupert. 'She's not herself. Have you got a car?'

  'No,' I say. 'I don't know how to drive. But what good's a car? You don't know where she's going.'

  'I do actually,' he says, guilty eyes avoiding mine. ' I installed some of that nanny tracking software on her phone last week without telling her. I needed to be able to keep an eye on her.'

  'Thank God,' I say. 'But now who's creepy? Let me help. Please.'

  'All right. I need someone to follow the map anyway. We'll take my mum's car. Wait here and I'll get the keys. Don't go anywhere.'

  Arranging things with his mother takes longer than it should and valuable minutes tick away before Rupert comes back out again. He doesn't say anything; he simply hands me an iPad and jumps into a black BMW, two cars along. I don't know a lot about cars, but it looks pricey.

  'Fabiola's the blue dot,' he says as I get in. 'She's on the M40. Let me know when she turns off.'

  I'm still getting my seat belt on as we reach the end of the street, skid round the corner and up the Woodstock Road. I've always had a problem with carsickness and, with the way Rupert's driving, keeping a fix on the blue dot is straining both my eyes and my stomach. By the time we get onto the M40 ourselves, the blue dot has already turned off and is on its way to Thame.

  'I knew it,' Rupert mumbles under his breath when I tell him. 'She's going to bloody Bedford.'

  'But she hates Bedford,' I say. 'Why would she go there? What are you not telling me?'

  Rupert sits quietly for a while before speaking. The only sound is the Doppler whoosh as we shoot past late night lorries. 'I think she overheard some things she shouldn't have,' he says. 'And she might have taken them somewhat out of context.'

  'What sort of things?'

  'Just crazy things my mother was saying about Sam and whether Fabiola was in a fit state to look after him. Thoughtless things. She wasn't serious.'

  'Oh Christ. And Fabiola heard that?'

  'I don't know. We were out in the garden and I don't know how long she'd been listening. I only saw her as she closed the door and locked us outside.' Rupert's body is rigid, his hands are locked to the wheel and his breath is coming in short gasps. 'She stood there in front of the glass door looking at me with such a sad look on her face. I'm afraid she's planning to do something stupid.'

  'You don't mean ... ?'

  'Yes. I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's exactly what I mean.' He takes his eyes off the road for a moment and looks at me. 'It was the way she looked at me. Like she was saying goodbye. She lifted one hand and then turned and walked away. I hope to God I'm wrong but we need to catch up with her.'

  I Talk to God but the Sky is Empty

  Wireless home networks generally use one of a few models of WiFi router which have a significant range. Most people don't have the knowledge or ability to reset the standard IP addresses, usernames and passwords but, even if they do, hacking these basic units is trivial. Cyber criminals frequently exploit innocent third-party's networks to hide their activity much like the use of disposable 'burner' phones by drug dealers.

  "How much is your Life Worth? Protecting your Identity in a Digital World." JJ Martin, Insight Business Press 2015

  Daz took me completely by surprise. I needed to get in the car and away before Rupert figured a way to break through the garden door. I thought I was in the clear and then Daz appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of the car and waving his arms.

  I didn't slow down. The noise as the car hit him and knocked him aside was dull and empty and I stopped breathing as he was thrown over the bonnet of a parked car like a doll. I couldn't drive off and leave him unconscious and so I stopped.

  I was halfway out of the car to help him – who knows what could have happened? – when I saw him stand up and stumble towards me. I mouthed a silent prayer. He wasn't badly hurt and I was free to go.

  Five minutes later, I was out of Oxford and away. My resolve sat beside me in the passenger seat and talked quietly and calmly for the whole drive
. I hoped Rupert and Sam would understand my sacrifice and how right I was to make it. I wasn't running away or giving up on them. I was freeing them.

  Until I heard Virginia talking, I'd never seriously considered going through with this, or at least that was what I'd told myself. For someone who wasn't serious, I had spent an awful lot of time and effort researching the subject.

  It wasn't only the detailed comparisons of the different methods of actually going through with it, it was the amazing insight into why people made the choices which they did. And that was the biggest debate which tore through all of those websites like a bush fire. Could suicide ever be a free choice?

  I knew where I stood. Of course, I didn't choose to suffer from mental illness but, as a rational person, I couldn't ignore the overwhelming facts which told me my mind was not completely under my control. There was also a cold, analytical part of me which knew with white-hot certainty that I wasn't going to get better and that the consequences of my illness would slowly destroy the people I loved most.

  Maybe not a totally free choice, but not an irrational one and not one made while thigh deep in the swamps of black, sucking depression. I knew what I was going to do and I knew why.

  I also knew how. After reading everything I could find, I'd decided helium was the best way. A well-sealed plastic bag, a supply of helium to replace the oxygen inside and it would be quick and painless. By using helium, the carbon dioxide ratios in the lungs wouldn't increase and my body's survival reflexes would be fooled.

  I arrived in the car park of the Bell in Odell village. The pub had closed hours earlier and there was no-one around. I snatched up my bag and set off through the black-iron kissing gate at the far end of the car park. I think I would have been able to find my way even without the moonlight but it was easier with fate on my side.