The Woman Who Didn't

by HC Michaels

  “Chatting up my wife, were you?” asked Theo, as he chose a bottle of red from his wine fridge.

  “You know me. Always waiting in the wings for your scraps.” He cursed himself once more. Why had he said that? Sophie wasn’t a scrap. She was the best bloody thing that ever happened to him.

  “I’m getting out of here.” Skye slapped the air in front of him with a tea towel. “Too much testosterone for me.”

  Thank fuck for that, thought George.

  He was relieved to be left alone with Theo. Cancer was far easier to deal with when you didn’t have to look it in its skinny, bald face.

  Skye looked in the mirror, checking her wig was straight. It was still itchy despite the bamboo cap she wore underneath.

  She was wearing the shorter blonde one today. It showed off the neckline of her Brunello Cucinelli sweatshirt better. Plus, she wanted to wear her jade Bvlgari necklace today and didn’t want to risk her wig getting tangled in the clasp.

  She’d prefer not to wear a wig at all but didn’t want to upset her mother by turning up at the nursing home bald. She’d clearly disapproved of the turban she wore last time, so, really, she had no alternative but to wear this thing.

  She wondered how her mother’s hair loss was going. Maybe she should’ve bought her a wig, too. A two for one special. They could be matchy matchy. The thought made her laugh. If her mother were still sane, the idea would make her wrinkled mouth pull into a grimace. She’d never wanted her daughter to look like her.

  She hadn’t wanted her to look like her father either. Skye knew how much it bothered her mother that she had her father’s eyes. It wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose.

  Perhaps if her mother looked in the mirror now, she wouldn’t mind looking like her daughter so much. Skye doubted she’d had a good look at herself for years.

  Anyway, everybody already knew she had cancer, so she didn’t know why she was so worried. She hadn’t bothered wearing her wig last night when George had dropped around and he didn’t seem to care. The way he’d kept staring at her head, he’d seemed to like it. Maybe Sophie should shave her head for him to spice things up in their bedroom.

  Men really did like it when you did something different. The dark wig she’d worn to Theo’s chambers had certainly done the trick. It was by far the best sex they’d had since she’d told him she had cancer. She was going to have to wear it more often.

  She went to the kitchen and sighed. Linda hadn’t arrived yet and Theo’s dishes were still sitting in the sink from last night. It was still quite early, she supposed.

  She picked up the latest ballet magazine she’d left on the counter, afraid if she kept it neatly tucked away on a shelf, she might forget it. She was excited to bring her mother this particular edition. They’d done a centre spread with old photos of their star principal dancers over the years. Her mother’s photo was there. Finally, when she pointed to it and asked if it was a photo of her, Skye could say yes.

  It was a beautiful shot of her mid-pirouette, one leg bent, her foot gently touching her supporting knee, her arms raised above her head. It wasn’t the perfection of the pose that made the photo beautiful, it was the look of serenity on her face. She must’ve been in extraordinary pain at the time (her feet still looked more like a contorted piece of ginger root than actual feet) yet still she managed to make it look so natural. Her father had been right when he’d said she danced like her ballet slippers were made from clouds.

  She opened the fridge to get out the tray of brownies she’d made the day before. The ones she’d had to practically beat George away from. Men were hopeless when it came to baking. Surely Sophie could make brownies for George if he loved them so much. Lukas certainly looked as though he’d had a brownie or two in his time.

  She laughed as she imagined a bald Sophie standing in a tight-fitting lace teddy holding a tray of brownies out to George.

  The lack of brownies hadn’t seemed to have dampened Theo and George’s spirits last night. They’d sat up half the night drinking and talking. This wasn’t unusual for them. As competitive as they were with each other, their bond was close. It was a strange relationship, but one Skye had come to accept. She’d gone to bed, leaving them to it. She was so tired, and her head had been thumping again.

  It was hard at times being married to a twin. Sometimes she felt like she was married to the both of them. She’d noticed the way George looked at her, almost like he was wondering if she was as attracted to him as she was to Theo. It was strange, but she wasn’t even the slightest bit attracted to him. They might be identical to everyone else, but to her they couldn’t be more dissimilar.

  George was so rough around the edges. And it was Theo’s polished edges that drew her in. He was like the perfectly cut and polished six carat diamond she wore on her left hand—a work of art.

  She opened the fridge to see the brownies were gone. The plate was still there, only now it held a folded piece of paper.

  Her hands trembled. The brownies were for her mother. She looked forward to them every week. What had Theo done? Her mother might have dementia, but she had rights too. Those were her brownies!

  She slid the note off the plate and opened it.

  We’re so sorry, Skye. Two evil goblins snuck into the house while you were asleep and demanded we hand over the brownies. Please forgive us. It wasn’t our fault. Enclosed is $20 to buy your mother something from the cafe. P.S. They were delicious (so the goblins told us). Love you xxxxxx

  She should have hidden the brownies when she saw how George was eyeing them off. The house was full of food! Only one thing she’d asked them not to touch and they couldn’t help themselves. Theo had never taken her mother’s brownies before. He knew they were the highlight of her week.

  Skye ripped the letter in half and washed it down the sink, watching as the garbage disposal gobbled it down. She stuck the twenty dollar note in after it, wishing it would take her frustration with it.

  Leaning back on the counter, she slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Her wig tilted and she ripped it from her head and flung it aside.

  What on earth was she going to do now?

  The Day Before The Break

  Theo wasn’t feeling great. Actually, no. Theo felt like crap. Thank goodness he didn’t have court today.

  He shouldn’t have come in. It must’ve been all that wine he drank with George. Maybe he should call him and see how he was feeling?

  Nah, he’d only call him a pussy. George had always been able to drink him under the table. Theo had finished off a bottle of red, while George had downed about a dozen beers. He’d had to get a cab home. Sophie must’ve dropped him back this morning to get his ute.

  He rose from his desk, put on his jacket, shoved his keys into his pocket and looked at his phone. There were three missed calls from Skye. Damn. He’d left it on silent again. He’d call her back from the car. Hopefully everything was okay. Sometimes she liked to call to listen to his voicemail message, so hopefully that was all it was.

  “Not feeling great,” he said to Jane as he passed her desk. “I’ll see you later on.”

  “Of course,” she said, unable to hide her surprise. He’d never gone home sick. “When will you be back?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he replied, unsure how to answer that.

  “Get better soon!” she shouted after him, as he continued down the passageway.

  He stumbled as he approached the elevator.

  “Shit.” He wasn’t normally the clumsy type. What was wrong with him?

  The doors to the elevator opened as soon as he pressed the button. That never happened in a building with as many floors as this one. Perhaps it was a sign of his luck turning. He could go home, rest, and be back at his desk by the afternoon.

  The elevator lurched into motion and he resisted the urge to vomit.

  No, he wasn’t going to be back at his desk by the afternoon. The way he was feeling, he might not even be back tomorrow.

/>   There was no way he could drive like this, either. He’d run off the road and end up dead like that poor bastard Skye had been married to before him. The last thing she needed was two dead husbands with a cancer chaser.

  He hit the ground floor button instead of the basement. He’d have to get a cab. Skye had said she was visiting her mother today, otherwise he’d call and ask her to pick him up. She might still be home, though. It was early. No, she was sick. Better not to bother her.

  The cab driver didn’t look too pleased when he crawled into the back seat, one hand on his stomach, the other hovering near his mouth. He was losing feeling in his feet. This wasn’t a normal hangover. He’d polished off a bottle of wine a thousand times before and never felt like this. Maybe he’d picked up that gastro bug that’d been going around? He could go straight to the hospital, he supposed. But plenty of people got gastro all the time and they didn’t go to hospital. He was being weak. Maybe he deserved to be called a pussy.

  “Where to, mister?” asked the cab driver. He was a young guy, with a heavy accent. Normally Theo would’ve asked him where he was from. Not today. He couldn’t give a fuck where he was from, just as long as he knew how to drive.

  The waves of nausea settled, and he gave the driver his home address. His body was getting a grip on whatever this bug was. He was going to be okay.

  The cab driver pulled out onto the road and made a sharp u-turn, sending the waves of nausea crashing back with force. The urge to vomit built as the motion of the car increased. It looked like it might be a little while until he was okay.

  “Hey mister, you want me to pull over?” asked the driver, glancing in his rear-vision mirror. “You don’t look much good.”

  “I’m fine.” He waved his hand in front of him, noticing how numb it still was. “I don’t live far.”

  Thank goodness. He was barely going to make it home at this rate without vomiting. And that was best case scenario. There was always the chance his stomach would explode from the other end.

  Skye was going to be so worried. She didn’t need this. She was having trouble enough with her own illness without him adding to it.

  He felt the bile rise in his throat, spew pouring out of his mouth, spurting through his fingers as he tried to block its path. He could barely feel the wetness on his hands. They felt like rubber mallets dangling from the end of his arms. It was freaking him out. He needed to go to a hospital.

  “I told you I could pull over,” yelled the cab driver, clearly pissed off.

  Theo wiped his hands on his pants, the world’s most expensive spew rag designed especially by Tom Ford. No amount of dry-cleaning was going to remove that stench.

  There was no way now he was going to ask the driver to change direction and head to the hospital. He’d be lucky if he didn’t kick him out on the street.

  He reached for his wallet and tried to slide out two fifties. His fingers couldn’t seem to grip onto the notes. He tried a few more times, eventually managing to get them out. What the fuck was going on?

  He threw the notes into the front seat. “This should cover it.”

  “Cover it! Man, I’m never going to get this car clean.” The driver waved the notes at him.

  Theo opened his wallet and wrestled with it until the remaining fifty came free. He threw that into the front seat, too, not having the energy for an argument.

  This seemed to placate the driver.

  The welcome sight of his house came into view and Theo stumbled from the cab, tripping over his feet and falling on his arse on the pavement. The driver didn’t check to see if he needed help, his tyres squealing as he took off down the street.

  Theo tried to stand up, but it was difficult. His feet felt like iron blocks. This wasn’t normal. He was in serious trouble. Skye was going to need to call him an ambulance.

  He crawled to his front gate. Damn his neighbours with their high fences and remote-control gates. Didn’t anybody go out on the street anymore? What happened to the days where neighbours waved to each other from their front gardens? Wasn’t there anyone who could see him and give him a hand?

  He dragged himself to his knees and grabbed the railing of the gate, pulling himself into a stand.

  There was no way he was going to be able to coordinate his rubbery fingers to do something that took as much precision as putting a key into the lock. Lucky he was a lawyer, not a brain surgeon.

  He pressed the doorbell.

  “Theo!” Skye’s panicked voice came through the speaker. Even on her tiny video screen she must be able to tell he was unwell.

  The gate clicked and he pushed his way through. Stumbling. Falling. The world spinning. His stomach lurching.

  Skye came running through the front door and caught him before he hit the ground. He leant on her tiny frame like a crutch as she helped him into the house.

  “You need water,” she said.

  He didn’t need water. He needed to lie down. To close his eyes. He was dizzy, the numbness bubbling up around his senses.

  Another wave of acid rose up his throat. He vomited again, only this time it was blood. Waves of bright red liquid rushed from his mouth, splattering on the white, marble tiles like a Pro Hart.

  He collapsed on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, lying at the feet of Athena the goddess of wisdom, her stony eyes staring at him in lifeless wonderment. When he’d commissioned this statue for Skye, he never imagined it would be the last thing he saw.

  He stared up at Athena, calling on her within all the recesses of his mind. But her ears were made from stone and his pleas for help went unheard.

  Skye was with him. He could hear her screams and feel her banging on his chest.

  He was going to die. He knew it with a force that was threading and weaving its way around his body until he was cocooned.

  The world went dark and an image of George filled his mind. He was holding out his hand, beckoning him to go with him towards a bright light.

  He never stopped to wonder if it was a good idea. George was his brother. His twin.

  They linked hands and, together, they walked to the light.

  George wasn’t feeling great. Actually, no. George felt like crap.

  He packed up his tools, mumbled something to his co-workers and climbed into his ute.

  He shouldn’t have come to the site today. It must’ve been all that beer he drank with Theo last night. He was sure he only had twelve stubbies, although perhaps he’d lost count. That tended to happen after the sixth or seventh one.

  If he felt this shit, then Theo would be practically dead. He could drink him under the table any day.

  He should call him and see how he was feeling. Although that pussy only drank one bottle of his yuppy grape juice. He wouldn’t have a hangover from that.

  He pulled away from the kerb, resisting the urge to vomit.

  This was different to how he normally felt after a big night. It wasn’t even such a big night. He’d drunk twice as much beer before and only felt half as shit.

  Maybe it was gastro, although it didn’t feel like that either. He didn’t only feel like he was going to chuck, his feet and hands were going numb. It was getting hard to grip the steering wheel.

  He should go straight to the hospital. Cabrini wasn’t far. He’d passed it after he’d picked up his ute from Theo’s house earlier that morning. That would be his best bet. He didn’t have time to go anywhere else. They’d probably laugh at him, but still something wasn’t right. He might’ve been bitten by a spider when he was unloading his ute. It could’ve been a redback. Those things were lethal.

  The urge to vomit built. He pulled over and spewed into the gutter.

  “Shit,” he said, noticing it was pink. Was that blood? He was definitely going to the hospital now. Must’ve been a fuckin’ redback.

  He barely made it, pulling into the emergency bay and stumbling out of his ute before falling unconscious in front of the automatic sliding doors.

  The world was dark, a
part from a bright light shining in the distance. He wanted to go to the light but was afraid. He had Theo by his side when he entered this world. It wouldn’t be right for him to leave without his brother.

  He’d never really been alone in this world. When he wasn’t with Theo, he was with Sophie.

  Sophie! He could no more leave Sophie than he could Theo. He had to fight the urge to go to the light. It was calling him, urging him to come closer.

  He wanted to walk to it. Hell, he wanted to run to it. But he couldn’t. Not yet. It wasn’t his time.

  He became aware of Theo standing next to him and reached out to see if he was real.

  Theo gripped his hand and he felt his energy rise. His brother was giving him strength. He felt it building within him, his chest swelling with love. With his brother by his side, he could do this. The light was nothing to be feared.

  Together, they walked towards the light. With each step they took, the strength within him grew.

  The light was getting larger and warmer, reeling them in as it pulled them closer.

  He hesitated. Soon it would be too late to turn back. Once he stepped inside the light, he’d never be able to return. He saw Sophie and Lukas and Beth calling to him, begging him to return to their sides. They needed him. He needed them.

  The link that held him to Theo broke and he felt himself falling, his arms reaching up, trying to grab his brother and pull him down with him. He couldn’t get hold of him.

  “Theo!” he screamed.

  “Goodbye, brother,” said Theo, smiling at him so angelically it wouldn’t occur to George for weeks that he hadn’t called him boofhead.

  He would never see his twin again.

  Skye took almost an hour to call the ambulance. When Theo hit the floor, she knew straight away he was dead. Paramedics were trained to cure all sorts of medical conditions, but curing death wasn’t one of them.