Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Thank you, then I’ll come back this evening and settle my bill.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  Peter wasn’t even going to tell her that he would be leaving. He was just going to go and walk out of her life. Yet, she must have guessed this might happen, it didn’t make sense. Last night she had seen him happy, but he didn’t let on that anything was wrong. Was he too proud to share his problem? Or perhaps he was one of those people who doesn’t accept reality? It felt like her heart had been broken. And yet, there was really nothing between them, except hope.

  Such was the weight of disappointment that she stood on this spot for nearly two minutes wondering how she could move on with her life without his participation. The door had opened and closed telling her that now he had gone out of her life forever.

  What was she going to do with herself now that the magic had gone? But perhaps not forever. Perhaps he would stop and look in on her in the dining room. She would be there for him tonight, and she could give him her home address. But no, that was forbidden. But she could get him to give her his.

  This is where lying leads.

  But the light was still rising, and the day was still hers, it was time to get on with her life. This was all she could do. Stepping out of the shadows she took three steps towards the door and then stopped immediately. He was still there at the small reception leaning over the desk. Like lightning, Cecelia took those three steps back to conceal herself once again in the safety of the shadows.

  ‘Hello, is there anyone there?’ it was Peter calling. His sharp ears had heard someone.

  Please don’t come any further. Please stay where you are. I didn’t mean to spy on you, Cecilia held her breath.

  ‘Is someone there?’ he hadn’t moved from where he was.

  She held her breath and waited.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered to himself. And this time when the entrance door went, she knew he had gone.

  Like the trembling arm on an alarm clock, she shook inside. This wasn’t the time to indulge in her fancy of knowing, but to mind her own business, not everything gives you the right to know. But she could look at what had interested Peter.

  Sneaking still fearfully, Cecelia walked out of the shadows and to the reception desk, but first, to make sure, she looked through the window panel beside the door. Across the road and walking purposely and quickly was Peter. He had some urgent business to carry out. A businessman who knew what he wanted.

  She admired his graceful pace, he traveled at a speed, gliding across the road before disappearing around a corner. Farewell my love, take care. His ghost was still haunting the sidewalk until her mind told her that he was gone.

  But what was he looking at on the other side of the desk? Everything he did, interested her now by giving her a deeper insight into his life.

  Reaching across the desk, Cecelia found a book. Strange. It was the bed-and-breakfast register of the people who stayed in this building. Now, why would he be interested in that? Was he trying to find out her real name? Well, he wouldn’t find it in there, she had registered herself as Clara Tinder. She shrugged because she was none the wiser. Yet, it was something to fancy about if she had the time, and something to think about when she would rather not think of what she must do. He could be as interested in her as she was in him. Oh, how wonderful that would be. It was like she had stepped into her own fairy-tale.

  Like her, Peter was not going to stop for breakfast. Which was something else they had in common?

  Cold outside, the long-lost summer nights had given away their warmth, even the thought that summer would be back next year didn’t give her that measure of hope.

  Angelina again walked into her mind bringing with her the poor broken baby. What, what is it you want me to do? I’m doing my best.

  Another dismal day heralded, skimming off the promise which had been awoken by Peter that she had a future with him. Everything she had kept contained in her closed hands was now running through her fingers like sand running through the egg timer of life. Why couldn’t she show him that she was interested in him and tell him that she liked him?

  Sometimes being a female was impossible these days. Feminism made a woman poorer and kept the men away. Women were wearing too much war paint and trying to be someone who they weren’t, unreal dolls. She hated these women who took it on themselves to speak for every one of them when they were only speaking for themselves. These feminists who robbed the world with their bad attitude.

  Stopping off to get a newspaper to read on the train, Cecelia viewed the horizon of her life. Last week, if she could have traded in her life for anyone else’s it would have been Angelina, but not anymore. Who would have thought this woman was destined to die young when she had so much going for her?

  At eight o’clock, she arrived at the clinic as the ambulance of life was already at full speed. People were coming and going, climbing up and down the steps with their heads held down and guarded. They had secrets to conceal.

  She would have bought herself some smart new clothes, but habit takes its toll on life. She bought herself some nice clothes which had once belonged to someone else.

  New, what is it to be new? New is about how you feel about yourself, even when someone else has discarded you. Look at those women who paint themselves beautiful after a divorce. While still single and alone, she had always felt ruffled and used believing that she didn’t have anything to offer. But to make a difference, you must have something to give which others want.

  Thrift shops have many serviceable items of clothing and weren’t she in luck when she came across a recognized designer outfit. Instead of several hundred dollars, she paid fifty, and even better fortune was that it was a perfect fit.

  In a dove gray suit, she walked up to the clinic wondering why anyone would give something like this away. Some people had money to burn, while some people didn’t care for what they had.

  ‘Are you Mrs. Chartleland?’ questioned the first of the three receptionists, who looked up as Cecelia came towards them.

  ‘No, I came about the interview.’

  ‘Interview?’ she frowned to the other two receptionists who also returned her frown.

  ‘Yes, I sent my resume through.’

  With quite a scuffle, the receptionists went to their computers and typed in information for new appointments.

  ‘I can’t find anything about an interview here. Are you certain that you have come to the right place?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cecelia stood and waited.

  ‘Just a minute please,’ asked this first receptionist, who looked like she was in command of the desk and the other two. ‘I’ll just go and ask someone. Would you like to take a seat, please?’

  Nodding, Cecelia smiled, she was playing at being cooperative for once.

  It must have been over five minutes before the attractive and well made up person arrived back. There was something like a scowl on her face as if she had been ticked off.

  ‘Would you like to come with me, please?’

  This was the building where Angelina had walked, low heeled and familiar to the insides as if this had been her own home. Cecelia followed the elegant receptionists through the hygienically clean white corridors while wondering whether her bluff would be challenged. Cecelia followed the receptionist until she stopped at a rosewood door with a gold plaque inscribed with the name of the person who occupied it. She knocked and waited.

  ‘Come in,’ the voice inside called, not a particularly strong voice, it was as if he had been affected by his position in life.

  He was tall, and even sitting down, the man was tall. When he stood, he appeared to be as high as the door. Another inch and he would have a surgical bruise.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Taylor,’ he nodded to the woman, who realized that she was being dismissed before his eyes turned to Cecelia.

  ‘You have applied for a job which does not exist.’ Irony silkened his voice, he was pleased with hims
elf, the smug look of satisfaction. A man who had grown big in his own little world, he thought he could do anything. Yet, his taste in clothes alienated him from the rest of society. Was it possible to say that his attire described him best? Glasses that were gray with grime and a light blue zoot suit with large lapels piped with pale copper trimming. This could have been a fashion statement decades ago, yet, this was his image now. He was not only conceited in his ways, but he also appeared to have never been good-looking.

  ‘Doesn’t exist; I don’t understand.’ Cecelia stood motionless unruffled and keeping strong. She wasn’t going to be persuaded by his side of the argument. Stick to the story. Stick to the plot of her own making and believe in it.

  He smiled, silently acknowledging that she wasn’t going to answer his comment.

  ‘Did you know the clinic was about to request a care nurse from the nursing agency or are you some sort of telepath? Or maybe another member of staff told you there was a vacancy? I hope they didn’t?’

  ‘No, I’m none of those. I just hoped there would be a situation. There is nothing wrong in anticipating a vacancy, is there?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘I sent in my resume yesterday to apply, have you received it yet?’

  ‘No,’ he looked at his computer screen and to the inbox. ‘There is nothing here. And your name is?’

  ‘Clara Tinder.’

  ‘Clara Tinder,’ he repeated taping in her name. ‘No Clara Tinder, I can’t find anything on that. Are you certain you’ve given the correct name?’

  ‘How certain can I be when you say I don’t exist?’

  He looked up, smiled, he was interested. He liked people who were intelligent, but not too clever.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure what to do with you now. We do need a care assistant—it’s just odd that you have turned up just at the right time.’

  ‘Well, if you like, I can go. I used to work in a hospital before, in the geriatric ward. I know what it’s like to look after people… they can’t be much different from anyone else.’

  ‘But these are celebrities, people with money, who need more attention than your geriatrics. You will often find that your efforts are not appreciated and often criticized, and we will work you harder than you have worked before.’

  Her heart pumped with hope and astonishment. Was he considering her? If he was, then she was fortunate. Under the mantle of Peter, she had become lucky. Amazing.

  After a long and deliberate sigh, Mr. Deer regarded her.

  ‘I should consider that fate had thrown us a lifeline.’ He picked up his pen and squeezed the trigger mechanism, the nib popped out. ‘You will be on probation and you shall be watched very carefully. We value our clients more than we value our staff. Should one of our clients find you not to their liking, you will be fired. Do you understand that? Even if you have done nothing wrong, our clients come first.’

  She understood as shocking as it was, but she was in. If you don’t ask you don’t get. And it was true, she had never done anything like this before. Life will give what you ask for. It was like a dream, like one of those enchanting fairytales. It was possible to believe in magic.

  8

  Just like following along the same path in a story which Angelina had taken and told her about. Forms had to be filled in requiring every detail about her. Photographs were taken and references of her previous jobs requested, which she was making up as she went along. By the time they would have found out about these references were fake, she would be gone. True, it wouldn’t bring Angelina or the little dismembered body back. But it would though secure them justice. The natural justice of life which demands that every death must be avenged.

  With a red-colored pen, Cecelia signed the clinic’s official non-disclosure document, then her eyes traveled down to the small print which warned her about the penalties of her actions if she went against their rules. She would be struck off from the medical registrar followed by imprisonment. This wasn’t so difficult to accept because she had no plans to work in this profession again.

  But there wasn’t any clause which said about losing her life. Like the unwanted surgical clothes Angelina had become, so she had been disposed of. A push and she was gone.

  After being shown around the clinic and its wards and the equipment department, Cecelia was introduced to some of the staff who she would be working with. The reception from the others was not kind, they looked at her as if she was a threat. She considered this on her journey back to the bed-and-breakfast.

  Under the cover of good manners lay the threat of fear.

  Is suspicion created, conjured up by thoughts and misinterpretation because something was different about the bed-and-breakfast place today. It didn’t have the usual casual atmosphere where people after a day of work came to meet and unwind. People stood around in bent head conference, shaking their heads and glancing at Cecelia as she passed, they choose to ignore her usual salutation.

  Was it because she wasn’t one of their small group? They who traveled from another area too far to travel to work in the city came together in fear. Keep the enemy out. She was new, she must be part of the enemy.

  People were strange, Cecelia climbed the stairs to her room with thoughts to comfort herself. Cliché and snobby, they weren’t like the weekend crowd. But she couldn’t worry about them, she needed to get ready for that chance meeting with Peter. Oh, please be there. Surely, he must stop off and come and speak to her. They were friends if nothing else.

  Oh God please, help. Yet, going downstairs, Cecelia knew that their table was going to be empty. Please let him come into the dining room and tell me at least where he was going from here.

  It was two minutes before seven, and the room was already lively with voices. Pushing open the door, her decision next was based on self-protection. It was easier, for now, she could pretend he was sitting there in his seat.

  What would she do if he wasn’t?

  Passing the tables, she smiled at a couple of people who didn’t smile back. Ignorant pigs. She might as well not be there judging by the way they dismissed her, glancing up to get back to their important conversation.

  He wasn’t there, Cecelia knew this before she got to the table. Time to face up to it. He was gone, and she was already forgotten to him.

  ‘Are you going to walk past me,’ it was Peter’s voice. ‘Have I done anything to upset you?’

  ‘Peter,’ she gasped grabbing hold of his shoulder. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Yes, of course, it’s me,’ he looked puzzled. ‘Who else would it be?’

  ‘But I thought…’ he didn’t know she had overheard him early this morning. So now, what could she say to his question? But she was so pleased to see him. ‘I had a real awful dream last night.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me,’ he gestured towards the chair opposite.

  She looked at him to make sure that he was real, she looked at the chair while her mind and head were all over the place. But when she scrambled to her seat, her legs unaccustomed by her hesitation broke free from her hips nearly pull her over.

  ‘Careful,’ he said leaping agilely like a cat catching her. He held her in his arms tightly while his sparkling blue eyes looked deep into hers. ‘Have you been drinking already?’ he still hung on to her body, while his eyes traveled quickly around her face before gaining entrance to her heart.

  Please hold me forever ran through her mind.

  So tight was his embrace, her arms rubbed up against his chest that she swore she felt his heart beating.

  ‘Are you coming apart Clara?’ he was carefully gliding her to her seat. And then he stopped, surprised. ‘What is that smell? It’s the smell of disinfectant, the smell of hospitals. It’s your uncle, isn’t it? Has he taken a turn for the worse? I can’t stand that smell of pending death.’

  Gaining her chair, Cecelia’s now fresh eyes flew across the table to land on his. How would she explain her story to him? Would he in the future forgive her
when she told him the truth?

  ‘Oh, it must be the nurse. I was there when she came today. She nearly walked into me. It was probably then when she rubbed her antiseptic perfume against me. The smell was very strong.’

  ‘Poor child, you’ve had a rough day today. No wonder you are all over the place. It would be better for everyone if he died now.’ And then he took up his table knife to examine it. ‘People hovering in and out of life, it’s very selfish of them.’

  In the blade, he had managed to catch his reflection. One eye and then part of his nose was disconnected from the rest of his face.

  ‘This dream you had, was it about me?’

  Heat seethed into her cheeks, running like a defeated warrior to expose how lost she was. She was lying to him, but only a part of him, only to his brain and not his heart. In his heart, she would always be loyal to him.

  ‘Oh, it was just a dream,’ a smile of admonishment. ‘Sometimes when you awake, it’s hard to get out of the dream—has that ever happened to you?’

  He smiled lamely, but he wasn’t going to answer. She continued.

  ‘Well, in this dream, I thought you had gone.’

  Peter put the knife down and then leaned forward. ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  She shrugged. ‘I thought you had left this place.’

  ‘And that mattered to you?’

  ‘A little,’ she lowered her eyes hoping this answer would work.

  ‘I’m flattered, I’m flattered that it made a difference whether I was here or not.’

  And what do you think about me, she wanted desperately to say, but of course, like everything else, this was drugged into silence.

  ‘So, how is your uncle?’ what was that look in his eye as if he had been diverted by his natural course to stop and look at her, she puzzled him. Like he couldn’t make up his mind about something to do with her.

  ‘Oh, you know, he’s still hanging on.’

  ‘And what about your auntie, what does she think about this?’