Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Well, for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, it just means that our future is delayed for a while, but I’ll find her. I always do.’

  ‘Is this really your problem? You can quit, you said you were going to. So, why not quit now and leave the problem for someone else?’

  ‘It’s a matter of honor.’

  ‘Well then, stay and work on it, but please stop your temper towards me. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘You’re right. I mustn’t be like this towards you,’ he smiled. ‘I shouldn’t show you my bad side.’

  Mentally, Cecelia sat up. Could Peter have a bad side? Those awful years of her mother taunting her father with her vicious temper came flooding back. On and on, she would spit wicked abuses, telling him that he was stupid, worthless and worse, impotent. Why didn’t he answer her back? Why did he cower when she emptied her mouth?

  Only once had Tina tried it on her and never again. An almost forgotten memory buried deep with the dust of shock, but now had found life again by recollection. Her mother had once raised her hand to her when she was drying the dishes, there wasn’t any reason for it. But it was enough, she had seen episode after episode of her father’s despair, and this was not going to happen to her. Picking up the carving knife still lying on the draining board, Cecelia threatened to use it on her mother. And she meant it. Cecelia’s frantic self-protection had been driven by fear.

  Never had her mother looked so surprised as if she was strangely proud of her daughter? Cecelia’s brilliant eyes urged her to try it. But Tina smiled, shrugged and wandered off. Never did she try this again. So, why hadn’t her father been able to do that to save his self-pride and her respect for him?

  ‘It means that we will just have to wait longer,’ Peter looked at his dinner regathering his thoughts before deciding to eat. He took up his fork and poked the pineapple about the plate before it joined the sweet corn.

  What was he thinking about watched Cecelia analytically seeing his food as part of his plotting? Her own thoughts were now being pooled together; she was looking for the hook which would catch hold of her throat. What did she know about him? Nothing. There was one question she was concerned about, and that was why was he at Angelina’s funeral.

  ‘How did your day go at the funeral—I mean, the church?’

  ‘Funeral?’ he looked at her face with enigmatic surprise.

  ‘Sorry, I got my words mixed up although to me they both mean the same,’ she was sliding on ice.

  He was first surprised and then amused. ‘Strange that you should say that, I ended up going to a funeral. I found myself caught in this crowd of mourners, and because I had completed what I had gone to do there today, I thought I would go along with the funeral-goers and see who it was.’

  ‘Who was it?’ Cecelia’s eyes were trapped on his face waiting to hear what now she was beginning to fear.

  ‘A lovely looking young woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Very sad, but this sort of thing happens.’

  His gammon laid on his plate looking like a piece of death. Raw now that it was disposed of the pineapple. Stab marks had hacked it to pieces. Yet, when she blinked, the piece of cooked pink flesh was still intact. Cecelia turned her eyes quickly away feeling that she could be sick. Should she own up to being there at the funeral herself? No, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t prepared for this in-depth discussion.

  ‘And how is your uncle?’ Peter looked at her mouth and then her eyes.

  ‘I don’t think it will be too long now. He’s getting very weak.’

  A discernible smile rested on Peter’s lips. He couldn’t wait until she told him that her uncle was dead. Under the cloak of his eyes, he was already attending another funeral.

  While her meal waited to be enjoyed, her appetite had left. Uncomfortable thoughts were now troubling her.

  ‘How did you get into your line of work?’ Cecelia asked while trying to place a piece of gammon and pineapple together.

  ‘You want to know about my history from when I was young.’ He rubbed his chin as if he was checking to make sure he had made a good job of shaving today.

  Is it a good or a bad thing to delve too deeply into someone else’s life? Peter was in his early forties; he would have had a past as she had. No one goes through years of life without ugly problems and passions arising.

  But there was something exotic and mysterious about him, he could have been a Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, a man unknowable to anyone and who always arrived with a fortune. This gypsy, a bohemian who is answerable to no one. Who ruled his own world and dealt out his own sentences? And isn’t that the romance of someone like him which makes you believe he had a contract with the devil? If he didn’t, you would want to know why.

  Was she in danger of making him into something he wasn’t?

  ‘I suppose it was after my brother’s death…’

  ‘How did he die?’ Cecelia’s curiosity had turned morbid.

  ‘It was an accident, the police confirmed it was an accident.’

  Tight with interest and a little fear, Cecelia waited for him to continue. His eyes were already regaining the steps back to the past to clarify and develop that picture which still held court in his mind.

  ‘Sad and tragic, and yet my parents blamed me for what had happened. Call it their grief. There was only one year between James and me you see. I was eighteen, and he was seventeen.’

  His cutlery was settled back on his plate as he took hold of his glass of water. A sip to wet his palate and then his eyes moved elsewhere in time.

  ‘Presumably, my parents thought it was my responsibility to be my brother’s keeper, and to a certain extent, James was obedient to me. But though he was taller than me, by an inch. I was the stronger and the more athletic one of us both, and he knew this although he always challenged me.’ Peter smiled.

  ‘As I was the eldest, it was natural that I would be stronger, and cleverer and wiser than him, but it wasn’t enough for James. He always wanted to beat me. But there can only be one winner in a family, particularly amongst brothers.’

  Should she tell him to stop now? Telling his story must upset him.

  ‘It’s a shame he wanted to prove himself against me, he would never win…’

  Staring into space now watching the gowns of mists pull their veils away to give him a clear view before shrouding his eyes again. He was there now.

  ‘They found him hanging by his neck in a shrubbery. He believed me when I had told him that I had been able to do that, avoid being hung, I never thought he would try it. And so, my parents blamed me. Accidental death…’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ cried Cecelia for the images which Peter had conjured up were now accessing her mind with a vivid array. She could see what he saw, or at least, she could imagine it.

  He barred his hands to Cecelia anticipating a hug of emotions, this was his story and his past, he didn’t want her entering.

  ‘That was twenty-five years ago. People die,’ embarrassed, Peter laughed. ‘He had passed through the biggest mystery in life, as I will do, but now, I hope it will be later rather than sooner. You have given me a reason to live. And we shall live and live grandly. I never would have thought that I would be doing or saying this. I just hope that I haven’t tampered too much with fate’s great plans, and if I have, I hope I will be forgiven. What do you think?’

  Cecelia didn’t know what to think. Here sat this handsome man, Peter. A man who was very cultured, intelligent and yet, who was also guarded. What landscape did he travel to and inhabit? Would it be so different from hers? Very possibly.

  ‘I think we should eat our dinner before it gets too cold.’

  Obediently, Cecelia picked up her knife and fork and with a quick stolen look towards Peter, she began to eat. She never had experienced what it was like to have a brother or sister, a relationship to cherish or one to curse for the rest of her life.

  Sunday morning came which should have been a time
for a lie-in. But as Cecelia snuggled under the covers and listening warmly inside to the noise bustling outside her door, her cell phone started to buzz. She didn’t need to think too hard as to who it was. Her guess was correct, Ruth was ringing.

  Ruth demanded that Cecelia visit her.

  Cecelia could have refused with the reason that this was her day off, but her mind counseled that if she wanted this story, she had better play sweet. And another thing, she now had a great debt to pay off. She had to get serious with her life.

  Better get up and dressed and on with life, as you never know where this opportune visit would take you. Perhaps Ruth, now that they had suddenly shared something very special would offer her a job as her PA or something. But who was she fooling? This woman used people. Just like her husband, this couple were users of mankind’s generosity.

  It was eight in the morning and breakfast was being served. Cecelia could smell toast and crispy bacon and hear the bubbling coffee percolating. Of course, she was tempted to stop for a few minutes and eat her fill, but Mrs. Blaine was waiting, and every second counted and totaled against Cecelia. A quick look into the dining room assured her that Peter wasn’t in there either. He was probably lying in bed and enjoying his long Sunday morning sleep.

  ‘I’m in agony,’ said Ruth when she saw Cecelia coming through into her suites. ‘And they won’t give me anything. Do you know what they did to me? They split me up the middle so they could get the kids out. They’ve ripped me apart. Slit my clitoris and circumcised me. I’ll never be able to feel anything again—and Hadleigh was the one who gave his permission to do this to me. I shall never forgive him—never.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Cecelia came closer; the drip and beeping machinery held her back, for the first time she felt sympathy for Ruth.

  She who had slept her way to the top had been robbed of any future sexual pleasure. It was an expensive price to pay for her love of power and money.

  ‘I’ll never be good enough for anyone else. No one as damaged as me will be wanted by anyone.’ Ruth’s eyes squinted to fine slits searching about her room for revenge from the mutilation which had been done to her. ‘I’ll get my own back on him,’ she murmured to herself. ‘No one does this to me. Oh, god. I can’t even go for a pee. They’ve got me hooked up to a catheter—look.’

  There was blood in Ruth’s urine, she wasn’t faking what she was saying.

  ‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to get me something to take. He doesn’t want me to take anything because of the babies. He says I’m to breastfeed them, but I’m refusing until he gives me something to help with the pain. I’ve married a monster.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Cecelia looked horrified.

  ‘Get me some medication—I need something to help me. It’s driving me nuts.’

  ‘I don’t have any paracetamol on me.’

  ‘I don’t want fucking paracetamol. I want morphine and I know they will have morphine in this place—for god’s sake it’s a fucking clinic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not allowed to deal out any drugs. I don’t have a license.’

  ‘You don’t need a fucking license. You’re such a stupid bitch. Don’t you realize the pain is driving me insane? If I had known what he was going to fucking put me through, I would never have agreed to it or married him. I hate him.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Ruth’s eyes doused in evil were flashed to Cecelia.

  ‘If you want to help me, I will tell you what to do—I don’t have anyone else who would do this for me.’

  ‘What is it that you want me to do?’ Cecelia was nervous.

  ‘It’s in his office. Go to Deer’s office and on the back of the wall when you walk in, there’s a painting. Look behind the painting and you’ll find a safe. Open the safe and you’ll find Deer’s own private stash of morphine. Yes, you may look shocked, Deer is an addict. I want one of those vials.’

  ‘But even if I could do that for you, I don’t know the safe’s combination.’

  ‘In my purse over there on that chair, open it and inside you will see a frog engraved on the inside, pull the frog, and you will find a piece of paper with the safe’s number.’

  Cautiously, not liking what Ruth was asking her to do, Cecelia picked up the purse and looked inside. A bright green silk frog with green cubic zirconia was sparkling at her, he was daring her to touch his embroidered body.

  ‘Before this all started, Hadleigh and I had an interview in Deer’s office,’ Ruth watched her from her bed. ‘My husband signed a contract which Deer put into his safe. I watched him very carefully when he opened it and remembered the numbers. I’m not stupid you know.’

  ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea.’

  ‘You know what this life is all about?’ Ruth’s question wasn’t waiting for an answer. ‘It’s about taking chances. You’ll get nowhere if you don’t gamble.’

  Staring at Ruth, Cecelia could see the price of her chances. To her, it seemed that she robbed more than she had stolen.

  ‘For god’s sake, you’ve got to do this for me, I’ve no one else I can ask. I’m being tortured. My vagina has been split in half and all my entrails have been ripped out. What have I done to be punished like this?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ yet she was thinking, what will you do for me? The frog’s glittering eyes were provocative, it was daring her to touch him. Pulling its green twisted face, a pocket came away to reveal inside a piece of paper. There were numbers written in a hard hand. Numbers to Deer’s safe.

  ‘You will find that he has half a dozen syringes in his safe,’ Ruth continued from her bed, her eyes anxious and needy, and believing that soon her pain and discomfort would cease. ‘Bring me one.’

  ‘I don’t know how to inject,’ panicked Cecelia.

  ‘You don’t need to. I can do that for myself.’

  ‘And another thing; what if Mr. Deer’s office is locked?’

  Garnished with pain, yet Ruth was still able to smile. ‘You see, unlike you, I plan for everything that’s why I’m here and you’re there. That’s the difference between us. I always get what I want because I make certain of it. Inside my makeup pouch, you will find a key. Take it. This will open the door for you.’

  Hesitating again, Cecelia found the green-colored makeup container which held the key. In a way, Cecelia wished she hadn’t found it for this was taking her on to the second step.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Cecelia said biting her lip. Adrenalin was pumping freely through her veins making everything she did brighter, sharper and more painful.

  Since the Thomas episode, Cecelia always veered for the safest course in life, but after that interview with Angelina, a change came stamping through into her life, wrecking her safe and sane rut. There was no turning back now.

  Resenting what she was asked to do by a woman who made certain she only feathered her own nest, Cecelia took the walk to Mr. Deer’s office while reminding herself how she should be and how she should look. Not to bring attention to herself, she held her back straight, stood tall and walked with purpose as if she had every right to be there. It worked, passing three people, they gave her nothing except a quick glance.

  In the depth of her hot and sweating hand was the key, in her palm was its imprint. Trying not to fumble, she pushed the key into the lock and turned. But in that fractured second, came that moment, will this key open the door? The soft click rewarded her with an entrance as the door sprung open. Just like Alibaba, there was opium gold waiting to be collected.

  Impeded by the knowledge that this was Mr. Deer’s territory, Cecelia walked on knives to cross the room to the painting. Nothing special, the painting was an artistic projection of an ideal countryside. Inanimate eyes wouldn’t tell on her, she was safe even though she knew what she was doing was wrong. But did her wrong outstrip Mr. Deer’s and his slaughter? It didn’t matter if you had good lawyers.

  Feeling her fingers over the gold leaf of the edge of the p
ainting, a little tug and it pulled away with a click. Behind the painting was Mr. Deer’s private safe.

  She had better be quick. Holding on to her feelings was becoming costly. Taking the piece of paper now screwed up from her hand, she read the numbers and turned the dial. Seven forwards, twenty-eight back. Numbers seemingly picked out at random, but a memory and an identity belong to this safe and to its owner, was this somebody’s birthday?

  The porthole opened to reveal a cave of fantastic acquisitions. Stacks of money, letters of worth and a stash of what Ruth had desired. Collecting a vial and one of the syringes, Cecelia pushed the door too and then push back the painting. Her deed had been completed. It was time to hurry back to Ruth and give her, her fix. Yet, Cecelia stopped to look about her to see if she had left anything of herself. Nothing.

  Out of the office and walking quickly back, she was just in time to see a nurse coming out of Ruth’s room. All the medical checks completed, blood pressure, heart rate, and the catheter had been made afresh, then Ruth eager-eyed and waiting told her to leave her room.

  ‘You have no idea how grateful I am to you,’ said Ruth holding out her empty hands anticipating it would be filled with what she desired. Peeling off the cellophane, all the while her slender fingers were trembling, she couldn’t wait to put this opiate into her vein.

  ‘You mustn’t take too much,’ cautioned Cecelia.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know how to handle myself.’ Ruth was pushing the syringe into the bottle top. ‘In that drawer there, you will find a stocking. Get it for me.’

  Passing the stocking, Ruth was going to use this as a tourniquet which went around her arm to pull it tight. Now tapping her arm after filling up the syringe, Cecelia watched with alarm as Ruth pushed the needle into her flesh.

  In less than three seconds, relief flooded Ruth’s face and the lips which had pulled so cruelly down, now relaxed into a smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered calmly. ‘Put these things into my purse now and give me my purse. I need them close to me.’

  ‘What about breastfeeding?’