Counting Sunsets

by Paul Gait

  His eyes became heavy as the gentle motion of the bed and painkillers sent him off to sleep.

  Then he was running, running through the fog, running away.

  He could hear heavy wings beating rhythmically, getting louder getting faster. The angel of death was hunting him down, getting closer.

  He was running through a graveyard dodging around memorial stones, statues and stone crosses that suddenly appeared out of the swirling mist.

  He could hear his heavy footsteps, the rasping of his own breath.

  He was getting away from the beating wings when suddenly his foot struck something, he tripped and fell.

  He put his hands down to brace himself from the fall but there was no ground, nothing under him.

  Instead he fell in slow motion, twisting and turning in the air.

  He fell for what seemed an eternity until he gently hit the bottom.

  Up above he could see light coming from the top of the pit.

  A figure appeared at its edge, in its hand a large golden spade.

  The figure started shovelling dirt into the hole.

  The dirt fell in slow motion until it eventually fell on him, anointing his head, covering his shoulders.

  He was shouting out ‘please stop.’ but the figure kept throwing more and more dirt down on him, ignoring his pleas.

  Soon the soil was up to his chest. It was constricting his breathing.

  Then he saw the face for the first time. He recognised the smile.

  ‘Nadine, Nadine, please stop,’ he pleaded, ‘please stop.’ but she kept shovelling more and more dirt. He was going to be buried alive.

  He felt the texture of the mud on his face, smelt her perfume and then Nadine’s face disappeared from the edge and in her place the dark Angel looked down at him, its red demonic eyes piercing his soul and its evil laugh filling his head to bursting point.

  Then as he desperately fought to free himself… he awoke. He was sweating profusely, panting, his mouth dry.

  The dream was always the same. But the Angel of death was getting closer.

  He lay there for a few minutes listening to his hammering heart. Was he still alive?

  As a test he lifted the photograph to his lips and was relieved to feel the coldness of its frame. He gently kissed the smiling face.

  ‘Oh Nadine, please help me get through this,’ he pleaded.

  With the prognosis of his illness, the uncertainty of his life expectancy had been quantified, he had a yardstick in which he could cram all the things on his ‘bucket list’, before he slipped his mortal coil.

  As he lay there considering his mortality, he decided that after the party, things would change. He had an irrational desire to leave the trappings of his lavish millionaire lifestyle, a primal instinct to go back to his roots in the Cotswold’s.

  He was going home to die.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Friday September 12th – Sunset count 12

  The party idea turned out to be a great distraction; it had given him something positive to concentrate on as he coped with the negative aspect of winding down his life and business affairs.

  It was a lavish affair, held at the exclusive Hotel du Mediterranean, overlooking the famous Monaco harbour. A large and opulent flotilla of magnificent yachts, moored inside the inner harbour walls of Port Hercule, supplementing the accommodation for many of his guests.

  Security at the hotel was extremely tight because of the many multi-millionaires that made up the guest list. All guests were issued with biometric identity swipe cards which were cross checked several times by the huge security team. The card being fed into an electronic reader ensuring faces and bio details matched database records. As well as the ever present personal body guards, a specialist anti kidnap team from the Corps des Sapeurs-Pompiers, Monaco’s finest, were also in attendance.

  Originally he was going to theme his party on a mock funeral, a dry run of the real thing, as he felt sure none of those at the party would attend his actual funeral.

  Although he partially got his own way, when he insisted in being fitted into a white fur lined coffin and having it dramatically carried on to the stage. He had also ensured that they enacted his fantasy of having eight long legged models, wearing Basques and black silk stockings, as his pallbearers.

  However, his party organisers persuaded him to go for a party themed on the Rocky Horror show instead. No expense was spared.

  A theatrical company had designed and built the set which was complemented by a professional lighting rig and theatrical sound studio. A live band supported a cast of professional actors and dancers who performed key parts of the show to a very appreciative audience.

  Everybody got into the spirit of the party and had come in authentic costumes, wearing realistic makeup.

  Nadine had come alone, looking as stunning as ever. He realised that he loved her as much now as he always had. However the brief hug she gave him was a gentle ‘sisterly’ embrace, only a kiss on the cheek with no lingering eye contact.

  He was distraught at the realisation that this encounter was confirmation, of what he already knew in his heart, it was finally over. Reconciliation was never going to happen.

  Although Geoffery was pleased that she still wore the exclusive perfume, that he had commissioned for her all those many years ago, from the ‘House of Jules’. The wonderful aroma rekindled memories of the intimate times they had shared together.

  But time had done little to protect him from the hurtful reminder that she was no longer part of his life.

  However, he didn’t have long to dwell on his distress for there was a long line of other guests, all waiting to talk to him, which buoyed up his spirits. As the evening progressed he was pleased to see that everyone seemed to be enjoying it.

  Near midnight, however, the powerful drugs that he had taken to prop him up started losing their potency and his energy level started to decline rapidly. He felt nauseous and started sweating profusely. Realising he had reached the end of his endurance he gave the MC a pre-arranged signal to halt the proceedings.

  The Master of Ceremonies, dressed as a Circus Ringmaster, resplendent in Red tail coat, top hatted and wearing shiny black leather boots, called the party to a halt with a loud crack of his bull whip. With meticulous timing the music faded and a spotlight illuminated him centre stage.

  ‘L-a-d-i-e-s and G-e-n-t–l-e-m-e-n, would you please put your hands together for your host, M-i-s-t-e-r G-e-o-f-f-e-r-y F-o-s-t-e-r.’ he intoned loudly to the ‘well healed’ ensemble.

  The guests all did as instructed and gave Geoffery a rousing round of applause, ‘whooping’ with champagne fuelled jubilation as he was carried into the spotlight in his coffin; where he was placed carefully onto two strategically placed stands. Two of his scantily clad pallbearers helped him sit up and stayed close as he looked around at the assembled group.

  After a few minutes absorbing the applause, most of which he knew to be forced, Geoffery put his hand up and the noise slowly subsided.

  He had decided that as it was going to be the last time he would ever see them, that there was no harm in burning a few bridges with a short and pointed speech. There was no longer any need to keep up the ‘airs and graces’ to keep prospective business partners ‘sweet’.

  Already equipped with a radio microphone, he cleared his throat and addressed the audience. ‘My friends and hangers on.’ This brought a nervous laugh from many, some of whom looked at the floor embarrassed at identifying themselves with the label.

  ‘Thank you for coming tonight. It’s a pleasure to see you spending my money.’ More nervous laughs.

  ‘I’d like to thank my friends for their support during the long period of my illness.’ Murmurings from the crowd. ‘I’d like to thank you, but I can’t.’ More nervous laughter.

  ‘Just joking,’ he continued, allowing a few seconds of silence for those who had suffered from sympathy fatigue to feel guilty. His ill health had prevented him from being able to ma
intain his presence at the exclusive inner circle events, consequently he had quickly become an ‘outsider’. He thought how like a pack of animals they were, turning on their own because he had shown weakness.

  ‘As most of you know, my battle with the Big ‘C’ is now nearly over.’ Gasps from the audience as they absorbed his blunt message. Manicured hands clutched their partner’s arms. It was not the done thing to be so blunt and open about one’s mortality.

  ‘I’m told it’s just a matter of time now,’ he said, searching out Professor Santander in the crowd who also looked at the floor. Heads turned to see who Geoffery was looking at.

  ‘So I’ve decided to go home and have a last look at the beautiful part of the English countryside, called the Cotswolds, near where I was born.

  Since coming here over twenty years ago, we have seen a lot of changes and I shall miss you…’At this, his voice cracked as he realised the enormity of his words. In the darkness he could see people dabbing at their eyes.

  ‘But I have to tell you that I have been in business discussions with the Big Man upstairs.’ Nervous laughs. ‘And I have secured an exclusive contract to supply security staff at the entry to the Pearly gates. So for the few of you who will be going upstairs, make sure you come with your platinum cards if you want to go on through for celestial joy. As you’d expect I’ve got a few other schemes that I’m working on, including a franchise on Angel Wing coiffures and celestial robe laundry franchises.

  For the majority of you, I’m in business discussions with him downstairs too.’ Again polite laughter.

  ‘Anyway, enough of this doom and gloom. You came here to party didn’t you?’ Cheers from the crowd. ‘I hope you’ve donated to the Cancer Charity generously. My staff will be checking that your credit cards have been used appropriately.’

  Un-expectantly Nadine walked up to the stage and stood by him. Taking his hand in hers she spoke to the hushed audience about the good times that had all shared together with Geoffery; of his wonderful generosity and friendship and she wished him a tearful goodbye, leading the applause as she walked back to the dance floor very distressed.

  With a lump in his throat Geoffery managed to blurt out ‘Thank you for being you and goodbye.’ Wild applause and wolf whistles as the music started at his cue.

  Speeches over, Geoffery was helped out of his coffin and, to the amazement of the audience made his exit from the party enclosed in a small tethered ‘rocket’ that rose dramatically from the stage. Guided by wires it took him once around the vast hall and then behind a screen where he alighted, feeling slightly dizzy from the ride and the firework fumes which generated the simulated rocket smoke.

  By choosing this method of departure, it avoided any individual goodbyes, any awkward final teary farewells, including the most hurtful one of saying good bye to Nadine. He had written her a letter which he witnessed being given to her before he left the party. She took the letter and looked around to find him, but he was hidden behind the screen. He blew her a kiss as he turned and left the building; the hurt starting again, this time in his heart. Tears ran down his cheeks as he climbed into the limousine taking him home.

  Nadine opened the letter in a toilet cubicle.

  ‘My Dearest Darling Nadine,

  I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, but I know that words would fail me if I had to gaze into your beautiful eyes, hence the letter.

  By the time you read it I shall have left the party and sadly will never see you again.

  ‘Oh Geoffery,’ she sobbed, her tears tumbling onto the letter.

  Thank you for sharing your life with me for those three wonderful years. You made me the happiest man on the planet. Your magic touch turned this rough diamond into something refined and presentable.

  It was your thoughtful insistence that I sought medical attention for my ‘problem’. Had I ignored it, perhaps I wouldn’t even have had the last two years, although without you by my side it has been a very lonely and miserable time.

  For the pain of losing you was worse than any pain of my disease. I know you tried to come to terms with my illness. To win you back was the goal I used throughout the many hours of my dreadful treatments. But now it seems I have lost on two counts, your love and my life.

  I hope you have found somebody who will love you and treat you like the Goddess you are. I will always love you.

  Goodbye my sweet, perhaps we’ll meet again in heaven.

  Love Geoff

  Nadine wailed uncontrollably, brokenhearted in her distress. The agony of her guilt at leaving him when he needed her most, resurfaced again. She had tortured herself so many times about it before. There was no escaping from what her heart was telling her. She had loved him so deeply, but for that awful disease she would have been at his side forever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sunday September 14th – Sunset count 14

  A few days later he boarded his chartered jet, a luxurious eight seater Hawker 800XP, at the Aeroport Nice Cote d’Azur. As he waited for the pre-flight checks to be completed, he gazed across the shimmering tarmac, lost in thought. The party had been a great success. For in between telephone calls finalising all his business arrangements, he had received numerous compliments from the partygoers who rang to say how much they’d enjoyed it. Few made any mention about the future. He was happy that the party comprehensively punctuated a farewell to his privileged life in Monaco.

  He thought about all those things he would be leaving behind, those things he would miss; his daily walk along the Quai d’Albert admiring the sleek fleet of expensive yachts at their moorings. There was always somebody trying to outdo the others with a more exotic vessel. He’d miss his morning session in the sunshine with his newspaper drinking an espresso outside the Rascasse Café, famous for its Formula One association. As many of the racing drivers used Monaco as a tax haven, it was not unusual to pass a famous pedestrian Motor Racing driver whilst out shopping. The Cruise liners haemorrhaging thousands of tourists ashore had cheapened the exclusive nature of the City he thought, but the tourist dollar was always welcome in a city obsessed with money.

  He would miss the excitement of securing an important business deal, the buzz from important and a seemingly never ending series of phone calls, the business lunches, the sporting hospitality boxes and the Grand Prix circus.

  In contrast he wouldn’t miss the treatment regime; the cannulas with the painful attempts to spear a chemotherapy hardened rubbery vein; The radio therapy hot spots, the MRI scans; the awful tasting dye he had to drink so that they could track it as it coursed through his system, or the concoctions that they injected which made all his body warm from the inside. He could now empathise with women on the ‘change of life’.

  He resigned himself to accepting that the treatment phase was over. Now it would just be palliative care which, hopefully, would maintain the quality, not the length of his life. At least he would have his dignity back; but sadly not the exotic lifestyle that he had worked so hard to achieve. He promised himself there would be no time spent on self-pity. What did he used to say to some of his complaining customers when he was a builder? ‘Life’s a shit and then you die.’ Well the last few years might have been; but the pre-cancer days had been a mind blowing life of wonderful decadence.

  The sudden bang of the fuselage door closing made him jump; for the slamming of that door signified his multimillionaire lifestyle had come to an end and the start of the final chapter of his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He flew into a grey overcast London aboard the charter plane and was whisked through to the Business arrivals lounge on a passenger buggy. In the celebrity parking area his brand new car, a luxurious Mercedes Benz CL63 AMG coupe, the two door S class version, was waiting for him. He had pre-ordered the car having decided to spoil himself, possibly his final indulgence.

  He got an immense, almost carnal, pleasure from owning a new car. The sheer joy of being the first to possess it and to have the primary stewardship
of a piece of technological art excited him. Whatever it was, the scent of a new car appealed to his primal senses. Although the party and winding up activities had taken a lot from his frail body, seeing the new car lifted his spirits.

  After his luggage was loaded into the boot of the car, he drove his new toy west along the busy M4. He revelled in testing the cars performance in the outside lane, ignoring the 70 mph speed limit. He had decided that a driving ban was the least of his worries. Pleased with the performance of the Merc he was surprised how soon the ‘Sat Nav’ was instructing him to leave the motorway at Junction 18. Passing the brown tourist signs for Bath Spa and Westonbirt Arboretum, he steered the car up the slip road leaving the motorway and turned onto the A46 heading towards Stroud. En route, he made a few diversions along narrow lanes to undertake a slow meandering trip through many of the small ancient and beautiful Cotswold villages. Chocolate box pictures of honeycombed cottages sprang to life in front of him as he traversed the narrow winding roads.

  He planned to keep sightseeing for as long as his health allowed him until eventually booking into the hospice where he had reserved a bed. His ambitious tour started in Tetbury – with its ancient 17th century Market House, local shoppers often rubbing shoulders with members of the Royal family who lived nearby. Then on to Cirencester - a major town in Roman times; Bibury with its Trout farms, the ancient ‘Lockup’ in the small Cotswold town of Northleach; Finally his trip took him to Bourton on the Water, which he found ‘heaving’ with sightseers; children splashing happily in the shallow River Windrush, while some tourists were picnicking on its banks; others were queuing for Bird Land or the exquisite miniature village.

  Thankful to call a halt to his travels, he booked into a luxury country house hotel just on the outskirts of Bourton, his tiredness lifted briefly as he surveyed the historical architecture of the former manor house set in wonderfully manicured gardens. After a brief rest he showered and went down for an evening meal in the five star restaurant. After the meal of locally bred venison he wandered around the grounds, breathing in the autumn air, although tired, he felt relaxed and at home.