by Fox Brison
“Hmm?” I turned and stared.
And stared.
And stared some more.
I finally remembered to, like the wine, breathe. “Wow!” I whispered. I placed the bottle down on the counter and inched towards her. Some of what I was thinking must have leaked out in my expression, to be fair I wasn’t making much effort to mask it, and she smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her button down dark burgundy shirt. It was a pointless effort; she’d spent twenty minutes ironing it so it was crease free. I stood in front of her and touched her collar, flicking lint, again non-existent, just as an excuse to touch her. I stood on my tip-toes and kissed her cheek.
“Wow,” I whispered again. “Wow, wow, wow.” I kissed her lips. They were remarkably soft and, “Strawberry?”
She blushed. “Lip gloss. I wanted to look my best for your friends.”
“And taste good for me?” I gulped as she nodded then gave a roguish grin. God I loved that look in her eye. She put her hands on my hips and I wrapped mine around her neck. This time when we kissed all bets were off. I found myself being lifted and I wrapped my legs around her waist. “Your knee!” I moaned as she began to nibble my neck, which immediately stopped any remonstration.
“Uhhum. It’s fine.”
“Natalie,” I moaned again, “Nat, as much as I don’t want you to stop,” the doorbell rang and she groaned, “Michael and Tara are here.” She let me slide down her body, and I naughtily rubbed myself against her thigh. I could see it was driving her crazy and I felt a roaring in my chest. I made her feel like that. Me! I sashayed away from her, her eyes never leaving the swaying of my body and I felt the heat of her gaze as it hungrily took in every inch of me. She devoured me. I straightened my shirt and hurried to the door, fanning myself.
It didn’t help.
“Did we interrupt?” Michael chuckled knowingly and his wife smacked his arm.
“Thank you,” I said to her.
“So did we?” she asked, just as eagerly.
“Shh! Don’t scare her away.”
We walked into the living room and I made the introductions. Immediately, Natalie hit it off with the two of them, and I relaxed. This was the first time, ever, that I had a girlfriend who was comfortable with my friends, with their teasing, with their sometimes irreverent sense of humour. Maybe it was because this was the first time, ever, I was with a girlfriend and who relaxed me enough to enjoy the evening.
And then the phone rang.
***
I don’t remember much of the next few hours, I acted on auto-pilot. I don’t know why I was hurrying, why I had this sense of urgency about the night, but Angie said that Robbie and Cameron needed me, so here I was, sitting in the passenger seat as Natalie drove up the A1, heading straight for Berwick hospital.
Normally patients were transported to either the Border’s General Hospital in Galashiels, or the Wansbeck in Ashington. Unless they were about to die. Unless there was nothing that could be done for them.
My father was one such patient.
A sudden cold had settled on his chest and he was now unconscious, the infection ravaging through his already weakened body. The doctor told Robbie to contact his siblings to say their final goodbyes and he did, well, Angela did.
The countryside passed by in a midnight blue blur, silhouettes of trees and shrubs bordering the fields I barely acknowledged. Every so often a car coming in the other direction would brighten the inside of the car and I would risk a glance at Natalie. She was my rock in the darkness, her features set firm. She turned, once, and gave me a small reassuring smile, before focussing on the road, her eyes unwavering as she followed the curves and undulations, the car hugging the black tarmac.
I struggled to find words to label the emotions I was feeling. Anger, fear, betrayal. But most of all loss. Loss that my father and I had never reconciled, loss that we’d grown so distant with each other we couldn’t bridge the gap in our stances, loss that my father was dying a bitter old man and that I had played some part in it.
As I said, I was an expert in the blame game, I had played it all my life.
We drew to a stop and the engine ticked over. “Will… will you come in with me?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Natalie said quietly and without hesitation. Taking my hand in hers, she raised it to her lips and gently kissed the knuckles. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
The corridors were almost empty, an occasional patient going to the bathroom, their metallic zimmer frames edging tiredly through the dimly lit hallways, the squeak of the rubber on the linoleum floor the rhythm of the elderly. Click, squeak, shuffle, pause. Click, squeak, shuffle, pause. “Can I help?” A nurse hurried out of a side room and practically knocked into us. “Natalie? Natalie Jeffries?”
“Hi, David. We’re-”
“Of course. Skye, your brothers and their wives are in room 12. Down the corridor, three doors on the left.” It was one advantage to living in a small town. Everyone knew everyone so there was no need for extended explanations. Natalie thanked him for me because I still couldn’t drag any words past the constriction in my throat. I felt her hand on the small of my back as she guided me towards my family. I slowed to a stop. I didn’t think I could do it.
“It’s okay,” she whispered into my hair. “I’m here. Robbie and Angie are here. It’s okay.” My body trembled and I wanted to run away, my flight mode in full throttle, but I nodded, numbly, and walked next to her steadying influence. The corridor was wide allowing hospital beds to pass unhindered, and we walked in the centre, the low lighting casting shadows as we passed darkened rooms and trollies stacked with bedding. There were two figures in the distance, one leaning against the wall, tiredly, their body slumped in defeat. The other sat on the chair, straight and proud.
“She looks like she has a stick up her arse,” Natalie said quietly. God it was totally inappropriate, but totally true. Allison Donaghie, nee McNeill, did indeed look like she had a stick poked up her arse. Angie approached with her arms wide as soon as she realised it was us. She hugged us both, and then hugged me again.
Ali sat where she was, acknowledging neither of us.
“I’ll wait with Angie, unless, do you want something to eat, or drink?” Natalie was thoughtful to a fault.
“No.” I knew it was going to be a long night, possibly a very long night judging from my other sister-in-law’s disparaging expression. “Maybe coffee?”
“I’ll come with you, Nat,” Angie said, “I could do with the fresh air.” There was no cafeteria in the hospital so they were heading to the twenty four hour garage on the North Road. Natalie kissed me and traced her thumb over my lips.
I entered the room, still not sure why I was here. My father wouldn’t have wanted me there to see him failing, weakened, he’d made that patently obvious. My two brothers were bowed. He’d been a bastard to all of us, but yet they still bent their heads in subservient reverence, praying for the old man’s pain to end. They still loved him. Staring at the shrivelled old man, the ventilator keeping his breathing steady, I came to a startling conclusion.
I may not have liked him and I definitely didn’t respect him. Maybe the tenets of Cuthbert’s teaching smothered the hatred, maybe I just wanted to acknowledge that my father had created something good once. I looked at my two siblings. Three something goods.
But maybe I was just tired of feeling ashamed.
I touched Robbie’s shoulder and he looked up. He was exhausted. Cameron didn’t look much better. I didn’t say anything, I simply took up my station at the end of the bed. I’d said my goodbyes ten years ago, in my head at least, and now I was here for them, not for me.
And definitely not for him.
***
I stepped into the corridor to escape the smell of death lingering in the room. It wasn’t just the scent of a person dying, but the dried sweat of my brothers’ pain, the cloying odour of disinfectant, the stale coffee in paper cups, the pervasive stench of despair and hop
elessness. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to flaunt your perversions for all to see.”
“It’s good to see you too, Ali,” I said, sarcastically.
“I was shocked, shocked to see her with you. How could you be so selfish? And at this time.”
Fuck.
“First of all. Wow. Second. Back off or I promise, Cameron or not, I will ram your head up your arse.” I was tired, angry and confused. Not the best combination of emotions for me to remain civilised.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“She might not, but I would.” Angie stood next to Natalie, a cardboard tray holding yet more coffees. “This is not the time, nor the place, to be having this argument. Skye has every right to be here and every right to have the person she loves with her.”
Ali sniffed disdainfully. Seriously. I’d never seen someone do that before. It was quite amusing so I laughed and once I started I couldn’t stop. Three heads snapped around and two popped out of the room. “Alright, Skye?” Cameron asked. It was the first words he’d said to me in over five years.
“Always, Cam,” I said, my chuckles trailing off. I wouldn’t tell him what a bitch his wife was, I’m sure he already knew.
“Ali,” I heard the warning in his voice and she immediately flushed. She gritted her teeth and sat back down, ignoring the rest of us. “She can be a stuck up pain in the arse, but she’s my stuck up pain in the arse,” he said and I swear I saw Allison’s lips curl upwards at the corner.
Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter 28
Skye
The hospital was eerily quiet. Midnight had come and gone, and now, in the darkness between the witching hour and the sun showing its face, I sat holding a cup of cold coffee, watching my father die. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t think I had any right to be here, but both Cameron and Robbie asked me to sit with them. So here I was. Their wives were waiting in the corridor. We were all waiting.
Waiting for him to die.
The electronic rasp of the ventilator keeping my father’s heart pumping was a rhythmic mocking. Every beep of the heart monitor a knife jabbed into my soul.
I shouldn’t be here.
I wanted to stand up and go. I didn’t want to watch a man who reviled me so much that he’d rather ruin my brother’s marriage than accept help from me, die.
I shouldn’t be here.
The door opened and another nurse came in. He was new, so the shift must have changed. He took some measurements and then placed a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Won’t be long now, Mr Donaghie,” he said softly. Robbie gave a sharp nod in understanding and I went to the door and called for Angie, Ali and Natalie. Angie came in and gave my shoulder a squeeze; Ali ignored me. Natalie simply stood behind me, her hands around my waist and clasped in front of my stomach. The beeps were growing father apart and then stopped altogether. I looked up, but the nurse had simply turned off the sound. I watched, hypnotised, as the line showing his heartbeat slowed.
“Am sorry,” his voice cut through the silence like someone had pressed an air horn. I jumped and everyone stood, motionless. My father had been unconscious for three days and the doctor said he would remain that way until he drew his last breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated and focussed on me, not my brothers or their wives. Me. “Forgive me, lassie.” He closed his eyes and the line went flat. I stared. I stared first at the monitor, and then at my father.
His last words.
Seeking a forgiveness I didn’t know I could give.
Standing staring, glaring at the man who had torn my life apart, the man who had ripped my family from me when grief was still keeping me prisoner, I realised no matter what had happened, I could forgive him; I had to forgive him for being an angry prick, for being an unforgiving arsehole, because if I didn’t I knew I would be stuck in an infinite loop, always seeking something out of my reach, never believing I was worth anything. Besides in his death my father had given me back my brothers, and for that I could forgive him anything. I walked over to his side and swept aside the strands of grey hair that he hated, the baldness a sign of growing old and weak. I bent down and kissed his forehead, then hugged my brothers and left.
There was nothing else to say.
***
The funeral was due to be held two days later so I returned to the island and my writing. I wanted the quiet and the solace. I craved it.
I wasn’t going to get it.
Sara arrived and made me a cup of hot chocolate. I knew she wanted to talk, but I didn’t, I still hadn’t come to terms with what had happened. My mind was maelstrom of emotions. It didn’t help that Natalie had had to go and meet with her agent, so she wasn’t around. But Sara was and she was here with me.
“Natalie told me, what he said at the end.” I could hear the unspoken selfish bastard in her tone.
“It was a surprise, that’s for sure. A miracle worthy of St Cuthbert,” I chuckled, weakly. “Honestly, Sara, I’d made peace with it all, in my mind anyway.”
“Skye, have you ever thought of going to a therapist?”
“I did,” I whispered. “The hospital sent me.” Now my father had finally passed I knew it was time to tell Sara the truth of what happened ten years ago. “After my mother’s funeral, did your Mam tell you what she saw?” Sara nodded, slowly. “Well a couple of days later I went back home to get my clothes and books. Your Mam was going to come with me, but I’d already disturbed her life enough, plus I thought he’d be at work. He wasn’t.” I took a deep breath. “He’d been drinking.” I could still smell the cheap whiskey on his breath. “He took the poker…” tears were streaming down my face. “Natalie asked if he ever hit me. He did. Luckily Cameron came home from school and interrupted or I swear I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
Sara was crying too, silent tears for the pain I’d suffered. “Is that when Cameron called and said you were going to Durham early?”
“Yes. I was actually in hospital. They sent me to a therapist as part of my recovery. Battered person syndrome, survivor’s guilt. You name it, I had it.” I hadn’t spoken of this to anyone before now, only seasoned professionals. “I thought when he died I would get closure. I did. Just not the kind I expected.”
Chapter 29
Skye
“Do you want me to come?” Natalie was fidgeting on the sofa, her foot tap, tapping away.
I was dressed in black. I hated mourning clothes, but it was traditional and in Berwick tradition was everything, “No, it’d be best not to.” I could see she was frustrated with my answer, but knew she understood the reasons for it. I loved her with all my heart, but there were decisions coming for both of us. I felt awful, using my father’s death and my family’s grief as breathing space, but it was what it was.
***
The front door to Robbie’s house was open and I saw people milling around, both inside and out. They were waiting for the hearse to arrive, for my father’s last journey. I clicked up the concrete path, my heels giving me an extra couple of inches and a little more confidence.
I didn’t want to do this.
I could already feel the glares and stares of disapproval from my extended family, neighbours and family friends. I stood taller, my back straighter. I had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing. We’d made our peace, his verbally, mine in silent prayer, and now it was about Robbie, Cameron and their families.
Still I didn’t want to do this.
If I went to the funeral it would be like my mother’s all over again, the whole town focussing on me and my alleged indiscretions and inadequacies, rather than my families’ grief and sorrow. And remembrance. I didn’t need to hear eulogies, I didn’t need to stand in a room surrounded by strangers as they talked about what a good man my father was.
The truth of a funeral; never speak ill of the dead, think it and then say it aloud behind closed doors.
I hugged Robbie and Cameron, and then nodded my head towards the kitchen. I closed the living room door so
the three of us were alone. Angie opened it once, but seeing me with my arms around the waist of my two much larger sibs, she gave a quick smile and closed it swiftly.
Tea for the masses could wait.
“I’m not going,” I halted Robbie’s objections before they began. “You were in the room. I’ve said my goodbyes and made my peace. If I go it’ll become a circus. You have each other and your wives.”
“Skye, you have every right to be there.” Cameron was barely holding back the anger, one of the many stages of grief. I’d been through them all multiple times in the ten years since I’d left.
“I do and the fact that you want me there is enough.”
“He’s here.” Ali came in, elegantly dressed in a black knee length dress and pearls. Her jacket was on the back of a kitchen stool and Cameron held it out for her to shrug into. She looked at me and nodded. We’d come to a silent sort of agreement. She would do whatever Cameron wanted and I was secretly pleased, and surprised, that they had a happy marriage.
Go figure. He did wear the trousers when it came to the important stuff.
I kissed both my brothers and the house emptied. I wandered around picking up dirty cups and washed them before leaving. Unlike on so many previous occasions, I knew I would be back.
***
I waited until the cemetery was empty. Mostly empty. Two gravediggers were flumping earth on top of my father’s coffin. I carried a small posy of carnations, my mother’s favourite flower, yellow ones, her favourite colour. I stood aside and waited till they finished. The sky was darkening, thunder clouds massing, and as the first fat rain drops fell to the ground, I allowed myself the luxury of feeling.
I cried for my parents.