by Janey Rosen
SEBASTIAN
DARK BONDS
________
JANEY ROSEN
Sebastian – Dark Bonds
Copyright © 2013 by Janey Rosen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1481814096
Dedication
I owe a debt of gratitude to my husband for his unending patience and fortitude, without which it would have been impossible for me to dedicate so much time to completing this book.
Janey Rosen
1
Deep inside me a fierce torrent of bubbling, salty sea is rising from my belly... it’s like a tsunami within my core and it is crashing through my chest now and up into my throat and it spews forth from my lips as a gurgling, explosive scream… and I scream again but this time no sounds comes forth, the tide has ebbed and all that is left is the taste of the salt and I realize the salt is vomit and a nurse is holding a cardboard bowl under my chin while she strokes my back, comforting me. Only there will never be any comfort in my world again.
I gently hold my son’s limp hand in mine. It’s a tiny white hand, icy cold and the finger nail beds are blue grey. I need to clip his nails, they are too long – he’ll be in trouble at school with nails like those and I don’t want the teachers to think I’m not a good mum. Yes I need to clip those nails. I gaze at his face but it’s not the face I know. It’s not my son, and yet they tell me this lifeless soul is my boy. He’s swollen, all of his face is puffy and blotchy and he’s so very cold. I need to keep him warm, so I climb onto the narrow bed beside him and wrap my body over his, my arms tightly around him and my leg across his small body but still he feels icy cold. I stroke his matted crusted hair and sing him the lullaby I used to sing to him when he was small.
Little man is tired he’s had a busy day
And now it’s time for him to go to sleep,
So pack up all your worries,
Little man has had a busy day.
Only this time when I sing to him, he doesn’t giggle and snuggle down under the duvet, instead he lies still and cold under the crisp white sheet and my mother is telling me to stop, that I have to let him go, kiss him goodbye. But he’s already asleep, I tell her. We have to be very quiet because he’s exhausted and needs his rest and then he will get better but my mother is sobbing and saying “he’s gone Beth, he’s gone love”.
I close my eyes and see myself in the hospital bed with my baby boy. He is still covered in vernix, and he’s crying with his tiny chin quivering. I hold him to my breast, and his hungry cry is hushed as he suckles from me and I wonder at this perfect tiny child in my arms. Then I look down at the tiny infant and instead of his warm pink skin against my breast he’s mottled and dead and the salty tide is swelling inside me again.
It takes the nurses and my exhausted mother three hours to part me from my son. I want to see Alan I tell them. They tell me it’s not ‘a good idea’ to see Alan but I shake free of their hands and their sympathy and run from cubicle to cubicle until I find him alone behind the final curtain.
He’s just a shape beneath a white sheet but I know it’s him. I’m shocked and sickened when I pull back the sheet, to reveal the broken shell of my husband but pity and sorrow gives way to the stronger beast within me – fury. As I stand beside his fractured body, looking down on this man I want to kill him. If he wasn’t already dead I would kill him with my bare hands – a life for a life. His life for my son’s.
I’m shaking now, violent shudders over which I have no control and my hand takes on a life of it’s own, avenging Joe for what this man did to him and it strikes Alan. It’s not my hand now, it’s a tool which is working entirely independently of my body as it slaps Alan’s distorted face, and it pounds his crushed chest with blows from it’s tightly clenched fist and a guttural feral roar erupts from my throat. The fist is stopped and I’m grabbed and held and I try to break free so that the fist can continue to mete it’s punishment, but the arms hold me so tightly I can’t move and a voice commands me to stop.
As I regain awareness and self-control, I know that I’m in Sebastian’s arms, and my legs give way beneath me. He catches me and lifts me and I’m carried away from this horrific scene.
2
Joe and Bella are playing in the sand on the beach, and the sun is shining. Bella is burying Joe up to his neck, and Alan and I are laughing as he wiggles his toes, before Bella can cover them with the sandy pile. The sand turns darker, and it becomes soil and his toes are not wiggling any more. I tell Bella to stop. Enough. Let Joe get out now he’ll catch cold in the ground Bella. Now the beach is a graveyard, and Alan is putting more soil on Joe’s head. I’m running to Joe, but as fast as I run his muddy grave gets further away, and now Alan’s pushing damp soil into Joe’s mouth and he can’t breath and I can’t run any faster.
I wake up sweating and panicking, my eyes trying to adjust to the bright daylight which fills the room and Sebastian is beside me stroking my hair and hushing me, telling me it was a bad dream, everything’s ok. But it’s not ok. My son is still gone, and so is Alan whom I miss and love and despise all in equal measure.
My mother appears in the doorway to my bedroom and lays a tray on my bedside table. “Try a little porridge Beth dear, please – just for me ok?” She looks haggard and spent and I realize I have been selfish not caring for her, and for Bella who both must be hurting dreadfully. I ask where Bella is and mum tells me Sebastian went to fetch her. She’s here, in her room but she is in pieces, bless her. I’ve been dozing I’m told, since the doctor prescribed a sedative for me and the whole night has passed. My mouth feels dry and my tongue is coated in a foul tasting gunge. I take a mouthful of the porridge and enjoy the comforting warmth from the creamed oats. Then I give my mother a long hard hug and tell her how much I love her and she sobs and tells me she loves me too.
Bella cuts the call on her mobile phone as I enter her room, and we sit on the edge of her bed. I can see she’s been crying, her eyes are red and puffy and scrunched up tissues are strewn about her room. I pull her into my arms and hug her tightly, afraid to let her go as she sobs against my shoulder.
“Shh it’ll be ok darling,” I soothe - not believing what I tell her. Nothing will ever be ok again.
I pull on jeans and a baggy sweater, not caring about my appearance or my matted hair, everything such as eating and making conversation seems a pointless exercise today.
Alan’s parents have been to see Alan and Joe at the hospital mortuary, and are coming over at eleven this morning and I dread facing them. How do I console two people who have lost their son and grandson when I am consumed by my own loss and have no capacity to sympathize with others?
Sebastian is sitting in the lounge, in Alan’s chair reading The Times. He jumps to his feet, and hugs me tightly when I come downstairs. His face is full of concern for me and I feel so thankful that he is here, but also aware that Alan’s parents will be arriving soon and it would be extremely tactless for Sebastian to be here when they arrive. As intuitive as ever, Sebastian picks up his coat and heads off elsewhere for a couple of hours.
Dora walks up the garden path supported by Brian, both looking frail and desolate, followed by Alan’s sister Sarah and her husband Nathan; a bleak and forsaken group for whom I feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow and compassion.
I meet them on the doorstep and Dora crumbles into my arms followed by a sobbing Sarah. Nathan guides our forlorn huddle into the lounge and goes to the kitchen to make a tray of tea while Brian sits grimly in Alan’s armchair. After a few minutes our group regains composure and Nathan returns with a pot of tea, jug of milk and
5 mugs and proceeds to pour the steaming brew.
“Sugar Nathan!” barks Brian. “Hot sweet tea. That’s what the doctor ordered. Hot sweet tea for shock.”
Nathan nods and returns to the kitchen to retrieve the sugar. We all take a mug of the compulsory hot sweet tea regardless of whether we take sugar.
“Terrible business Beth,” states Brian glumly. “What I don’t understand is why this happened eh?” He’s glaring at me with an expression full of accusation and blame and I can’t meet his pained stare.
“Thing of it is, in my view, if you hadn’t kicked our boy out he’d be here now with our little Joe instead of … lying on that bloody trolley in that BLOODY MORGUE…” his voice grows to a shout and startles us all and Dora sobs again.
Nathan, standing next to Brian, puts his hand gently on his father-in-law’s shoulder. “Come on Brian mate, it’s not Beth’s fault. She’s as cut up about this as the rest of us, now’s not the time,” says Nathan.
Brian shrugs off his hand, gets up and walks out of the room and we hear him opening the kitchen door and exiting into the back garden.
Alan’s family stays for an hour, until Brian comes back into the house, and informs us all that they’re leaving. I have talked with Dora, Sarah and Nathan about undertakers but Nathan tells us that we have to wait for Alan and Joe to be released for burial as, he says, there will be an autopsy. This news fills me with horror and the knot in my stomach clenches tighter with the dread and pity I feel for my two loved ones who face such an undignified ordeal after all they have been through.
We all hug goodbye, except Brian who gives me a curt nod, and we agree to call each other when we hear from the hospital. We will then meet again to agree funeral arrangements.
Feeling drained and totally spent, I sink down onto the sofa and close my eyes in the darkness, I hear Sebastian return and hear him talking quietly on his mobile phone in the kitchen. “Scarlett you’ve done well. You’ll be rewarded when I return.” What’s she done that’s so incredible?
The next few hours are a blur to me. A Detective Inspector called Pete Chambers and family liaison officer, WPC Laura Viney, visit in the early evening and ask questions about Alan’s car. I give them the number of the garage, which maintains our cars and they make notes of everything I tell them, which unnerves me. For some reason they make me feel as though I’m under suspicion for the accident, so I go to great lengths to explain to them the events leading up to the crash.
I tell them about Alan’s drinking and his mood swings, our arguments and Alan’s departure from our family home. They nod sympathetically and scribble in notebooks but I am glad when they leave. The WPC assures me, as she leaves, that she is there if I need her but it is not yet possible to release Alan or Joe to the family. They will be in touch in due course.
I watch their police car pull away, conscious of the many pairs of net curtains twitching at the windows of the houses opposite ours, and call Sebastian down from upstairs where he has been chatting with Bella until the police leave.
“Darling I’ve been thinking, I want you and Bella to come to Penmorrow after the funeral. Scarlett and I can look after you both. Give you some time and space to heal. What do you think?” he asks.
I’m sitting next to him at the breakfast table and I place my hand gently on his knee.
“You’re so thoughtful Sebastian, what would Bella and I do without you? I’m just not sure that’s a good idea though. Bella needs to be near her friends and I don’t want to leave Mum at the moment, she’s devastated. We’re all devastated.”
His disappointment is palpable and I feel his knee stiffen beneath my hand.
“Why don’t we take one day at a time and see how things are after the… after the funeral?” I say, tears stinging my eyes once more, and Sebastian drops the subject.
It is the third telephone call of the day. Still the obstreperous woman in the General Office at the hospital will not confirm if the autopsy has been completed, nor when it was likely that my chosen undertaker – the aptly named Heart Brothers – will be able to collect Alan or Joe. I slam the phone down in frustration.
Dora is sure to call again this afternoon, and I’ll have to listen to her telling me it’s now six days since the accident and how it all seems very suspicious to her and Brian.
As every day passes, I feel the finger of blame is more firmly pointed in my direction. Brian won’t talk to me at all, and the police officer is due to come over again this afternoon. I don’t understand why they all seem to blame me… when I blame myself enough for everybody.
Blame should focus upon my treatment of Alan and our incessant fights. Blame should not focus on my causing the accident. However in the last twenty-four hours I’ve also begun to hold myself entirely accountable for Alan’s actions, which led to the crash.
If I hadn’t been such a bitch, wanting something I couldn’t and shouldn’t have, been happy and content with my marriage, then Alan wouldn’t have been a drinker, and therefore wouldn’t have crashed and my baby would be here with me. So would Alan.
Could I have lived out the rest of my life with him? I go round in circles and thoughts always conclude that I could not have lived with Alan any longer, but equally I would do anything to bring him back to life.
Sebastian has been wonderful. My rock. He has returned to Cornwall for a few days to attend to matters on his estate and I miss him dreadfully, but life goes on. He has enormous responsibilities I know, and I’m grateful for the time he’s spent with me when I needed him so.
At five to four the doorbell chimes and I welcome Detective Inspector Pete Chambers and WPC Laura Viney into my home, hoping my contempt for them is not outwardly apparent. They both have a grave expression on their faces, which increases my anxiety. I seat them at the kitchen table and switch the kettle on.
“Mrs. Dove, thank you for seeing us this afternoon. We realize this is difficult for you,” he says without sincerity. “WPC Viney here, and I have paid a visit to Coldwell Garage. Very helpful mechanic, that Jimmy. Very efficient garage too I might say, rare to find a garage which books your next service in even before you’ve left from your last one.”
I’m unsure where he’s going with this so I busy myself making mugs of tea.
“Yes, he says Mr. Dove bought his Ford in three weeks ago for it’s MOT and service. Fitted new brake shoes and discs, he says. Checked the steering mount, changed a bald tyre, and gave it a damn good check over. Very thorough is Jimmy at Coldwell Garage Mrs. Dove. Reassures you, doesn’t it, that your car’s well cared for and safe don’t you think?” I see now where he is going with this and I do not like it one bit.
My cheeks are blushing and I spin around on my heels and let him have the wrath of Beth, no holds barred.
“Just you wait one damn minute!” I bark. “If you’re implying there’s anything suspicious about my husband’s accident, then I will stop you right there! Yes Alan was particular about his car, bloody anal about it actually if you want my opinion. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t pissed or that he didn’t hit the bloody tree because he was so tanked up with whisky he didn’t know what he was doing.” The policeman looks affronted while the WPC shoots him a sideward glance and it is she who speaks next.
“Mrs. Dove, Detective Inspector Chambers is not implying any irregularity, but it’d be remiss of us if we didn’t investigate the circumstances leading to this tragic accident. It’s normal procedure in this type of event to look into all aspects of the deaths, and you wouldn’t thank us if we didn’t do our jobs properly so that you could have closure would you?” I’m speechless.
“Also, Mrs. Dove, the sooner we carry out our enquiries the sooner you can plan the funerals.”
That hits me firmly between the eyes. Until now I have convinced myself that it was normal red tape and inefficiencies, which was causing the hold up in the release of Alan and Joe – now the delay takes on a far more sinister aspect.
“Do…do you think someone tampered
with Alan’s car?” I ask hesitantly. I note that the police officers exchange knowing glances again. Pete Chambers replies.
“At this stage, Mrs. Dove, it’s not clear. I have to say though that foul play is one consideration at this time, and if that were to be the case, it would be a horse of a different color. I’m afraid it would be a murder investigation.” He stares at me and I meet his stare, unwilling to look away lest I should seem guilty.
“I see.” I reply. “Whatever help I can give then it goes without saying that I want to be as helpful as possible. Honestly though, I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Alan or my Joe.”
“I see,” echoes Pete Chambers in the most unnerving manner. “I thank you for your offer of help Mrs. Dove and we’ll be sure to be back in touch with you very soon. Very soon indeed, so don’t plan on going anywhere for the time being ok?” I nod sullenly and the two officers rise, both leaving their tea untouched.
At the front door, the Detective Inspector turns to me, and says “if you need to call me, if you have any leads on where Mr. Dove may have got the pills, call me on this number.” Handing me his contact card, he leaves.
3
Day eight. It seems like an eternity since I held Joe in my arms and today I’m going to visit him at the hospital, only I will not be taking a ‘get well’ balloon or a comic when I visit my son. Instead I shall be taking Joe’s favorite Manchester United football shirt and his ‘snuggly’ – a tatty old teddy which I bought for Bella to give Joe when he was born. Snuggly has sat on Joe’s bookshelf for the past three years, because Joe is a big boy now. Was. Too grown up for teddies. Too grown up for the Spiderman toys, cars and trains, which have been boxed up in the attic for the past year. Snuggly needs to be with Joe now though, to offer comfort to my frightened boy and the smell of home to replace the antiseptic hospital smell.