by Mick Bose
CHAPTER 40
I open the door, and a sullen-looking Jeremy comes in. He nods at me wearily, but his eyes are evasive. He puts his briefcase down with a thud, and hangs his coat up. Normally, he smells of his aftershave but today there is whiff of stale sweat and cigarettes. I know he smokes occasionally: after some drinks or when he’s stressed. Seems as if he’s had a tough day.
He avoids me, and troops into the kitchen with his shoulders slumped. Molly is upstairs, playing on her laptop. He pours himself a drink then sits down at the dining table.
“Is there anything to eat?” he asks, taking a sip of his red wine.
I haven’t had time to cook since we got back, and frankly, haven’t been in the mood. But I put some Brie to melt in the oven, and cut some slices of crusty bread and arrange them on top of the toaster. We can eat that with some apricot conserve. Jeremy is rubbing his eyes, he looks shattered.
I sit opposite him as the food gets done. “How did it go?” I ask, dreading the answer.
He looks at me with bloodshot eyes. “Bad. There was an emergency meeting of all the partners. I had to explain it. Why it was you who found him, about Joanne’s chip on the shoulder about Molly. But.” He says nothing more but stares at me.
“But what?”
“No one knew about him and his secretary, Teresa.”
“Is that who he was with?”
Jeremy leans his head back. “Yes. No one in the office knew a thing. Turns out, he opened up to you only.” He looks at me now. “Wonder why that was.”
“I met him outside his workplace. And I did ask him why we were meeting in a hotel, I did find that odd.”
Jeremy nods as if he understands my logic. I say, “How long has it been going on for?”
He shrugs. “Months. Years, who knows. He obviously had a very unhappy marriage.” Our eyes meet for a second, and it’s like sandpaper rubbing against our skins. He looks away quickly, but I don’t, and it hurts me.
“What about Joanne?” I ask. I haven’t heard anything from the school as yet, and from tomorrow it’s the February half-term. When I think of her, I do feel sympathy. Maybe I should reach out to her. Put this matter with Molly aside once and for all. Then again, after Eva, I am now scared of what I might find.
“The police said they’ve been to her house. They have spoken to her. She’s shocked obviously.”
I wonder what she thinks about me meeting her husband. Come to think of it, I’m surprised she’s not beating down my door. Maybe she realises her life isn’t as perfect as she thought it was. I can’t help feeling we are in the same predicament, just different degrees.
I remove the Brie from the oven, and put it on a plate with the bread. I bring it to the table. We dip the bread in the molten cheese and spoon some of the apricot on top. I have a bite of one and then stop. I haven’t eaten lunch but I’m not hungry. My insides are a mess like my head. I don’t eat all day then stuff my face late at night. It makes me sick and last night I vomited. I don’t want to think about it too much.
Jeremy munches and downs his red wine. It can’t wait any longer. He has to know what happened today after we left the police station.
“Something happened at Eva’s house.” My voice catches and he stares at me. When he sees the expression on my face he puts down the piece of bread slowly.
“What is it?”
“I found some old photos in her study upstairs. She was sleeping with Clive, behind my back. All those years ago. The photos made it obvious.” After a pause I continue. “Now, I think she’s behind all this. She’s been helping Clive all along. That’s why he knows about everything. How else would he know about our dinner at Mandarin Oriental? I told her, and she told him.”
I look at Jeremy for pity, sympathy, understanding. Something. Instead, his eyes are blank, and he keeps blinking. He pushes off from the table and stands up suddenly, like there’s a fire under his seat. He goes to the window and put his hands on his waist.
“I don’t know if I can deal with this anymore.”
I can understand where he’s coming from. At the same time, I have to hold myself together, and we need each other’s support.
“I’m sorry,” I say and find the words have dried up inside me.
“It’s just frustrating,” Jeremy says. “Everywhere I turn, this guy’s present.”
He turns around to face me. “I have been told to take a voluntary leave of absence from my job. Because of your involvement in this whole mess.”
His words hit me like a slap in the face. I am stunned, rooted to the spot like someone’s driven nails into my feet.
I crumple and break inside, reduced to sawdust and powder. But somehow, I stand straight and hold my face together. I swallow hard, feeling a lump in my throat.
“You think I’m making all this up? These are all lies?”
The frown on his face clears, and he drops his hands from his hips. He comes closer to me. I can see the stress in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Em, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’re not lying. But our lives are falling apart as a result of this shit.”
He sinks down to the chair, holding his head in his hands. “I’m just so tired and fed up of all this. I had a nice career, and now it’s in ruins. We were going to move into that house, start a family…”
“We can’t have a family,” I say flatly. “No more than what we have already.”
The cold finality in my voice makes him raise his head. There is a quietness suddenly, as if the air has been sucked out of the room. Our breaths are shrink-wrapped into silence. Movement is minimised to the contraction, dilation of eyeballs.
“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks slowly. Very softly. Like he’s afraid to go there. So am I.
“I can’t have any more children.”
“We talked about this. We can try…”
“No. You don’t understand.”
I tell him. As clearly as possible.
CHAPTER 41
Eight years ago
St George’s Hospital, South-West London
When I came to, it was evening. The lights were dimmed in my room, and darkness was falling across the windows that looked out onto the city’s skyline. Lights were starting to glow, yellow squares in the windows opposite and around.
My lips were dry. I tried to move and realised I had tubes stuck in my arm. I felt weak, so light that a gust of wind would blow me down. I lifted my head, and some numbers began flashing on a screen above my head. I looked at the squiggly lines on the screen, they made no sense to me.
I heard the door squeak open. The light was turned up, and a few people came inside. A nurse, followed by a doctor. The nurse checked my pulse, leaning over me.
I tried to speak but my lips would barely move. The nurse pressed some buttons on the screen and the beeping stopped. The doctor gazed at me, a frown on his face.
“Miss Dixon, can you hear me?”
I nodded. A look of relief appeared on his face. He turned to the nurse. “She’s going to be OK. Can I have a fluids chart and arterial blood gas again please.”
The nurse went off, and the doctor looked at me with the kind of expression a man has for his children.
“You’ve been through a lot, Miss Dixon. I’m just glad that I can speak to you finally. For a while, it was touch and go.” He shook his head from side to side. “How do you feel?”
“Water,” I managed to croak out. He rushed off, an embarrassed look on his face. He came back with a cup of water and helped me sit up to drink it. I winced with pain as I tried to change position. My lower belly seemed to be on fire, but also felt strange and tight.
I looked up at the doctor. I was dreading his answer, but I had to ask him anyway. “What happened to me?”
His face was grave when he looked at me. “It’s a miracle you are still alive. When the ambulance crew got in, they found you passed out on the floor. You were blue-lighted in, and we had to take you straight to theatre.”
“Theatre?”
“Yes. You had a lot of internal bleeding, Miss Dixon.” A look passed over his face, and he turned his eyes away from me briefly.
My head was spinning again, but I pressed him. “Tell me what happened.”
“You had a complete miscarriage. I am sorry.”
I had suspected as much, but the words still hit me like a hammer in the chest. My heart crumbled and broke like it had been made of powder. I felt tears trickle down the side of my eyes.
The doctor said, “I found your partner’s number in your purse. Is he the man called Clive Connery? Do you want me to call him?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone? A friend maybe?” the doctor said. He looked like an Indian man, his name badge said Dr Raja. His voice was soothing, soft, but there was something else in it as well. I looked up at him, and found his expression more morbid than before. Breath caught in my chest.
“What is it?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “There is no easy way to say this, Miss Dixon. Like I said, you had a miscarriage, and a prolonged bleed. I am afraid the bleeding wasn’t just due to the miscarriage.”
I was staring at him, spellbound. He continued, holding my eyes. “You also ruptured a blood vessel. It’s called the uterine artery, and it’s the main artery of the womb. When you are pregnant, that artery carried almost a quarter of the blood that pumps out of your heart.”
He swallowed, his eyes getting duller. “The bleeding was so heavy that you were in danger of dying. We had to make a decision. The miscarriage had already happened and the womb was empty.”
My mouth opened slightly, my chest felt empty. The meaning behind his words began to sink in, like blood soaking into dry earth.
Dr Raja took a deep breath again. “We tried everything we could. But the blood was filling your womb, and try as we might, we couldn’t find the uterine artery. So we had to…” He looked away briefly, then focused on me again. “We had to carry out a hysterectomy.”
My fingers were claws on the bedsheet, my knuckles bone-white. “No,” I whispered.
“I am very sorry…”
“NO!” I shouted. “No, no! I…me…” I looked down at my belly, and started to pull off the bedsheets. I had to see for myself.
He tried to restrain me. “Be careful, don’t pull out the stitches.” He craned his head back and shouted. “Nurse! Help!”
Running feet approached. By that time, I had shoved off the sheets, and lifted up the gown that covered me. A horrible, ugly scar stretched across my lower belly, the staples on my skin shining like evil teeth. My tummy was swollen, red. It looked ghastly, alien, like it didn’t belong to me.
Panic closed my throat. I wanted to jump out of the bed, run out of there. I never wanted to see these people again.
Clive…maybe Clive…No, even the thought of his face burned my face with rage. That bastard had done this to me. This was all his fault.
I became aware hands were holding my arms, pinning them down to the bed.
“10mg diazepam, now!” I heard Dr Rajah shout. “Hurry, before she takes the IV line out!”
The nurse from before was pushing my shoulders back. Tears blurred my eyes again, and I shouted once more, my voice hoarse.
“Why? Why…?”
I felt cold liquid surge up one of my veins, then the lights dimmed in my eyes again.
CHAPTER 42
Eight years ago
White light. White sky.
Sounds muffled like horses running on a sea beach, hooves pounding on sand.
Whispers. My swollen eyelids opened painfully. Jagged shards of photos burned my retina and I winced, squeezing my eyes shut. I moved my head from side to side, did the same with hands and toes.
I was here. I was alive. I wasn’t sure how much of me was still left, but I was still here. I let my eyes get used to the light, then opened them. I was in a different room. It was cold and clinical. I wasn’t on my own anymore, more beds were visible around me. I could see the person on the next bed, an elderly woman with a breathing tube sticking out of her mouth. Her chest rose up and down, and she was sleeping. I tried to sit up, and I heard the beeping alarm again. The sounds was annoying and I wanted to slap the screen just to shut it up.
A different nurse appeared, bustling in blue. Her name tag said, ‘Linda, ITU Matron’.
“How are you, my love?” She turned the alarm off and checked my vitals. In all honesty, I was feeling a lot better. I remembered everything, it came back to me in slow, painful waves. The sheer physical drudgery wasn’t there anymore. My bones didn’t ache. My tummy still felt sore, and my head still hurt, but I felt stronger. Guess I had needed that sleep.
“How long was I out for?” I asked Linda.
“Two days, my love. You’ve really been through the mill, haven’t you?” Her eyes were sympathetic, but I felt slightly irritated. Was nothing personal around here? Did everyone know my business?
Two days seemed like a long time to be asleep. But it had left me feeling better.
Linda got the message, and looked away. “Doctor will be here soon,” she said, before bustling away.
I yawned and stretched. The IV lines had been removed from my arms, but I could feel a urinary catheter, which I wanted to get rid of without delay. I needed to get moving. A cloud of despondence came over me.
Clive…our flat. I had been here for three days at least. I wondered if he had tried to get in touch, or if he still cared. I looked around for my belongings. I needed to phone Dad and Eva. A movement caught my eyes and I looked up to see a group of white coats moving towards me. Dr Raja was leading the way, and with him was a lady doctor, short and plump, her blonde hair done up in a bob.
Dr Raja beamed at me. “Good to see you up, Miss Dixon. How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. What did he want me to say? I felt like shit, and I knew I didn’t look any better. My hair was straggly, sticky. I wanted to have a bath for a whole year.
He gestured to the short woman. “This is Miss Beveridge. She is the gynaecology consultant who assisted us in the operation.”
She stuck her podgy hand out, and I shook it. I couldn’t help but stare at the fingers that had roamed around my insides, chopping and cutting. A shiver ran through me.
When she spoke, her tone was crisp, businesslike. “I am sorry for what happened.” I glanced at her. Her steely blue eyes didn’t look sorry at all. But there was a hint of something else. Empathy perhaps. Understanding. I looked down at my hands, a pain suddenly gripping my chest.
“Miss Dixon.” She leaned forward, her blue suit straining against the rails of the bed. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I sniffed, and nodded. “What did you have to remove?”
“The uterus, as well as the tubes. I left the ovaries in there. Which means you will still ovulate and release an egg, but it will never be fertilised, and you will not have periods.”
Reality was sinking in fast. This was the new me. Emma Dixon on the outside, warts and all. Inside, scooped out, hollowed. I felt strangely empty, like a drum.
I swallowed back the bitterness. “So I can never have children?”
Miss Beveridge who, despite her title, wore a wedding ring, didn’t reply till I looked up at her. Then she nodded slowly, her gaze now softer, like she was supporting me as I gently fell to the ground.
“As you have no womb left, you cannot have children. Your tubes were also swollen with fluid. They were blocked, essentially, and we had to remove them. With the womb, the cervix came as well.” For the first time, I caught a note of hesitation in her voice. “You shouldn’t be going through this alone. Where is your partner?”
CHAPTER 43
Present day
Jeremy is standing stiff, his eyes sunk deep in their sockets, breathing heavily. I see his mind trying to make sense of my words. Then his face changes into disbelief. It breaks my heart.
Now I know there’s
no going back. My past has caught up with me, finally. It has to be this way. I have avoided this moment for so many years. So many near misses, half-attempts. Like the filament of a hurricane that destroys everything, this truth has swirled around us. Invisible, ever present. I have tried to grab it and it escaped with a whisper. Or maybe I wasn’t really trying. I was fooling myself, playing happy family.
But now it has landed, right here, between us, in the middle of the room. Tonight, there will be no escape.
My eyes sting, and futile saline drops bubble over the surface.
Jeremy can’t tear his eyes off me. “Is this true?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.
My silence is answer enough, and my sorrow is actually for him, for us. Not for me. My heart was broken a long time ago, and that part of me will never come together.
It killed my mother, when she found out. She never said it aloud, but I saw it in her eyes. Now it’s killing us. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Jeremy is still staring at me, and I know I owe him an explanation.
“I never lied to you, Jeremy,” I say in a strong voice. “I might not have explained everything to you, but I didn’t give you false hopes.”
I feel everything trembling around me, the timber slats of the floor, the walls of the house. The hurricane is sucking up my world, everything solid is turning to motes of dust.
He gets up and walks towards me. There is anger in his face, but also regret.
“And I’m not lying about Clive and Eva…”
“Shut up, Emma. Just shut up.” His chest heaves up and down. “I never want to hear those two names again.” He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Do I even know who you are, Emma?”
The pain hits me hard, like I’ve been hit by the point of a spear in the chest. “Don’t say that, Jeremy, please. I love you, I always have. You have to believe me.”
“Love? If you loved me then why couldn’t you be straight with me from the start?” His eyes are turning red like mine.