by Millie Gray
‘Yes. He fell off his friend’s bike on Leith Walk. Dixie Armstrong is his name.’
‘Ahhh. The doctors are with him now. So just take a seat and as soon as we know how he is we will come for you.’ The Sister then turned and called out to a nurse. ‘Ross, could you arrange a cup of strong tea for Mrs Armstrong?’
Kirsten took a seat, but she was bolt upright when the nurse arrived with a cuppa. ‘I do not wish any bloody tea, strong or otherwise. I want to see my son!’
Thirty slow minutes then dragged by. Trying to find comfort, Jane, who was seated next to her mother, slid her hand under Kirsten’s. All Kirsten was capable of doing to ease Jane’s anguish was to squeeze her hand tightly. Eventually a young doctor came to speak to them.
‘Your son,’ he began, as he swallowed hard, ‘has sustained severe head injuries.’
Kirsten’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘But you can do so much nowadays, so what will you be able to do for him?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘What I am trying to say is that he is very poorly and it would appear we can do nothing to resuscitate him.’
Looking long and hard at the young man, Kirsten’s breath came in ragged, urgent gasps. Fighting to speak, she managed to utter, ‘But he is just a boy.’ She paused, gripped with horror at what she was saying. ‘He has his whole life in front of him. He loves his life. I know he wants to go on living it. Surely there is something you can do? Please let my boy live.’
‘Mrs Armstrong. I am sorry, but what I am trying to say to you is that there is no brain activity.’
Kirsten swayed in her chair as emotion overcame her. ‘Are you saying that there is no hope?’
The doctor nodded. ‘He is being kept alive by artificial means. If you and . . .’
‘My daughter, Jane.’
The doctor nodded towards Jane, kindness and sympathy in his eyes. ‘If you could please follow me, I will take you to your son.’
Nothing could have prepared Kirsten for the shock. Her Dixie was unconscious and his breathing laboured. Machines and monitors attached to him hummed in the background. Just as when he was born, Kirsten had to fight to suppress the desire to haul out all the wires so she could hold him in her arms. Tell him she was there. Tell him that she loved him. Will him to awaken from his deep, deep slumber.
Time passed. Jessie, Bea and Molly all arrived. They stayed awhile, weeping and clinging to each other, to say their goodbyes, then they left in a small huddle of grief and shock. Only Kirsten and Jane completed the vigil. Twice during his shift Eddie called in. He was in the background when the doctor said, ‘Could I suggest that when you are ready, and I will give you all the time that you need to say your goodbyes, you give me permission to shut off Dixie’s life support. It would be best now to let him slip away.’
‘Do you mean,’ Kirsten said between sobs, ‘that I have to let him go?’
‘Yes, because he will not recover. I am so sorry, but only the machines are keeping him alive.’
Kirsten could only shake her head.
‘Mrs Armstrong,’ the doctor continued quietly, as he sought Kirsten’s hand, ‘I know how hard the decision is for you. All I can say is if he were mine, I would let him go.’
‘But I love him so very much.’ She faltered. ‘Dixie has always been my special gift. You see, I cannot face the agony and misery of life without him.’
The doctor nodded and silently held her hand.
Jane came over to stand beside her mother. ‘Mum,’ she pleaded, her face wet with tears. ‘I love him too. I love him so much, but if he cannot be as he was, laughing, singing, loving Rosie, then I know it is right to say goodbye.’
*
Thirty minutes later the monitors were switched off. Their sounds changed to a long drone. The zigzag line changed to continual flat. On either side of Dixie were Kirsten and Jane. Just holding his hands, they were, as the machines stilled. Kirsten then threw her body over Dixie.
‘No. No,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh my darling, you never asked for much. You taught us all how to love. Mummy loves you so. I needed you so. My life will be so empty without you. Who will now fill my life with laughter, now you are gone?’
Jessie, who had arrived back at the hospital, then gently said, ‘Kirsten, you have done all you could. I know he knows you were there. So, come on, lass . . . It is time to leave. And believe, like I do, he won’t be alone until we join him in heaven. He will be with his two brothers. I can just imagine the three of them playing together. So, come now, Kirsten, it is time to leave. Our Dixie has gone.’
Kirsten shook her head, her hands still holding onto her son. ‘No, I will stay until he is prepared for the . . .’ She couldn’t say the word. ‘But, Jessie, our Jane is all in, so please take her back to the hotel with you. She will be better with you tonight. Comfort her all you can.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Just stay with him until . . .’ She paused, unable to speak.
Jessie embraced her and took Jane from the room. She knew that Kirsten would stay with Dixie until the undertaker from McKenzie and Millar came and took over. Then Kirsten would tell them all she wished them to do for her precious Dixie.
*
And so, Kirsten accompanied Dixie over to the undertaker’s. By the time she had made them aware of her wishes, it was gone half past two in the morning. She stepped out into Great Junction Street and decided that, even though the hour was late, she would not hail a taxi, but just walk home. With a bowed head, she had just taken her initial steps when she became aware of someone alighting from a car.
‘Please let me drive you home.’
Raising her head, Kirsten was shocked to find herself looking at Eddie. ‘Where did you spring from?’
‘I went back to the hospital when I came off duty. I intended to wait there until . . . Kirsten, I am so very sorry about Dixie. He was such a loveable boy. His laughter was so infectious.’ She nodded. ‘You brought him up so very well.’
‘Please,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t say nice things to me. If only he had regained consciousness long enough for me to say goodbye. I will miss him so very much.’ She braced herself, as if trying already to get her feelings in check. ‘But the memories of my Dixie will live with me my whole life through.’
‘Come now.’ Eddie offered her his hand. ‘Let me get you home. Don’t suppose you have eaten?’
‘No, but I’m not hungry. A cup of tea and then all I want to do is curl up in bed.’
When they got to Balfour Street, Eddie made Kirsten a cup of tea. Slowly, as she drank it, she became lost in her memories of Dixie.
Thinking that he had done all he could for her, Eddie rose to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ Kirsten asked, as she staggered to her feet.
‘Home.’
Kirsten reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders. This confused Eddie. It was something he always hoped she would do, but now he wondered why on this night of all nights. He was still trying to fathom out what was happening when a sobbing Kirsten uttered, ‘No, Eddie, please, please, don’t leave me. I just couldn’t bear to sleep alone tonight. I am so bruised and torn. I have lost my son and I am heartbroken. I want . . . no, I need to feel the warmth of another human being. I can’t bear to be all alone. Not tonight, when I have lost my son. My son, love of my life.’
Looking into his eyes now, she went on. ‘Please understand this is not a whim on my part. Eddie, for years I have loved you. Wanted you. Tonight you are the only one I wish to comfort me. To be truthful, I know you are the only one who can.’
Taken aback, Eddie fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, which he used to gently mop her tears. ‘There, there, love,’ he said. ‘If you are sure, really sure, that you wish me to stay with you tonight . . . I will. But, Kirsten, everything has a cost. The price of me accepting your invitation is that I will not be able to go back to you and me just being friends. I know you are a warm and loving human being. You would never be knowingly cruel. But to open t
he door to the possibility of us having a proper and lasting relationship and then banging it shut in my face would be so unbearable.’
Kirsten nodded. Life had been so cruel to her today. It was unimaginable to her, but now even in her grief, she simply wished for someone else she loved to soothe her. Someone who could, by their touch, warmth and closeness alleviate some of the relentless, dark pain – help her live with her deep sense of loss.
*
Eddie was up and dressed when the doorbell rang. He answered its summons and, to his surprise, on the doorstep stood Molly.
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘I just called to see Kirsten. Offer her not only my condolences, but all her chums condolences too.’ Her hand went backwards to indicate all in Balfour Street. ‘All around here, our deepest condolences. Poor, poor Dixie. We are in such shock. How is she?’
Molly did not wait for Eddie to answer, or for him to invite her in. Invitations to Kirsten’s home she did not require. Before Molly could speak further Eddie became aware that her eyes were red and swollen. She had obviously being crying and quite profusely at that.
‘Dixie will be a great loss, not only to Kirsten,’ he said.
Molly pursed her lips. ‘Yes, he was such a happy, lively lad. You know . . .’ She held out her hand. ‘When he was born, you could have laid him there, and there was room to spare. Then he thrived and became Dixie. The lad who was always smiling, laughing and singing. Wanting to tell you a joke. And the way he and Rosie, who were too young to be in love, would just walk along the road hand in hand.’ She stopped. Tears welled.
‘Forgive me, but I will need to be going. I am on duty at two o’clock.’
Molly looked directly at him. ‘I take it you spent the night here?’
Eddie nodded. ‘Well, the early morning anyway.’
‘That so? Fine, but let me say this to you, Kirsten will be so fragile for a while now, so please don’t mess her about. She has been kicked in the teeth quite often enough. And losing Dixie is the hardest blow of all.’ She paused and looked at the wall. ‘Worked so very hard, she has, to provide for her bairns.’ Turning, she stared right into Eddie’s eyes. ‘And, sir, I have known for some time that she was carrying a torch for someone. Somehow this morning I have the feeling that it is you she dreams about . . . has hopes about.’
Eddie could only stand and listen to Molly’s words; he could sense that he’d be wise to heed them.
‘Now, take fair warning, she is not the type to be used. She is honest and upright. If she loves you and you return that love, no one will be happier than me, but, sir . . .’ Molly did not finish her sentence. She did not need to – he had got the message loud and clear that if he were to break Kirsten’s heart Molly would do what she could to wreak revenge.
‘Has the funeral still to be arranged?’ Molly went on, now that they understood each other.
‘Yes, Kirsten did speak to the undertaker’s, but that was just about how they should treat Dixie while in their care. But as to the funeral itself, of course that has still to be arranged.’
‘It will be a big occasion,’ Molly told him. ‘So much bigger than Kirsten will be imagining. Dixie was loved, not only in our street here, oh no, all over Leith, and wherever he went Dixie made friends. People loved him. He was always so happy, he brought out the best in us.’
At which point, Kirsten called out from the bedroom. ‘Eddie, are you still here?’
Eddie did not respond verbally until he went back into the bedroom. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, as he leaned forward to stroke her hair. ‘But, darling, I have to go now. No need to worry, though, Molly has arrived to be with you.’ He hesitated. ‘She is, I believe, going to go with you to make arrangements for Dixie.’
*
As Molly predicted, Dixie’s funeral was well attended. Kirsten had decided, like for his brothers, that Dixie should be cremated and his ashes scattered in the Garden of Rest. As the mourning cars followed the cortege down Leith Walk, along Duke Street, and then on towards the crematorium, the occupants noted that the sides of the streets were lined with people. People stood and waved or saluted a cheerful wee boy that they had known and admired.
At the crematorium Kirsten, flanked by Bea and Jane, sat in the front row. As the other mourners filed in, Kirsten turned to notice that a weeping Rosie and her mother were among them. Rising, Kirsten went up to Isabel Thomson. ‘Isabel, as Rosie was such an important friend to Dixie, would you please both join us here in the front row?’
Isabel nodded her consent and the two women linked arms as they moved into the seats together.
As soon as Rosie was seated, she turned to Kirsten and said, ‘Do you cry a lot because Dixie has gone away?’
Kirsten nodded. ‘Know something, Rosie?’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I think I have wept an ocean since he left. But aren’t we lucky that we knew him . . . loved him. Just think what we would have missed if we had never met him.’
The after-service tea was held in Armstrong’s; for Kirsten it passed in a strange haze of sorrow and tears. Then, once all the guests had left, Kirsten, Bea, Jane and Jessie sat together.
‘Think it all went well, Kirsten,’ Jessie remarked. ‘And could I say you did a great job on Dixie. Remember, I do, that he wasn’t promised two hours at the start of his life. But you and your attention to him brought him on and he thrived. Twelve good and happy years you bought for him.’ She paused when she saw Kirsten’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Here,’ she continued in a lighter tone, ‘did you see that big police guy, you know that Chief Eddie Carmichael, the one that runs the football team, was there. Nice of him to think about us.’ Kirsten nodded, and Jessie moved on, as if talking would hold their grief at bay. ‘Look, don’t be hurt, but Jane is not keen on going home just now. Says, she does, that she’s not ready to be at home and Dixie’s things being there and him not.’
‘And, Bea, what about you?’ Kirsten asked, turning to look at her daughter.
‘I think I will come home. You never know, now that Dixie is away, you might notice that I am alive!’
Kirsten bristled, startled that Bea would say such a thing. But as her daughter’s remarks sank in, she saw them as a wake-up call: she reluctantly had to face the fact that she had made mistakes. Not intentionally, but nevertheless very damaging mistakes. Some might argue that she was guilty of neglect – neglect of Jane’s and Bea’s needs. Always she had put Dixie and his welfare before theirs. When he was born, they had only been children. Children of the tender years of four and five, who needed to know that she loved them, valued them. Jane, who was a different nature from Bea, had coped by becoming another carer for Dixie. And care for him she had. Bea, on the other hand, was like her father, an attention seeker, and whereas Duncan had up and left to lead a different life, Bea had only been a child and therefore she had had to stay and endure. These facts, Kirsten now acknowledged, had turned her into the selfish, truculent teenager she now was.
Kirsten bit on her lip, thinking back to Jessie’s mention of Eddie. After spending a night with him, she knew that she really loved him. He was tender, caring, loving – and even today she was longing for him again. Before Bea had spoken she somehow hoped that they might be able to marry very soon and all would be well. This she now knew was a pipe dream. She had to make sure that her girls were her priority. No way could she even suggest bringing a man into their lives. They both needed her attention – they had lost a brother, a brother who had taken all their mother’s attention – and as much as she wished, no yearned, to be Eddie’s wife, she knew that it would have to be put on hold. For how long she didn’t know, but if he loved her then when she explained to him about the girls he would perhaps wait for her.
As if she was reading Kirsten’s mind, Jessie now sprung another turn to the conversation on her.
‘Kirsten,’ she said, ‘could I ask you to remember what we were discussing about me, Duncan and the management for the hotel before our Dixie . . .’
Kirsten’s head shot up. ‘
No, Jessie, you absolutely can’t get me back to that discussion.’
‘But we have to talk about it,’ Jessie insisted, ‘and right now at that.’
‘No! Now is not the time.’ Kirsten could hear the alarm in her own voice and paused to let her panic subside. ‘But as I don’t wish to fall out big time with you, I promise that I will actually give it much thought and consideration in let’s say . . . ten years’ time.’
TWENTY-FIVE
As if in a trance, Kirsten meandered her way into Pilrig Park. She had just gone on a further few feet when the sun glinting through the trees made her draw up. It was not so much the trees themselves that made her wonder, but their leaves – their leaves that appeared to be on the verge of turning red and gold. If this was so, she reluctantly conceded it must be September. The start of autumn. But if it was September, where did July and August go?
Standing motionless, she tried to recollect the summer. Painful as it was, she went back to late June. Never would she forget that month. That was the month when she had had to say goodbye to her special boy – her darling Dixie. Time from that moment seemed to stand still. Yet here she was in September and still her grief was raw. It was true that family and friends had supported her. These relatives and friends had tried to comfort her – be there in her bleakest times.
She paused to acknowledge that it was also true that during the last three months Eddie had become a very important part of her life. Indeed, without him and his tender love, understanding and care, she doubted if she would have been able to go on. Reluctantly, she remembered the day Dixie was cremated. That was the day she had been honest with Eddie. Told him as gently as she could that because of her need to now spend time with her daughters – time to ensure that they knew that she loved them – their being together in the eyes of the law, and of society, would have to be put on hold, indefinitely at that. She was not sure, because the expression on his face did not alter, when she had acquainted him with her decision, if he was disappointed or not. One thing she was certain of was that, no matter what he thought, it did not stop him seeing her. Indeed, on his days off she would also take time off – precious time for them to be together. She smiled as she recalled how they would go down to his home in Longniddry – a place where they could be assured they would not be disturbed – a special place, where at every opportunity she was passionately cosseted. She hugged herself with delight as she thought how it became their special place – a place where they could make-believe.