The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  Once she’d finished, she looked into his face expecting to see worry and concern, as though his internal medical mind had recognised a major illness in her symptoms.

  His face was calm and friendly. He smiled at her worry. “Let’s run a couple of tests and find out just what exactly is going on Emily.”

  About forty minutes later she looked at him stunned. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Pregnant,” Samuel said, his face beaming. “You, my dear, as they might say back home, are up the duff.”

  Emily sat back in the chair, grateful for the sturdy furniture preventing her from collapsing. “But how?”

  “Well, I think it’s a bit late for Sex-Ed,” he grinned.

  “Pregnant,” she muttered to herself. She knew that she and Michael had been operating at a less than sedate pace since the move. He’d jokingly put it down to the open air, and good weather. Like rabbits, he’d laughed.

  She closed her eyes and started to cry, weeping gently at first, then great, painful sobs of heartache wrenched from her chest, expelling the final refuges of grief from their first pregnancy loss.

  “Oh, my dear,” Samuel said, suddenly distressed and concerned. “Am I to take it that this is not good news?”

  Emily began to laugh through the tears as the poisonous misery at long last loosened its toxic grip. “Samuel, it’s the greatest news ever.”

  -----------

  Michael was plotting when the front door breezed open; he was sitting in what had become his thinking position on a wooden steamer chair out on the rear decking.

  He would often sit here beneath the warm sunshine of a late afternoon. The red hot heat of the day had passed over to be replaced by a warmth that was bearable. He had a small table by his chair that matched the steamer - on it sat a cold beer can, a notepad and a pen. The condensation ran from the can, beading and pooling on the wooden surface.

  The stains were testament to his frequent musings; he would often lie back and close his eyes against the brightness. His mind would dance and pry around the edges of his book as he would trace mazes back and forth with characters and scenarios, leading people up and down paths that sometimes worked, and sometimes didn’t.

  He had found over the years that he could never plan his stories too far ahead; each had to build brick by slow brick until it reached the sky. Too much information, or too many ideas, would get in the way and block his creative path. Whenever he finished his day's work, he would retire to his spot and retrace his steps, poking for holes in the story, or gaps in character development.

  After he was satisfied with the day’s work, he would sketch around the overall idea, jotting down copious notes that would often be illegible the following day. He was attempting to work around a roadblock that required two characters to be brought together, finding the right balance of suggestion, when Emily blocked his light.

  “Michael?”

  She stood before him, her expression unlike any that he had ever seen her wear before. He sat up in apprehension; this was not a good look to be wearing after a doctor’s appointment. “What’s wrong, what did the doc say?” he demanded curtly, his worry overriding courtesy.

  She handed him an envelope. He took it with a furrowed brow, confused, and opened it. Inside was a Father’s Day greeting card. The front read, “To the best Dad ever” in jaunty printed writing.

  He opened the card, and the front message was printed again, but Emily had used a black marker pen to block out the “To” part of the message and written “You’re going to be” in its place.

  Slowly, realisation dawned and Michael stood on shaky legs. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  She sat beside him on the large steamer chair; they held each other and loved each other until after the sun set and the evening cooled. Words were not required and were unwelcome, as their minds aligned and adjusted to the bright new and perfect future.

  ----------

  It was three days later; Michael and Chris were standing over the charcoal grill in Michael’s back garden, bathing in meaty odours whilst sharing beers and happy thoughts.

  Chris had returned from Dallas, minus any STD’s from his wife’s “Stripperthon” suggestion.

  Michael and Emily had found various reasons to repeatedly wander past the front windows, waiting impatiently for any indications as to whether Chris would be staying or leaving.

  When dusk had turned into darkness, and there was still no sign of either Janet or Chris lugging luggage down the driveway, they had both relaxed.

  Emily’s stance appeared to have softened a little, Michael thought. He knew that her father had been somewhat of a serial adulterer, aided by her mother’s blind eye towards his indiscretions. It was a subject that she rarely discussed, and he had never pushed it.

  Emily had staunch morals when it came to fidelity, and somewhat repressed anger towards her mother’s complicity.

  The pregnancy was still in its infancy, both figuratively and literally, and they had not told any of their family or friends back in the UK. Michael instinctively knew that they were both afraid of shattering the beautiful illusion. Involving anyone from outside of Eden seemed to be tempting fate. For now, they would bask in their life as it existed in the here and now - a wonderful new home and life. Emily’s job was perfect, his new novel was steaming along, and the pregnancy was the cherry on top.

  Michael had been preparing the grill in the back garden when Chris had poked his head over the fence, catching him off guard.

  “Howdy, neighbour,” Chris called, smiling at Michael’s alarmed jump.

  “Hey, stranger,” Michael replied, suddenly realizing with surprise that he had come to miss his friend. “How are things?” he asked softly.

  “Better, much better than before, in truth.” Chris leaned on the fence partition and looked around, checking that his wife was not close. “I think that things are going to be okay. We had a lot of problems that we weren’t talking about, you know; perhaps things will be better from now on.”

  “Hey, man, I’m really glad to hear that,” Michael said genuinely. He never failed to be impressed by the typical American’s optimism and positivity. He knew that if he was in the same boat, then he would crawl into a deep, dark hole and never come out again.

  “That smells good; are those from Morgan’s?” Chris asked, nodding towards the sizzling steaks on the grill.

  “Yep. Hey, you want to come over?” Even as he spoke, Michael cringed, thinking that it would be the last thing that his neighbours would want.

  “You don’t mind, you know, after everything?” Chris asked awkwardly.

  “If you’ve got the stomach for it, then so do I.”

  So two hours and a couple of bottles of wine later, the foursome were back in tandem again. Michael couldn’t help but feel awkward around Janet to begin with; the image of her across the counter, and her subsequent revealing, and non-erotic redressing was hard to shake. But as the evening passed, so did the awkwardness.

  He caught snatches of Emily’s conversation and tone, as she spoke at length to Janet inside the kitchen. Emily’s voice had been icy to start with, but she was slowly thawing.

  “So when are you going to let me introduce you to the finer points of football?” he asked Chris.

  Chris grimaced. “Soccer,” he said as though dealing with a mouthful of spoiled steak.

  “Not soccer,” Michael bristled. “It’s called football. You kick the ball with your foot: foot-ball,” he emphasized.

  “Yeah, but it’s not real football,” Chris teased knowingly.

  Michael bit, “Ah man, American football is nothing but rugby with helmets, padding, two teams a side and endless pauses,” he laughed. “Look, come over next Tuesday, around midnight, and I’ll sit you down and show you a real game. It’s Liverpool versus Man United. I’ll show you what passion is all about.”

  “Passion tips from an Englishman, now I’ve heard everything,�
�� Chris laughed. “Anyway, can’t make it next week; we’re taking a trip.”

  “That sounds great,” Michael said seriously. “Maybe some time away together is just what you guys need.”

  “Yeah, I certainly hope so, as long as we’re back for the festival,” Chris said, looking back at the house and his wife’s outline through the patio doors lovingly. “It’s all going to be different, Michael. I’m thinking that maybe Janet and I need to move away from here, to start somewhere new. I want Janet and me to be just like you two.”

  Michael felt himself grow awkward with the praise, “Ah hey, we’re nothing special.”

  “Yes you are, my friend,” Chris said as he held his gaze strongly. “You’re going to be my new inspiration,” he added lightly, not entirely joking.

  The rest of the evening passed swimmingly. Michael felt himself on rare form; he was witty and happy.

  They ate outside in the warm night air as the buzzing insects were conspicuously absent as usual. They ate steaks, burgers, and salads, with chips and dips till they were all stuffed.

  The conversations were light and cheerful and the unpleasantness forgotten for now. It was gone 1am when Janet and Chris finally excused themselves. Michael was surprised when he saw the time, as he was usually growing itchy for people to leave after an hour or so.

  When he and Emily finally turned in after clearing the kitchen, they both sank gratefully into the soft bed and drifted quickly.

  “Did Janet tell you that they were taking a trip next week?” Michael asked as Emily’s breathing grew deep and heavy.

  “No,” she slurred.

  “Chris thinks that they’re going to be okay.”

  “That’s nice; good for him,” she said a little tersely.

  “You don’t approve?”

  “Hey, it’s not my life or my spouse,” she shrugged.

  “Chris even suggested that they might move away altogether.”

  “That’s a shame,” she patted his leg absently.

  Michael could tell from her rising shoulders that she was almost asleep and that further discussions were pointless at this time, as Emily was a heavy and deep sleeper once she went.

  He said his nightly silent prayers to the gods that decided on his fate, that he wouldn’t wake in the morning to find that his life had all been a dream.

  It was a common thought that he’d had ever since he had achieved any level of success - the idea that the whole thing was just a joke and one that was going to be whipped away at any second.

  As he slipped off to sleep, he curled one arm around his sleeping wife and baby and whispered in his mind, one more day, just let me have one more day.

  Michael snapped awake suddenly. His stomach lurched in angst and his heart pounded hard against his chest.

  Instinctively, he reached for Emily and breathed easier when she stirred next to him in the dark. The readout on Emily’s alarm clock read 4:37am and his mind struggled to decipher just what was happening, when the flashing blue lights danced off of the bedroom walls.

  He eased himself gently out of the bed, walked carefully to the window, and peered out to the street below through the thin net curtains.

  There was an Eden Gardens police car and ambulance parked outside Chris and Janet’s house. The sirens were silent, but the lights on top of the vehicles rolled alertly.

  He grabbed a pair of shorts and a hooded top off of the chair where he usually shucked off his clothes of an evening, much to Emily’s displeasure.

  He struggled into them as he walked hastily down the stairs and out of the front door. His mind was racing. Was their Eden to be shattered by the intrusion of the outside world’s violent themes?

  There were two deputies stopping the other emerging neighbours from getting in the way. Michael could see that their presence was pretty much redundant as the bedroom-attired did not seem to wish to get too close.

  Chris and Janet’s front door banged open noisily and two paramedics emerged pushing a gurney towards the ambulance.

  A prone figure was wrapped in what he could only assume was a body bag. The black plastic shone merrily beneath the artificial lights as the gurney came down the pathway, and Michael stepped forward to intercept it.

  A firm meaty hand was suddenly planted in the centre of his chest punching the wind out of him and stopping him in his tracks.

  “Some privacy, sir,” the hand's owner informed him in an authoritative tone.

  Michael looked up into the eyes of the sheriff. Michael had seen him around town, but had never had cause to speak to him directly.

  Gerry Quinn was a bear of a man, and Michael did not feel that the sheriff was much for socialising. Emily had always expressed a slight fear of the man, but as far as Michael was concerned that only meant that he was doing his job properly.

  “What happened?” Michael asked in a hushed voice.

  “And you are?” the sheriff replied, turning his full attention to Michael for the first time.

  “Michael Torrance. I live next door,” he answered, refusing to be intimidated by the larger man’s glare. “Chris and Janet are friends of mine.”

  “Well then, sir, I’ve got some distressing news for you. I’m afraid that Mrs. Beaumont took her own life tonight.”

  Michael was stunned, “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh really?” The sheriff’s dismissive tone bordered on anger.

  “They both had dinner with us earlier. She seemed fine then.”

  “Well I guess that we never really know what another person’s thinking, do we, sir?” The sheriff’s tone had returned to dismissive again. “Strictly in confidence, Mrs. Beaumont was apparently unfaithful, and Mr. Beaumont left her. It would appear that she was overcome with remorse, and took her own life.”

  For some reason Michael paused. He knew about the affair, but he also knew that Chris had forgiven her and that they were actually planning a holiday away from here, and had even considering moving all together.

  For some reason, the sheriff bothered him; his attitude felt wrong. His information disclosure was too concise to a member of the public. Michael had one answer, but a lot more questions. “Where’s Chris?” he asked suddenly, not seeing his friend anywhere.

  “He’s been taken to the hospital for sedation I understand. Apparently, when he informed Mrs. Beaumont that he was leaving her, that’s when she committed suicide. I understand that he’s terribly distraught.”

  The whole speech seemed too informative, especially to a virtual stranger on the street. Would a sheriff really divulge such personal information? Michael didn’t quite know why, but he decided to keep the personal information that he knew about Chris and Janet to himself.

  “I’d better get back to my wife.”

  “Of course, sir,” the sheriff said warmly, with a smile that never quite touched his eyes.

  As Michael walked home, his mind reeled. Janet was dead, suicide. Chris was telling him one minute that they were planning a trip and his hopes for the future, the next he was leaving Janet and she was dead.

  His writer’s imagination whirled around in his head as the machine cranked into life, but he knew that he was often guilty of over stretching the truth in his own mind.

  Emily was always accusing him of reading too much into things, of seeing conspiracies and plots where there was only real life. As he entered his home, his thoughts turned to Emily, and he hoped that this wouldn’t spoil everything for her.

  Apparently, the gods of fate that he prayed to every night had only been half listening tonight.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The day dawned bright and sunny as was the want in Eden Gardens. The perfect weather was seemingly oblivious to the day’s upcoming events.

  Emily moved around the kitchen in a daze. The large station wall clock read 5.47am and Janet’s funeral wasn’t until 1pm, but the world outside was already in full swing.

  She nursed a cooling cup of coffee and watched as the small dainty birds in the gar
den swooped and challenged for the feeder’s contents. Life hustled and bustled beyond her window.

  She’d slept fitfully ever since Michael had woken her four days ago to tell her the sad news. She knew that he was increasingly convinced that something was wrong with the whole picture.

  He was sure that Chris had spoken of second honeymoons or moving away, but Janet had mentioned nothing to her on that last night. Perhaps Michael had misunderstood, or perhaps Chris was planning a surprise.

  Either way, it seemed to matter little now. Janet was gone and she wasn’t going anywhere anymore.

  Janet had seemed a little quiet on their last evening together, but Emily certainly didn’t remember being scared for her well-being at any point.

  The evening had been pleasant and happy on the whole. They’d shared food and drinks with their neighbours, and for a brief instant it had been like old times again. They’d all been just friends laughing and talking in the warm evening air.

  She heard movement from upstairs as Michael stirred. She hadn’t wanted to wake him this early as he often had trouble sleeping. One of the drawbacks of his profession, she had always felt, was an overactive and over-worked mind, as his thoughts just never seemed to shut down and rest.

  She would often feel him rise in the middle of the night as she slept. He would ease out of their bed and head down to his den in the basement.

  The lower level was still under decorative construction. He had been making his own home cinema and games’ room down under the house.

  Weekends were spent lugging large boxes of varying weights down the narrow stairs. The process was sound tracked by his shouts and curses as the boxes wouldn’t fit easily. He’d installed a HD projector and screen, along with reclining seats.

  There were poster-displaying frames lining the corridor and the staggered steps were currently being painstakingly fitted with tiny blue LED lights.

  She knew that the project had been a dream of his for several years. Back in their old apartment, he’d spent many evenings scanning the internet and compiling endless images and plans for his vision.