Death Actually

by Rosy Fenwicke

  “Not Elka what?” he asked breezily, unpacking the boxes of food onto the bench.

  Neither woman said anything. Helen hurriedly packed away her equipment into her case and looked at her watch, before muttering something to Lizzie and making a beeline for the door.

  “Goodbye, Helen,” Nick called out pointedly after her.

  “What’s this about Elka?” he asked, going over to Lizzie.

  She didn’t look up. “Sit down, Nick.” There was kindness in her voice.

  “OK, now I’m really worried,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Your mother went to Elka’s house this morning. She’s … I’m so sorry, Nick, but Elka’s dead. Helen shouldn’t have said anything, and I’m sorry this is how you found out, but she told me it was suicide.”

  Lizzie watched Nick turn pale and the light drain from eyes. He looked at her, as if waiting for her to say it was a mistake, that it wasn’t true. She watched the hope in his eyes retreat as the silence between them grew.

  “Mum. Kate,” he said. “They need me.” He patted his pocket for the key to his scooter then stood up, eyes blurred with tears, stumbling to the door and down the stairs.

  “Be careful, Nick,” called Lizzie. But she knew he hadn’t heard her. She heard his scooter roar into life and then disappear down the street, as happy chatter from the people in the cafés below rose up and occupied her flat.

  Pulling the walker towards her with practised ease, she went over to the window. The breeze floating the curtains around her was soft and inviting, as were the sights and smells of the new café, opened a week ago. She took a deep breath and savoured the aroma of freshly roasted coffee, smiling at a sudden memory of a café in France where she used to go for breakfast before training. Downstairs the patrons chatted companionably, or just sat alone, content to watch the world go by. Others read the paper or fiddled with their phones while white-aproned waiters bustled to and fro, balancing food and glasses on shoulder-high trays.

  The world was going on without her.

  She flashed back to the devastation on Nick’s face. Maggie, Kate – what would they do? She turned back to look at the room where she had spent the past ten years of her life. She saw the filthy sofa, its base beaten by her weight, sagging on the food-stained floor. She saw the huge TV, the games console, the spotless kitchen, the overflowing rubbish bags, and the medical supplies stacked in a haphazard pile beside the extra-wide commode in the corner.

  Lizzie stared down at her twisted right foot, and then, for the first time since her accident, looked carefully at her healthy left foot, watching as her toes wriggled on command. It was as if her left foot had been away for years and had just returned. Sure, the toenails were long and it was a bit grubby, but it looked so good, so new, and it wasn’t painful. She leaned back against the wall beside the window and lifted it up for closer inspection. She watched as she rotated the foot at the ankle, and marvelled as it went all the way around. She pointed her toes. Where had this foot been?

  Lizzie pushed herself away from the wall and planted her left foot firmly and painlessly on the floor, taking all her weight on the leg rather than on the walking frame. She stepped onto her right foot, and pain shot up her leg. But it wasn’t as bad. It was bearable, even. Limping and leaning on the kitchen bench, she aimed herself at the open door. At the threshold she stopped, as much to catch her breath as anything else. When she felt ready she stepped outside. Gripping the stair rail, she stopped again, savouring the fresh air against her skin as she stood and surveyed the scene below.

  A waiter looked up, surprised to see an enormous woman at the top of the stairs, squinting, clearly unaccustomed to the sunlight. He watched as she awkwardly manoeuvred in the small space, feeling for support as she hobbled forwards. He saw her step and trip as she caught her toe on the stair. He watched her grab uselessly at the broken rail as she tumbled first forwards, then backwards, over and over, down the stairs. He heard the sickening sound of bones breaking as she fell, and dropping his tray on the nearest table, ran to help. He saw her land in a huge mound on the concrete at the bottom of the rickety steps, just below a wall of painted-out graffiti, her legs at crazy angles underneath her.

  Others from the café followed him. They put jackets over her, desperate to help in any way they could. Someone supported her neck with his sweatshirt.

  The woman opened her eyes and looked at the handsome face of a local jetboat driver asking if she was OK, and telling her to stay still because the ambulance was on its way.

  A woman asked if anyone knew who she was, but no one did, so the woman climbed over her and went upstairs to her flat, looking for some sort of identification she could give to the paramedics when they arrived. “Lizzie Martin,” she called down to the crowd below. “She’s called Lizzie Martin.”

  “Got it,” said the waiter, who was phoning 111 again to ask where the ambulance was. It seemed ages since he’d called.

  Lizzie could tell from the undisguised looks of horror and revulsion that things weren’t good. Funny, she thought, I feel fine. I’mnot sore and it’s so nice to be outside again. She smiled and squeezed the hand of the jetboat driver.

  And then the world went black.

  Chapter Fifty

  “I understand, but I don’t,” said Kate. “That doesn’t make sense, I know that. But I am so angry with her. Why couldn’t she trust us? Why did she die alone, instead of with us? ”

  Kate picked up the box sitting on her knee and shook it. The rattle of ashes and bone knocking against the wood reverberated in the car.

  “You bloody should have said something, Elka. We loved you. But you didn’t love us.”

  “That’s not true, Kate – take it back,” said Maggie. “She did love us. We know she did. But I agree with you, it’s hard. I think I understand why she did it, but that doesn’t make it better and it hurts. It really hurts.”

  They lapsed into silence. It was getting dark outside, and starting to rain as Maggie negotiated the hearse around tight bends on the narrow road between Dunedin and Queenstown. Nick and Ben were following behind in Ben’s car.

  In one of the letters, Elka had requested – demanded – that Maggie be the one to drive her body to Dunedin for the post-mortem and cremation. Kate, Nick and Ben wouldn’t let her go alone, and they also wanted to be with Elka. The funeral procession on the way there became a convoy on the way home.

  Small towns had shut down for the night, the slivers of light escaping drawn curtains the only evidence that there were people in the tight little houses bunched together on either side of the road, before the cars were once more in the darkness of the countryside.

  In the days since Elka’s death, the Potters had talked themselves hoarse, going over and over the last months to see what clues they had missed, trying to understand where they had let Elka down and what they could have done to stop her lonely death, asking each other how they could have helped. Always they came to the same conclusion: she wouldn’t have let them do anything. Partly because she had made her decision and partly because of her pride, but more out of her love for them.

  Kate blamed herself for being so caught up in the restaurant and all the publicity around Eric and the baby. She said repeatedly she should have suspected something wasn’t right, when Elka kept handing her more and more responsibility, all the while teaching her how the business worked behind the scenes.

  Kate’s guilt knew no bounds when she then found out Elka had not only left her the majority share in the restaurant (with the rest left jointly to Brian and Nick), but had also left her the house. Kate,you need a home for you and your baby, have mine, she’d written. Kate had wept bitterly when she read this, unable to bear the thought of living in the home she’d watched Elka put her heart and soul into renovating. She’d had her first cooking lessons there, and the house and Elka had been her refuge when she was a teenager and needed space from Maggie and Nick. Kate had been angry, too, at the thought that Elka wouldn’t be there to see
her baby or to be part of this new child’s life, as Elka had been such a part of her own.

  Her emotions swung between anger and guilt as she remembered seeing Elka, pale and tired at the end of the day, obviously in pain, and how she had thought this was part of her recovery. I didn’t ask,did I? I just assumed. How selfish must I be?

  Kate struggled with her thoughts to the point of exhaustion. When the crematorium assistant had brought out Elka’s ashes, she had been the one to claim the box and hadn’t let it go, nursing it protectively on her lap in the car, as if in some way she could finally give comfort. But it’s too late,isn’t it,Elka? I’m too late.

  Maggie had listened to the confusion, anger and loss coming from Kate and Nick. Numb, listening was all she could do. She was furious. She felt utterly useless, and betrayed. At other, more rational moments, when she was alone and re-read Elka’s letter, Maggie could perhaps find a glimmer of understanding and respect, but it didn’t last. Her anger and impotence would overwhelm her again, and she couldn’t yet bring herself to forgive the pain Elka had caused them all.

  The days together in Dunedin had been tense and slow, as they had waited for the officials to sign off the documents so Elka could be cremated and brought home according to her wishes.

  Wishes! thought Maggie. More like bloody orders.

  She looked over at the box resting on Kate’s knee. A rectangular shadow in the darkness, its contents all that remained of a person, of a whole body. Something she, if anyone, should be used to. She wondered how and when they would be able to carry out Elka’s last wish – that her ashes be scattered on the lake, in the spot where they used to go for picnics when the children were young.

  Elka had been most specific about the place she wanted her ashes cast before the wind, because in future, when Kate, Nick and Maggie brought the new baby for picnics on hot summer days, she wanted to be there in the trees and bushes, with them, enjoying the fun.

  Outside the car, the rain had grown heavier, and Maggie switched the windscreen wipers to full speed, slowing down to cope with the decreased visibility. In her rear-view mirror she saw Ben’s headlights recede as he slowed to increase his following distance behind her. The road twisted around the craggy hills, the drop to the treacherous Clutha river on one side, invisible in the darkness.

  “Phone Nick and tell them we’re going to stop at the next café,” said Maggie.

  The café was just about to close when they pulled up outside. The owner had tidied away all but the last of the food, but reading their mood and feeling sorry for them, he fired up the coffee machine and offered to warm some pies in the microwave.

  The coffee was hot and the pies plain but filling. As they had in Dunedin, they ate in silence. Kate barely touched a morsel, and her leftover pie was quickly seized, smothered in tomato sauce and wolfed down by the ever-hungry Nick.

  Maggie only had coffee. She’d hardly eaten since she’d found Elka in the house, cold and dead. She wasn’t hungry. Food only reminded of her of Elka.

  “Nick, you drive Kate in my car for a bit,” said Ben. “I’ll go with Maggie and give her a break from driving.”

  They were back outside, and the café owner had already turned off the lights. Nick agreed so quickly, that Maggie detected a prearranged plan. She was too tired to argue. Hunched under coats held high over their heads, they scurried quickly out into the rain to the cars to resume their journey home.

  Maggie, rarely the passenger in her own hearse, sank back gratefully into the seat. Ben didn’t try to attempt conversation, and the silence and the steadiness of his driving in this awful weather, was reassuring enough for her to let her eyes close. She slept.

  In the car behind, Nick was enjoying playing with the controls and fiddling with the sound system, much to Kate’s annoyance.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, why don’t you?” she snapped.

  Nick ignored her, but had already found the music he wanted to listen to.

  Kate felt horrid – about everything, but mostly about the way she was treating the people closest to her; about how mean she was being. Maybe that was why Elka hadn’t confided in her. Maybe she was horrid.

  She felt the baby kick up under her ribs, and then a leg slowly and luxuriously arc across her belly, testing the limits of her uterus and setting off one of the mini contractions the midwife had told her about – Braxton Hicks or some such name. In the past few days these had been getting stronger, to the point of stopping her in her tracks while she waited for the pain to pass. She moved to get comfortable, twisting in her seat to face Nick.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I should be nicer. Even to you.”

  Nick shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road and the car ahead.

  “How was Lizzie?”

  “Great,” said Nick. “Falling down those stairs was best thing that’s happened to her in years.”

  “You’re joking. Nick – she has no legs now. Well, no legs below the knees. I thought she’d be a complete mess. I would be.”

  “Yeah, we would be, Kate, but for her, the accident has made things better. She believes she’ll be up and about really soon. At first she’ll be on crutches, and then once her scars heal over and she gets her prostheses, she’s really positive she’ll walk again.”

  “And she’ll do that, do you think? Walk again.”

  “Walk? She’s talking about skiing! When the guys from the limb centre found out who she was, they got very excited about getting her a set of carbon fibre legs so she can ski. They’ve been showing her all their brochures and YouTube clips of other double amputees skiing and even competing. She’s so fired up about it all she challenged me and Ben to a race next winter. That’s what I mean about this being the best thing that’s happened to her. She’s stuck there while everyone runs after her and she’s lapping it up. I think the unhappy Lizzie was left at the bottom of those bloody steps, and the old Lizzie Martin’s back. Watch out, world.”

  Kate felt another tightness creeping up and over her stomach, but this was stronger than the last. Unconsciously she took a deep breath and blew it slowly out through her lips as the pain – because that’s what it was this time – receded.

  Nick had turned up the music and was absorbed in Florence Welch. Kate was pleased he was able to enjoy something. Neither of them saw the sheep on the road until it was too late. Out of nowhere, a large unshorn woolly white behemoth with two startled eyes loomed large in their headlights. On one side of the road was a sheer cliff; on the other it was pitch black. Nick yanked the wheel round hard, at the same time planting his foot flat on the brakes, sending the powerful car into a slide across the other lane, before it spun round backwards through the fence and into the dark.

  An hour after they left the café, Maggie woke instantly, alert to the quiet sound of concern in Ben’s voice. Outside the wind and rain had got worse, lashing the heavy hearse from all sides, visibility now cut to just a few feet in front of the car

  Ben pulled over to the grass verge beside the road.

  “I can’t see Kate and Nick’s lights behind us,” he said. “I’ve been watching; I slowed right down so they could catch us up, but I can’t see them. I’m going back.”

  He turned the car around. “You keep an eye out your side and I’ll look this side. Try phoning, texting – anything – and keep doing it because the signal isn’t good here.”

  Maggie’s heart raced as her mind was strangled with thoughts no mother ever wants to have about her children. Panic threatened, but she forced herself to remember all the times there had been innocent explanations for lateness and even absence. She made herself hear the patronising tone in Nick’s and Kate’s voices, telling her she worried too much, that they were grown-up now and able to look after themselves. She brought up their numbers, hitting redial again and again.

  “No service.” She tried to keep her voice steady and casual. It was taking all her strength to stay in control.

  Ben said nothing as they searched the road ahe
ad for any sign of the car.

  Every few seconds, Maggie dialled their numbers again, in the hope they would hit a patch with a signal.

  “How long ago did you see their lights?” she asked.

  “About twenty minutes before we stopped and turned back.”

  Another agonising thirty minutes passed in worried silence, then they saw it at exactly the same time – a weak beam of light pointing through the rain at a crazy angle, into nothing.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Without leaving the road, Ben stopped as close as possible to the light below them. He put the windows down and turned off the engine. They listened, but heard nothing apart from the sound of the storm, the rain beating down remorselessly on the roof while the wind tugged and rocked the heavy 4WD.

  Maggie peered out towards the light shining weakly a few hundred metres below them, hoping to see some sign of life, but there was nothing: no shadows, no movement. Ben manoeuvred the vehicle so it was perpendicular to the road and directly facing the beam of light, the headlights on high beam and the hazard lights flashing. Maggie took a sharp intake of breath as she saw the flattened fence hanging uselessly from a gatepost to her left, and tyre tracks disappearing into the distance.

  Ben edged the car forward over the flattened fence into what was thankfully a paddock sloping down towards a line of willows on a riverbank, their frenzied branches whipped in every direction by the gale sweeping down the narrow valley.

  As they drove closer, they could make out the back of Ben’s car, splattered with globs of mud, its back wheels buried deep in the paddock. Nick had clearly been trying to reverse the car, but they could see why his efforts had been unsuccessful. The front wheels of the Audi were wedged up and over an old log. The car was well and truly stuck.

  Ben stopped well away from any dangerous ground. Maggie struggled to get out to her children, but Ben held her back. “Put this on first,” he ordered, pushing a jacket at her. “You won’t be any use to anyone if you get hypothermia.”