After She's Gone

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After She's Gone Page 15

by Maggie James


  Her daughter’s forehead puckers. ‘Can’t you call them? Use my mobile. Might save you a journey.’

  Dana thinks quickly. ‘They’re always so busy, darling. Even on Sunday evenings. I don’t want to bother them by phoning. Better to go in person.’ She’s aware she’s not making sense; if a phone call’s intrusive, how is a visit less so? Before Lori can comment further, Dana enquires about Ryan, how things are going between them. Lori’s smile transforms her face, smooths away the puckers, and Dana wants nothing more than to hold her close and never let her go.

  She checks her watch. Half seven, and winter-dark outside, perfect for what she’s intending. She reminds herself, for what seems like the thousandth time, it’s for the best.

  Dana walks upstairs, collects her handbag. She pulls on a jacket, brushes her hair, willing herself to stay calm. By the time she walks downstairs, she’s fixed a perfect smile in place. As she reaches the bottom stair, Lori emerges from the living room.

  ‘You’re off, then,’ she says. Dana tweaks her smile, edging it upwards, ever falser. She moves towards her daughter.

  ‘Hug time,’ she says, and Lori catches the reference to Jessie at once, walking into her mother’s arms. Dana closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of Lori’s shampoo. Her beloved child, the one good thing left in her life. She pulls her closer, wishing she could bottle this moment.

  ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ she murmurs into her daughter’s blonde curls. Her voice hitches on the last syllable. Lori extricates herself, staring at her mother.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asks.

  Dana laughs, her mask now back in place. ‘Of course, darling. Listen, I must get going. Enjoy the pandas.’ She strides towards the door, not glancing back. If she catches Lori’s eyes, she’ll be lost.

  She drives through the dark of the evening, her mind a blank, before bagging the first available parking spot, not far from Bristol Zoo and close to her destination. She strides along, her gaze on the ground, until she turns onto the narrow road that leads across Clifton Suspension Bridge. It’s Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s masterpiece of Victorian engineering, spanning the Avon Gorge from Clifton to Leigh Woods. An icon for Bristol, its girders, towers and chains featured in promotional material the world over.

  One that also harbours a dark reputation as a suicide spot.

  Dana pauses, gathering her courage. Her mind runs through the many reasons this is a good idea, because her resolve is wilting like a flower in the hot sun. Chills prickle her body while sweat dampens her neck. The only reason to carry on living is Lori, but Dana reminds herself her remaining child will be better off without her. Her darling girl’s saddled with a sick mother, and who needs that? What’s more, she’s forced to live at home because she can’t afford her own place. With Dana dead, Lori will be well-off financially, with the rental property income to support her. The method she’s chosen will be quick and save her precious girl from the trauma of discovering her mother’s dead body. All she needs now is courage.

  Dana shuffles in the direction of the bridge, her feet moving as though through wet cement. She walks to where there’s a wall topped with a ledge, before the path turns right across the bridge. Dana places her hands on the cool stone, its dried lichen rough under her fingers. Impossible to leap from the bridge itself, of course. Dana eyes the protective barrier running the full length of Brunel’s creation. An open wire fence, topped with three lines of steel fixed parallel across the top. Installed to deter suicide attempts, but not extended to the spot where she’s standing. From here, people can still jump to their deaths, and sometimes do.

  A couple passes her, eyeing her curiously, but she ignores them, inching towards the ledge, her feet still heavy. Don’t be such a coward, she admonishes herself. One leap and her pain will be over for good.

  ‘Forgive me, Lori,’ she whispers into the black night.

  Dana draws in a final deep breath. She braces her hands on the parapet, closes her eyes, then hauls herself upwards.

  Chapter 14

  AFTERMATH

  Lori flicks through the television channels, her fingers stroking Oreo’s fur. Concern is nagging at her over Dana. Her mother had sounded cheerful enough as they chatted over their chicken curry, but something about her demeanour rang false. The breezy tone of her voice, her faster than normal speech, her jaunty smile. Lori replays their conversation in her head, every word and gesture, probing for any hidden meaning. She can’t pinpoint why she’s so perturbed, but something’s off-kilter. What’s most unsettling is the way Dana hugged her before leaving. They’ve always been a tactile family, but this time it felt strange. Like the words accompanying it. Lori realises, with a jolt of fear, that both had a final quality. As though they were the last goodbye Dana would ever make to her daughter. Then the answer clicks into place. Her mother was acting a role, that of a happy, non-grieving parent.

  Lori’s chest grows tight, her breathing rapid and shallow. She mutes the television, then reaches for her mobile to call Dana. She listens as the ring tone burrs in her ear. Straight to voicemail.

  Don’t panic, she tells herself. Could be she’s over-reacting. Chances are her mother’s phone really is lost, and she’s imagined the false jollity of earlier. Except she knows she didn’t. She chews her lower lip, undecided what to do. Should she hot-foot it to the dialysis unit? It’s then she notices the clock on her mobile, which causes fresh worry to strike. Nine p.m., more than ample time to allow her mother to drive there, enquire about the phone, and return home.

  A thought occurs to her. Maybe there’s a simple explanation. Perhaps Dana is with Fraser.

  Oh, Lori’s aware her father was here earlier. Upon arriving back from the cinema, her nostrils detected the lingering fragrance of his aftershave. She was about to comment, until she noticed the way her mother’s eyes avoided hers.

  I’m not getting back with your mother, sweetheart. That ship has sailed.

  Damn you, Dad, she thinks. Why don’t you stay the hell away, instead of stringing Mum along?

  Something about that final hug continues to alarm Lori. Terrifies her, in fact. Her fingers tap her phone again, and this time it’s Ryan’s number she summons.

  He answers on the first ring. ‘Hey, babe. How’re you doing?’

  Her words gush forth, an almost unintelligible babble. Ryan listens, and as she talks, doubt sweeps over Lori. Spoken aloud, her fears sound far-fetched. What, in reality, does she have on which to base her concerns? Nothing except for a whiff of Aramis, a hug, and her mother’s unusual cheeriness. Worth less than a handful of dirt, as her grandfather used to say. No wonder Ryan’s making soothing comments in her ear.

  ‘I expect she’s chatting with the staff at the dialysis unit,’ he’s saying. ‘Or she might be with your father. Or even Jake. Either way, it’s only nine fifteen. Too soon to panic. She’ll call if she’s going to be seriously delayed.’

  He’s right, of course. Lori tamps down the nagging worry at the back of her mind. What can she do, other than wait?

  They chat for a while longer, before Lori ends the call, concerned her mother might be trying to phone her. Silence engulfs her after she says goodbye to Ryan. She draws her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around them. The minutes tick by, each one bringing with it hope her mother will call. Perhaps telling Lori her car’s got a flat tyre, that some kind passer-by is sorting it out for her. How she’ll be home soon. And then a minute passes. Then another. Fifteen, twenty, thirty more slide by.

  ‘Ring, damn you,’ she hisses at her phone. It’s now ten twenty-three. She closes her eyes, willing this nightmare to end. The night Jessie died is being replayed, it seems: the clock-watching, the desperation, the increasing terror. Lori fears her mother may never return. That their hug earlier really was their final one. Please, God, no. She’s already lost her sister. Unthinkable to lose her mother as well.

  Right when she’s considering her options, her mobile rings, startling her from the darkness of her
thoughts. Disappointment floods her when Dana Golden’s name isn’t on the screen. Instead, the words ‘private number’ flash up. Dread almost paralyses Lori as her fingers accept the call. A series of terrible images bombard her mind: Dana injured, attacked, dead.

  Except that she’s not. Lori listens as a soothing female voice talks. The woman’s words pierce the fog in her brain. Found in a distressed state. Police called. Taken to safety. Your number listed as her emergency contact.

  Dazed, Lori finds herself speaking, telling the voice she’ll be there as soon as possible.

  Within half an hour, she’s at Bristol’s Southmead hospital, at the psychiatric unit. Dana lies in bed, in a private room, avoiding her daughter’s gaze, shame in her face. Her skin is pale, her expression drained of emotion; her hand rests, limp and clammy, in Lori’s. At the corner of her right eye, a tear hovers. Lori’s unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Her world is reduced to the four walls of this room, her mother’s palm clasped in hers. The words of the doctor she spoke with earlier come back to her: psychiatric evaluations, finding the correct medication, deciding the next step. Dana Golden will remain here until she’s no longer a risk to herself. How long that might take is anyone’s guess.

  The doctor has impressed on her the need not to agitate Dana. Lori doubts that’s possible; her mother’s eyes, glassy and unfocused, suggest she’s been medicated. Well, of course she has, given the circumstances. Lori’s gleaned the pertinent facts. How a passing couple noticed Dana acting strangely, then climbing onto the wall at Clifton Suspension Bridge. Her struggles as they dragged her to safety. Her mother telling the police she had nothing to live for, how her death would be better for everyone. Pain stabs Lori’s heart.

  Nothing to live for? What about me? she wants to scream at the mute figure in the bed. Don’t I count? I thought I did, at least with you. The old hurt of her father’s perceived preference for Jessie returns, and for a moment Lori’s a little girl again. Within seconds the woman she’s become prevails; she reminds herself she’s an adult now. Such childish concerns have no place here. She can’t take Dana’s suicide attempt personally; if she’s to help her mother, she must set aside her own issues.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Dana’s voice draws Lori back to the present. Her mother’s apology is a mere whisper against her pillow.

  ‘Why, Mum?’ For Lori, two words say it all.

  Dana doesn’t reply at first; for a few agonising seconds her daughter isn’t sure she will. Then just as she’s debating whether to press her mother – it’s important she doesn’t become agitated – she speaks again.

  ‘I thought it would be better for everyone.’

  Lori’s aghast, but stays silent.

  ‘I didn’t understand before,’ Dana continues. ‘How someone could decide their loved ones would be happier without them. Now I do.’

  Pain claws at Lori. Better for whom, she wants to scream. Not me, that’s for sure.

  ‘Your sister’s killer gave me the idea.’

  Lori stares at Dana, confused by her words.

  ‘Spencer Hamilton doesn’t believe his miserable life is worth living. Which it isn’t.’ Her mother moistens her dry lips.

  ‘And you came to the same conclusion about yours?’

  Dana’s gaze slides away. ‘Yes.’

  Lori’s afraid of what she’ll hear once she poses the question. But it has to be asked. ‘Would you really have jumped? Or was it a cry for help?’

  Dana closes her eyes, appearing to shrink back into the bed, her expression one of exhaustion. Then she says, so low it’s an effort to catch her words, ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I just wanted the pain to go away.’

  For that, Lori has no answer.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dana repeats. ‘I never intended to hurt you, my love. But I couldn’t carry on any longer.’

  Fresh agony strikes Lori. ‘Talk to me,’ she says, mindful that if Dana gets too distressed she’ll need to back off. Whatever medication her mother is on is working, however, because Dana continues in that flat unemotional tone. It’s as if she’s reciting a shopping list. How the constant dialysis has ground her down. How Jessie’s death is more than she can bear. Her belief that more deserving recipients for a kidney transplant exist than her. When Lori asks what she means, Dana carries on talking as though she’s not heard her daughter.

  She learns that her mother hoped, at least for an afternoon, that Fraser Golden might release her from her mental turmoil. Finally Dana’s eyes meet hers, and she hears how her mother decided Lori would be happier without her. Freed from the burden of caring for a sick woman. How she’d be wealthy, financially stable. Lori’s shocked, hot tears slipping down her cheeks as she realises how far her mother’s thinking has slipped out of gear. Part of her understands, though. When life is so unbearable you decide to jump off a bridge, rational thought takes a back seat. Even so, how could Dana believe money trumps a mother’s love?

  She risks asking. Another silence before the answer, but it’s a different question Dana’s replying to.

  ‘I’m being punished,’ she says. ‘That’s why.’ Her voice has dropped to a mere whisper again.

  Lori senses the need to tread with care. She presses Dana’s hand, her touch feather-soft, her tone gentle. ‘What for, Mum?’

  No reply. Instead, Dana’s eyes slide away, drifting shut.

  Thank God the roads aren’t busy at night, because Lori remembers nothing of the drive home. Safe in her bedroom, she throws herself on her bed, pounding the duvet with her fists, causing Oreo to flee the room in fright. Howls of despair get stifled in her pillow as her misery pours forth. Lori releases everything she’s been bottling inside, allowing the ugliness to spill out. Her sister’s body, cold and pale in the mortuary. The funeral. The arson attacks. Dana’s deterioration, leading to her words: nothing to live for . . . better off without me. Pain stabs her, steals her breath. She’s unaware how long she spends sobbing. Time has lost all meaning.

  When she’s all cried out, she hauls herself upright. It’s after midnight, but she needs to speak with Ryan, soak up the comfort she knows he’ll offer. To her relief, he answers on the first ring, despite sounding half asleep. In a breathless rush, she relates Dana’s suicide attempt, hoping her mother will forgive the betrayal of her privacy. He listens, asks questions. All in his soft, calm voice. Tells her Dana’s in the best place, how she’ll get the care she needs at Southmead.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like a serious suicide attempt, more a cry for help,’ he reassures her. ‘After all, she chose mid-evening, somewhere public, where any passer-by might spot her. Which is exactly what happened.’

  He goes on to say it’s understandable that Dana’s thoughts turned dark, what with her health issues, the arson attacks, Jessie’s death. As he speaks, his words sink into Lori, washing away her fears. Then he says the words she’s been hoping for.

  ‘Let me come over,’ he says, his voice urgent. ‘You shouldn’t be alone, not tonight.’

  Lori agrees. She needs him here, his arms around her, his mouth against hers.

  Within half an hour, the doorbell rings. Lori collapses into his arms, before he draws her gently upstairs. Once they’re undressed and under her duvet, he holds her, murmuring words of comfort into her hair, pressing her head against his chest.

  The next day Lori returns to Southmead’s mental health unit, Ryan having left early for work. ‘Call me when you get a chance,’ he tells her before he goes. Exhaustion tugs at her eyelids. An hour of sleep is all she managed last night, and she struggled to eat any breakfast. Food is impossible when her stomach’s twisted tighter than a pretzel. Right now she’s hoping to snatch a quick call to Ryan while her mother’s with the psychiatric team. Her evaluation will take a while, Lori’s been told, so she walks outside, wandering through the hospital grounds. The cool morning breeze caresses her cheeks as she leans against the wall of the nearest building, praying Ryan will pick up.

  As he did yesterday, he answers on the fir
st ring. Lori updates him, the memory of last night warming her through.

  ‘Call me tonight, sweetheart,’ he says, before they wrap up their conversation. Lori’s smiling, her anguish lessening a little as she walks back to the psychiatric unit.

  The doctor with whom she spoke last night is encouraging. Dana Golden needs to remain here for now, he tells her, but the outlook is promising, especially since Lori can care for her once she returns home. In the meantime, they’ll conduct more evaluations, set up counselling sessions, review her medication. Lori’s seen how busy the unit is, though. She suspects the doctors will need the room for another patient before long. Within a couple of days, her mother may be home.

  Lori makes a promise to herself: never again will Dana believe she has nothing worth living for.

  She’s proved right about the time frame. Within two days, Dana’s discharged, with a prescription for anti-depressants and a referral to a psychiatrist. Back in familiar surroundings, she remains listless, as though the life has ebbed from her. They talk, as much as Lori judges her mother can bear. It’s a difficult time, made worse by the fact she can’t see Ryan; no way can she leave her mother alone, not yet, so she has to settle for calls and texts. In the meantime, she does her best to support Dana, desperate to prevent her sliding back into the dark place that prompted her suicide attempt.

  ‘I thought it was for the best,’ Dana tells her often.

  When she hears those words for what seems like the hundredth time, Lori reaches out, grasping Dana’s hands. She squeezes them tightly, her eyes never leaving those of her mother. Considerations about not agitating her fly out of the window. Lori’s the parent now, Dana the child.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she says. When she’s sure she has her mother’s full attention, she speaks, her voice firm. She wants no misunderstandings.

 

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