Joanne glanced at the towering arrangement that dominated the small sterile hospital room.
“No. I obviously have competition.”
He looked up, hoping to see amusement on Joanne’s delicate face but her weak smile was unconvincing.
“Have they found her yet?”
“No. I rang the Cunningham’s earlier this morning. They were not particularly interested in talking to me. I suppose it is understandable under the circumstances. Audrey Cunningham did ask me to let you know she would make arrangements to have Sandy’s car picked up from the launching ramp. When is your mother returning?”
Joanne shrugged before answering.
“She is in London and not able to alter her schedule. She promised to contact my father. It really isn’t important, I was only in overnight for shock and mild hypothermia. Oh, not again!”
The tears welled up unexpectedly and cascaded down Joanne’s cheeks.
“Please get me out of here, Simon.”
A sense of unreal came over Joanne when she walked up to the front door of the villa. The numb, dreamlike quality had helped distance her from the tragedy of the past twenty four hours.
Simon followed behind, balancing the two huge bouquets and a small overnight bag that he had prepared in case Joanne had not been released from hospital. There was an eerie silence in the villa, broken only by the light ticking of a wall clock. Keeping a respectful distance Simon walked into the kitchen, he cleared his throat in an effort to break the fragile atmosphere that held them both nervously in one spot.
“I will put the flowers in water for you.”
He busied himself finding a vase large enough to hold the stems.
“You didn’t even look at the card did you? The other arrangement is from somebody called Paul. I don’t remember you mentioning him.”
Simon looked up expectantly.
“It says “Give yourself time to heal. Best Wishes Paul.” He waited for a response but Joanne appeared not to have heard him and remained standing at the front door.
Critter gave the impression he had not moved since the day before. His food and water were untouched and he sat solemnly, regarding Joanne through bulging suspicious eyes. He showed no interest in Simon but his unblinking stare scanned Joanne for answers.
“He knows.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, he is a dog, of course he doesn’t.”
Simon walked around uncomfortably in the kitchen.
“Do you want to come and stay at my place tonight? At least you would have company.”
Joanne smiled, knowing that Simon was ill equipped to deal with a display of female emotion.
“No, I have to get used to being here alone at least in the short term. I will be fine, there are things you need to do at the café and I will be back at work in a few days.”
“Paul is right, give yourself time to heal.”
Joanne looked confused.
“Paul?”
“You weren’t listening to me at all were you? Paul, the man who has taken the time to send flowers to you.”
“That really was considerate of him but not necessary.”
“Are you going to elaborate?”
Simon leant forward eagerly.
“Sorry to disappoint you but there really is nothing to tell. He was just part of the rescue crew involved after Sandy’s accident.”
Simon looked disappointed.
“Just give me a call if you need anything.” He walked over and kissed Joanne lightly on the cheek. “Ring even if you just want to talk.”
Joanne waited until she heard the car back out of the drive and accelerate away from the villa. She walked to the kitchen and picked up the small delicate card. The flowing italic letters were neat and precise. His writing seemed to contradict her impression of the masculine man with strong hands that had appeared like a tower of strength when Joanne’s world had crumpled around her. Joanne looked at the delicate pink and white display; he certainly seemed to feel unnecessary sympathy for her.
She moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other, imagining the pathetic image she must have created as she sat forlorn, red eyed and incoherent on the beach. This wasn’t the first time Paul had occupied her mind. She remembered her confusion when she had first seen him. It had made her shrink away to avoid physical contact in the confines of the small boat. Joanne felt her cheeks warm as she visualised the scene as an observer.
Now, at a time when she could not afford any distraction, when she felt her sanity was hanging from a thread, he had briefly visited her life again. Somehow she felt this stranger had taken up a tiny residence in her mind at a time when she was full of doubt, vulnerable and raw.
Joanne turned the card over in her hands, then defiantly dismissed his intrusion and everything he represented by throwing the bouquet of flowers into the bin and dropping the elegant card on top.
Joanne stood dull headed and nursing a sleep deprived headache. Without physical evidence that Sandy had perished a tiny flicker of hope lingered. It deprived her of restful sleep and left her slipping in and out of vivid dreams or lying awake watching the bedside light flick down the seconds.
She applied pressure to her temples with her fingertips as she stood transfixed in the doorway of Sandy’s room. The actual thought of trespassing into the bedroom had been terrifying. Now what lay in front of her filled her with even more dread than she had imagined. Joanne looked from the bed which had been made with hospital precision to the surfaces that gleamed tidy and devoid of the customary layer of grim and rubbish.
A chill ran down Joanne’s spine, radiating over her skin and into her arms. Sandy had had no intention of returning home.
Critter pushed past without enthusiasm. He walked around the perimeter of the bed before jumping up and settling in a dejected heap on the duvet.
A light breeze flowed into the room and airily moved the net curtains. As it passed it lifted the edge of a page in a pink diary that sat on the dresser.
Joanne inhaled deeply and picked up the small book. Her hands felt damp and her mouth dry. She turned the pages to the day of the accident. There was one sentence written in Sandy’s unmistakable erratic scrawl.
Monday, I’m sorry. Please look after Critter xxxx
The book slipped through Joanne’s hands and without picking it up she walked to the kitchen and plugged in the jug. It wasn’t as if she felt like a hot drink, she just needed to move away from the clinically tidy, silent room and the single sentence that confirmed Sandy had made a conscious decision to end her struggle.
Joanne watched the tedious circles of the spoon and slowly gathered her emotions before returning to the bedroom. She placed the cup on the cabinet and picked up the diary before settling beside Critter. The pages of the diary were covered in Sandy’s haphazard writing, her thoughts and emotions spilled out randomly falling in cobweb like peaks and troughs over the paper.
One week prior to the accident. At least for now, that was all she needed to understand.
Tuesday, again today was a bad one. Raewyn rung Dr Martin and told me they are going to increase my pain medicine. How much more before I am just lying here drugged and unaware? I tried to write another letter but what needed to be said seemed to come out like a badly written drama. I am so tired and drained, but at least for now I am able to know how I feel.
Joanne continued to carefully decipher the writing a frown formed as she tried to imagine the emotional turmoil Sandy must have been living.
Wednesday, I went into the Doctor myself today. It seemed such an effort. I asked him what I could expect and if there was any hope of improvement or a different treatment that might become available. It wasn’t what he said, it was what he didn’t say. He discussed the increase in medication; he didn’t discuss any increase in my quality of life. If only I could do it all again, not the whole treatment thing but change when I actually started the treatment. I guess ifs don’t count for much.
Thursday, today I woke up with a re
ally bad coughing attack. It was the worst I have had and hurt so much I thought my ribs had cracked. There are not many pages left in this diary and I have made up my mind that before it ends my choice will be made. Soon I will not have the ability to make that decision or set down the terms for myself. Believe me if there was an alternative I would take it, but there can only be one eventual outcome for me, it is just a matter of when and how. Whatever I do, I don’t feel as though I can win and whatever I choose is going to cause someone else hurt. I know I do not want everyone around me to watch my slow deterioration or more selfishly I, myself, do not want to experience months of what I have become and more specialist appointments knowing there is no real hope.
Joanne stared unblinking at the page. She hadn’t even realised Sandy was not always at home while she was working.
Friday, today I decided to go and see my parents and try to prepare them. I was stupid to imagine I had a chance. They pray for a miracle every day. I envy them their beliefs. I don’t understand but I do know that belief is what will keep them whole when they need the strength. It would destroy them to learn that my death came from any circumstance other than accident. They truly believe my funeral will be years away and both agreed.
Saturday, Joanne, I tried to write another letter to you today. It was full of the drama I know you hate. All the emotional things and thank you’s that don’t really seem enough so are better left unsaid. In the end I have decided this diary is all you will need. I hope it helps you to understand I have made the decision not to go on, and that the decision was mine and mine alone. I know you will analyse and question whether you had any responsibility or could have changed or prevented the outcome. The answer is no. It has been a struggle for over a year now and I really don’t know how to thank you for staying around. I am not sure if our positions had been reversed I could have put my on life on hold in the same way that you have. Now you have to find whatever it is that makes you happy, really happy because you will have a life to live for both of us.
Joanne swallowed and glanced over towards Critter. He looked back through sad eyes; his solemn, pinched little face seemed to have aged. For the first time she noticed a small splattering of grey had appeared on his muzzle.
Sunday I woke up coughing again today. I am sure I broke some ribs this time. I went past the wine bar and looked in through the window; it feels as though that was part of someone else’s life. I came home and started to tidy up my room and realised just how little I have to show for my life. I wish there was something I could do to thank the people that made my fight with this disease easier, my life tidier and me more normal. Joanne, look through my things and take something of mine that can go with you, that will remind you that you are the best friend a friend could have. You were, you are, my friend. Sandy
Monday, I’m sorry. Please look after Critter xxxx
Joanne closed the diary and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She opened the box that contained Sandy’s jewellery and picked up the delicate mat of blue love beads.
There was a hollow ache that seemed to be grinding away inside as she realized her recent life had revolved around Sandy’s illness, and now without warning she was left alone, isolated and emotionally drained. Where the hell to now? Why would she have made the decision to take her own life? Then again, under the circumstances why not?
Water pooled under the defrosted meal that still sat untouched on the bench. Paul picked up the container and sniffed its contents without enthusiasm. He then scraped the meal into Jess’ dish and sat down heavily on a bar stool.
He had walked home along the beach, pausing occasionally to watch the search and rescue crews as they circled systematically in an effort to locate Sandy Cunningham.
Paul glanced at his watch. Hours had elapsed; realistically they could no longer expect to find Sandy alive. She wasn’t the only victim caught up in this tragedy. What about her friend Joanne? If the body was not located she would have to go on without the answers, without closure and he knew how that could hold a person paralysed in a moment of despair.
Frustrated at his inability to help, he walked to one of the spare rooms that served as a gym. He punched angrily at a bag that was suspended from the roof by a sturdy chain. He punched until his muscles ached and sweat dampened his skin.
It was after midnight when the telephone rung. Geoff sounded tired and his voice had little expression.
“I gather you were not asleep?”
“No,” Paul admitted.
He had settled in front of the television although could not recall what was on the screen.
“We have had to come in. There is no sign of her. We are going to refuel and go out again. I thought you would probably want to be on board and it would give some of the crew time to stand down.”
“I’ll meet you at the boat in a few minutes.”
There was a brief silence and Geoff seemed to consider whether to continue.
“Paul? Be careful not to become too involved. You know this is not personal.”
The morning’s ghostly glow illuminated an angry sky. Although the swell had lessened and the wind had dropped, conditions were still unpleasant. The crew had searched throughout the night and a sober tired silence had fallen over the boat. Geoff looked up and shook his head. There was no need for words. It was time to call off the search for Sandy Cunningham.
Joanne slowly dragged herself up from the deep dreamless void. It was the type of sleep that only came from exhaustion. The fog cleared sufficiently for her to realize the ringing of the telephone was a reality not part of the blackness that still confused her consciousness.
“Hello,” her voice was muffled and distant.
“Joanne? It’s Simon. I was just ringing to see how my favourite employee is.”
“Simon? Sorry, I have just woken up.”
He laughed before continuing.
“You are the one that is normally up before the sun. You must have needed the rest. How are you feeling?” Before she could reply he continued, “I am not sure if I should bring this up but it has been worrying me. You said you needed to discuss something on the day of the accident?”
There was a silence as Joanne tried to focus.
“Oh no! I can’t believe I have forgotten to contact Logan Neil. What is the time?” Joanne looked at the wall clock. “Almost lunchtime. I promise I will ring you back in a few minutes.”
She hung up before Simon had an opportunity to object.
Logan took her call almost immediately. He sounded slightly irritated.
“Joanne? I had hoped I would hear back from you before now.”
She winced.
“I must apologize. I was involved in an accident. Is the position we discussed still available?”
His tone softened.
“I hope you were not injured. We did wait for your decision until late yesterday. Unfortunately, there was another candidate to consider, and as we had not heard otherwise we assumed you were not interested. I am sorry Joanne, you were obviously our preference but the position is no longer available.”
Simon waited an hour for his call to be returned. It took a lot to annoy him but he was feeling worried and his worry was turning to irritation. By the time he rang the bell on Joanne’s door he was flushed with anger and frustration.
“You didn’t return my call!”
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t feel like talking.”
“Then you ring and say I really don’t feel like talking.”
Joanne ignored his outburst and walked to the kitchen to plug in the jug.
“Simon, I am sorry, but there are some things I am having trouble processing at the moment.”
He took in her reddened eyes and set expression.
“You have been through a lot, I understand that.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over them.
“I was offered a part time legal position. I needed to discuss it with Sandy before you. I rung to accept but I have missed the o
pportunity.”
Simon started to speak but Joanne held up her hand.
“I appreciate everything you have done for me. But with the sudden change in my situation I am facing some decisions both personally and in my career.” She looked at him and he saw slight regret in her eyes. “I think it would be a good idea if you booked that holiday of yours. Once you are back it would also be a good idea if you advertised for my replacement.”
“Do you think now is the right time for you to be making that type of decision? You have a lot of grieving to go through and can only attempt to rebuild one small step at a time.”
“The decision was always made for me. It was just a matter of when. I need to get my life back in order.”
Simon regarded her carefully. He took her hand and held it awkwardly.
“At the risk of intruding, I think it is more than your career you need to get in order.”
Joanne withdrew her hand abruptly.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Simon felt nervous; he normally avoided conflict, especially conflict with women.
“You trust and rely on no one, except maybe me because I am gay and therefore I am safe. Joanne, you are too young and beautiful to live in an emotional void because of a bad experience with one stupid worthless man.” As soon as he had said the words Simon regretted it. He saw her face tighten.
“My personal life is none of your business.”
She was focused on Simon, waiting for his response.
“I am sorry if I am treading on sensitive ground Joanne. Remember, I have had a similar experience and know what it is like to feel that you are at a crossroads. I wish someone had told me it doesn’t mean you have to return to the same path you were on before.” He moved his hands encompassing the room. He continued speaking before the intimidation he felt caused him to falter.
“You look furious and if you throw me out I will understand. At least you are showing some emotion, the only other time I have seen anything raw from you recently is when you dismissed your confusion over the search and rescue man.”
The Quilt Page 29