by Liz Byrski
George’s accident didn’t rate highly on Ellis’s register of interest. Everything seemed to be going his way. He was steaming ahead with his writing, and Heather’s decision to resign had made him more confident and focused. He was in the flow, the words pouring from his head through his fingers to the keyboard; finally, he seemed to be getting the hang of it. He had decided to defer Heather’s reading of the manuscript until he had finished the section dealing with the Nirvana experience and he was almost at that point. He would take a break the following day, meet with Luke Scriven and talk through the new possibilities for Head to Heart.
‘Come with me,’ he suggested to Heather. ‘You can go shopping or something while I see Luke.’
‘I told you, I’m going to Morpeth tomorrow to pick up Barb,’ Heather said. She was making up the spare room bed at the time. ‘They’re moving George from Maitland to Newcastle so she’ll need to stay here to be near him.’ She smoothed the quilt and picked up another set of sheets. ‘I’m making up the other bed too. Adam and Jill are going to take turns to stay a couple of days at a time. We’re going to work out a plan so there’s always someone around to be with Barb. It could be a long haul.’
Ellis tried to curb his irritation. ‘Wouldn’t they be happier in a hotel?’ he asked. ‘It’ll make the place rather crowded.’
Heather put the sheets down on the second bed and turned to him. ‘You want me to send my aunt, who’s been like a mother to me, to stay in a hotel while her partner might be dying?’
Ellis knew he was on dodgy ground. ‘Well, no,’ he conceded, ‘but your brother . . .’
‘They’re staying here, Ellis,’ Heather said, turning away to shake out a sheet. ‘End of conversation.’
It was so long since Ellis had been reprimanded that he’d almost forgotten how it felt. It had happened in court, of course, but only when he had deliberately stuck his neck out and engineered the reprimand for effect. This was different. Heather was clearly upset and things had been going so nicely that he didn’t want to lose ground; sometimes backing off was a good strategy.
‘What I think I might do,’ he suggested later, ‘is leave the car in Sydney tomorrow and fly home for a few days to sort things out there. I’ll come back next week, by which time you’ll probably be back to normal.’ He thought he saw a look of relief cross Heather’s face, and he knew that he had won this round. She must feel bad having allowed her family to stay at the house after the way they’d treated him, so his gracious withdrawal would make it easier for her.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, snuggling closer to him in bed later that night. ‘Poor Barb, watching her with George makes me so sad. It makes me realise how lucky I am.’
‘It’s not for long,’ Ellis said. ‘You’ll be busy, I’ll be back in a few days, and we can get down to planning the future. It’s a whole new start for both of us, Heather.’
‘Mmm,’ she murmured, pressing her face against his shoulder. ‘It’s going to be a wonderful, exciting year.’
‘Where’s Ellis?’ Jill asked when she arrived three days later.
‘Gone back to Byron for a few days,’ Heather said. ‘He had some stuff to do. And it’s easier without him around.’ Jill’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Diane’s being terrific. She and Barb get on well, so she’s helping out too. How long are you here for?’
‘Until Monday,’ Jill said. ‘Adam’s got concerts over the weekend – he’s still working out his notice. But if you can manage Tuesday and Wednesday, he’ll come on Thursday. Is everything okay with you and Ellis?’
‘Of course it is,’ Heather said sharply, ‘why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Whoops! Sorry,’ Jill replied, ‘just asking. I mean, Christmas Day can’t have been easy for either of you.’
Heather’s defensiveness dropped away. ‘It was awful, wasn’t it? And I know Ellis behaved very badly with Daisy, but Adam –’
Jill tilted her head to one side. ‘It was so unlike him.’
Heather nodded. ‘Totally. I was furious with him, but later I thought perhaps it’s good that he’s changing like that. Not going around punching people, I don’t mean that, but actually confronting stuff instead of hiding.’
‘I think so,’ Jill said. ‘He’s changing dramatically.’ She paused, debating whether or not to push on. ‘And so are you,’ she finally said.
‘Me? I don’t think so. But I’ve made a good decision about the job. Knowing the end is in sight is a relief. I really have had enough.’
‘It’s more than that, surely,’ Jill answered, wondering how far she dared to go. ‘More than the job. I mean, it’s the way you are with Ellis.’
‘I’m determined to make this relationship work, Jill,’ Heather said. ‘Not everyone gets a second chance, especially at a time in life when you don’t really expect to fall in love again.’
Jill nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘it must be very special. It’s just that you are different when Ellis is around, very different, and you did say –’
‘That’s natural,’ Heather cut in. ‘Obviously, being in a relationship changes you, you have to adapt and compromise, don’t you? It’s give and take and –’
‘And sometimes if you really want it, you can end up giving too much,’ Jill rushed in, feeling she should run and hide under the table, but hoping Heather would remember the conversation they’d had over lunch a few weeks earlier.
There was a pause. ‘I suppose that’s a risk,’ Heather said, ‘but I’m sure I’ll be able to resist that temptation.’
‘Mmm. And so you feel you’re doing things differently this time?’
‘Oh, entirely,’ Heather said. ‘This time I’m really clear and centred, not twisting myself out of shape.’
Faced with Heather’s self-delusion, Jill felt like a goldfish tossed out of its bowl and left panting on the carpet. She opened her mouth, shut it again, gulped for air and wondered if the shock showed in her face. ‘Good,’ she murmured, fumbling for something else to say. ‘That’s very good news. I’ve been finding it hard to ditch some of my old habits, especially around the house, but I think I’m getting there. It’s fun, actually, discovering that it’s possible to be different.’
‘Exactly,’ Heather said. ‘It’s a whole new adventure,’ and she picked up Jill’s bag. ‘Come on up,’ she said. ‘We’ll stick your stuff in the bedroom and then we can go over to the hospital to collect Barb. I’m so thankful you can spend time with her tomorrow. I simply have to get back to work.’
George lay connected to a battery of monitors that beeped and flashed, registering the fact that he was still alive, as haemorrhages from the damaged white matter surrounding his brain slowly diminished its ability to function. Day after day, Barbara sat beside him. She held his hand and talked to him about China and the things he was going to teach to Chinese chemists. She told him about Beijing and Shanghai, and read extracts from travel guides and books.
‘Terry’s repairing your bike,’ she told him. ‘He says it’ll be fine, and Andy, that nice young boy next door, is looking after Rusty until we get back. He’ll do it when we go to China too, although we might have to postpone that for a few weeks. Nothing to worry about, we can easily rebook, go later in the year – June, perhaps. It’ll be warmer then, anyway.’
She played him the music he loved: The Supremes, Peggy Lee, The Four Tops and Mel Tormé, and over and over again the full score of South Pacific, and each day she read aloud the poems of his beloved Dylan Thomas.
‘You do know how much I love you, George, don’t you?’ she asked him every day. ‘How much you mean to me? I’m sorry, I’m not much good at saying it, neither of us is, I suppose. But you must know. Can you try and squeeze my hand if you know?’
She left his side only to sleep, or to make space for his son and daughter-in-law, or when pressured by Heather, Jill, Adam or Diane to take a walk with them in the fresh air through the hospital grounds, or to sit in the café dazed and anxious, drinking endless cups of tea.
But nothing drew a response from George, who had not spoken since moments after his accident when Barbara had pedalled furiously down the hill and jumped from her bike to kneel beside him.
‘Silly old bugger,’ he’d murmured then, looking up at her. ‘Shouldn’t’ve been going so fast. Silly old bugger.’ He’d grasped her hand and held it against his cheek. ‘My Barbara,’ he said, kissing it. ‘I love you so very much. You really are the light of my life.’ He’d spluttered then, as though something were stuck in his throat, and blood began to trickle from the side of his mouth. ‘You must still go, for me, for both of us . . .’ Although his eyes remained open they were empty suddenly, as though part of him had left, and Barbara heard a motorist who had stopped to help urgently summoning an ambulance on his mobile phone.
‘You’re worn out, Barb. Come on home and have a meal and a good sleep,’ Adam urged her one evening.
‘But what if I leave and he . . .’ She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence and so, just as she did when Heather or Jill insisted, she got up and took Adam’s arm.
‘Barb,’ he began, ‘you know the doctors said that George can’t hear you.’
‘They say that,’ she said, ‘but how can they know?’
‘I think they can see reactions in the brain,’ Adam said.
Barbara shrugged. ‘I don’t know what they can and can’t see, and I don’t care.’ She turned at the door, looking back at the motionless body in the bed.
Adam, who had been delegated by Heather and Jill to handle the delicate task of ensuring that Barbara understood it was just a matter of time before the control centre in George’s brain shut down, decided that it was much easier to punch someone in the face than it was to dispel hope in someone you love, and said no more.
‘I can’t take the risk, you see, Adam,’ Barbara said. ‘People have come back from . . . from where he is. And you know George, he’s like a kid in the playground – he absolutely hates to be beaten. I have to believe in that, his stubbornness . . . you know, the rage against the dying of the light.’
But the days dragged on with no sign of change, until one morning, Heather, who had dropped Barbara at the hospital on her way to the office, called in again just before midday with the intention of forcing her out for lunch. She parked the car and walked along the corridor, wondering how Barbara would cope without George. She was self-sufficient and accustomed to living alone, but would that self-sufficiency waver now?
Heather stopped suddenly and leant against the wall, thinking of her own recent confrontations with the darker side of being alone, and remorse cast a long shadow. She had invested so much in looking after her electorate, now it seemed obvious that in doing that she had robbed Barbara of what she had the right to expect from her, and robbed herself of some of the potential riches of that relationship. And wasn’t it also true of her relationship with Adam and Jill, her nieces and nephew? And where were the women friends from years ago? Had those friendships died from lack of nourishment? She struggled to get a grip on herself, to resist the urge to burst in on Barbara, to pour out apologies, explanations and promises for the future. The best thing she could do right now was simply to be there with Barbara to see her through whatever lay ahead.
The door of George’s room was propped half open and Heather paused to gather her thoughts before going in. For once the corridor was silent and, as she stepped into the shadow of the open doorway, she could hear Barbara reading, her voice low and soft but compelling.
Sensing someone in the doorway, Barbara looked up. ‘Heather,’ she said, ‘I didn’t expect you so soon.’ She looked at George on the bed. ‘I think he’s better today, come and see. Just now I thought he squeezed my hand a bit.’
Heather walked to the other side of the bed. George looked just as he had every day for the last two weeks.
‘There!’ Barbara said, triumphantly. ‘His eyelid, did you see it? It moved, I’m sure I saw it –’
But she was interrupted by a sudden change in the reassuring beep of the monitor – a missed beat and then another, and finally a relentless and chilling monotone.
George was cremated in the first week of February on a grey and overcast day when the temperature had climbed past forty degrees and the flowers wilted in front of the eyes of the mourners. It was a simple ceremony during which Adam experienced a more profound sense of grief and sadness than he had at the funerals of his parents. He and Heather sat on either side of Barbara holding her hands, with Jill and Kirsty on either side of Toby and Daisy, who were both determined to behave perfectly at their first funeral.
Adam stroked his thumb across the back of Barbara’s hand, noting with shock the prominent veins and the liver spots that freckled the loose skin. Time passed so quickly even while it seemed to drag, and as one battled from day to day, month to month and year to year through the rapids of confusion, it was so easy to lose sight of the way it carved its mark on those you loved. He had taken charge of cancelling the travel bookings, claiming refunds and advising the Chinese company that the English teachers they were expecting in a few weeks would not, after all, be arriving.
‘It’s my fault,’ Barbara had said to Adam a few days earlier. ‘My fault, all of it. I said we had to wait until the warmer weather and it was me who manipulated him into getting a bike. He’d still be alive today if it weren’t for me.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Adam replied. ‘And George loved riding that bike, he loved the whole idea of getting back on two wheels at nearly seventy-six. He had you to thank for that, he told me so himself.’
‘But it still feels like my fault,’ Barbara said. ‘I feel as though I killed him.’
The wake was a gentle affair which Barbara had offered to host in her own house to take the pressure off George’s daughter-in-law. Heather, Jill and Diane prepared and served food and Adam looked after the drinks, all of them watching Barbara, who seemed to have aged ten years in the last month.
‘You have to stop watching me,’ she told them later when the guests had left. ‘I can’t handle this vigilance. I know you all mean well but it’s as though you’re waiting for me to collapse and I’m not going to.’
They exchanged embarrassed glances.
‘I’m not going to,’ she repeated, more forcefully this time. ‘I’m exhausted and terribly sad. George was my soul mate and now he’s gone, but he’s still with me, here,’ she said, patting her chest, ‘here in my heart. And he’d never forgive me if I fell apart now. You’ve all been a wonderful support at the hospital and now here, and I love you dearly, but I feel as though every moment you’re waiting for me to crack up.’
‘Okay,’ Adam said, ‘we’ll stop watching and worrying, but only if you promise to get hold of us the minute you need anything, or if you just want company.’
Barbara nodded. ‘I promise,’ she said. ‘I’m lucky to have you all looking out for me. But I need to be alone, to rest and grieve, and I can’t do that while you watch and hold your breath.’
TWENTY-SIX
Ellis was satisfied with his own performance. He had made a supreme effort to be reasonable and accommodating. It was good to be home and he spent several productive days tidying the garden, mowing, pruning, answering his mail and considering ways in which the house could be extended to accommodate another person living there full time. There was a second bedroom that he used as a study, but he felt Heather would probably like a study of her own, and life would generally be more relaxed with a second bathroom. He drew some rough plans and dropped them off to the architect who had designed the original building.
‘I want it to blend in with the rest of the house, Barry,’ he said, ‘same materials, same brick piers. I don’t want it to look like an extension, but as though it was always meant to be there. And there’s this extra plan too, a small separate building lower down on the block – you’ll see what I mean.’
‘Aha!’ Barry said with a knowing grin. ‘You have plans for cohabitation – or is it marriage?�
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‘Both, I hope,’ Ellis said. ‘And can you get it done fast? I’m going back to Newcastle in a few days and want to take it with me.’
Barry sucked his breath in through his teeth and shook his head. ‘Difficult,’ he said, ‘we’ve got a lot on. But I’ll see what I can do.’
It took two weeks to get the drawings back but it didn’t matter because Ellis was at home far longer than he’d anticipated. When Heather had described George’s injuries he assumed it would all be over in a couple of days, so he’d planned for time to avoid the funeral. He’d done the aunt’s party and then Christmas and that, surely, was sufficient contribution to the family rituals he loathed. But he hadn’t expected George to hang around so long. None of it was very convenient. His car was in Sydney and being without it irritated him, so he got out the motorbike he’d bought when he first retired.
‘Nice to have the wind in my hair,’ he said to Leah when he ran into her in town.
‘Aren’t you supposed to wear a crash helmet?’ she asked straight-faced.
‘A joke,’ Ellis explained. ‘I mean, that’s the way a bike makes you feel.’ It felt so good, in fact, that he did some longish runs for the sheer pleasure and freedom of it. He felt that he cut a striking profile riding into town, strolling in his leather jacket to the coffee shop. He saw himself as a sort of Marlon Brando figure, not the sad, sick and obese old man of recent years, but the Waterfront Marlon, young, supple and broodingly sexy. It was yet another angle for Head to Heart, the dynamic, sexy older man reunited with his one true love, riding a motorbike and starting a new business and not far off his seventieth birthday, although maybe it was better not to actually mention his age – have to talk to Luke about that.