by Rhoda Baxter
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Peter got to the hospice, Grace was already there, waiting at the door, fidgeting. Seeing her immediately made him feel guilty. Was every visit to this place destined to be linked with guilt and pain?
‘I thought I’d wait five minutes to see if you turned up.’ She turned and walked with him into the entrance.
‘What’s going on Grace?’
She explained as they strode up to the lift. Peter had to admit it all sounded rather odd, but very Sally. ‘She wants to die while she’s still the tragic heroine, rather than as a dried out invalid? That makes sense in a weird way.’
‘Won’t you miss her?’ Grace demanded. As the doors to the lift slid shut, she jabbed floor three.
‘I would,’ said Peter. ‘But I’m not convinced this isn’t a ploy to get us to her room so that she can have another pop at you. Or me.’
Grace looked down. ‘The thought occurred to me too. But there was something about the way she was …’
‘Well, I guess we’ll see in a minute.’
Silence followed and they avoided eye contact. Grace looked drawn and worried. The skin under her eyes was bluish and there were creases as though she hadn’t slept. Her ultra short hair was sticking out messily, as though she’d run her fingers through it too quickly. He remembered the expression on her face when she’d backed away from him. He’d done this to her.
‘Grace—’
‘Don’t.’ She moved away from him, squashing up hard against the wall of the lift. ‘Just … don’t. Okay.’
What could he say? The knowledge that he didn’t love Sally any more didn’t change anything. He was still married to Sally and she needed him. He stepped back, so that there was a good distance between him and Grace. Would he miss Sally if she went? He had been saying goodbye to her for over a year now, would her death really make a difference, apart from making life less stressful?
When the doors opened, Grace was out first. Peter followed her as she dashed along the corridor. A nurse came out of Sally’s room.
‘Hello Peter. Grace.’ She nodded to them both. No one seemed to question that Grace was coming to visit Sally anymore. ‘I’ve just done her obs. She’s stable. Although, there was some activity early this morning. Would you like to see the charts, Peter?’
Peter followed the nurse back into the room to look at the charts. Grace stood by the bed, her head to one side. He was acutely aware of her, shifting her weight impatiently as she waited until it was safe to speak to Sally without the nurse hearing.
The nurse explained that Sally’s heart rate had gone up, then down, then stabilised. ‘When the team came in, she had her hand raised. There was still no sign of recognition or response from her, but she put the hand back down by herself.’ She ran though what the doctors had said, but Peter wasn’t really focusing. A few months ago, something like this would have left him clinging on to every word, searching for a glimmer of hope that Sally was coming back. But now, the chill in the room was enough to tell him that Sally was nearby. He looked at the woman lying on the bed and wondered what Grace saw there.
Sally sat on the bed, careful not to line herself up completely with her body. Peter was trying to look interested as the nurse ran through obs charts. Grace was staring at Sally, as though trying to read her mind. It was kind of funny.
With the filter of anger removed, Sally could see how Peter and Grace would be perfect for each other. They were both organised and boring. Grace would probably be genuinely interested in Peter’s charts and arrows and things. Peter would love the sciencey whatever it was that Grace did. She hoped they didn’t move into her house though. She had lovingly decorated that house to be the perfect place. She’d known what was going where before she’d even met Peter. Grace could have Peter and the money and the lifestyle, but not the house.
The nurse left, assuring Peter that they’d keep him up to date if anything else happened. Grace moved to the foot of the bed. ‘Sally, what are you doing?’ she said softly.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Sally.
‘Sounds to me like you’re getting better.’ said Grace. ‘Is that what you were trying to tell me before?’
‘Nope,’ said Sally. ‘This little carcass is useless.’ She patted the silent, breathing body next to her on the bed. ‘Her legs don’t work. In fact, nothing works from …’ she hovered her finger over her body and jabbed it in, somewhere just below the diaphragm. ‘… there downwards. Even the arms are a bit of an effort to be honest.’
Grace’s mouth made an ‘o’ as she took in the information. She looked over her shoulder at Peter.
‘What? What did she say?’ Peter came to stand next to her. Sally was pleased to see that he left a decent space between them, as though he were afraid of touching her. If Grace wanted Peter now, she’d have to work for it. Too bloody right. No one should get a man that easily. If she, Sally, had to put so much work into grabbing Peter, it was only fair that plain, gangly Grace should have to work a little harder.
‘Sally, what are you up to?’ said Grace.
‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to die.’
‘She says she’s … dying.’ Grace half turned her head so that she could speak to Peter, but her eyes remained on Sally. ‘But Sally, why? Why now?’
Sally carefully sat down and stretched her legs so that they aligned perfectly with her body’s legs. She couldn’t feel anything in them, but somehow, as soon as the two bodies linked, she felt a sense of rightness. She leaned forward, so that her chest remained free from her body. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to stay and live in limbo. I’ve had enough. I’m getting out.’
Grace looked at a loss for what to say. Her lips moved and she shook her head slowly. Much to Sally’s amazement, there were tears gathering in her eyes.
‘Don’t.’ Grace’s voice wavered.
Why was Grace getting upset? She could get her mitts on Peter once the funeral was over.
‘Grace?’ Peter, poor darling had no idea what was going on.
‘Tell him,’ said Sally. ‘Tell him to remember me as I was, not how I am now. Tell him I loved him. I still … love him. I know I’m not the easiest person to love back, but I hope that, at some level he loves me too.’
Grace repeated it in a broken whisper.
Peter looked at the bed, his face impassive. He didn’t believe her. ‘What is she doing?’
‘I think she’s found a way to die,’ said Grace.
Peter edged a little closer to the bed. His eyes darted to the wall. Sally realised he was getting within arm’s reach of the emergency call button. If she needed any more conformation that Peter no longer loved or trusted her, this was it. He thought she was going to cause more trouble.
The cheer she’d felt vanished. This was how it ended. With her husband eyeing her with suspicion. Suddenly, she wanted to cry. She turned back to Grace and saw that she was gripping the metal end of the bed so hard that the sinews on her hands were pushing out under her skin. With sudden clarity, Sally realised that the person who would miss her the most was Grace. Grace whom she’d tricked, used and ultimately tried to hurt. Grace whom she’s spent the evenings chatting with. Grace, who genuinely cared. And she’d taken that as a weakness to be exploited.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Grace and I’ve been horrible towards you’
Grace shook her head and blinked back tears. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.
The need to cry got worse. It built up behind her ductless eyes. When she could feel again, it would probably hurt. Well, there was no point hanging around, she told herself. She had to get on with it or she’d miss the light. She reminded herself of the last words she’d planned.
‘Well, bye then,’ she said. She lowered herself down, her arms first, the
n her torso. Partway down she paused. ‘You don’t get to have my house,’ she said to Grace.
Grace gave a half sob, half laugh. ‘No.’
‘Look after him.’ Sally nodded towards Peter, whose gaze was flitting between Grace and the woman on the bed.
‘I will.’
Peter said something, but Sally didn’t make out what it was. She reconnected with her body and the rush of signals overwhelmed her. Her world exploded with sensation and taste and sound and pain. When at last it bubbled down to a manageable level, she realised the alarm was going off and there were more people in the room. Peter must have pushed the button. She found her heart and concentrated, trying to slow it down, but it galloped away as her body’s automatic systems spurred it on. She tried to force it faster instead. Suddenly, there was pain, rising fast. Sally desperately located her lips and vocal chords. Time for the last words.
As pain and ice rolled up on her, her mouth opened for her last words to the world. ‘Ohhh Fuuuuuuuck!’
And then it was over. There was tranquillity.
Peter stared at Sally, lying on the bed. Her scream drowned out the noise of the heart monitor and the alarm. Her body seemed to convulse once, twice, and then lay still. The heart monitor subsided to a long flat note. Nurses shouted to each other. Someone turned up with a defibrillator and shouted ‘clear’. Sally’s body jerked up in the air as they tried to resuscitate her. He could no longer see her; the medical people were in the way.
Someone touched his arm. He turned to see Grace, tears running down her face. Without thinking, he took her hand. They stood together backed against the wall as people tried to bring Sally back. In the end, they gave up.
‘She’s gone,’ said the doctor, quietly. ‘Time of death. 3.54.’ She turned and faced Peter. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Peter nodded, suddenly numb.
‘Would you … like a few minutes?’
He nodded again. He felt Grace’s hand leave his. He didn’t stop her. There was a general shuffling and the room emptied, leaving him with the body of his wife. He stepped towards the bed and looked at her. Her oxygen mask had been removed and someone had put her arms on her middle so that she looked like she was in repose. There were faint blue marks on her face from where the mask had rested and thin veins showed on her pale cheeks. He touched her face and found that it was still warm. She could almost be asleep.
‘Sally,’ he said. He wasn’t sure which one he should grieve for. The woman he remembered from what seemed like years ago, or the one he’d glimpsed of late. Either way, someone had died. Someone he had loved. Once.
‘Goodbye, Sally.’ He leaned forward to kiss her. He was surprised to find that her cheek was salty with tears.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a quiet funeral. Peter stood with his family gathered around him. There were a few family friends, people who barely knew Sally, but were close enough to show sympathy for Peter’s widowing. He had told Sally’s work and one man had turned up. A little way apart, trying to keep in the background was Glenda, in her blue coat. Grace stood next to her, also keeping apart from his family group.
As the coffin was lowered, Peter looked up at the two women. Glenda was sobbing. Grace had put an arm around her, but looked uncomfortable doing so. Apart from him, they were the only people who really knew Sally. But, in the end, who really knew Sally? He wondered if even Sally knew herself.
Looking around at the carefully sombre faces around him, he realised he didn’t feel anything. He had been grieving the loss of his Sally for so long, that now she had actually died, it didn’t feel any different. He had dreaded feeling relief, but that hadn’t materialised either. He wondered if he was in shock and there was some emotion waiting to mug him when the whole funeral business was over. Probably. He dutifully scattered some earth over the coffin.
After a few moments he was surrounded by people, touching him gently on the shoulder and saying how sorry they were. He accepted their condolences without saying much. His mother stood beside him, deflecting questions. Dear Mum. She had let him get on with funeral arrangements, for which he was grateful, but she’d reminded him of what needed doing. And, as always, she’d brought food.
His sister came up to give Peter a hug. ‘Hey,’ she said, gently. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been a crap brother.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Val smiled.
He smiled back, suddenly feeling warmth seeping back into his life. ‘Thanks.’
‘In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do… if you fancy a break, there’s nothing like playing with kids to take your mind off things.’ His sister clearly didn’t miss Sally in any way. Being Val, she didn’t bother to hide the fact. ‘I’ll see you back at the house. I’m just going to phone the babysitter and check the kids aren’t giving her a hard time.’ She placed a light kiss on his cheek and marched off.
Turning, Peter spotted Glenda. He made his way over to her.
When she saw him she burst into tears afresh. He could smell the alcohol on her before he reached her. He held out his hand and she grabbed it. ‘Oh Peter. My Sally. My beautiful little girl.’
It occurred to Peter that Glenda hadn’t seen Sally since the wedding. It was probably kindest that way. The funeral directors had done their best to restore Sally to her former glow, which had helped disguise how much she’d faded in the year since the accident. He hoped it was a comfort for Glenda to think of Sally as a glowing and beautiful woman.
‘Thank you for letting me know, Peter. It was very kind of you.’
He had put an ad in the Times, just as he’d promised her. It had simply read ‘the death is announced of Sally Wesley nee Cummings’, followed by the funeral details.
‘The world won’t be the same without her!’ Glenda wailed.
People were looking at him. His mother came to stand next to him. ‘Mum, this is Glenda. She was … er … someone Sally knew very well. Glenda this is my mother Diane.’
Glenda blew her nose on a hanky and held her other hand out to shake. Diane looked slightly horrified, but shook hands gingerly.
‘We’re … er … going back to my house for the wake,’ said Peter. Glenda didn’t look like she needed any more to drink.
‘Actually, Glenda and I can’t come.’ Grace appeared, seemingly from nowhere. ‘Give me a minute to speak to Peter, Glenda, and I’ll be right with you.’ She stepped neatly in between them and leaned forward to give Peter a stiff and formal hug. ‘I’ll take her home,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Is Sally here?’ he whispered back.
‘No.’ Okay. So that meant Sally wasn’t around haunting the place. For the first time something like relief fluttered.
Grace drew back. ‘She did love you, you know. In her own way,’ she said softly. She pressed something into his hand. ‘Glenda and I should get going now. My deepest condolences, again.’
Before he could respond, she was marching Glenda off efficiently. He watched her receding back and wished he could talk to her. Right now, the only person who understood was Grace.
‘What was all that about?’ said his mother. ‘Was that Grace?’
‘Yes, that was Grace.’ He looked at the thin parcel in his hand. It was packet of forget-me-not seeds.
‘What’s that?’ His mother was frowning.
‘That,’ said Peter, as he slipped the packet into his pocket. ‘Is … was Sally’s favourite flower.’
‘Now you make sure you call if you need anything,’ Diane said for the fourth time as Peter ushered her out of the door.
‘Mum. Relax. I’m okay. I just need to get on with the new normal.’ He kissed her on the cheek.
‘What are you going to do first?’ She paused on the doorstep, still frowning with worry.
That was easy. He’d had time to th
ink about it. ‘I’m putting the house up for sale.’
‘What?’ At this, even his father, who was standing by the car, jiggling his keys, looked up.
‘It’s full of memories of Sally. We bought this place together. I can’t carry on living here.’ He didn’t mention that every time he felt the slightest bit cold, he wondered if Sally was back. He couldn’t relax. And it was true. The house was more Sally’s than his. The only mark he’d left on it was crumpled bedlinen in the spare room and a single set of crockery on the draining board.
‘Oh darling. It’s a major upheaval, moving house. You don’t need more stress in your life.’
Peter gave her a bleak smile. ‘Right now, upheaval is probably just what I need. I have to work out what I’m going to do without Sally. Start afresh.’
‘He’s got a point,’ his father conceded.
‘But …’
‘Give the boy some space, Diane. Now come on. We’re going to be late.’
Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Be careful darling.’ She touched Peter’s chest lightly before she turned away.
Peter watched them drive out and felt relief. He was tired of playing the dutiful bereaved husband. He knew he should be sad or relieved, but all he felt was disappointment. All that he’d been through, surely there was some sort of emotional comeback. He shut the door and wandered back into the house. Without his mother fluttering around, it felt tranquil and empty. He walked from room to room, exploring.
The last time he’d had a tour of the house like this, Sally had been there. There were rooms he hadn’t been into since before the wedding. There was the dining room, where everything was neatly put away in the dresser that Sally had chosen. A whole dinner service that was never used. The living room which he’d only used when he needed a drink. The house even had a conservatory. He walked into the empty glass room. Sally had wanted to put a sofa in there, but they hadn’t got around to it. So now it was an empty rectangle. Peter sat down on the dusty floor and looked up at the sky. Clouds scurried across the clear roof, suggesting there would be rain soon. He lay down and watched them.