Chapter 14
Emily had now fully recovered from her coma and had suffered no appreciable harm from the months she had lived in unconsciousness. Her broken neck had healed a long time ago and it was only the months of inactivity which were holding her back. Emily's body which had lain unmoving was weak and she had to spend many tedious hours in physiotherapy, slowly cajoling the strength back into her reluctant limbs. She now was only confined to her bed for sleeping and was able to walk for short distances along the corridors and into the hospital grounds with her endurance and muscle tone increasing each day. The months she had spent in the coma were simply missing from her life. She fell asleep in autumn and woke in spring. She had no memory of the time in hospital before waking and certainly she had no memory of her existence as an apparition. Everything, Alexander, the book, the rescue, were all lost to her. Only Alexander was witness to and able to remember the strange events of those days. The loss of his companion continued to be felt as a sharp sadness and he felt he needed to get away from the cottage as soon as he was able so that he could make an attempt on yet another fresh start. Only one thing drove Alexander and that was completing the book.
Emily struggled to explain to her mother the strange feeling that something was missing from her life, something that was important but something she could not remember. Suzanne tried to rationalize the feelings that her daughter was having as being nothing more than a reasonable response to the trauma she had been through. Even so Suzanne had a suspicion of what these feelings were related to but felt uneasy about telling her daughter what she knew of the strange affair. She could not burden her convalescent daughter with unbelievable stories of Emily's insubstantial existence at the cottage while her body lay still and unresponsive in the hospital. Suzanne was convinced that such a shock, may well tip her daughter back to somewhere that her mother's love could not reach again. At the very least such an implausible revelation might seriously delay her emotional recovery. She consoled her daughter by bright thoughts of the future when she would be home again and encouraged her to try and put the disquiet from her mind. Emily tried to ignore the strange longing, confident that her mother was right and that in time her emotional state would return to normal just as her body was slowly doing. Emily tried, but the unexplained desire for something unremembered would not be silenced.
On his last morning before moving out of the cottage Alexander sat looking through the window into the garden it was something he had grown accustomed to doing. He seemed to find inspiration in the view, there was nothing that linked directly to the book but somehow it freed his mind, let his thoughts wander until they coalesced into a stream of consciousness that he could capture and reproduce at his keyboard. This morning, filled with the sadness of having to leave the cottage, his attention was caught by the industry of a garden spider, spinning close to the window frame, engaged in the intricacies of constructing a web, catching the spring light in its silken threads, catching Alexander's thoughts in its labyrinthine net. He made a wish that one day he would return to the cottage and find Emily again.
It was only two weeks after Emily had woken that Alexander found a new place to live. It was back uncomfortably close to his old haunt, but at least it was familiar territory and the flat he had found was pleasant enough and would not put too great a strain on his limited financial resources. In truth it was almost too close to the property that he had shared with Jane but, he tried to convince himself that he was over the acute pain of that particular grief by now. As pleasant as the small flat was, it was not the cottage that he had grown to love, nothing would match the contentment he had felt during his too brief months in that humble yet magic dwelling.
Alexander once again set about the task of putting flesh on the bones of the novel that he and Emily had written. As he worked it seemed to bring her close to him again. Each remembered phrase she had offered, each good natured argument they had worked through became vivid, alive, in his memory. He found himself turning to where she used to stand at his shoulder, seeking confirmation that the words he had typed were worthy of their story. But she was not there...
Approaching midday and completing another chapter he stretched his back and finding himself drawn back into the present, felt the rumbling of hunger pangs. He realised that he had little food in the flat, his intention of making a shopping trip last evening had seemed a bridge too far at the time. He and Jane had sometimes dined at the local pub in a life that now, as he let his mind wander back to those days, seemed almost lost to another existence. He decided that he would venture forth and take lunch there. So he strolled out into an improving day, the earlier grey rain had eased into a misty drizzle and then vanished as the emerging sun brought warmth to the spring day. Alexander felt an odd sense of lightness as he paced along the High Street. The wind was fresh again, seeming to clear his head. He had always found his mood to be strongly influenced by the vagaries of the climate; in his childhood he had found sleepy comfort in curling up with a book in front of a fire as a storm raged outside. Or on a spring day he would be energised as the pale sun brought warmth to the air fresh and vibrant with rain.
As he entered the Duke of Wellington he could smell the hoppy aroma of beer and the savoury spiciness drifting in tantalising waves from the kitchens. The subdued lighting added a welcoming quietness to the quaint old pub with its exposed oak beams that had soaked up generations of local history. But as his eyes adjusted to the soft light he was stopped suddenly by the sight of an all too familiar face. It was unexpected and unwanted, a chance encounter that stretched the laws of probability. He was on the point of turning round to avoid any confrontation when Alice Bentley, his ex mother-in-law, head turning by the sound of a new customer entering the pub, saw and recognised him. She stood, quivering with emotion and without any warning pointed an accusatory finger at him.
"It's him." she yelled. "The murderer, he killed my daughter." Her voice was raised beyond anything normal, hysterical, neurotic.
All the faces in the Duke turned to look, firstly at the deranged woman with alarm and then at Alexander with suspicion.
Alice had turned from a normal wife having a quiet lunch with her husband into an enraged and psychotic madwoman within seconds of seeing Alexander. It was not the behaviour of a rational woman who might be expected to have control of her emotions. Alexander saw now, possibly understanding for the first time, that Alice really was ill. He remembered Jane becoming increasingly worried by her disturbing behaviour and saw that things had significantly deteriorated over the months since he had last seen her. He backed away into the wind and brightness only to be followed out onto the street by the flailing demented woman. She rained her fists onto his chest in an outburst which was far worse than anything Alexander had seen from her before. Frank Bentley followed his wife and was soon on the scene. With some difficulty he distracted and calmed his wife down and took her back inside the pub.
Alexander's best option was simply to walk away which was what he had already started to do when Frank caught up with him. He called out in a voice filled with confusion, distress and anger: "Alice has been fine these last months without seeing you, what do you mean by coming back and stirring up all the trouble again?"
Alexander looked shocked at the irrationality of the accusation. From Alexander's perspective the outburst only confirmed his opinion of Alice, it was not really unexpected from her, but her wild accusations seemed to have blinded Frank to the distressing truth. Maybe Frank could not bring himself to accept what lay before his eyes.
"Frank, the last thing I want, or need is to get into a street brawl with Alice. Look, you must see that Alice is seriously unwell and needs professional help."
"I see no such thing... How dare you say that?... How dare you?..." Frank seemed to hesitate for a moment as if Alexander had provoked an acknowledgement of something too painful to accept. Still he tried to rationalize his wife's behaviour. "I admit that Jane's death has been stressful for her and left
her nerves on edge... I always took you to be a half decent sort of chap. Maybe Alice is right about you after all."
Alexander hesitated for a moment. His life had been in turmoil for too long and he really needed none of this. But in the end he decided that what he was going to do was for the best.
"Frank there's something you should see, for Alice's sake. Can you come round to my flat this evening?... On your own would be best." Frank looked at Alexander with suspicion.
"What is this, what do I have to see?"
Alexander wrote the address of his flat down on an old business card that he still had in his wallet and handed it to Frank. "It's up to you Frank, your decision. You can believe me or not, you can come or not. To be honest I hardly care either way. Make it after seven if you come." He turned and walked away leaving his father in law bewildered and with nothing else to say.
It was dark when Frank Bentley's Mercedes pulled to a stop outside Alexander's flat. It was exactly seven when he entered. Alex felt no enmity towards him, a man always full of bluster and self importance that belonged to a different time, Frank now looked ragged, tired from coping with Alice. The two men shook hands though there was little warmth in the exchange, especially on Frank's part. His opinion of his son in law had been poisoned by his wife to such an extent that he now was being drawn to the view that Alexander must have somehow been culpable for the loss of his daughter.
"All right, what's this all about Havers, I warn you I have no time to waste on this if you just wish to engage in a vendetta against my wife."
Alexander shook his head in disbelief, here was an intelligent man who could not face up to his wife's illness and would rather make irrational assumptions than accept the truth.
"I have no vendetta against anyone Frank. Jane's death had been as painful for me as anyone. You can believe that or not but it's true. Look, can I get you a drink surely we can discuss this matter like two reasonable men."
"I chose, with some care, those with whom I wish to share a drink. Just get on with whatever nonsense you have to tell me."
Alexander shrugged."OK if that's how you feel... Look I retrieved this video disk from the security system on the day that Jane..." For an instant, a quiver in his voice tested his steely decision to maintain his composure. "When Jane fell... to her death... I discovered it on the day of her funeral and at the time could see no point whatsoever in sharing it with anyone or making it in any way public. The fact is I tossed the disk into a box and it's only by chance that I still have it."
Alexander slid the disc into his video machine and pressed the play key. The two men, still standing, watched in silence as Alexander scanned forward to the exact moment when the wife and daughter was lost.
The video clearly showed Alice raving wildly at Jane. There was no sound the words and meaning were lost to the past. But the anger was clear, the irrationality, the insanity. Alice suddenly rushed forward trying to grab her daughter and as Jane backed away from the onslaught she came up against the safety glass partition and as Alice advanced on her again Jane overbalanced and fell. You could see that Alice stopped dead for a moment like a clockwork toy suddenly out of energy. She rocked gently back and forth, her hands pulling at her hair. She had made no attempt to go to her daughter's aid, never called for help but stood there, her body quivering, now ranting to herself before finally turning and running off. Somehow over the following hours through her disordered mind she must have convinced herself that it was somehow all Alexander's fault.
Frank sank onto the couch stunned, his head in his hands. He could no longer fool himself that Alice's condition was just bad nerves, something that would pass with time. Finally with a wet film across his eyes he spoke.
"Alexander, my boy what can I say. You knew this all the time and still suffered Alice's slanders – and my own damn it, without speaking a word in your defence. My God we hounded you out of your possessions, out of your job. I treated you as a pariah, turned the other directors against you and all the while it was Alice who was to blame."
"Alice was not to blame Frank. She is unwell, you must see that, as I see it Alice has been ill for a long time, Jane told me that she had been becoming increasingly worried by her behaviour. What happened was an accident but Alice needs help, she is capable of anything."
Frank nodded.
"I will get Alice the help she needs, I promise you that. I also swear I'll do my best to put things right for you. I am truly ashamed of how I behaved. I was distraught at losing Jane and with Alice's accusations... I suppose I needed someone to blame. I'm sorry Alexander. If I may I'll take that drink now. Something stiff if you have it."
There was another handshake as Frank left, this time it represented the start of a genuine reconciliation.
Comatose Page 33
