by Tara Heavey
He crawled into the bed beside Sarah. She had stopped making sounds. Her lips were no longer visible, her mouth a thin, pinched line. Her eyes were screwed shut. She was rocking herself as if she were her very own baby. Aidan thought he’d never seen a human being so wretched. He had never before been so closely involved in the process of someone dying. His mother had died at home, of course, but he had always been one step removed from the visceral process of death; his sisters had done all that. Dying was traditionally women’s business. Probably because men weren’t up to it. He knew that women were the stronger sex. He’d always known it. It had been evident in his parents’ marriage. Blindingly obvious in his own.
‘The doctor will be here soon, love. Can I do anything for you?’
It was a stupid question. Of course there was nothing he could do. Only watch as she writhed in agony. He’d never felt so helpless in all his life. There had to be something. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance,’ he said.
Her eyes flew open. He registered the panic in them as she shook her head manically, almost as if she were having a fit.
‘No.’ The word was barely audible, the meaning unmistakable. Sarah didn’t want to die in hospital. On this she had been adamant.
‘You don’t have to stay there. Just till they sort you out. You can come straight back home.’
‘No.’ The word escaped in an outbreath.
Aidan got up and began to pace again. Then he ran downstairs to find her painkillers and prayed to a God in whom he didn’t believe that she’d be able to swallow them.
Fiona woke up abruptly from an extraordinary dream, with the feeling that she didn’t know where she was. But she was at home, in her ex-marital bed, her mobile buzzing furiously beside her. It vibrated right onto the floor and she hung precariously over the side of the bed to retrieve it. ‘Hello.’
She listened carefully, aware that her mind was still groggy. What she heard made her doubt that she was fully awake. She sat up properly. ‘I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?’
There it was again. She had heard right. She was awake. She put down the phone and considered ways to get out of it. There was no way. She’d have to go. She was a doctor. A professional. It was her duty.
Fully awake now, she got out of bed and put on socks and runners. Then she went downstairs, picked up her bag and put on her jacket. She paused and looked at her face in the mirror on the way out of the door. ‘You can do this, Fiona,’ she said out loud.
Aidan let her in, wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. His feet were bare, his demeanour frantic. ‘She’s upstairs,’ he said.
Fiona moved past him wordlessly and headed for the stairway. She was hyper-aware of him one step behind her the whole way. ‘In here?’
He nodded and she pushed open the bedroom door. Their bedroom door.
A twisted figure was writhing under the sheets. Fiona dropped her bag and glanced at the drip. ‘Why isn’t that connected up?’ She looked briefly at Aidan, who was standing at the end of the bed, the lower part of his face covered with his hand.
‘Sarah didn’t want it. She said she wasn’t going to use it.’
‘Well, that was bloody stupid, wasn’t it?’ Fiona bent over Sarah’s supine form. ‘Sarah. It’s Fiona.’
Sarah’s eyes flickered open.
‘I’m going to give you an injection. It’ll take away the pain. See you through until the morning.’
Sarah was trying to say something. Fiona bent her head until her ear was directly above the other woman’s mouth. She listened for a few seconds. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I won’t.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Aidan.
‘That I’m not to let you take her to the hospital.’
‘Oh, I won’t, love. I promise,’ said Aidan.
Fiona made the necessary preparations, and plunged the needle into Sarah’s skin. The effect was almost immediate, like the pressure released from a valve. Almost instantly Sarah’s body became still and her breath slowed.
‘Jesus,’ said Aidan, behind her. ‘Can I have some of that?’
Fiona turned to him. ‘My pleasure. Trousers down.’ She smiled grimly. Except it wasn’t a real smile. Aidan’s was, as he approached the bed and took Sarah’s hand in his. Fiona’s heart constricted.
‘Are you all right?’ he said.
Her husband’s voice, soft and tender as he stroked Sarah’s forehead. She saw her nod, then turned away to pack up her things as quickly as she could. She felt movement behind her and knew that Aidan was repositioning Sarah in the bed. She turned back to them. Sarah was looking directly at her. The two women took each other in. Fiona nodded and turned to go.
‘Wait!’
She stopped. Should she just keep walking? She’d done her duty. The woman was no longer in pain. What if there were other medical issues? She sighed deeply and turned back. Sarah’s head was propped up on a couple of pillows, which was likely the only way she could hold it up. Her eyes, perhaps the only part of her that showed any life, were boring into Fiona’s.
‘Can I …?’ She began to speak, her voice a croak. Then she choked. Aidan immediately tilted her forward, cradling her body and patting her upper back. When the spasm had subsided, he placed a tumbler of water at her lips. Sarah sipped with apparent difficulty. Then he lowered her again. Who could have known, thought Fiona, that Aidan would make such an attentive nurse?
In sickness and in health.
Sarah tried again. ‘Can I talk to you, Fiona?’
Fiona stared at her. She wasn’t prepared for this. Twenty minutes ago she’d been sound asleep. But how did one prepare for such a moment anyhow? To confront the dying woman who stole your husband. Hardly a chapter in your standard book on etiquette. She wanted to walk away – run away. Yet how could she, and live with herself afterwards? Accept her lack of courage. Her dearth of compassion.
So Fiona stayed. And she sat in the chair provided for visitors. Sarah inclined her head slightly towards Aidan. ‘Do you mind?’ She widened her eyes and looked towards the door.
Aidan’s eyes widened in response. ‘You want me to leave?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Just do as she asks.’ Fiona’s voice was low. Authoritative.
Aidan’s worried gaze moved from one woman to the other. Then he left.
It took some effort on Fiona’s part to look at Sarah. Not because of anger or resentment or, God help us, jealousy. But because it was painful to see her. You could trace the skull beneath the skin. It was almost eerie. On the one hand her beauty was magnified. The perfect bone structure, the symmetry of her face. On the other, it was like staring point-blank at death. Death had its mark on her. It was all around her, like a shadow. A dark cloak masking the person she used to be. Her eyes were huge. Beautiful. Horrifying. Fiona stared into them unflinchingly. She wouldn’t let herself down. She just wouldn’t. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’
‘A lot of things, Fiona. First, I want to say thank you for tonight.’
Fiona inclined her head in acknowledgement.
‘It must be a great feeling. Having the power to heal.’
‘We can’t heal everything.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
Fiona instantly regretted her words. The silence began and rapidly built up in its intensity.
‘You must really hate me.’
Fiona’s exhalation was audible. She wished herself any other place. ‘I don’t hate you, Sarah. Not any more.’
‘You mean not after tonight.’
‘Not for a little while now.’
‘But you did before. I don’t blame you. I would have hated me too. Betrayal is a very ugly thing. Painful. Damaging. But now I guess I’m just pathetic.’
Fiona chose her words carefully. ‘Sympathy does tend to get in the way of hatred.’
Sarah gave her a half-smile. ‘Inconvenient that, isn’t it?’
‘It can be.’
‘I’m not going to do any
thing so mawkish as to beg for your forgiveness, Fiona, but I am going to offer you my apology. I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you.’
Fiona couldn’t bring herself to speak. It was hard enough not to cry. For whom, she didn’t know. For herself. For Sarah. For the whole sorry mess. She could feel Sarah’s ethereal eyes trying to fathom her. She couldn’t even fathom herself. There was only one thing she knew for sure. The dying didn’t lie. This was the truth. The pristine truth. And she was grateful to be at the receiving end of it.
‘I’m not telling you this,’ Sarah continued, ‘to avoid going to hell. I don’t believe in hell. But perhaps you feel I deserve to be punished.’
‘I think,’ said Fiona, ‘that you’ve suffered enough already.’
‘We both have. It would mean a lot to me to know that you’re all right, Fiona.’
‘I will be.’
‘Yes, I think you will. You’re so strong. Not like me. I’ve always been so weak. Always needed a man to lean on.’
‘I don’t think it’s possible to be the single parent of an autistic child and to be weak.’
Sarah smiled. ‘There is that. I did something right there, I suppose. And maybe it was a blessing all along, Maia being autistic.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because she won’t miss me.’
‘Surely …’
‘Not like a normal child would. She’ll be disturbed at first by the change in her routine. She won’t know where I’ve gone. Won’t comprehend any of it. But she’ll have Aidan. She’ll be all right.’
‘Maia’s staying with Aidan?’ Fiona was clearly amazed.
‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘We don’t chat much any more.’
‘Of course. Stupid of me.’
They were both quiet. Sarah seemed to be giving Fiona the time she needed to take it in. Gathering her strength for what she needed to say next.
‘I was really only borrowing him, Fiona.’
Fiona looked sharply at her. ‘That’s not what it felt like.’
‘But that’s what it was. Essentially. Borrowing him for my borrowed time. I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own. But he’s always been yours, Fiona. Always will be.’
‘I don’t want him any more.’ Her words sounded vicious, even to her own ears.
But both women knew the hurt that lay behind them.
‘Maybe you don’t. But all I can say is I hope you don’t always feel that way.’
Fiona examined Sarah’s face closely, as a doctor might. She could see that she was battling to keep her eyelids from falling. She got up. ‘You’re exhausted. After what you’ve been through you need your rest. I shouldn’t even have let you have this conversation.’
‘I needed it.’
To Fiona’s horror, Sarah grabbed her hand. ‘It’s been a huge relief for me to be able to say these things to you. Thank you, Fiona. Thank you so much. I know I’ve been a crap friend but you were a very good friend to me. Even now. It’s been a privilege to know you.’
Sarah released her grip and closed her eyes, her head lolling gently to the side as she slipped comfortably into sleep.
Fiona took up her bag and moved towards the door. Then she stopped, went back and kissed the other woman on the cheek. It might have been her imagination. It might have been an involuntary muscle spasm. But she could have sworn she saw Sarah smile.
Aidan was sitting at the bottom of the stairs. He leaped to his feet as soon as he heard her. His eyes were full of questions that she didn’t have the energy to answer. She fished a few sachets out of her jacket pocket. ‘If she experiences any more pain before the morning, try to get these down her. They’re soluble. She won’t be able to manage anything else.’ She was Dr Fiona. ‘And get that fecking drip sorted first thing.’
Aidan took the sachets from her. ‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’
Fiona shook her head. ‘Look after her.’
Aidan regarded his wife silently.
‘And, for God’s sake, take care of yourself. You look terrible. Try to get some sleep.’
By the time he’d recovered from the shock, she was gone.
Fiona abandoned her car until the morning, choosing instead to walk home along the beach. Or, rather, her legs seemed to choose for her.
She was wrestling with the wind and with her unwilling epiphany: that the other woman needed her husband more than she did. She who had life and everything to live it for. For all Sarah’s beauty, all her talent, all her plaudits, Fiona was far, far luckier than her. Because she had life. And ultimately nothing else mattered.
And in that moment she saw, with blinding clarity, that Aidan, her husband, had done the right thing. He had made the right choice. And it no longer mattered that he hadn’t chosen her.
She sat on the beach all night, revelling in this revelation. This gift.
Chapter 51
It was a strange thing, dying. At times, he could see the life force gently ebbing out of her. At others, she seemed to rally, energy and vigour replenished. And you could never tell from day to day, from hour to hour, how it was going to be.
Helen arrived on the evening after the hellish night-time episode. She dropped her bags by the front door and all but ran up the stairs. Aidan followed, two steps at a time, knowing she expected to find her sister drawing her last breath. Instead, she found Sarah sitting up in the bed and – of all things – eating. ‘Helen!’ she said. ‘Have you come for the party?’
And the odd thing was that, at these times when Sarah was well – her energy levels up, her mind lucid – there was what could be described as an air of celebration in the room. As if some magnificent party was indeed about to take place. A strange kind of anticipation.
Sheila had turned Sarah’s room into a haven of hospitality. An abundance of fresh flowers on every spare surface, fresh sheets every day, heavenly harp music playing in the background, sometimes replaced by chanting monks. Her bed was by the window now, and when she felt up to it, she sat propped up, watching the children walk to school, the shoppers come and go, the sea licking the shore at rhythmic intervals. And she was happy. The room felt happy, a pleasant place to be. The kind of place that would draw you.
Aidan had left the sisters to it for a good hour. Eventually, he heard the bedroom door closing. Helen came down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Aidan saw the renewed hope written between the lines of worry on her face. ‘How about a cup of proper Irish tea?’
‘There’s nothing in the world I’d like more. Make it two sugars. I’ve earned them.’
She sat down and sighed, watching him.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I was expecting her to be … really bad. The way you sounded on the phone, I thought it was only a matter of days.’
‘It is only a matter of days.’ She looked so stricken that he regretted his bluntness. He sat close to her. ‘She’s continually up and down. You got her on an up, and I’m glad you did. But the ups are less and less frequent and each down seems to be further down.’
He watched her slump. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. I wish it wasn’t.’
Helen was nodding. ‘It was that way with my mother too. Only she was a lot older. Oh, God. Why is this happening?’ She put her head into her hands.
Aidan watched mutely. He had no answers for himself or anyone else. Ever since the first moment he’d met Sarah, he’d felt buffeted by forces far greater than himself. Her death was no exception.
He waited patiently for Helen’s tears to subside, rubbing her shoulder intermittently. And it occurred to him how accustomed he’d become to tears. Other people’s and his own. To the point where they didn’t embarrass him any more. Odd, that.
Sarah became irritable later on that day, her buoyancy collapsing in on itself. Aidan watched passively as Helen attempted to move mountains to please her sister. He was getting used to feeling helpless. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. But the newly arrived Helen still thought it
was possible to exercise some control. Sarah requested eggs. Helen made eggs. Sarah refused eggs. She couldn’t stand the smell: it made her feel sick. The eggs were removed. Other foodstuffs were produced with similar results. Sarah’s eyes continually watered, although she wasn’t crying. It was as if she was leaking. Another sign of her body’s betrayal.
It was the following day. Mid-morning. Aidan knocked gently on the bedroom door.
‘Come in.’
He entered, bearing a plate of strawberries. Helen was curled up asleep on the armchair. Sarah was sitting upright in bed, her arms around her knees, looking out of the window. As Aidan walked in, she gave him a smile of such radiance that he was transfixed. It was as if the sunlight was shining right through her. Through her eyes. Her smile. Through her very being. And it was this light-filled image of her that he was to hold before him in the darkness of the months that followed.
‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ she said.
‘It is.’ Once he’d recovered himself he sat on the edge of the bed, the plate of strawberries between them. ‘Will you try one?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘How about if I mash them up for you?’
‘Okay.’
She was humouring him. He knew this. But he still couldn’t stop himself.
‘I was watching the tree change its colours.’ She nodded to the sycamore outside the window. ‘Every day it’s different. Every single day. New colours. Golds. Some leaves missing. And on a day like today, with the breeze stirring things up and the light shining through, it’s so breathtakingly beautiful.’ She smiled at him again. ‘It’s a beautiful world we live in,’ she said. ‘I’m lucky to have been part of it for a while. Remind yourself of it, Aidan, won’t you, after I’m gone, when you’re sad and missing me? Remind yourself of all the beauty in the world. Will you do that for me?’
Aidan nodded and stared at the tree.
They sat in silence for a long while. Sarah. Aidan. The tree.
